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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/17697-8.txt b/17697-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e0f016b --- /dev/null +++ b/17697-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11222 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Trumpeter Swan, by Temple Bailey + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Trumpeter Swan + +Author: Temple Bailey + +Illustrator: Alice Barber Stephens + +Release Date: February 7, 2006 [EBook #17697] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRUMPETER SWAN *** + + + + +Produced by Sjaani, Beginners Projects and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +[Illustration: "WHEN I AM MARRIED WILL YOU SOUND YOUR TRUMPET HIGH UP +NEAR THE MOON?"] + + +The +Trumpeter Swan + +By + +TEMPLE BAILEY + +_Author of "The Tin Soldier" "Contrary Mary" +"Mistress Anne" "Glory of Youth"_ + +_Sonus ex nubibus te revocabit a mundo_ +A sound from the clouds shall call thee from this earth + + +Illustrated by +ALICE BARBER STEPHENS + + +THE PENN PUBLISHING +COMPANY PHILADELPHIA +1920 + +COPYRIGHT +1920 BY +THE PENN +PUBLISHING +COMPANY + + + + +CONTENTS + +CHAPTER PAGE + +I. A Major and Two Minors 7 +II. Stuffed Birds 33 +III. A Wolf in the Forest 61 +IV. Rain and Randy's Soul 88 +V. Little Sister 108 +VI. Georgie-Porgie 127 +VII. Mademoiselle Midas 147 +VIII. Ancestors 161 +IX. "T. Branch" 181 +X. A Gentleman's Lie 214 +XI. Wanted--a Pedestal 245 +XII. Indian--Indian 263 +XIII. The Whistling Sally 289 +XIV. The Dancer on the Moor 313 +XV. The Trumpeter Swan 333 +XVI. The Conqueror 361 + + +ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE + +"When I am Married Will You Sound Your +Trumpet High Up Near the Moon?" _Frontispiece_ + +"It's So Heavenly to Have You Home" 9 + +Becky Drew A Sharp Breath--Then Faced +Dalton Squarely--"I Am Going to Marry Randy" 143 + +"Oh, Oh," She Whispered, "You Don't Know +How I Have Wanted You" 257 + + +THE TRUMPETER SWAN + + + + +CHAPTER I + +A MAJOR AND TWO MINORS + + +I + +It had rained all night, one of the summer rains that, beginning in a +thunder-storm in Washington, had continued in a steaming drizzle until +morning. + +There were only four passengers in the sleeper, men all of them--two in +adjoining sections in the middle of the car, a third in the +drawing-room, a fourth an intermittent occupant of a berth at the end. +They had gone to bed unaware of the estate or circumstance of their +fellow-travellers, and had waked to find the train delayed by washouts, +and side-tracked until more could be learned of the condition of the +road. + +The man in the drawing-room shone, in the few glimpses that the others +had of him, with an effulgence which was dazzling. His valet, the +intermittent sleeper in the end berth, was a smug little soul, with a +small nose which pointed to the stars. When the door of the compartment +opened to admit breakfast there was the radiance of a brocade +dressing-gown, the shine of a sleek head, the staccato of an imperious +voice. + +Randy Paine, long and lank, in faded khaki, rose, leaned over the seat +of the section in front of him and drawled, "'It is not raining rain to +me--it's raining roses--down----'" + +A pleasant laugh, and a deep voice, "Come around here and talk to me. +You're a Virginian, aren't you?" + +"By the grace of God and the discrimination of my ancestors," young +Randolph, as he dropped into the seat opposite the man with the deep +voice, saluted the dead and gone Paines. + +"Then you know this part of it?" + +"I was born here. In this county. It is bone of my bone and flesh of my +flesh," there was a break in the boy's voice which robbed the words of +grandiloquence. + +"Hum--you love it? Yes? And I am greedy to get away. I want wider +spaces----" + +"California?" + +"Yes. Haven't seen it for three years. I thought when the war was over I +might. But I've got to be near Washington, it seems. The heat drove me +out, and somebody told me it would be cool in these hills----" + +"It is, at night. By day we're not strenuous." + +"I like to be strenuous. I hate inaction." + +He moved restlessly. There was a crutch by his side. Young Paine noticed +it for the first time. "I hate it." + +He had a strong frame, broad shoulders and thin hips. One placed him +immediately as a man of great physical force. Yet there was the crutch. +Randy had seen other men, broad-shouldered, thin-hipped, who had come to +worse than crutches. He did not want to think of them. He had escaped +without a scratch. He did not believe that he had lacked courage, and +there was a decoration to prove that he had not. But when he thought of +those other men, he had no sense of his own valor. He had given so +little and they had given so much. + +Yet it was not a thing to speak of. He struck, therefore, a note to +which he knew the other might respond. + +"If you haven't been here before, you'll like the old places." + +"I am going to one of them." + +"Which?" + +"King's Crest." + +A moment's silence. Then, "That's my home. I have lived there all my +life." + +The lame man gave him a sharp glance. "I heard of it in +Washington--delightful atmosphere--and all that----" + +"You are going as a--paying guest?" + +"Yes." + +A deep flush stained the younger man's face. Suddenly he broke out. "If +you knew how rotten it seems to me to have my mother keeping--boarders----" + +"My dear fellow, I hope you don't think it is going to be rotten to have +me?" + +"No. But there are other people. And I didn't know until I came back +from France---- She had to tell me when she knew I was coming." + +"She had been doing it all the time you were away?" + +"Yes. Before I went we had mortgaged things to help me through the +University. I should have finished in a year if I hadn't enlisted. And +Mother insisted there was enough for her. But there wasn't with the +interest and everything--and she wouldn't sell an acre. I shan't let her +keep on----" + +"Are you going to turn me out?" + +His smile was irresistible. Randy smiled back. "I suppose you think I'm +a fool----?" + +"Yes. For being ashamed of it." + +Randy's head went up. "I'm not ashamed of the boarding-house. I am +ashamed to have my mother work." + +"So," said the lame man, softly, "that's it? And your name is Paine?" + +"Randolph Paine of King's Crest. There have been a lot of us--and not a +piker in the lot." + +"I am Mark Prime." + +"Major Prime of the 135th?" + +The other nodded. "The wonderful 135th--God, what men they were----" his +eyes shone. + +Randy made his little gesture of salute. "They were that. I don't wonder +you are proud of them." + +"It was worth all the rest," the Major said, "to have known my men." + +He looked out of the window at the drizzle of rain. "How quiet the world +seems after it all----" + +Then like the snap of bullets came the staccato voice through the open +door of the compartment. + +"Find out why we are stopping in this beastly hole, Kemp, and get me +something cold to drink." + +Kemp, sailing down the aisle, like a Lilliputian drum major, tripped +over Randy's foot. + +"Beg pardon, sir," he said, and sailed on. + +Randy looked after him. "'His Master's voice----'" + +"And to think," Prime remarked, "that the coldest thing he can get on +this train is ginger ale." + +Kemp, coming back with a golden bottle, with cracked ice in a tall +glass, with a crisp curl of lemon peel, ready for an innocuous +libation, brought his nose down from the heights to look for the foot, +found that it no longer barred the way, and marched on to hidden music. + +"Leave the door open, leave it open," snapped the voice, "isn't there an +electric fan? Well, put it on, put it on----" + +"He drinks nectar and complains to the gods," said the Major softly, +"why can't we, too, drink?" + +They had theirs on a table which the porter set between them. The train +moved on before they had finished. "We'll be in Charlottesville in less +than an hour," the conductor announced. + +"Is that where we get off, Paine?" + +"One mile beyond. Are they going to meet you?" + +"I'll get a station wagon." + +Young Paine grinned. "There aren't any. But if Mother knows you're +coming she'll send down. And anyhow she expects me." + +"After a year in France--it will be a warm welcome----" + +"A wet one, but I love the rain, and the red mud, every blooming inch of +it." + +"Of course you do. Just as I love the dust of the desert." + +They spoke, each of them, with a sort of tense calmness. One doesn't +confess to a lump in one's throat. + +The little man, Kemp, was brushing things in the aisle. He was hot but +unconquered. Having laid out the belongings of the man he served, he +took a sudden recess, and came back with a fresh collar, a wet but +faultless pompadour, and a suspicion of powder on his small nose. + +"All right, sir, we'll be there in fifteen minutes, sir," they heard him +say, as he was swallowed up by the yawning door. + + +II + +Fifteen minutes later when the train slowed up, there emerged from the +drawing-room a man some years older than Randolph Paine, and many years +younger than Major Prime. He was good-looking, well-dressed, but +apparently in a very bad temper. Kemp, in an excited, Skye-terrier +manner, had gotten the bags together, had a raincoat over his arm, had +an umbrella handy, had apparently foreseen every contingency but one. + +"Great guns, Kemp, why are we getting off here?" + +"The conductor said it was nearer, sir." + +Randolph Paine was already hanging on the step, ready to drop the moment +the train stopped. He had given the porter an extra tip to look after +Major Prime. "He isn't used to that crutch, yet. He'd hate it if I tried +to help him." + +The rain having drizzled for hours, condensed suddenly in a downpour. +When the train moved on, the men found themselves in a small and stuffy +waiting-room. Around the station platform was a sea of red mud. Misty +hills shot up in a circle to the horizon. There was not a house in +sight. There was not a soul in sight except the agent who knew young +Paine. No one having come to meet them, he suggested the use of the +telephone. + +In the meantime Kemp was having a hard time of it. "Why in the name of +Heaven didn't we get off at Charlottesville," his master was demanding. + +"The conductor said this was nearer, sir," Kemp repeated. His response +had the bounding quality of a rubber ball. "If you'll sit here and make +yourself comfortable, Mr. Dalton, I'll see what I can do." + +"Oh, it's a beastly hole, Kemp. How can I be comfortable?" + +Randy, who had come back from the telephone with a look on his face +which clutched at Major Prime's throat, caught Dalton's complaint. + +"It isn't a beastly hole," he said in a ringing voice, "it's God's +country---- I got my mother on the 'phone, Major. She has sent for us +and the horses are on the way." + +Dalton looked him over. What a lank and shabby youth he was to carry in +his voice that ring of authority. "What's the answer to our getting off +here?" he asked. + +"Depends upon where you are going." + +"To Oscar Waterman's----" + +"Never heard of him." + +"Hamilton Hill," said the station agent. + +Randy's neck stiffened. "Then the Hamiltons have sold it?" + +"Yes. A Mr. Waterman of New York bought it." + +Kemp had come back. "Mr. Waterman says he'll send the car at once. He is +delighted to know that you have come, sir." + +"How long must I wait?" + +"Not more than ten minutes, he said, sir," Kemp's optimism seemed to +ricochet against his master's hardness and come back unhurt. "He will +send a closed car and will have your rooms ready for you." + +"Serves me right for not wiring," said Dalton, "but who would believe +there is a place in the world where a man can't get a taxi?" + +Young Paine was at the door, listening for the sound of hoofs, watching +with impatience. Suddenly he gave a shout, and the others looked to see +a small object which came whirling like a bomb through the mist. + +"Nellie, little old lady, little old lady," the boy was on his knees, +the dog in his arms--an ecstatic, panting creature, the first to welcome +her master home! + +Before he let her go, the little dog's coat was wet with more than rain, +but Randy was not ashamed of the tears in his eyes as he faced the +others. + +"I've had her from a pup--she's a faithful beast. Hello, there they +come. Gee, Jefferson, but you've grown! You are almost as big as your +name." + +Jefferson was the negro boy who drove the horses. There was a great +splashing of red mud as he drew up. The flaps of the surrey closed it +in. + +Jefferson's eyes were twinkling beads as he greeted his master. "I sure +is glad to see you, Mr. Randy. Miss Caroline, she say there was another +gemp'mun?" + +"He's here--Major Prime. You run in there and look after his bags." + +Randy unbuttoned the flaps and gave a gasp of astonishment: + +"_Becky_--Becky Bannister!" + +In another moment she was out on the platform, and he was holding her +hands, protesting in the meantime, "You'll get wet, my dear----" + +"Oh, I want to be rained on, Randy. It's so heavenly to have you home. I +caught Jefferson on the way down. I didn't even wait to get my hat." + +[Illustration: "IT'S SO HEAVENLY TO HAVE YOU HOME"] + +She did not need a hat. It would have hidden her hair. George Dalton, +watching her from the door, decided that he had never seen such hair, +bronze, parted on the side, with a thick wave across the forehead, it +shaded eyes which were clear wells of light. + +She was a little thing with a quality in her youth which made one think +of the year at the spring, of the day at morn, of Botticelli's +Simonetta, of Shelley's lark, of Wordsworth's daffodils, of Keats' Eve +of St. Agnes--of all the lovely radiant things of which the poets of the +world have sung---- + +Of course Dalton did not think of her in quite that way. He knew +something of Browning and little of Keats, but he had at least the wit +to discern the rareness of her type. + +As for the rest, she wore faded blue, which melted into the blue of the +mists, stubbed and shabby russet shoes and an air of absorption in her +returned soldier. This absorption Dalton found himself subconsciously +resenting. Following an instinctive urge, he emerged, therefore, from +his chrysalis of ill-temper, and smiled upon a transformed universe. + +"My raincoat, Kemp," he said, and strode forth across the platform, a +creature as shining and splendid as ever trod its boards. + +Becky, beholding him, asked, "Is that Major Prime?" + +"No, thank Heaven." + +Jefferson, steering the Major expertly, came up at this moment. Then, +splashing down the red road whirled the gorgeous limousine. There were +two men on the box. Kemp, who had been fluttering around Dalton with an +umbrella, darted into the waiting-room for the bags. The door of the +limousine was opened by the footman, who also had an umbrella ready. +Dalton hesitated, his eyes on that shabby group by the mud-stained +surrey. He made up his mind suddenly and approached young Paine. + +"We can take one of you in here. You'll be crowded with all of those +bags." + +"Not a bit. We'll manage perfectly, thank you," Randy's voice dismissed +him. + +He went, with a lingering glance backward. Becky, catching that glance, +waked suddenly to the fact that he was very good-looking. "It was kind +of him to offer, Randy." + +"Was it?" + +Nothing more was said, but Becky wondered a bit as they drove on. She +liked Major Prime. He was an old dear. But why had Randy thanked Heaven +that the other man was not the Major? + + +III + +The Waterman motor passed the surrey, and Dalton, straining his eyes for +a glimpse of the pretty girl, was rewarded only by a view of Randy on +the front seat with his back turned on the world, while he talked with +someone hidden by the curtains. + +Perhaps the fact that she was hidden by the curtains kept Dalton's +thoughts upon her. He felt that her beauty must shine even among the +shadows--he envied Major Prime, who sat next to her. + +The Major was aware that his position was enviable. It was worth much to +watch these two young people, eager in their reunion. "Becky Bannister, +whom I have known all my life," had been Randy's presentation of the +little lady with the shining hair. + +"Grandfather doesn't know that I came, or Aunt Claudia. They felt that +your mother ought to see you first and so did I. Until the last minute. +Then I saw Jefferson driving by--I was down at the gate to wave to you, +Randy--and I just came----" her gay laugh was infectious--the men +laughed with her. + +"You must let me out when we get to Huntersfield, and you mustn't +tell--either of you. We are all to dine together to-night at your house, +Randy, and when you meet me, you are to say--'_Becky_'--just as you did +to-day, as if I had fallen from the skies." + +"Well, you did fall--straight," Randy told her. "Becky, you are too good +to be true; oh, you're too pretty to be true. Isn't she, Major?" + +"It is just because I am--American. Are you glad to get back to us, +Randy?" + +"Glad," he drew a long breath. Nellie, who had wedged herself in tightly +between her master and Jefferson, wriggled and licked his hand. He +looked down at her, tried to say something, broke a little on it, and +ended abruptly, "It's Heaven." + +"And you weren't hurt?" + +"Not a scratch, worse luck." + +She turned to Major Prime and did the wise thing and the thing he liked. +"You were," she said, simply, "but I am not going to be sorry for you, +shall I?" + +"No," he said, "I am not sorry for--myself----" + +For a moment there was silence, then Becky carried the conversation into +lighter currents. "Everybody is here for the Horse Show next week. Your +mother's house is full, and those awful Waterman people have guests." + +"One of them came down with us." + +"The good-looking man who offered us a ride?" + +"Oh, of course if you like that kind of looks, he's the kind of man +you'd like," said Randy, "but coming down he seemed rather out of tune +with the universe." + +"How out of tune?" + +"Well, it was hot and he was hot----" + +"It _is_ hot, Randy, and perhaps he isn't used to it." + +"Are you making excuses for him?" + +"I don't even know him." + +Major Prime interposed. "His man was a corking little chap, never turned +a hair, as cool as a cucumber, with everybody else sizzling." + +They were ascending a hill, and the horse went slowly. Ahead of them was +a buggy without a top. In the buggy were a man and a woman. The woman +had an umbrella over her, and a child in her arms. + +"It's Mary Flippin and her father. See if you can't overtake them, +Jefferson. I want you to see Fiddle Flippin, Randy." + +"Who is Fiddle Flippin?" + +"Mary's little girl. Mary is a war bride. She was in Petersburg teaching +school when the war broke out, and she married a man named Branch. Then +she came home--and she called the baby Fidelity." + +"I hope he was a good husband." + +"Nobody has seen him, he was ordered away at once. But she is very +proud of him. And the baby is a darling. Just beginning to walk and +talk." + +"Stop a minute, Jefferson, while I speak to them." + +Mr. Flippin pulled up his fat horse. He was black-haired, ruddy, and +wide of girth. "Well, well," he said, with a big laugh, "it is cert'n'y +good to see you." + +Mary Flippin was slender and delicate and her eyes were blue. Her hair +was thick and dark. There was Scotch-Irish blood in the Flippins, and +Mary's charm was in that of duskiness of hair and blueness of eye. "Oh, +Randy Paine," she said, with her cheeks flaming, "when did you get +back?" + +"Ten minutes ago. Mary, if you'll hand me that corking kid, I'll kiss +her." + +Fiddle was handed over. She was rosy and round with her mother's blue +eyes. She wore a little buttoned hat of white piqué, with strings tied +under her chin. + +"So," said Randy, after a moist kiss, "you are Fiddle-dee-dee?" + +"Ess----" + +"Who gave you that name?" + +"It is her own way of saying Fidelity," Mary explained. + +"Isn't she rather young to say anything?" + +"Oh, Randy, she's a year and a half," Becky protested. "Your mother says +that you talked in your cradle." + +Randy laughed, "Oh, if you listen to Mother----" + +"I'm glad you're in time for the Horse Show," Mr. Flippin interposed, +"I've got a couple of prize hawgs--an' when you see them, you'll say +they ain't anything like them on the other side." + +"Oh, Father----" + +"Well, they ain't. I reckon Virginia's good enough for you to come back +to, ain't it, Mr. Randy----?" + +"It is good enough for me to stay in now that I'm here." + +"So you're back for good?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, we're mighty glad to have you." + +Fiddle Flippin, dancing and doubling up on Randy's knee like a very soft +doll, suddenly held out her arms to her mother. + +As Mary leaned forward to take her, Randy was aware of the change in +her. In the old days Mary had been a gay little thing, with an +impertinent tongue. She was not gay now. She was a Madonna, tender-eyed, +brooding over her child. + +"She has changed a lot," Randy said, as they drove on. + +"Why shouldn't she change?" Becky demanded. + +"Wouldn't any woman change if she had loved a man and had let him go to +France?" + + +IV + +It was still raining hard when the surrey stopped at a high and rusty +iron gate flanked by brick pillars overgrown with Virginia creeper. + +"Becky," said young Paine, "you can't walk up to the house. It's +pouring." + +"I don't see any house," said Major Prime. + +"Well, you never do from the road in this part of the country. We put +our houses on the tops of hills, and have acres to the right of us, and +acres to the left, and acres in front, and acres behind, and you can +never visit your neighbors without going miles, and nobody ever walks +except little Becky Bannister when she runs away." + +"And I am going to run now," said Becky. "Randy, there's a raincoat +under that seat. I'll put it on if you will hand it out to me." + +"You are going to ride up, my dear child. Drive on, Jefferson." + +"Randy, _please_, your mother is waiting. She didn't come down to the +station because she said that if she wept on your shoulder, she would +not do it before the whole world. But she is _waiting_---- And it isn't +fair for me to hold you back a minute." + +He yielded at last reluctantly. "Remember, you are to act as if you had +never met me," she said to Major Prime as she gave him her hand at +parting, "when you see me to-night." + +"Becky," Randy asked, in a sudden panic, "are the boarders to be drawn +up in ranks to welcome me?" + +"No, your mother has given you and Major Prime each two rooms in the +Schoolhouse, and we are to dine out there, in your sitting-room--our +families and the Major. And there won't be a soul to see you until +morning, and then you can show yourself off by inches." + +"Until to-night then," said Randy, and opened the gate for her. + +"Until to-night," she watched them and waved her hand as they drove off. + +"A beautiful child," the Major remarked from the shadow of the back +seat. + +"She's more than beautiful," said Randy, glowing, "oh, you wait till you +really know her, Major." + + +V + +The Schoolhouse at King's Crest had been built years before by one of +the Paines for two sons and their tutor. It was separated from the old +brick mansion by a wide expanse of unmowed lawn, thick now in midsummer +with fluttering poppies. There was a flagged stone walk, and an orchard +at the left, beyond the orchard were rolling fields, and in the distance +one caught a glimpse of the shining river. + +On the lower floor of the Schoolhouse were two ample sitting-rooms with +bedrooms above, one of which was reached by outside stairs, and the +other by an enclosed stairway. Baths had been added when Mrs. Paine had +come as a widow to King's Crest with her small son, and had chosen the +Schoolhouse as a quiet haven. Later, on the death of his grandparents, +Randy had inherited the estate, and he and his mother had moved into the +mansion. But he had kept his rooms in the Schoolhouse, and was glad to +know that he could go back to them. + +Major Prime had the west sitting-room. It was lined with low bookcases, +full of old, old books. There was a fireplace, a winged chair, a broad +couch, a big desk of dark seasoned mahogany, and over the mantel a steel +engraving of Robert E. Lee. The low windows at the back looked out upon +the wooded green of the ascending hill; at the front was a porch which +gave a view of the valley. + +Randolph's arrival had had something of the effect of a triumphal entry. +Jefferson had driven him straight to the Schoolhouse, but on the way +they had encountered old Susie, Jefferson's mother, who cooked, and old +Bob, who acted as butler, and the new maid who waited on the table. +These had followed the surrey as a sort of ecstatic convoy. Not a +boarder was in sight but behind the windows of the big house one was +aware of watching eyes. + +"They are all crazy to meet you," Randy's mother had told him, as they +came into the Major's sitting-room after those first sacred moments when +the doors had been shut against the world, "they are all crazy to meet +you, but you needn't come over to lunch unless you really care to do it. +Jefferson can serve you here." + +"What do you want me to do?" + +"My dear, I'm so proud of you, I'd like to show you to the whole world." + +"But there are so many of us, Mother." + +"There's only one of you----" + +"And we haven't come back to be put on pedestals." + +"You were put on pedestals before you went away." + +"I'll be spoiled if you talk to me like that." + +"I shall talk as I please, Randy. Major Prime, isn't he as handsome as +a--rose?" + +"_Mother_----" + +"Well, you are----" + +"Mother, if you talk like this to the boarders, I'll go back and get +shot up----" + +She clung to him. "Randy, don't say such a thing. He mustn't talk like +that, must he, Major?" + +"He doesn't mean it. Paine, this looks to me like the Promised Land----" + +"I'm glad you like it," said Mrs. Paine, "and now if you don't mind, +I'll run along and kill the fatted calf----" + +She kissed her son, and under a huge umbrella made her way through the +poppies that starred the grass---- + +"_On Flanders field--where poppies blow_"--the Major drew a sudden quick +breath---- He wished there were no poppies at King's Crest. + +"I hate this hero stuff," Randy was saying, "don't you?" + +"I am not so sure that I do. Down deep we'd resent it if we were not +applauded, shouldn't we?" + +Randy laughed. "I believe we should." + +"I fancy that when we've been home for a time, we may feel somewhat +bitter if we find that our pedestals are knocked from under us. Our +people don't worship long. They have too much to think of. They'll put +up some arches, and a few statues and build tribute houses in a lot of +towns, and then they'll go on about their business, and we who have +fought will feel a bit blank." + +Randy laughed, "You haven't any illusions about it, have you?" + +"No, but you and I know that it's all right however it goes." + +Randy, standing very straight, looked out over the valley where the +river showed through the rain like a silver thread. "Well, we didn't do +it for praise, did we?" + +"No, thank God." + +Their eyes were seeing other things than these quiet hills. Things they +wanted to forget. But they did not want to forget the high exaltation +which had sent them over, or the quiet conviction of right which had +helped them to carry on. What the people at home might do or think did +not matter. What mattered was their own adjustment to the things which +were to follow. + +Randy went up-stairs, took off his uniform, bathed and came down in the +garments of peace. + +"Glad to get out of your uniform?" the Major asked. + +"I believe I am. Perhaps if I'd been an officer, I shouldn't." + +"Everybody couldn't be. I've no doubt you deserved it." + +"I could have pulled wires, of course, before I went over, but I +wouldn't." + +From somewhere within the big house came the reverberation of a Japanese +gong. + +Randy rose. "I'm going over to lunch. I'd rather face guns, but Mother +will like it. You can have yours here." + +"Not if I know it," the Major rose, "I'm going to share the fatted +calf." + + +VI + +It was late that night when the Major went to bed. The feast in Randy's +honor had lasted until ten. There had been the shine of candles, and the +laughter of the women, the old Judge's genial humor. Through the windows +had come the fragrance of honeysuckle and of late roses. Becky had sung +for them, standing between two straight white candles. + + "In the beauty of the lilies, Christ was born across the sea, + With the glory in his bosom which transfigures you and me. + As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free + While God is marching on----" + +The last time the Major had heard a woman sing that song had been in a +little French town just after the United States had gone into the war. +She was of his own country, red-haired and in uniform. She had stood on +the steps of a stone house and weary men had clustered about +her--French, English, Scotch, a few Americans. Tired and spent, they had +gazed up at her as if they drank her in. To them she was more than a +singing woman. She was the daughter of a nation of dreamers, _the +daughter of a nation which made its dreams come true_! Behind her stood +a steadfast people, and--God was marching on----! + +He had had his leg then, and after that there had been dreadful +fighting, and sometimes in the midst of it the voice of the singing +woman had come back to him, stiffening him to his task. + +And here, miles away from that war-swept land, another woman sang. And +there was honeysuckle outside, and late roses--and poppies, and there +was Peace. And the world which had not fought would forget. But the men +who had fought would remember. + +He heard Randy's voice, sharp with nerves. "Sing something else, Becky. +We've had enough of war----" + +The Major leaned across the table. "When did you last hear that song, +Paine?" + +"On the other side, a red-haired woman--whose lover had been killed. I +never want to hear it again----" + +"Nor I----" + +It was as if they were alone at the table, seeing the things which they +had left behind. What did these people know who had stayed at home? The +words were sacred--not to be sung; to be whispered--over the graves +of--France. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +STUFFED BIRDS + + +I + +The Country Club was, as Judge Bannister had been the first to declare, +"an excrescence." + +Under the old régime, there had been no need for country clubs. The +houses on the great estates had been thrown open for the county families +and their friends. There had been meat and drink for man and beast. + +The servant problem had, however, in these latter days, put a curb on +generous impulse. There were no more niggers underfoot, and hospitality +was necessarily curtailed. The people who at the time of the August +Horse Show had once packed great hampers with delicious foods, and who +had feasted under the trees amid all the loveliness of mellow-tinted +hills, now ordered by telephone a luncheon of cut-and-dried courses, and +motored down to eat it. After that, they looked at the horses, and with +the feeling upon them of the futility of such shows yawned a bit. In due +season, they held, the horse would be as extinct as the Dodo, and as +mythical as the Centaur. + +The Judge argued hotly for the things which had been. Love of the horse +was bred in the bone of Old Dominion men. He swore by all the gods that +when he had to part with his bays and ride behind gasoline, he would be +ready to die. + +Becky agreed with her grandfather. She adored the old traditions, and +she adored the Judge. She spent two months of every year with him in his +square brick house in Albemarle surrounded by unprofitable acres. The +remaining two months of her vacation were given to her mother's father, +Admiral Meredith, whose fortune had come down to him from whale-hunting +ancestors. The Admiral lived also in a square brick house, but it had no +acres, for it was on the Main Street of Nantucket town, with a Captain's +walk on top, and a spiral staircase piercing its middle. + +The other eight months of the year Becky had spent at school in an old +convent in Georgetown. She was a Protestant and a Presbyterian; the +Nantucket grandfather was a Unitarian of Quaker stock, Judge Bannister +was High Church, and it was his wife's Presbyterianism which had been +handed down to Becky. Religion had therefore nothing to do with her +residence at the school. A great many of the Bannister girls had been +educated at convents, and when a Bannister had done a thing once it was +apt to be done again. + +Becky was nineteen, and her school days were just over. She knew nothing +of men, she knew nothing indeed of life. The world was to her an open +sea, to sail its trackless wastes she had only a cockle-shell of dreams. + +"If anybody," said Judge Bannister, on the first day of the Horse Show, +"thinks I am going to eat dabs of things at the club when I can have +Mandy to cook for me, they think wrong." + +He gave orders, therefore, which belonged to more opulent days, when his +father's estate had swarmed with blacks. There was now in the Judge's +household only Mandy, the cook, and Calvin, her husband. Mandy sat up +half the night to bake a cake, and Calvin killed chickens at dawn, and +dressed them, and pounded the dough for biscuits on a marble slab, and +helped his wife with the mayonnaise. + +When at last the luncheon was packed there was coffee in the thermos +bottle. Prohibition was an assured fact, and the Judge would not break +the laws. The flowing glass must go into the discard with other +picturesque customs of the South. His own estate that had once been sold +by John Randolph to Thomas Jefferson for a bowl of arrack punch----! Old +times, old manners! The Judge drank his coffee with the air of one who +accepts a good thing regretfully. He stood staunchly by the +Administration. If the President had asked the sacrifice of his head, he +would have offered it on the platter of political allegiance. + +So on this August morning, an aristocrat by inheritance, and a democrat +by assumption, he drove his bays proudly. Calvin, in a worn blue coat, +sat beside him with his arms folded. + +Becky was on the back seat with Aunt Claudia. Aunt Claudia was a widow +and wore black. She was small and slight, and the black was made smart +by touches of white crepe. Aunt Claudia had not forgotten that she had +been a belle in Richmond. She was a stately little woman with a firm +conviction of the necessity of maintaining dignified standards of +living. She was in no sense a snob. But she held that women of birth and +breeding must preserve the fastidiousness of their ideals, lest there be +social chaos. + +"There would be no ladies left in the world," she often told Becky, "if +we older women went at the modern pace." + +Becky, in contrast to Aunt Claudia's smartness, showed up rather +ingloriously. She wore the stubbed russet shoes, a not too fresh cotton +frock of pale yellow, and a brown straw sailor. + +"You might at least have stopped to change your shoes," Aunt Claudia +told her, as they left the house behind. + +"I was out with Randy and the dogs. It was heavenly, Aunt Claudia." + +"My dear, if a walk with Randy is heavenly, what will you call Heaven +when you get to it?" + +They drove through the first gate, and Calvin climbed down to open it. +Beyond the gate the road descended gradually through an open pasture, +where sheep grazed on the hillside or lay at rest in the shade. The +bells of the leaders tinkled faintly, the ewes and the lambs were +calling. Beyond the big gate, the highroad was washed with the recent +rains. From the gate to the club was a matter of five miles, and the +bays ate up the distance easily. + +The people on the porch of the Country Club were very gay and gorgeous, +so that Becky in her careless frock and shabby shoes would have been a +pitiful contrast if she had cared in the least what the people on the +porch thought of her. But she did not care. She nodded and smiled to a +friend or two as the Judge stopped for a moment in the crush of motors. + +George Dalton was on the porch. When he saw Becky he leaned forward for +a good look at her. + +"Some girl," he said to Waterman, as the surrey moved on, "the one in +the sailor hat. Who is she?" + +Oscar Waterman was a newcomer in Albemarle. He had bought a thousand +acres, with an idea of grafting on to Southern environment his own +ideas of luxurious living. The county families had not called, but he +was not yet aware of his social isolation. He was rich, and most of the +county families were poor--from his point of view the odds were in his +favor--and it was never hard to get guests. He could always motor up to +Washington and New York, and bring a crowd back with him. His cellars +were well stocked, and his hospitality undiscriminating. + +"I don't know the girl," he told Dalton, "but the old man is Judge +Bannister. He's one of the natives--no money and oodles of pride." + +In calling Judge Bannister a "native," Oscar showed a lack of +proportion. A native, in the sense that he used the word, is a South Sea +Islander, indigenous but negligible. Oscar was fooled, you see, by the +Judge's old-fashioned clothes, and the high surrey, and the horses with +the flowing tails. His ideas of life had to do with motor cars and +mansions, and with everybody very much dressed up. He felt that the only +thing in the world that really counted was money. If you had enough of +it the world was yours! + + +II + +Year after year the Bannisters of Huntersfield had eaten their Horse +Show luncheon under a clump of old oaks beneath which the horses now +stopped. The big trees were dropping golden leaves in the dryness. From +the rise of the hill one looked down on the grandstand and the crowd as +from the seats of an amphitheater. + +Judge Bannister remembered when the women of the crowd had worn hoops +and waterfalls. Aunt Claudia's memory went back to bustles and bonnets. +There were deeper memories, too, than of clothes--of old friends and +young faces--there was always a moment of pensive retrospect when the +Bannisters stopped under the old oak on the hill. + +Randolph Paine, his mother and Major Prime were to join them at +luncheon. Separate plans had been made by the boarders who had packed +themselves into various cars and carriages, and had their own boxes and +baskets. + +"Caroline Paine is always late," the Judge said with some impatience; +"if we don't eat on time, we shall have to hurry. I have never hurried +in my life and I don't want to begin now." + +Claudia Beaufort was accustomed to impatience in men, and she was +inflexible as a hostess. "Well, of course, we couldn't begin without +them, could we?" she asked. "There they come now, Father. William, you'd +better help Major Prime." + +Randy was driving the fat mare, Rosalind. Nellie Custis, Randolph's wiry +hound, loped along with flapping ears in the rear of the low-seated +carriage. Major Prime was on the back seat with Mrs. Paine. + +"My dear Judge," he said, as the old gentleman came to the side of the +carriage, "I can't tell you how honored I am to be included in your +party. This is about the best thing that has happened to me in a long +time." + +"I wanted you to get the old atmosphere. You can't get it at the Country +Club. We Bannisters have lunched up here for sixty years--older than you +are, eh?" + +"Twenty years----" + +"We used to call it the races, but now they tack on the Horse Show. It +was different, of course, when all the old places were owned by the old +families. But they can't change the oaks and the sweep of the hills, and +the mettle of the horses, thank God." + +"I am sorry I was late," said Caroline Paine, as they settled themselves +under the trees, "but I went to town to have my hair waved." + +"I wish you wouldn't, Caroline," Mrs. Beaufort told her, "your hair is +nice enough without it." + +Caroline Paine took off her hat, "I couldn't get it up to look like +this, could I?" + +The Judge surveyed the undulations critically. "Caroline," he said, "you +are too pretty to need it." + +"I want to keep young for Randolph's sake," Mrs. Paine told him, "then +he'll like me better than any other girl." + +"You needn't think you have to get your hair curled to make me love +you," said her tall son; "you are ducky enough as you are." + +Major Prime, delighting in their lack of self-consciousness, made a +diplomatic contribution. "Why quarrel with such a charming coiffure?" + +Mrs. Paine smiled at him, comfortably. "I feel much better," she said; +"they are always trying to hold me back." + +She was a woman of ample proportions and of leisurely habit. Life had of +late hurried her a bit, but she still gave the effect of restful calm. +She was of the same generation as Aunt Claudia, and a widow. But she +wore her widowhood with a difference. She had on to-day a purple hat. +Her hair was white, her dress was white, and her shoes. She was prettier +than Aunt Claudia but she lacked her distinction of manner and of +carriage. + +"They always want to hold me back when I try to be up-to-date," she +repeated. + +Randy threw an acorn at her. "Nobody can hold you back, Mother," he +said, "when you get your mind on a thing. Aunt Claudia, what do you +hear from Truxton?" + +"A letter came this morning," said Mrs. Beaufort, lighting up with the +thought of it. "I hadn't heard for days before that. And I was worried." + +"Truxton hasn't killed himself writing letters since he went over," the +Judge asserted. "Claudia, can't we have lunch?" + +"William is unpacking the hamper now, Father. And I think Truxton has +done very well. It isn't easy for the boys to find time." + +"Randy wrote to me every week." + +"Now, Mother----" + +"Well, you did." + +"But I'm that kind. I have to get things off my mind. Truxton isn't. And +I'll bet when Aunt Claudia does get his letters that they are worth +reading." + +Mrs. Beaufort nodded. "They are lovely letters. I have the last one with +me; would you like to hear it?" + +"Not before lunch, Claudia," the Judge urged. + +"I will read it while the rest of you eat." There were red spots in Mrs. +Beaufort's cheeks. She adored her son. She could not understand her +father's critical attitude. Had she searched for motives, however, she +might have found them in the Judge's jealousy. + +It was while she was reading Truxton's letter that the Flippins came +by--Mr. Flippin and his wife, Mary, and little Fidelity. A slender +mulatto woman followed with a basket. + +The Flippins were one of the "second families." Between them and the +Paines of King's Crest and the Bannisters of Huntersfield stretched a +deep chasm of social prejudice. Three generations of Flippins had been +small farmers on rented lands. They had no coats-of-arms or family +trees. They were never asked to dine with the Paines or Bannisters, but +there had been always an interchange of small hospitalities, and much +neighborliness, and as children Mary Flippin, Randy and Becky and +Truxton had played together and had been great friends. + +So it was now as they stopped to speak to the Judge's party that Mrs. +Beaufort said graciously, "I am reading a letter from Truxton. Would you +like to hear it?" + +Mary, speaking with a sort of tense eagerness, said, "Yes." + +So the Flippins sat down, and Mrs. Beaufort read in her pleasant voice +the letter from France. + +Randy, lying on his back under the old oak, listened. Truxton gave a +joyous diary of the days--little details of the towns through which he +passed, of the houses where he was billeted, jokes of the men, of the +food they ate, of his hope of coming home. + +"He seems very happy," said Mrs. Beaufort, as she finished. + +"He is and he isn't----" + +"You might make yourself a little clearer, Randolph," said the Judge. + +"He is happy because France in summer is a pleasant sort of +Paradise--with the cabbages stuck up on the brown hillsides like +rosettes--and the minnows flashing in the little brooks and the old +mills turning--and he isn't happy--because he is homesick." + +Randy raised himself on his elbow and smiled at his listening +audience--and as he smiled he was aware of a change in Mary Flippin. The +brooding look was gone. She was leaning forward, lips parted--"Then you +think that he is--homesick?" + +"I don't _think_. I know. Why, over there, my bones actually ached for +Virginia." + +The Judge raised his coffee cup. "Virginia, God bless her," he murmured, +and drank it down! + +The Flippins moved on presently--the slender mulatto trailing after +them. + +"If the Flippins don't send that Daisy back to Washington," Mrs. Paine +remarked, "she'll spoil all the negroes on the place." + +Mrs. Beaufort agreed, "I don't know what we are coming to. Did you see +her high heels and tight skirt?" + +"Once upon a time," the Judge declaimed, "black wenches like that wore +red handkerchiefs on their heads and went barefoot. But the world moves, +and some day when we have white servants wished on us, we'll pray to God +to send our black ones back." + +Calvin was passing things expertly. Randy smiled at Becky as he filled +her plate. + +"Hungry?" + +"Ravenous." + +"You don't look it." + +"Don't I?" + +"No. You're not a bread and butter sort of person." + +"What kind am I?" + +"Sugar and spice and everything nice." + +"Did you learn to say such things in France?" + +"Haven't I always said them?" + +"Not in quite the same way. You've grown up, Randy. You seem _years_ +older." + +"Do you like me--older?" + +"Of course." There was warmth in her voice but no coquetry. "What a +silly thing to ask, Randy." + +Calvin, having served the lunch, ate his own particular feast of chicken +backs and necks under the surrey from a pasteboard box cover. Having +thus separated himself as it were from those he served, he was at his +ease. He knew his place and was happy in it. + +Mary Flippin also knew her place. But she was not happy. She sat higher +up on the hill with her child asleep in her arms, and looked down on the +Judge's party. Except for an accident of birth, she might be sitting now +among them. Would she ever sit among them? Would her little daughter, +Fidelity? + + +III + +"We are the only one of the old families who are eating lunch out of a +basket," said Caroline Paine; "next year we shall have to go to the +Country Club with the rest of them." + +"I shall never go to the Country Club," said Judge Bannister, "as long +as there is a nigger to fry chicken for me." + +"We may have to swim with the tide." + +"Don't tell me that you'd rather be up there than here, Caroline." + +"I'd like it for some things," Mrs. Paine admitted frankly; "you should +see the clothes that those Waterman women are wearing." + +"What do you care what they wear. You don't want to be like them, do +you?" + +"I may not care to be like them, but I want to look like them. I got the +pattern of this sweater I am knitting from one of my boarders. Do you +want it, Claudia?" + +Mrs. Beaufort winced at the word "boarders." She hated to think that +Caroline must---- "I never wear sweaters, Caroline. They are not my +style. But I am knitting one for Becky." + +"Is it blue?" Randy asked. "Becky ought always to wear blue, except when +she wears pale yellow. That was a heavenly thing you had on at dinner +the night we arrived, wasn't it, Major?" + +"Everything was heavenly. I felt like one who expecting a barren plain +sees--Paradise." + +It was not flattery and they knew it. They were hospitable souls, and in +a week he had become, as it were, one of them. + +Randy, returning to the subject in hand, asked, "Will you wear the blue +if I come up to-night, Becky?" + +"I will not." Becky was making herself a chaplet of yellow leaves, and +her bronze hair caught the light. "I will not. I shall probably put on +my old white if I dress for dinner." + +"Of course you'll dress," said Mrs. Beaufort; "there are certain things +which we must always demand of ourselves----" + +Caroline Paine agreed. "That's what I tell Randy when he says he +doesn't want to finish his law course. His father was a lawyer and his +grandfather. He owes it to them to live up to their standards." + +Randy was again flat on his back with his hands under his head. "If I +stay at the University, it means no money for either of us except what +you earn, Mother." + +The war had taken its toll of Caroline Paine. Things had not been easy +since her son had left her. They would not be easy now. "I know," she +said, "but you wouldn't want your father to be ashamed of you." + +Randy sat up. "It isn't that--but I ought to make some money----" + +The word was a challenge to the Judge. "Don't run with the mob, my boy. +The world is money-mad." + +"I'm not money-mad," said Randy; "I know what I should like to do if my +life was my own. But it isn't. And I'm not going to have Mother twist +and turn as she has twisted and turned for the last fifteen years in +order to get me educated up to the family standard." + +"If you don't mind I shouldn't." Caroline Paine was setting her feet to +a rocky path, but she did not falter. "You shouldn't mind if I don't." + +Becky laid down the chaplet of leaves. She knew some of the things +Caroline Paine had sacrificed and she was thrilled by them. "Randy," she +admonished, with youthful severity, "it would be a shame to disappoint +your mother." + +Randolph flushed beneath his dark skin. The Paines had an Indian strain +in them--Pocahontas was responsible for it, or some of the other +princesses who had mixed red blood with blue in the days when Virginia +belonged to the King. Randy showed signs of it in his square-set jaw, +the high lift of his head, his long easy stride, the straightness of his +black hair. He showed it, too, in a certain stoical impassiveness which +might have been taken for indifference. His world was, for the moment, +against him; he would attempt no argument. + +"I am afraid this doesn't interest Major Prime," he said. + +"It interests me very much," said the Major. "It is only another case of +the fighting man's adjustment to life after his return. We all have to +face it in one way or another." His eyes went out over the hills. They +were gray eyes, deep set, and, at this moment, kindly. They could blaze, +however, in stress of fighting, like bits of steel. "We all have to face +it in one way or another. And the future of America depends largely on +our seeing things straight." + +"Well, there's only one way for Randy to face it," said Caroline Paine, +firmly, "and that is to do as his fathers did before him." + +"If I do," Randy flared, "it will be three years before I can make a +living, and I'll be twenty-five." + +Becky put on the chaplet of leaves. It fitted like a cap. She might have +been a dryad, escaped for a moment from the old oak. "Three years isn't +long." + +"Suppose I should want to marry----" + +"Oh, you--Randy----" + +"But why shouldn't I?" + +"I don't want you to get married," she told him; "when I come down we +couldn't have our nice times together. You'd always be thinking about +your wife." + + +IV + +From the porch of the Country Club, George Dalton had seen the Judge's +party at luncheon. According to George's lexicon no one who could afford +to go to the club would eat out of a basket. He rather blushed for Becky +that she must sit there in the sight of everybody and share a feast with +a shabby old Judge, a lean and lank stripling with straight hair, a lame +duck of an officer, and two middle-aged women, who made spots of black +and purple on the landscape. Like Oscar, George's ideas of life had to +do largely with motor cars and yachts, and estates on Long Island, +palaces at Newport and Len ox and Palm Beach. During the war he had +served rather comfortably in a becoming uniform in the Quartermaster's +Department in Washington. Now that the war was over, he regretted the +becomings of the uniform. He felt to-day, however, that there were +compensations in his hunting pink. He was slightly bronzed and had blue +eyes. He was extremely popular with the women of the Waterman set, but +was held to be the especial property of Madge MacVeigh. + +Madge had observed his interest in the party on the hill. + +"George," she said, "what are you looking at?" + +"I am looking at those people who are picnicking. They probably have +ants in the salad and spiders in their coffee." + +"They are getting more out of it than you and I," said Madge. + +"How getting more?" + +"We are tired of things, Georgie-Porgie." + +"Speak for yourself, Madge." + +"I am speaking for both of us. You are tired of me, for example." + +"My dear girl, I am not." + +"You are. And I am tired of you. It's not your fault, and it's not mine. +It is the fault of any house-party. People see too much of each other. +I am glad I am going away to-morrow, and you'll be glad. And when we +have been separated a month, you will rush up to see me, and say you +couldn't live without me." + +She dissected him coolly. Madge had a modern way of looking at things. +She was not in the least sentimental. But she had big moments of +feeling. It was because of this deep current which swept her away now +and then from the shallows that she held Dalton's interest. He never +knew in what mood he should find her, and it added spice to their +friendship. + +"I didn't know you were going to-morrow." + +"Neither did I till this morning, but I am bored to death, Georgie." + +She did not look it. She was long-limbed, slender, with heavy +burned-gold hair, a skin which was pale gold after a July by the sea. +The mauve of her dress and hat emphasized the gold of hair and skin. +Some one had said that Madge MacVeigh at the end of a summer gave the +effect of a statue cast in new bronze. Dalton in the early days of their +friendship had called her his "Golden Girl." The name had stuck to her. +She had laughed at it but had liked it. "I should hate it," she had +said, "if I were rich. Perhaps some day some millionaire will turn me +into gold and make it true." + +"Just because you are bored to death," Dalton told her, "is no reason +why you should accuse me of it." + +"It isn't accusation. It's condolence. I am sorry for both of us, +George, that we can't sit there under the trees and eat out of a basket +and have spiders and ants in things and not mind it. Here we are in the +land of Smithfield hams and spoon-bread and we ate canned lobster for +lunch, and alligator pear salad." + +"Baked ham and spoon-bread--for our sins?" + +"It is because you and I have missed the baked ham and spoon-bread +atmosphere, that we are bored to death, Georgie. Everything in our lives +is the same wherever we go. When we are in Virginia we ought to do as +the Virginians do, and instead Oscar Waterman brings a little old New +York with him. It's Rome for the Romans, Georgie, lobsters in New +England, avocados in Los Angeles, hog and hominy here." + +There were others listening now, and she was aware of her amused +audience. + +"If you don't like my little old New York," Waterman said, "I'll change +it." + +"No, I am going back to the real thing, Oscar. To my sky-scrapers and +subways. You can't give us those down here--not yet. Perhaps some day +there will be a system of camouflage by which no matter where we are--in +desert or mountain, we can open our windows to the Woolworth Building +on the skyline or the Metropolitan Tower, or to Diana shooting at the +stars,--and have some little cars in tunnels to run us around your +estate." + +"By Jove, Jefferson nearly did it," said Waterman; "you should see the +subterranean passages at Monticello for the servants, so that the guests +could look over the grounds without a woolly head in sight." + +"Great old boob, Jefferson," said Waterman's wife, Flora. + +"No," Madge's eyes went out over the hills to where Monticello brooded +over great memories, "he was not a boob. He was so big that little +people like us can't focus him, Flora." + +She came down from her perch. "I adore great men," she said; "when I go +back, I shall make a pilgrimage to Oyster Bay. I wonder how many of us +who weep over Great heart's grave would have voted for him if he had +lived. In a sense we crucified him." + +"Madge is serious," said Flora Waterman, "now what do you think of +that?" + +"I have to be serious sometimes, Flora, to balance the rest of you. You +can be as gay as you please when I am gone, and if you perish, you +perish." + +George walked beside her as the party moved towards the grandstand. +"I've half a mind to go to New York with you, Madge. I came down on your +account." + +"It's because you followed me that I'm tired of you, Georgie. If you go, +I'll stay." + +She was smiling as she said it. But he did not smile. "Just as you wish, +of course. But you mustn't expect me to come running when you crook your +finger." + +"I never expect things, but you'll come." + +Perhaps she would not have been so sure if she could have looked into +his mind. The day that Becky had ridden away, hidden by the flaps of the +old surrey, the spark of his somewhat fickle interest had been lighted, +and the glimpse that he had had of her this morning had fanned the spark +into a flame. + +"Did you say the old man's name is Bannister?" he asked Oscar as the +Judge's party passed them later on their way to their seats. + +"Yes. Judge Bannister. I tried to buy his place before I decided on +Hamilton Hill. But he wouldn't sell. He said he wouldn't have any place +for his stuffed birds." + +"Stuffed birds?" + +"His hobby is the game birds of Virginia. He has a whole room of them. I +offered him a good price, but I suppose he'd rather starve than take +it." + +The Judge's box was just above Oscar Waterman's. Becky, looking up, saw +Dalton's eyes upon her. + +"It's the man who came with you on the train," she told Randy. + +"What's he wearing a pink coat for?" Randy demanded. "He isn't riding." + +"He probably knows that he looks well in it." + +"That isn't a reason." + +Becky took another look. "He has a head like the bust of Apollo in our +study hall." + +"I'd hate to have a head like that." + +"Well, you haven't," she told him; "you may hug that thought to yourself +if it is any consolation, Randy." + + +V + +Caroline Paine's boarders sat high up on the grandstand. If the boarders +seem in this book to be spoken of collectively, like the Chorus in a +Greek play, or the sisters and aunts and cousins in "Pinafore," it is +not because they are not individually interesting. It is because, _en +Massey_ only, have they any meaning in this history. + +Now as they sat on the grandstand, they discerned Mrs. Paine in the +Judge's box. They waved at her, and they waved at Randy, they waved also +at Major Prime. They demanded recognition--some of the more enthusiastic +detached themselves finally from the main group and came down to visit +Caroline. The overflow straggled along the steps to the edge of the +Waterman box. One genial gentleman was forced finally to sit on the +rail, so that his elbow stuck straight into the middle of the back of +George's huntsman's pink. + +George moved impatiently. "Can't you find any other place to sit?" + +The genial gentleman beamed on him. "I have a seat over there. But we +came down to see Mrs. Paine. She is in Judge Bannister's box and we +board with her--at King's Crest. And say, she's a corker!" + +George, surveying Becky with increasing interest, decided that she was a +bit above her surroundings. She sat as it were with--Publicans. George +may not have used the Scriptural phrase, but he had the feeling. He was +Pharisaic ally thankful that he was not as that conglomerate group in +the Bannister box. A cheap crowd was his estimate. It would be rather +nice to give the little girl a good time! + +Filled, therefore, with a high sense of his philanthropic purpose, he +planned a meeting. With his blue eyes on the flying horses, with his +staccato voice making quick comments, he had Becky in the back of his +mind. He found a moment, when the crowd went mad as the county favorite +came in, to write a line on the back of an envelope, and hand it to +Kemp, who hovered in the background, giving him quiet instructions. + +"Yes, sir," said Kemp guardedly, and stood at attention until the races +were over, and the crowd began to move, and then he handed the note to +Judge Bannister. + +The Judge put on his glasses and read it. "Where is he?" he asked Kemp. + +"In the other box, sir. The one above." + +"Tell him to come down." + +"Yes, sir, thank you, sir." + +The Judge was as pleased as Punch. "That man up there in Waterman's box +has heard of my collection," he explained to his party. "He wants me to +settle a point about the Virginia partridge." + +"Which man?" Randy's tone was ominous. + +Dalton's arrival saved the Judge an answer. In his hunting pink, with +his Apollo head, Dalton was upon them. The Judge, passing him around to +the members of his party, came at last to Becky. + +"My granddaughter, Becky Bannister." + +With George's sparkling gaze bent full upon her, Becky blushed. + +Randy saw the blush. "Oh, Lord," he said, under his breath, and stuck +his hands in his pockets. + +"I've always called it a quail," Dalton was saying. + +"You would if you come from the North. To be exact, it isn't either, +it's an American Bob-white. I'd be glad to have you come up and look at +my collection. There is every kind of bird that has been shot in +Virginia fields or Virginia waters. I've got a Trumpeter Swan. The last +one was seen in the Chesapeake in sixty-nine. Mine was killed and +stuffed in the forties. He is in a perfect state of preservation, and in +the original glass case." + +"I'd like to come," George told him. "Could I--to-night? I don't know +just how long I shall be staying down." + +"Any time--any time. To-night, of course. There's nothing I like better +than to talk about my birds, unless it is to eat them. Isn't that so, +Claudia?" + +"Yes, Father." Mrs. Beaufort was studying Dalton closely. His manner was +perfect. It was, indeed, she decided, too perfect. "He is thinking too +much of the way he does it." The one sin in Aunt Claudia's mind was +social self-consciousness. People who thought all of the time about +manners hadn't been brought up to them. They must have them without +thinking. George was not, she decided, a gentleman in the Old Dominion +sense. Dalton would have been amazed could he have looked into Aunt +Claudia's mind and have seen himself a--Publican. + +"Father," she said, after Dalton had left them, "did I hear you invite +him to dinner?" + +"Yes, my dear, but he could not come----" + +"I'm glad he couldn't." + +"Why?" + +"I'm not sure that he's--our kind----" + +"Nonsense, he's a very fine fellow." + +"How do you know?" + +"Well, I know this," testily, "that I am not to be instructed as to the +sort of person I can ask to my house." + +"Oh, Father, I didn't mean that. Of course you can do as you please." + +"Of course I shall, Claudia." + +"I think he is charming," said Mrs. Paine. "He has lovely eyes." + +"Hasn't he?" said little Becky. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE WOLF IN THE FOREST + + +I + +The Bird Room at Judge Bannister's was back of the library. It was a big +room lined with glass cases. There hung about it always the faint odor +of preservatives. The Trumpeter Swan had a case to himself over the +mantel. He had been rather stiffly posed on a bed of artificial moss, +but nothing could spoil the beauty of him--the white of his plumage, the +elegance of his lines. He was one of a dying race--the descendants of +the men who had once killed for food had killed later to gratify the +vanity of women who must have swans down to set off their beauty, puffs +to powder their noses. No more did great flocks wing an exalted flight, +high in the heavens, or rest like a blanket of snow on river banks. The +old kings were dead--the glassy eyes of the Trumpeter looked out upon a +world which knew his kind no more. + +In the other cases were the little birds and big ones--ducks, swimming +on crystal pools, canvas-backs and redheads, mallards and teal; +Bob-whites, single and in coveys; sandpipers, tip-ups and peeps, those +little ghosts of the seashore, shadows on the sand; there were soar and +other rails, robins and blackbirds, larks and sparrows, wild turkeys and +wild geese, all the toll which the hunter takes from field and stream +and forest. + +It was in a sense a tragic room, but it had never seemed that to Becky. +She came of a race of men who had hunted from instinct but with a sense +of honor. The Judge and those of his kind hated wanton killing. Their +guns would never have swept away the feathered tribes of tree and sky. +It was the trappers and the pot-hunters who had done that. There had +motored once to the Judge's mansion a man and his wife who had raged at +the brutes who hunted for sport. They had worn fur coats and there had +been a bird's breast on the woman's hat. + +The Judge, holding on to his temper, had exploded finally. "If you were +consistent," he had flung at them, "you would not be decked in the +bodies of birds and beasts." + +Becky loved the birds in the glass cases, the peeps and the tip-ups, the +old owl who did not belong among the game birds, but who, with the great +eagle with the outstretched wings, had been admitted because they had +been shot within the environs of the estate. She loved the little nests +of tinted eggs, the ducks on the crystal pools. + +But most of all she loved the Trumpeter. Years ago the Judge had told +her of the wild swans who flew so high that no eye could see them. Yet +the sound of their trumpets might be heard. It was like the fairy tale +of "The Seven Brothers," who were princes, and who were turned into +swans and wore gold crowns on their heads. She was prepared to believe +anything of the Trumpeter. She had often tiptoed down in the night, +expecting to see his case empty, and to hear his trumpet sounding high +up near the moon. + +There was a moon to-night. Dinner was always late at Huntersfield. In +the old days three o'clock had been the fashionable hour for dining in +the county, with a hot supper at eight. Aunt Claudia, keeping up with +the times, had decided that instead of dining and supping, they must +lunch and dine. The Judge had agreed, stipulating that there should be +no change in the evening hour. "Serve it in courses, if you like, and +call it dinner. But don't have it before candle-light." + +So the moon was up when Becky came down in her blue dress. She had not +expected to wear the blue. In spite of the fact that Randy and his +mother and Major Prime had come back with them for dinner, she had +planned to wear her old white, which had been washed and laid out on the +bed by Mandy. But the blue was more becoming, and the man with the +Apollo head had eyes to see. + +She came into the Bird Room with a candle in her hand. There was a lamp +high up, but she could not reach it, so she always carried a candle. She +set it down on the case where the Bob-whites were cuddled in brown +groups. She whistled a note, and listened to catch the answer. It had +been a trick of hers as a child, and she had heard them whistle in +response. She had been so sure that she heard them--a far-off silvery +call---- + +Well, why not? Might not their little souls be fluttering close? "You +darlings," she said aloud. + +Randy, arriving at that moment on the threshold, heard her. "You are +playing the old game," he said. + +"Oh, yes," she caught her breath, "do you remember?" + +He came into the room. "I remembered a thousand times when I was in +France. I thought of this room and of the Trumpeter Swan, and of how you +and I used to listen on still nights and think we heard him. There was +one night after an awful day--with a moon like this over the +battlefield, and across the moon came a black, thin streak--and a bugle +sounded--far away. I was half asleep, and I said, 'Becky, there's the +swan,' and the fellow next to me poked his elbow in my ribs, and said, +'You're dreaming.' But I wasn't--quite, for the thin black streak was a +Zeppelin----" + +She came up close to him and laid her hand on his arm. He towered above +her. "Randy," she asked, "was the war very dreadful?" + +"Yes," he said, "it was. More dreadful than you people at home can ever +grasp. But I want you to know this, Becky, that there isn't one of us +who wouldn't go through it again in the same cause." + +There was no swagger in his statement, just simple earnestness. The room +was very still for a moment. + +Then Becky said, "Well, it's awfully nice to have you home again," and +Randy, looking down at the little hand on his arm, had to hold on to +himself not to put his own over it. + +But she was too dear and precious----! So he just said, gently, "And I'm +glad to be at home, my dear," and they walked to the window together, +and stood looking out at the moon. Behind them the old eagle watched +with outstretched wings, the great free bird which we stamp on American +silver, backed with "In God We Trust." It is not a bad combination, and +things in this country might, perhaps, have been less chaotic if we had +taught newcomers to link love of God with love of liberty. + +"Mr. Dalton is coming to see the birds," said Becky, and in a moment she +had spoiled everything for Randy. + +"Is that why you put on your blue dress?" + +She was honest. "I am not sure. Perhaps." + +"Yet you thought the old white one was good enough for me." + +"Well, don't you like me just as well in my old white as in this?" + +"Yes, of course." + +"Well, then," Becky was triumphant, "why should I bother to change for +you, Randy, when you like me just as well in anything?" + +The argument was unanswerable, but Randy was not satisfied. "It is a +mistake," he said, "not to be as nice to old friends as new ones." + +"But I am nice. You said so yourself this afternoon. That I was sugar +and spice and everything--nice----" + +He laughed. "You are, of course. And I didn't come all the way from +France to quarrel with you----" + +"We've always quarreled, Randy." + +"I wonder why?" + +"Sister Loretta says that people only argue when they like each other. +Otherwise they wouldn't want to convince." + +"Do you quarrel with Sister Loretta?" + +"Of course not. Nuns don't. But she writes notes when she doesn't agree +with me--little sermons--and pins them on my pillow. She's a great +dear. She hates to have me leave the school. She has the feeling that +the world is a dark forest, and that I am Red Riding Hood, and that the +Wolf will get me." + + +II + +Dalton found them all at dinner when he reached Huntersfield. He was not +in the least prepared for the scene which met his eyes--shining +mahogany, old silver and Sheffield, tall white candles, Calvin in a +snowy jacket, Mrs. Beaufort and Mrs. Paine in low-necked gowns, the +Judge and Randy in dinner coats somewhat the worse for wear, Becky in +thin, delicate blue, with a string of pearls which seemed to George an +excellent imitation of the real thing. + +He had thought that the trail of Mrs. Paine's boarding-house might be +over it all. He had known boarding-houses as a boy, before his father +made his money. There had been basement dining-rooms, catsup bottles, +and people passing everything to everybody else! + +"I'm afraid I'm early," he said in his quick voice. + +"Not a bit. Calvin, place a chair for Mr. Dalton." + +There were fruit and nuts and raisins in a great silver Pegeen, with fat +cupids making love among garlands. There was coffee in Severus cups. + +Back among the shadows twinkled a priceless mirror; shutting off +Calvin's serving table was a painted screen worth its weight in gold. It +was a far cry from the catsup bottles and squalid service of George's +early days. The Bannisters of Huntersfield wore their poverty like a +plume! + +The Judge carried Dalton off presently to the Bird Boom. George went +with reluctance. This was not what he had come for. Becky, slim and +small, with her hair peaked up to a topknot, Becky in pale blue, Becky +as fair as her string of imitation pearls, Becky in the golden haze of +the softly illumined room, Becky, Becky Bannister--the name chimed in +his ears. + +Dalton had had some difficulty in getting away from Hamilton Hill. + +"It's my last night," Madge had said; "shall we go out in the garden and +watch the moon rise?" + +"Sorry," George had told her, "but I've promised Flora to take a fourth +hand at bridge." + +"And after that?" asked Madge softly. + +"What do you mean?" + +"Who is the new--little girl?" + +It was useless to pretend. "She's a beauty, rather, isn't she?" + +"Oh, Georgie-Porgie, I wish you wouldn't." + +"Wouldn't what?" + +"Kiss the girls--and make them--cry----" + +"You've never cried----" + +She laughed at that. "If I haven't it is because I know that afterwards +you always--run away." + +He admitted it. "One can't marry them all." + +"I wonder if you are ever serious," she told him, her chin in her hand. + +"I am always serious. That's what makes it--interesting----" + +"But the poor little--hearts?" + +"Some one has to teach, them," said George, "that it's a pretty +game----" + +"Will it be always a game--to you--Georgie?" + +"Who knows?" he said. "So far I've held trumps----" + +"Your conceit is colossal, but somehow you seem to get away with it." +She smiled and stood up. "I'm going to bed early. I have been losing my +beauty sleep lately, Georgie." + +He chose to be gallant. "You are not losing your beauty, if that's what +you mean." + +Her dinner gown was of the same shade of mauve that she had worn in the +afternoon. But it was of a material so sheer that the gold of her skin +seemed to shine through. + +"Good-night, Golden Girl," said Dalton, and kissed the tips of her +fingers as she stood on the stairs. Then he went off to join the others. + +Madge did not go to bed. She went out alone and watched the moon rise. +Oscar Waterman's house was on a hill which gave a view of the whole +valley. Gradually under the moon the houses of Charlottesville showed +the outlines of the University, and far beyond the shadowy sweep of the +Blue Ridge. What a world it had been in the old days--great men had +ridden over these red roads in swaying carriages, Jefferson, Lafayette, +Washington himself. + +If she could only meet men like that. Men to whom life was more than a +game--a carnival. From the stone bench where she sat she had a view +through the long French windows of the three tables of bridge--there +were slender, restless girls, eager, elegant youths. "Perhaps they are +no worse than those who lived here before them," Madge's sense of +justice told her. "But isn't there something better?" + +From her window later, she saw Dalton's car flash out into the road. The +light wound down and down, and appeared at last upon the highway. It was +not the first time that George had played the game with another girl. +But he had always come back to her. She had often wondered why she let +him come. "Why do I let him?" she asked the moon. + + +III + +It really was a great moon. It shone through the windows of the Bird +Room at Huntersfield, wooing George out into the fragrant night. He +could hear voices on the lawn--young Paine's laugh--Becky's. Once when +he looked he saw them on the ridge, silhouetted against the golden sky. +They were dancing, and Randy's clear whistle, piping a modern tune, came +up to him, tantalizing him. + +But the Judge held him. It took him nearly an hour to get through with +the Bob-whites and the sandpipers, the wild turkeys, the ducks and the +wild geese. And long before that time George was bored to extinction. He +had little imagination. To him the Trumpeter was just a stuffed old +bird. He could not picture him as blowing his trumpet beside the moon, +or wearing a golden crown as in "The Seven Brothers." He had never heard +of "The Seven Brothers," and nobody in the world wore crowns except +kings. As for the old eagle, it is doubtful whether George had ever felt +the symbolism of his presence on a silver coin, or that he had ever +linked him in his heart with God. + +Then, suddenly, the whole world changed. Becky appeared on the +threshold. + +"Grandfather," she said, "Aunt Claudia says there is lemonade on the +lawn." + +"In a moment, my dear." + +George rose hastily. "Don't let me keep you, Judge----" + +Becky advanced into the room. "Aren't the birds wonderful?" + +"They are," said George, seeing them wonderful for the first time. + +"I always feel," she said, "as if some time they will flap their wings +and fly away--on a night like this--the swans going first, and then the +ducks and geese, and last of all the little birds, trailing across the +moon----" Her hands fluttered to show them trailing. Becky used her +hands a great deal when she talked. Aunt Claudia deplored it as +indicating too little repose. The nuns, she felt, should have corrected +the habit. But the nuns had loved Becky's descriptive hands, poking, +emphasizing, and had let her alone. + +The three of them, the Judge and Becky and Dalton, went out together. +The little group which sat in the wide moonlighted space in front of the +house was dwarfed by the great trees which hung in masses of black +against the brilliant night. The white dresses of the women seemed +touched with silver. + +The lemonade was delicious, and Aunt Claudia forced herself to be +gracious. Caroline Paine was gracious without an effort. She liked +Dalton. Not in the same way, perhaps, that she liked Major Prime, but +he was undoubtedly handsome, and of a world which wore lovely clothes +and did not have to count its pennies. + +Major Prime had little to say. He was content to sit there in the +fragrant night and listen to the rest. A year ago he had been jolted +over rough roads in an ambulance. There had been a moon and men +groaning. There had seemed to him something sinister about that white +night with its spectral shadows, and with the trenches of the enemy +wriggling like great serpents underground. The trail of the serpent was +still over the world. He had been caught but not killed. There was still +poison in his fangs! + +He spoke sharply, therefore, when Dalton said, "It was a great adventure +for a lot of fellows who went over----" + +"Don't," said the Major, and sat up. "Does it matter what took them? +_The thing that matters is how they came back_----" + +"What do you mean?" + +"A thousand reasons took them over. Some of them went because they had +to, some of them because they wanted to. Some of them dramatized +themselves as heroes and hoped for an opportunity to demonstrate their +courage. Some of them were scared stiff, but went because of their +consciences, some of them wanted to fight and some of them didn't, but +whatever the reason, _they went_. And now they are back, and it is much +more important to know what they think now about war than what they +thought about it when they were enlisted or drafted. If their baptism of +fire has made them hate cruelty and injustice, if it has opened their +eyes to the dangers of a dreaming idealism which refuses to see evil +until evil has had its way, if it has made them swear to purge America +of the things which has made Germany the slimy crawling enemy of the +universe, if they have come back feeling that God is in His Heaven but +that things can't be right with the world until we come to think in +terms of personal as well as of national righteousness--if they have +come back thus illumined, then we can concede to them their great +adventure. But if they have come back to forget that democracy is on +trial, that we have talked of it to other nations and do not know it +ourselves, if they have come back to let injustice or ignorance +rule--then they had better have died on the fields of France----" + +He stopped suddenly amid a startled silence. Not a sound from any of +them. + +"I beg your pardon," he laughed a bit awkwardly, "I didn't mean to +preach a sermon." + +"Don't spoil it, _please_," Aunt Claudia begged brokenly; "I wish more +men would speak out." + +"May I say this, then, before I stop? The future of our country is in +the hands of the men who fought in France. On them must descend the +mantles of our great men, Washington, Lincoln, Roosevelt--we must walk +with these spirits if we love America----" + +"Do you wonder," Randy said, under his breath to Becky, "that his men +fought, and that they died for him?" + +She found her little handkerchief and wiped her eyes. "He's +a--perfect--darling," she whispered, and could say no more. + +Dalton was for the time eclipsed. He knew it and was not at ease. He was +glad when Mrs. Paine stood up. "I am sorry to tear myself away. But I +must. I can't be sure that Susie has made up the morning rolls. There's +a camp-meeting at Jessica, and she's lost the little mind that she +usually puts on her cooking." + +Randy and the Major went with her in the low carriage, with Rosalind +making good time towards the home stable, and with Nellie Custis +following with flapping ears. + +Dalton stayed on. The Judge urged him. "It's too lovely to go in," he +said; "what's your hurry?" + +Aunt Claudia, who was inexpressibly weary, felt that her father was +exceeding the bounds of necessary hospitality. She felt, too, that the +length of Dalton's first call was inexcusable. But she did not go to +bed. As long as Becky was there, she should stay to chaperon her. With a +sense of martyrdom upon her, Mrs. Beaufort sat stiffly in her chair. + +The Judge was talkative and brilliant, glad of a new and apparently +attentive listener. Becky had little to say. She sat with her small feet +set primly on the ground. Her hands were folded in her lap. Dalton was +used to girls who lounged or who hung fatuously on his words, as if they +had set themselves to please him. + +But Becky had no arts. She was frank and unaffected, and apparently not +unconscious of Dalton's charms. The whole thing was, he felt, going to +be rather stimulating. + +When at last he left them, he asked the Judge if he might come again. +"I'd like to look at those birds by daylight." + +Becky, giving him her hand, hoped that he might come. She had been all +the evening in a sort of waking dream. Even when Dalton had been silent, +she had been intensely aware of his presence, and when he had talked, he +had seemed to speak to her alone, although his words were for others. + +"I saw you dancing," he said, before he dropped her hand. + +"Oh, did you?" + +"Yes." + +Back of the house the dogs barked. + +"Will you dance some time with me?" + +"Oh, could I?" + +"Why not?" + +A moment later he was gone. The light of his motor flashed down the +hills like a falling star. + +"I wonder what made the dogs bark," the Judge said as they went in. + +"They probably thought it was morning," was Mrs. Beaufort's retort, as +she preceded Becky up the stairs. + + +IV + +The dogs had barked because Randy after a quick drive home had walked +back to Huntersfield. + +"Look here," he burst out as he and the Major had stood on the steps of +the Schoolhouse, "do you like him?" + +"Who? Dalton?" + +"Yes." + +"He's not a man's man," the Major said, "and he doesn't care in the +least what you and I think of him." + +"Doesn't he?" + +"No, and he doesn't care for--stuffed birds--and he doesn't care for the +Judge, and he doesn't care for Mrs. Beaufort----" + +"Oh, you needn't rub it in. I know what he's after." + +"Do you?" + +"Yes----" + +The Major whistled softly a lilting tune. He had been called "The +Whistling Major" by his men and they had liked his clear piping. + +He stopped abruptly. "Well, you can't build fences around lovely little +ladies----" + +"I wish I could. I'd like to shut her up in a tower----" + +They left it there. It was really not a thing to be talked about. They +both knew it, and stopped in time. + +Randy, climbing the outside stairs, presently, to his bedroom, turned at +the upper landing to survey the scene spread out before him. The hills +were steeped in silence. The world was black and gold--the fragrance of +the honeysuckle came up from the hedge below. On such a night as this +one could not sleep. He felt himself restless, emotionally keyed up. He +descended the stairs. Then, suddenly, he found himself taking the trail +back towards Huntersfield. + +He walked easily, following the path which led across the hills. The +distance was not great, and he had often walked it. He loved a night +like this. As he came to a stretch of woodland, he went under the trees +with the thrill of one who enters an enchanted forest. + +An owl hooted overhead. A whip-poor-will in a distant swamp sounded his +plaintive call. + +Randy could not have analyzed the instinct which sent him back to Becky. +It was not in the least to spy upon her, nor upon Dalton. He only knew +that he could not sleep, that something drew him on and on, as Romeo was +drawn perchance to Capulet's orchard. + +He came out from under the trees to other hills. He was still on his own +land. These acres had belonged to his father, his grandfather, his +great-grandfather, and back of that to a certain gallant gentleman who +had come to Virginia with grants from the King. There had been, too, a +great chief, whose blood was in his veins, and who had roamed through +this land before Europe knew it. Powhatan was a rare old name to link +with one's own, and Randy had a Virginian's pride in his savage strain. + +So, as he went along, he saw canoes upon the shining river. He saw tall +forms with feathers blowing. He saw fires on the heights. + +The hill in front of him dipped to a little stream. He and Becky had +once waded in that stream together. How white her feet had been on the +brown stones. His life, as he thought of it, was bound up in memories of +Becky. She had come down from school for blissful week-ends and +holidays, and she and Randy had tramped over the hills and through the +pine woods, finding wild-flowers in the spring, arbutus, flushing to +beauty in its hidden bed, blood-root, hepatica, wind-flowers, violets in +a purple glory; finding in the summer wild roses, dewberries, +blackberries, bees and butterflies, the cool shade of the little groves, +the shine and shimmer of the streams; finding in the fall a golden +stillness and the redness of Virginia Creeper. They had ridden on +horseback over the clay roads, they had roamed the stubble with a pack +of wiry hounds at their heels, they had gathered Christmas greens, they +had sung carols, they had watched the Old Year out and the New Year in, +and their souls had been knit in a comradeship which had been a very +fine thing indeed for a boy like Randy and a girl like Becky. + +There had been, too, about their friendship a rather engaging +seriousness. They had talked a great deal of futures. They had dreamed +together very great dreams. Their dreams had, of course, changed from +time to time. There had been that dream of Becky's when she first went +to the convent, that she wanted some day to be a nun like Sister +Loretto. The fact that it would involve a change of faith was thrashed +over flamingly by Randy. "It is all very well for an old woman, Becky. +But you'd hate it." + +Becky had been sure that she would not hate it. "You don't know how +lovely she looks in the chapel." + +"Well, there are other ways to look lovely." + +"But it would be nice to be--good." + +"You are good enough." + +"I am not really, Randy. Sister Loretto says her prayers all day----" + +"How often do you say yours?" + +"Oh, at night. And in the mornings--sometimes----" + +"That's enough for anybody. If you say them hard enough once, what more +can the Lord ask?" + +He had been a rather fierce figure as he had flung his questions, but he +had not swerved her in the least from her thought of herself as a novice +in a white veil, and later as a full-fledged sister, with beads and a +black head-dress. + +This dream had, in time, been supplanted by one imposed upon her by the +ambitions of a much-admired classmate. + +"Maude and I are going to be doctors," Becky had announced as she and +Randy had walked over the fields with the hounds at their heels. "It's a +great opportunity for women, Randy, and we shall study in Philadelphia." + +"Shall you like cutting people up?" he had demanded brutally. + +She had shuddered. "I shan't have to cut them up very much, shall I?" + +"You'll have to cut them up a lot. All doctors do, and sometimes they +are dead." + +She had argued a bit shakily after that, and that night she had slept +badly. The next morning they had gone over it again. "You fainted when +the kitten's paw was crushed in the door." + +"It was dreadful----" + +"And you cried when I cut my foot with the hatchet and we were out in +the woods. And if you are going to be a doctor you'll have to look at +people who are crushed and cut----" + +"Oh, please, Randy----" + +Three days of such intensive argument had settled it. Becky decided that +it was, after all, better to be an authoress. "There was Louisa Alcott, +you know, Randy." + +He was scornful. "Women weren't made for that--to sit in an attic and +write. Why do you keep talking about doing things, Becky? You'll get +married when you grow up and that will be the end of it." + +"I am not going to get married, Randy." + +"Well, of course you will, and I shall marry and be a lawyer like my +father, and perhaps I'll go to Congress." + +Later he had a leaning towards the ministry. "If I preached I could make +the world better, Becky." + +That was the time when she had come down for Hallowe'en, and it was on +Sunday evening that they had talked it over in the Bird Room at +Huntersfield. There had been a smouldering fire on the wide hearth, and +the Trumpeter Swan had stared down at them with shining eyes. They had +been to church that morning and the text had been, "The harvest is past, +the summer is ended, and we are not saved." + +"I want to make the world better, Becky," Randy had said in the still +twilight, and Becky had answered in an awed tone, "It would be so +splendid to see you in the pulpit, Randy, wearing a gown like Dr. +Hodge." + +But the pulpit to Randy had meant more than that. And the next day when +they walked through the deserted mill town, he had said, "Everybody is +dead who lived here, and once they were alive like us." + +She had shivered, "I don't like to think of it." + +"It's a thing we've all got to think of. I like to remember that Thomas +Jefferson came riding through and stopped at the mill and talked to the +miller." + +"How dreadful to know that they are--dead." + +"Mother says that men like Jefferson never die. Their souls go marching +on." + +The stream which ground the county's corn was at their feet. "But what +about the miller?" Becky had asked; "does his soul march, too?" + +Randy, with the burden of yesterday's sermon upon him, hoped that the +miller was saved. + +He smiled now as he thought of the rigidness of his boyish theology. To +him in those days Heaven was Heaven and Hell was Hell. + +The years at school had brought doubt--apostasy. Then on the fields of +France, Randy's God had come back to him--the Christ who bound up +wounds, who gave a cup of cold water, who fought with flaming sword +against the battalions of brutality, who led up and up that white +company who gave their lives for a glorious Cause. Here, indeed, was a +God of righteousness and of justice, of tenderness and purity. To other +men than Randy, Christ had in a very personal and specific sense been +born across the sea. + +It was in France, too, that the dream had come to him of a future of +creative purpose. He had always wanted to write. Looking back over his +University days, he was aware of a formative process which had led +towards this end. It was there he had communed with the spirit of a +tragic muse. There had been all the traditions of Poe and his +tempestuous youth--and Randy, passing the door which had once opened and +closed on that dark figure, had felt the thrill of a living +personality--of one who spoke still in lines of ineffable +beauty--"_Banners yellow, glorious, golden, On its roof did float and +flow_----" and again "_A dirge for her the doubly dead, in that she died +so young_----" with the gayety and gloom and grandeur of those chiming, +rhyming, tolling bells--"_Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic +rhyme_----" and that "_grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly +shore_----" + +"Do you think I could write?" Randy had asked one of his teachers, +coming verse-saturated to the question. + +The man had looked at him with somber eyes. "You have an ear for it--and +an eye---- But genius pays a price." + +"What do you mean?" + +"It shows its heart to the world, dissects its sacred thoughts, has no +secrets----" + +"But think of leaving a thing behind you like--'To Helen----'" + +"Do you think the knowledge that he had written a few bits of +incomparable verse helped Poe to live? If he had invented a pill or a +headache powder, he would have slept on down and have dined from gold +dishes." + +"I'd rather write 'Ulalume' than dine from gold dishes." + +"You think that now. But in twenty years you will sigh for a--feather +bed----" + +"You don't believe that." + +There had come a lighting of the somber eyes. "My dear fellow, if you, +by the grace of God, have it in you to write, what I believe won't have +anything to do with it. You will crucify yourself for the sake of a +line--starve for the love of a rhythm." + +Randy had not yet starved for love of a rhythm, but he had lost sleep +during those nights in France, trying to put into words the things that +gripped his soul. There had been beauty as well as horror in those days. +What a world it had been, a world of men--a striving, eager group, +raised for the moment above sordidness, above self---- + +He had not found verse his medium, although he had drunk eagerly of the +golden cups which others had to offer him. But his prose had gained +because of his belief in beauty of structure and of singing lovely +words. As yet he had nothing to show for his pains, but practice had +given strength to his pen--he felt that some day with the right theme he +might do--wonders---- + +The trees had again closed in about him. A shadow flitted by--a fox, +unafraid and in search of a belated meal. Randy remembered the days +when he and Becky had thought that there might be wolves in the forest. +He laughed a little, recalling Becky's words. "Sister Loretto has the +feeling that the world is a dark forest, and that I am Red Riding Hood." +Was it that which had brought him back? Was there, indeed, a Wolf? + +When he reached Huntersfield, and the dogs barked, he had feared for the +moment discovery. He was saved, however, by the friendly silence which +followed that first note of alarm. The dogs knew him and followed him +with wagging tails as he skirted the lawn and came at last to the gate +which had closed a few minutes before on Dalton's car. He saw the Judge +go in, Aunt Claudia, Becky--shadowy figures between the white pillars. + +Then, after a moment, a room on the second floor was illumined. The +shade was up and he saw the interior as one sees the scene of a play. +There was the outline of a rose-colored canopy, the gleam of a mirror, +the shine of polished wood, and in the center, Becky in pale blue, with +a candle in her hand. + +And as he saw her there, Randolph knew why he had come. To worship at a +shrine. That was where Becky belonged--high above him. The flame of the +candle was a sacred fire. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +RAIN AND RANDY'S SOUL + + +I + +Madge came down the next morning dressed for her journey. "Oscar and +Flora are going to take me as far as Washington in their car. They want +you to make a fourth, Georgie." + +Dalton was eating alone. Breakfast was served at small tables on the +west terrace. There was a flagged stone space with wide awnings +overhead. Except that it overlooked a formal garden instead of streets, +one might have been in a Parisian café. The idea was Oscar's. Dalton had +laughed at him. "You'll be a _boulevardier_, Oscar, until you die." + +Oscar had been sulky. "Well, how do you want me to do it?" + +"Breakfast in bed--or in a breakfast room with things hot on the +sideboard, luncheon, out here on the terrace when the weather permits, +tea in the garden, dinner in great state in the big dining-room." + +"I suppose you think you know all about it. But the thing that I am +always asking myself is, were you born to it, Dalton?" + +"I've been around a lot," Dalton evaded. "Of course if you don't want me +to be perfectly frank with you, I won't." + +"Be as frank as you please," Oscar had said, "but it's your air of +knowing everything that gets me." + +Dalton's breakfast was a hearty one--bacon and two eggs, and a pile of +buttered toast. There had been a melon to begin with, and there was a +pot of coffee. He was eating with an appetite when Madge came down. + +"I had mine in bed," Madge said, as George rose and pulled out a chair +for her. "Isn't this the beastliest fashion, having little tables?" + +"That's what I told Oscar." + +"Oscar and Flora will never have too much of restaurants. They belong to +the class which finds all that it wants in a jazz band and scrambled +eggs at Jack's at one o'clock in the morning. Georgie, in my next +incarnation, I hope there won't be any dansants or night frolics. I'd +like a May-pole in the sunshine and a lot of plump and rosy women and +bluff and hearty men for my friends--with a fine old farmhouse and +myself in the dairy making butter----" + +George smiled at her. "I should have fancied you an Egyptian princess, +with twin serpents above your forehead instead of that turban." + +"Heavens, no. I want no ardours and no Anthonys. Tell me about the new +little girl, Georgie." + +"How do you know there is a--new little girl?" + +"I know your tricks and your manners, and the way you managed to meet +her at the Horse Show. And you saw her last night." + +"How do you know?" + +"By the light in your eyes." + +"Do I show it like that? Well, she's rather--not to be talked about, +Madge----" + +She was not in the least affronted. "So that's it? You always begin that +way--putting them on a pedestal---- If you'd only keep one of us there +it might do you good." + +"Which one--you?" he leaned a little forward. + +"No." Indignation stirred within her. How easy it was for him to play +the game. And last night she had lain long awake, listening for the +sound of his motor. She had seen the moon set, and spectral dawn steal +into the garden. "No, I'm running away. I am tired of drifting always on +the tides of other people's inclination. We have stayed down here where +it is hot because Oscar and Flora like it, yet there's all the coolness +of the North Shore waiting for us----" + +She rose and walked to the edge of the terrace. The garden was splashed +now with clear color, purple and rose and gold. The air was oppressive, +with a gathering haze back of the hills. + +"I'm tired of it. Some day I'm going to flap my wings and fly away where +you won't be able to find me, Georgie. I'd rather be a wild gull to the +wind-swept sky, than a tame pigeon--to eat from your hand----" She said +it lightly; this was not a moment for plaintiveness. + +There was a dancing light in his eyes. "You're a golden pheasant--and +you'll never fly so far that I shan't find you." + +Oscar arriving at this moment saved a retort. "Flora's not well. We +can't motor up, Madge." + +"I am sorry but I can take a train." + +"There's one at three. I don't see why you are going," irritably; "Flora +won't stay here long after you leave." + +"I am not as necessary as you think, Oscar. There are plenty of others, +and I must go----" + +"Oh, very well. Andrews will drive you down." + +"I'll drive her myself," said Dalton. + + +II + +Aunt Claudia was going to Washington also on the three o'clock train. +She had had a wireless from Truxton who had sailed from Brest and would +arrive at New York within the week. + +"Of course you'll go and meet him, Aunt Claudia," Becky had said; "I'll +help you to get your things ready." + +Aunt Claudia, quite white and inwardly shaken by the thought of the +happiness which was on its way to her, murmured her thanks. + +Becky, divining something of the tumult which was beneath that outward +show of serenity, patted the cushions of the couch in Mrs. Beaufort's +bedroom. "Lie down here, you darling dear. It was such a surprise, +wasn't it?" + +"Well, my knees are weak," Mrs. Beaufort admitted. + +The nuns had taught Becky nice ways and useful arts, so she folded and +packed under Aunt Claudia's eye and was much applauded. + +"Most girls in these days," said Mrs. Beaufort, "throw things in. Last +summer I stayed at a house where the girls sat on their trunks to shut +them, and sent parcel-post packages after them of the things they had +left out." + +"Sister Loretto says that I am not naturally tidy, so she keeps me at +it. I used to weep my eyes out when she'd send me back to my room---- +But crying doesn't do any good with Sister Loretto." + +"Crying is never any good," said Aunt Claudia. She was of Spartan mold. +"Crying only weakens. When things are so bad that you must cry, then do +it where the world can't see." + +Becky found herself thrilled by the thought of Aunt Claudia crying in +secret. She was a martial little soul in spite of her distinctly +feminine type of mind. + +Aunt Claudia's lingerie, chastely French-embroidered in little scallops, +with fresh white ribbons run in, was laid out on the bed in neat piles. +There was also a gray corduroy dressing-gown, lined with silk. + +"This will be too warm," Becky said; "please let me put in my white +crepe house-coat. It will look so pretty, Aunt Claudia, when Truxton +comes in the morning to kiss you----" + +Aunt Claudia had been holding on to her emotions tightly. The thought of +that morning kiss which for three dreadful years had been denied +her--for three dreadful years she had not known whether Truxton would +ever breeze into her room before breakfast with his "Mornin' Mums." She +felt that if she allowed herself any softness or yielding at this moment +she would spoil her spotless record of self-control and weep in maudlin +fashion in Becky's arms. + +So in self-defense, she spoke with coldness. "I never wear borrowed +clothes, my dear." + +Becky, somewhat dishevelled and warm from her exertions, sat down to +argue it. "I haven't had it on. And I'd love to give it to you----" + +"My dear, of course not. It's very generous of you--very----" Aunt +Claudia buried her face suddenly in the pillows and sobbed stormily. + +Becky stood up. "Oh, Aunt Claudia," she gasped. Then with the +instinctive knowledge that silence was best, she gave her aunt a little +pat on the shoulder and crept from the room. + +She crept back presently and packed the crepe house-coat with the other +things. Then, since Aunt Claudia made no sign, she went down-stairs to +the kitchen. + +Mandy, the cook, who had a complexion like an old copper cent, and who +wore a white Dutch cap in place of the traditional bandana, was cutting +corn from the cob for fritters. + +"If you'll make a cup of tea," Becky said, "I'll take it up to Aunt +Claudia. She's lying down." + +"Is you goin' wid her?" Mandy asked. + +"To New York? No. She'll want Truxton all to herself, Mandy." + +"Well, I hopes she has him," Mandy husked an ear of corn viciously. "I +ain' got my boy. He hol's his haid so high, he ain' got no time fo' his +ol' Mammy." + +"You know you are proud of him, Mandy." + +"I ain' sayin' I is, and I ain' sayin' I isn't. But dat Daisy down the +road, she ac' like she own him." + +"Oh, Daisy? Is he in love with her?" + +"Love," with withering scorn, "_love_? Ain' he got somefin' bettah to do +than lovin' when he's jes' fit and fought fo' Uncle Sam?" She beat the +eggs for her batter as if she had Daisy's head under the whip. "He fit +and fought fo' Uncle Sam," she repeated, "and now he comes home and +camps hisse'f on Daisy's do'-step." + +Against the breeze of such high indignation, any argument would be blown +away. Becky changed the subject hastily. "Mandy," she asked, "are you +making corn fritters?" + +"I is----" + +"What else for lunch?" + +"An omlec----" + +"Mandy, I'm so hungry I could eat a house----" + +"You look it," Mandy told her; "effen I was you, I'd eat and git fat." + +"It isn't fashionable to be fat, Mandy." + +"Skeletums may be in style," said Mandy, breaking eggs for the omelette, +"but I ain' ever found good looks in bones." + +"Don't you like _my_ bones, Mandy?" + +"You ain't got none, honey." + +"You called me a skeleton." + +The kettle boiled. "Effen I called you a skeletum," Mandy said as she +placed a cup and saucer on a small napkined tray, "my min' was on dat-ar +Daisy. You ain' got no bones, Miss Becky. But Daisy, she's got a neck +like a picked tukkey, and her shoulder-blades stan' out like wings." + + +III + +Becky went to the train with her aunt. George Dalton drove Madge down +and passed the old surrey on the way. + +Later Madge met Mrs. Beaufort and Becky on the station platform, and it +was when Dalton settled her in her chair in the train that she said, +"She's a darling. Keep her on a pedestal, Georgie----" + +"You're a good sport," he told her; "you know you'd hate it if I did." + +"I shouldn't. I'd like to think of you on your knees----" + +It was time for him to leave her. She gave him her hand. "Until we meet +again, Georgie." + +Her eyes were cool and smiling. Yet later as she looked out on the +flying hills, there was trouble in them. There had been a time when +Dalton had seemed to square with her girlish dreams. + +And now, there was no one to warn this other girl with dreams in her +eyes. George was not a vulture, he was simply a marauding bee----! + +Becky was already in the surrey when George came back, and Calvin was +gathering up his reins. + +"Oh, look here, I wish you'd let me drive you up, Miss Bannister," +George said, sparkling; "there's no reason, is there, why you must ride +alone?" + +"Oh, no." + +"Then you will?" + +Her hesitation was slight. "I should like it." + +"And can't we drive about a bit? You'll show me the old places? It is +such a perfect day. I hope you haven't anything else to do." + +She had not. "I'll go with Mr. Dalton, Calvin." + +Calvin, who had watched over more than one generation of Bannister +girls, and knew what was expected of them, made a worried protest. + +"Hit's gwine rain, Miss Becky." + +Dalton dismissed him with a wave of the hand. "I won't let her get wet," +he lifted Becky from the surrey and walked with her to his car. + +Kemp, who had come down in the house truck with Madge's trunks, stood +stiff and straight by the door. Being off with Miss MacVeigh he was on +with Miss Bannister. Girls might come and girls might go in his master's +life, but Kemp had an air of going on forever. + +When he had seated Becky, Dalton stepped back and gave hurried +instructions. + +"At four, Kemp," he said, "or if you are later, wait until we come." + +"Very well, sir." Kemp stood statuesquely at attention until the car +whirled on. Then he sat down on the station platform, and talked to the +agent. He was no longer a servant but a man. + +As the big car whirled up the hill, Becky, looking out upon the familiar +landscape, saw it with new eyes. There was a light upon it which had +never been for her on sea or land. She had not believed that in all the +world there could be such singing, blossoming radiance. + +They drove through the old mill town and the stream was bright under the +willows. They stopped on the bridge for a moment to view the shining +bend. + +"There are old chimneys under the vines," Becky said; "doesn't it seem +dreadful to think of all those dead houses----" + +George gave a quick turn. "Why think of them? You were not made to think +of dead houses, you were made to live." + +On and on they went, up the hills and down into the valleys, between +rail fences which were a riot of honeysuckle, and with the roads in +places rough under their wheels, with the fields gold with stubble, the +sky a faint blue, with that thick look on the horizon. + +George talked a great deal about himself. Perhaps if he had listened +instead to Becky he might have learned things which would have surprised +him. But he really had very interesting things to tell, and Becky was +content to sit in silence and watch his hands on the wheel. They were +small hands, and for some tastes a bit too plump and well-kept, but +Becky found no fault with them. She felt that she could sit there +forever, and watch his hands and listen to his clear quick voice. + +At last George glanced at the little clock which hung in front of him. +"Look here," he said, "I told Kemp to have tea for us at a place which I +found once when I walked in the woods. A sort of summer house which +looks towards Monticello. Do you know it?" + +"Yes. Pavilion Hill. It's on Randy Paine's plantation--King's Crest." + +"Then you've been there?" + +"A thousand times with Randy." + +"I thought it was Waterman's. We shan't be jailed as trespassers, shall +we?" + +"No. But how could you tell your man to have tea for us when you didn't +know that I'd be--willing?" + +"But I did--know----" + +A little silence, then "How?" + +"Because when I put my mind on a thing I usually get my way." + +She sat very still. He bent down to her. "You're not angry?" + +"No." Her cheeks were flaming. She was thrilled by his masterfulness. No +man had ever spoken to her like that. She was, indeed, having her first +experience of ardent, impassioned pursuit. So might young Juliet have +given ear to Romeo. And if Romeo had been a Georgie-Porgie, then alas, +poor Juliet! + +The Pavilion had been built a hundred and fifty years before of cedar +logs. There had been a time when Thomas Jefferson had walked over to +drink not tea, but something stronger with dead and gone Paines. Its +four sides were open, but the vines formed a curtain which gave within a +soft gloom. They approached it from the east side, getting out of their +car and climbing the hill from the roadside. They found Kemp with +everything ready. The kettle was boiling, and the tea measured into the +Canton teapot which stood in its basket---- + +"Aren't you glad you came?" Dalton asked. "Kemp, when you've poured the +tea, you can look after the car." + +The wind, rising, tore the dry leaves from the trees. Kemp, exiled, as +it were, from the Pavilion, sat in the big car and watched the +gathering blackness. Finally he got out and put up the curtains. +Everything would be ready when Dalton came. He knew better, however, +than to warn his master. George was apt to be sharp when his plans were +spoiled. + +And now throughout the wooded slope there was the restless movement of +nature disturbed in the midst of peaceful dreaming. The trees bent and +whispered. The birds, flying low, called sharp warnings. A small dog, +spurning the leaves, as she followed a path up the west side of the +hill, stopped suddenly and looked back at the man who followed her. + +"We'll make the Pavilion if we can, old girl," he told her, and as if +she understood, she went up and up in a straight line, disregarding the +temptation of side tours into bush and bramble. + +George and Becky had finished their tea. There had been some rather +delectable sweet biscuit which Kemp kept on hand for such occasions, and +there was a small round box of glacé nuts, which George had insisted +that Becky must keep. The box was of blue silk set off by gold lace and +small pink roses. + +"Blue is your color," George had said as he presented it. + +"That's what Randy says." + +"You are always talking of Randy." + +She looked her surprise. "I've always known him." + +"Is he in love with you?" + +She set down the box and looked at him. "Randy is only a boy. I am very +fond of him. But we aren't either of us--silly." + +She brought the last sentence out with such scorn that George had a +moment of startled amaze. + +Then, recovering, he said with a smile, "Is being in love silly?" + +"I think it's rather sacred----" + +The word threw him back upon himself. Love was, you understand, to +George, a game. And here was Becky acting as if it were a ritual. + +Yet the novelty of her point of view made her seem more than ever +adorable. In his heart he found himself saying, "Oh, you lovely, lovely +little thing." + +But he did not say it aloud. Indeed he, quite unaccountably, found +himself unable to say anything, and while he hesitated, there charged up +the west hill a panting dog with flapping ears. At the arched opening of +the Pavilion she paused and wagged a tentative question. + +"It's Nellie Custis----" Becky rose and ran towards her. "Where's your +master, darling? _Randy_----" + +In response to her call came an eerie cry--the old war cry of the Indian +chiefs. Then young Paine came running up. "Becky! Here? There's going to +be a storm. You better get home----" + +He stopped short. Dalton was standing by the folding table. + +"Hello, Paine," he said, with ease. "We're playing 'Babes in the Wood.'" + +"You seem very comfortable," Randy was as stiff as a wooden tobacco +sign. + +"We are," Becky said. "Mr. Dalton waved his wand like the Arabian +nights----" + +"My man did it," said Dalton; "he's down there in the car." + +Randy felt a sense of surging rage. The Pavilion was his. It was old and +vine-covered, and hallowed by a thousand memories. And here was Dalton +trespassing with his tables and chairs and his Canton teapot. What right +had George Dalton to bring a Canton teapot on another man's acres? + +Becky was pouring tea for him. "Two lumps, Randy?" + +"I don't want any tea," he said ungraciously. His eyes were appraising +the flame of her cheeks, the light in her eyes. What had Dalton been +saying? "I don't want any tea. And there's a storm coming." + +All her life Becky had been terrified in a storm. She had cowered and +shivered at the first flash of lightning, at the first rush of wind, at +the first roll of thunder. And now she sat serene, while the trees waved +despairing arms to a furious sky, while blackness settled over the +earth, while her ears were assailed by the noise of a thousand guns. + +What had come over her? More than anything else, the thing that struck +against Randy's heart was this lack of fear in Becky! + + +IV + +Of course it was Dalton who took Becky home. There had been a sharp +summons to Kemp, who came running up with raincoats, a rush for the car, +a hurried "Won't you come with us, Randy?" from Becky, and Randy's curt +refusal, and then the final insult from Dalton. + +"Kemp will get you home, Paine, when he takes the tea things." + +Randy wanted to throw something after him--preferably a tomahawk--as +Dalton went down the hill, triumphantly, shielding Becky from the +elements. + +He watched until a curtain of rain shut them out, but he heard the roar +of the motor cutting through the clamor of the storm. + +"Well, they're off, sir," said Kemp cheerfully. + +He was packing the Canton teapot in its basket and was folding up the +chairs and tables. Randy had a sense of outrage. Here he was, a +Randolph Paine of King's Crest, left behind in the rain with a man who +had his mind on--teapots---- He stood immovable in the arched opening, +his arms folded, and with the rain beating in upon him. + +"You'll get wet," Kemp reminded him; "it's better on this side, sir." + +"I don't mind the rain. I won't melt; I've had two years in France." + +"You have, sir?" something in Kemp's voice made Randy turn and look at +him. The little man had his arms full of biscuit boxes, and he was +gazing at Randy with a light in his eyes which had not been for Dalton. + +"I had three years myself. And the best of my life, sir." + +Randy nodded. "A lot of us feel that way." + +"The fighting," said Kemp, "was something awful. But it was--big--and +after it things seem a bit small, sir." He drew a long breath and came +back to his Canton teapot and his folding table and his plans for +departure. + +"I'll be glad to take you in the little car, Mr. Paine." + +"No," said Randy; "no, thank you, Kemp. I'll wait here until the storm +is over." + +Kemp, with a black rubber cape buttoned about his shoulders and standing +out over his load like a lady's hoopskirts, bobbed down the path and +was gone. + +Randy was glad to be alone. He was glad to get wet, he was glad of the +roar and of the tumult which matched the tumult in his soul. + +Somehow he had never dreamed of this--that somebody would come into +Becky's life and take her away---- + +Nellie Custis shivered and whined. She hated thunder-storms. Randy sat +down on the step and she crept close to him. He laid his hand on her +head and fear left her--as fear had left Becky in the presence of +Dalton. + +After that the boy and the dog sat like statues, looking out, and in +those tense and terrible moments a new spirit was born in Randolph +Paine. Hitherto he had let life bring him what it would. He had scarcely +dared hope that it would bring him Becky. But now he knew that if he +lost her he would face--chaos---- + +Well, he would not lose her. Or if he did, it would not be to let her +marry a man like Dalton. Surely she wouldn't. She _couldn't_---- But +there had been that light in her eyes, that flame in her cheek--that +lack of fear--Dalton's air of assurance, the way she had turned to him. + +"Oh, God," he said suddenly, out loud, "don't let Dalton have her." + +He was shaken by an emotion which bent his head to his knees. Nellie +Custis pressed close against him and whined. + +"He shan't have her, Nellie. He shan't----" + +He burned with the thought of Dalton's look of triumph. Dalton who had +carried Becky off, and had left him with Kemp and a Canton teapot. + +He recalled Kemp's words. "After it things seem a bit small, sir." + +Well, it shouldn't be small for him. It had seemed so big--over there. +So easy to--carry on. + +If he only had a fighting chance. If he had only a half of Dalton's +money. A little more time in which to get on his feet. + +But in the meantime here was Dalton--with his money, his motors, and his +masterfulness. And his look of triumph---- + +In a sudden fierce reaction he sprang to his feet. He stood in the +doorway as if defying the future. "Nobody shall take her away from me," +he said, "she's mine----" + +His arms were folded over his chest, his wet black locks almost hid his +eyes. So might some young savage have stood in the long ago, sending his +challenge forth to those same hills. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +LITTLE SISTER + + +I + +It is one thing, however, to fling a challenge to the hills, and another +to live up to the high moment. Looking at it afterwards in cold blood, +Randy was forced to admit that his chances of beating George Dalton in a +race for Becky were small. + +There seemed some slight hope, however, in the fact that Becky was a +Bannister and ought to know a gentleman when she saw one. + +"And Dalton's a--a bounder," said Randy to Nellie Custis. + +Nellie Custis, who was as blue-blooded as any Bannister, cocked a +sympathetic ear. Cocking an ear with Nellie was a weighty matter. Her +ears were big and unmanageable. When she got them up, she kept them +there for some time. It was a rather intriguing habit, as it gave her an +air of eager attention which wooed confidence. + +"He's a bounder," said Randy as if that settled it. + +But it did not settle it in the least. A man with an Apollo head may not +be a gentleman under his skin, but how are you to prove it? The world, +spurning Judy O'Grady, sanctions the Colonel's lady, and their +sisterhood becomes socially negligible. Randy should have known that he +could not sweep George Dalton away with a word. Perhaps he did know it, +but he did not care to admit it. + +He and Nellie Custis were in the garage. It had once been a barn, but +the boarders had bought cars, so there was now the smell of gasoline +where there had once been the sweet scent of hay. And intermittently the +air was rent with puffs and snorts and shrieks which drowned the music +of that living chorus which has been sung in stables for centuries. + +There were three cars. Two of them have nothing to do with this story, +but the third will play its part, and merits therefore description. + +It was not an expensive car, but it was new and shining, and had a perky +snub-nosed air of being ready for anything. It belonged to the genial +gentleman who used it without mercy, and thus the little car wove back +and forth over the hills like a shuttle, doing its work sturdily, coming +home somewhat noisily, and even at rest, seeming to ask for something +more to do. + +The genial gentleman was very proud of his car. He talked a great deal +about it to Randy, and on this particular morning when he came out and +found young Paine sitting on a wheelbarrow with Nellie Custis lending +him a cocked ear, he grew eloquent. + +"Look here, I've been thinking. There ought to be a lot of cars like +this in the county." + +To Randy the enthusiasms of the genial gentleman were a constant source +of amazement. He was always wanting the world to be glad about +something. Randy felt that at this moment any assumption of gladness +would be a hollow mockery. + +"Any man," said the genial gentleman, rubbing a cloth over the enamel of +the little car, "any man who would start selling this machine down here +would make a fortune." + +Randy pricked up his ears. + +"How could he make a fortune?" + +"Selling cars. Why, the babies cry for them----" he chuckled and rubbed +harder. + +"How much could he make?" Randy found himself saying. + +The genial gentleman named a sum, "Easy." + +Randy got up from the wheelbarrow and came over. "Is she really as good +as that?" + +"Is she really? Oh, say----" the genial gentleman for the next ten +minutes dealt in superlatives. + +Towards the end, Randy was firing questions at him. + +"Could I own a car while I was selling them?" + +"Sure--they'd let you have it on installments to be paid for out of your +commissions----" + +"And I'd have an open field?" + +"My dear boy, in a month you could have cars like this running up and +down the hills like ants after sugar. They speak for themselves, and +they are cheap enough for anybody." + +"But it is a horse-riding country, especially back in the hills. They +love horse-flesh, you know." + +"Oh, they'll get the gasoline bug like the rest of us," said the genial +gentleman and slapped him on the back. + +Randy winced. He did not like to be slapped on the back. Not at a +moment--when he was selling his soul to the devil---- + +For that was the way he looked at it. + +"I shall have to perjure myself," he said to Major Prime later, as they +talked it over in the Schoolhouse, "to go through the country telling +mine own people to sell their horses and get cars." + +"If you don't do it, somebody else will." + +"But a man can't be convincing if he doesn't believe in a thing." + +"No, of course. But you've got to look at it this way, the world moves, +and horses haven't had an easy time. Perhaps it is their moment of +emancipation. And just for the sake of a sentiment, a tradition, you +can't afford to hold back." + +"I can't afford to lose this chance if there is money in it. But it +isn't what I had planned." + +As he sat there on the step and hugged his knees, every drop of blood in +Randy seemed to be urging "Hurry, hurry." He felt as a man might who, +running a race, finds another rider neck and neck and strains towards +the finish. + +To sell cars in order to win Becky seemed absurd on the face of it. But +he would at least be doing something towards solving the problem of +self-support, and towards increasing the measure of his own +self-respect. + +"What had you planned?" the Major was asking. + +"Well of course there is the law---- And I like it, but there would be a +year or two before I could earn a living---- And I've wanted to +write----" + +"Write what? Books?" + +"Anything," said Randy, explosively, "that would make the world sit up." + +"Ever tried it?" + +"Yes. At school. I talked to a teacher of mine once about it. He said I +had better invent a--pill----" + +The Major stared, "A pill?" + +Randy nodded. "He didn't quite mean it, of course. But he saw the modern +trend. A poet? A poor thing! But hats off to the pillmaker with his +multi-millions!" + +"Stop that," said the Major. + +"Stop what?" + +"Blaming the world for its sordidness. There is beauty enough if we look +for it." + +"None of us has time to look for it. We are too busy trying to sell cars +to people who love horses." + + +II + +In the end Randy got his car. And after that he, too, might have been +seen running shuttle-like back and forth over the red roads. Nellie +Custis was usually beside him on the front seat. She took her new honors +seriously. For generations back her forbears had loped with flapping +ears in the lead of a hunting pack. To be sitting thus on a leather seat +and whirled through the air with no need of legs from morning until +night required some readjustment on the part of Nellie Custis. But she +had always followed where Randy led. And in time she grew to like it, +and watched the road ahead with eager eyes, and with her ears +perpetually cocked. + +Now and then Becky sat beside Randy, with Nellie at her feet. The +difference between a ride with Randy and one with George Dalton was, +Becky felt, the difference a not unpleasant commonplace and the stuff +that dreams are made of. + +"It is rather a duck of a car," she had said, the first time he took her +out in it. + +"Yes, it is," Randy had agreed. "I am getting tremendously fond of her. +I have named her 'Little Sister.'" + +"Oh, Randy, you haven't." + +"Yes, I have. She has such confiding ways. I never believed that cars +had human qualities, Becky." + +"They are not horses of course." + +"Well, they have individual characteristics. You take the three cars in +our barn. The Packard reminds one of that stallion we owned three years +ago--blooded and off like the wind. The Franklin is a grayhound--and +Little Sister is a--duck----" + +"Mr. Dalton's car is a--silver ship----" + +"Oh, does he call it that?" grimly. + +"No----" + +"Was it your own--poetic--idea?" + +"Yes." + +"And you called Little Sister a duck," he groaned. "And when my little +duck swims in the wake of his silver ship, and he laughs, do you laugh, +too?" + +There was a dead silence. Then she said, "Oh, Randy----" + +He made his apology like a gentleman. "That was hateful of me, Becky. +I'm sorry----" + +"You know I wouldn't laugh, Randy, and neither would he." + +"Who?" + +"Mr. Dalton." + +"Wouldn't what?" + +"Laugh." + +He hated her defense of young Apollo--but he couldn't let the subject +alone. + +"You never have any time for me." + +"Randy, are you going to scold me for the rest of our ride?" + +"Am I scolding?" + +"Yes." + +"Then I'll stop it and say nice things to you or you won't want to come +again." + +Yet after that when he saw her in Dalton's car, her words would return +to him, and gradually he began to think of her as sailing in a silver +ship farther and farther away in a future where he could not follow. + +Little Sister was a great comfort in those days. She gave him occupation +and she gave him an income. He was never to forget his first sale. He +had not found it easy to cry his wares. The Paines of King's Crest had +never asked favors of the country-folk, or if they had, they had paid +generously for what they had received. To go now among them saying, "I +have something to sell," carried a sting. There had been nothing +practical in Randy's education. He had no equipment with which to meet +the sordid questions of bargain and sale. + +He had thought of this as he rode over the hills that morning to the +house of a young farmer who had been suggested by the genial gentleman +as a good prospect. He turned over in his mind the best method of +approach. It was a queer thing, he pondered, to visualize himself as a +salesman. He wondered how many of the other fellows who had come back +looked at it as he did. They had dreamed such dreams of valor, their +eyes had seen visions. To Randy when he had enlisted had come a singing +sense that the days of chivalry were not dead. He had gone through the +war with a laugh on his lips, but with a sense of the sacredness of the +crusade in his heart. He had returned--still dreaming--to sell +snub-nosed cars to the countryside! + +Why, just a year ago----! He remembered a black night of storm, when, +hooded like a falcon--he had ridden without a light on his motorcycle, +carrying dispatches from the Argonne, and even as he had ridden, he had +felt that high sense of heroic endeavor. On the success of his mission +depended other lives, the saving of nations--victory----! + +And now he, with a million others, was faced by the problem of the +day's work. He wondered how the others looked at it--those gallant young +knights in khaki who had followed the gleam. Were they, too, grasping at +any job that would buy them bread and butter, pay their bills, keep them +from living on the bounty of others? + +He felt that in some way the thing was all wrong. There should have been +big things for these boys to do. There seemed something insensate in a +civilization which would permit a man who wore medals of honor to sell +ribbon over a counter, or weigh out beef at a butcher's. Yet he supposed +that many of them were doing it. Indeed he knew that some of them were. +The butcher's boy, who brought the meat over every morning to King's +Crest, wore two decorations, and when Randy had stopped for breakfast +supplies, the hero of Belleau Woods had cut off sausages as calmly as he +had once bayonetted Huns. + +Randy wondered what the butcher's boy was feeling under that apparently +stolid surface. Was his horizon bounded by beef and sausages, or did his +soul expand with memories of the shoulder-to-shoulder march, the +comradeship of the trenches, the laughter and songs? Did his pulses +thrill with the thought of the big things he might yet do in these days +of peace, or was he content to play safe and snip sausages? + +Randy felt that he was not content. It was not that he loved war. But he +loved the visions that the war had brought him. There had seemed no +limit then to America's achievement. She had been a laggard--he thanked +God that he had not been a party to that delay. But when she had come +in, she had come in with all her might and main. And her young men had +fought and the future of the whole world had been in their hands, and +since peace had come the future of the world must still be reckoned in +the terms of their glorious youth. + +And now, something within Randy began to sing and soar. He felt that +here were things to be put on paper--the questions which he flung at +himself should be written for other men to read. That was what men +needed--questions. Questions which demanded answers not only in words +but in deeds. This was a moment for men of high thoughts and high +purposes. + +And he was selling cars----! + +Well, some day he would write. He was writing a little now, at night. In +his room at the top of the Schoolhouse. Yet the things that he had +written seemed trivial as he thought of them. What he wanted was to +strike a ringing note. To have the fellows say when they read it, "If it +is true for him it is true for me." + +Yet when one came to think of it, there were really not any "fellows." +Not in the sense that it had been "over there." They were scattered to +the four winds, dispersed to the seven seas--the A. E. F. was +extinct--as extinct--as the Trumpeter Swan! + +And now his thoughts ran fast, and faster. Here was his theme. Where was +that glorious company of young men who had once sounded their trumpets +to the world? Gone, as the swans were gone--leaving the memory of their +whiteness--leaving the memory of their beauty--leaving the memory of +their--song---- + +He wanted to turn back at once. To drive Little Sister at breakneck +speed towards pen and paper. But some instinct drove him doggedly +towards the matter on hand. One might write masterpieces, but there were +cars to be sold. + +He sold one----; quite strangely and unexpectedly he found that the +transaction was not difficult. The man whom he had come to see was on +the front porch and was glad of company. Randy explained his errand. "It +is new business for me. But I've got something to offer you that you'll +find you'll want----" + +He found that he could say many things truthful about the merits of +Little Sister. He had a convincing manner; the young farmer listened. + +"Let me take you for a ride," Randy offered, and away they went along +the country roads, and through the main streets of the town in less time +that it takes to say--"Jack Robinson." + +When they came back, the children ran out to see, and Randy took them +down the road and back again. "You can carry the whole family," he said, +"when you go----" + +The man's wife came out. She refused to ride. She was afraid. + +But Randy talked her over. "My mother felt like that. But once you are +in it is different." + +She climbed in, and came back with her face shining. + +"I am going to buy the car," her husband said to her. + +Randy's heart jumped. Somehow he had felt that it would not really +happen. He had had little faith in his qualities as salesman. Yet, after +all, it had happened, and he had sold his car. + +Riding down the hill, he was conscious of a new sense of achievement. It +was all very well to dream of writing masterpieces. But here was +something tangible. + +"Nellie," he said, "things are picking up." + +Nellie laid her nose on his knee and looked up at him. It had been a +long ride, and she was glad they were on the homeward stretch. But she +wagged her tail. Nellie knew when things were going well with her +master. And when his world went wrong, her sky darkened. + + +III + +The sale of one car, however, does not make a fortune. Randy realized as +the days went on that if he sold them and sold them and sold them, +Dalton would still outdistance him financially. + +There remained, therefore, fame, and the story in the back of his mind. +If he could lay a thing like that at Becky's feet! He had the lover's +urge towards some heaven-kissing act which should exalt his mistress---- +A book for all the world to read--a picture painted with a flaming +brush, a statue carved with a magic instrument. It was for Becky that +Randy would work and strive hoping that by some divine chance he might +draw her to him. + +He worked at night until the Major finally remonstrated. + +"Do you ever go to bed?" + +Randy laughed. "Sometimes." + +"Are you writing?" + +"Trying to." + +"Hard work?" + +"I like it,"--succinctly. + +The Major smoked for a while in silence. Then he said, "I suppose you +don't want to talk about it." + +It was a starry night and a still one. The younger boarders had gone for +a ride. The older boarders were in bed. The Major was stretched in his +long chair. Randy sat as usual on the steps. + +"Yes," he said, "I'd like to talk about it. I have a big idea, and I +can't put it on paper." + +He hugged his knees and talked. His young voice thrilled with the +majesty of his conception. Here, he said, was the idea. Once upon a time +there had been a race of wonderful swans, with plumage so white that +when they rested in flocks on the river banks they made a blanket of +snow. Their flight was a marvellous thing--they flew so high that the +eye of man could not see them--but the sound of their trumpets could be +heard. The years passed and the swans came no more to their old haunts. +Men had hunted them and killed them--but there were those who held that +on still nights they could be heard--sounding their trumpets---- + +"I want to link that up with the A. E. F. We were like the swans--a +white company which flew to France---- Our idealism was the song which +we sounded high up. And the world listened--and caught the sound---- And +now, as a body we are extinct, but if men will listen, they may still +hear our trumpets--sounding----!" + +As he spoke the air seemed to throb with the passion of his phrases. His +face was uplifted to the sky. The Major remembered a picture in the +corridor of the Library of Congress--the Boy of Winander---- Oh, the +boys of the world--those wonderful boys who had been drawn out from +among the rest, set apart for a time, and in whose hands now rested the +fate of nations! + +"It is epic," he said, slowly. "Take your time for it." + +"It's too big," said Randy slowly, "and I am not a genius---- But it is +my idea, all right, and some day, perhaps, I shall make it go." + +"You must make it clear to yourself. Then you can make it clear to +others." + +"Yes," Randy agreed, "and now you can see why I am sitting up nights." + +"Yes. How did you happen to think of it, Paine?" + +"I've been turning a lot of things over in my mind----; what the other +fellows are doing about their jobs. There's that boy at the butcher's, +and a lot of us went over to do big things. And now we have come back to +the little things. Why, there's Dalton's valet--Kemp--taking orders from +that--cad." + +His scorn seemed to cut into the night. "And I am selling cars---- I +sold one to-day to an old darkey, and I felt my grandsires turn in +their graves. But I like it." + +The Major sat up. "Your liking it is the biggest thing about you, +Paine." + +"What do you mean?" + +"A man who can do his day's work and not whine about it, is the man that +counts. That butcher's boy may have a soul above weighing meat and +wrapping sausages, but at the moment that's his job, and he is doing it +well. There may be a divine discontent, but I respect the man who keeps +his mouth shut until he finds a remedy or a raise. + +"I don't often speak of myself," he went on, "but perhaps this is the +moment. I am as thirsty for California, Paine, as a man for drink. It is +the dry season out there, and the hills are brown, but I love the brown, +and the purple shadows in the hollows. I have ridden over those hills +for days at a time,--I shall never ride a horse over them again." He +stopped and went on. "Oh, I've wanted to whine. I have wanted to curse +the fate that tied me to a chair like this. I have been an active +man--out-of-doors, and oh, the out-of-doors in California. There isn't +anything like it--it is the sense of space, the clear-cut look of +things. But I won't go back. Not till I have learned to do my day's +work, and then I will let myself play a bit. I'd like to take you with +me, Paine--you and a good car--and we'd go over the hills and far +away---- + +"I haven't told you much of my life. And there's not a great deal to +tell. Fifteen years ago I married a little girl and thought I loved her. +But what I really loved was the thought of doing things for her. I had +money and she was poor. It was pleasant to see her eyes shine when I +gave her things---- But money hasn't anything to do with love, Paine, +and that is where we American men fall down. When we love a woman we +begin to tell her of our possessions and to tempt her by them. And the +thing that we should do is to show her ourselves. We should say, 'If I +were stripped of all my worldly goods what would there be in me for you +to like?' My little wife and I had not one thing in common. And one day +she left me. She found a man who gave her love for love. I had given her +cars and flowers and boxes of candy and diamonds and furs. But she +wanted more than that. She died--two years ago. I think she had been +happy in those last years. I never really loved her, but she taught me +what love is--and it is not a question of barter and sale----" + +He seemed to be thinking aloud. Randy spoke after a silence. "But a man +must have something to offer a woman." + +"He must have himself. Oh, we are all crooked in our values, Paine. The +best that a man can give a woman is his courage, his hope, his +aspiration. That's enough. I learned it too late. I don't know why I am +saying all this to you, Paine." + +But Randy knew. It was on such nights that men showed their souls to +each other. It was on such nights that his comrades had talked to him in +France. Under the moon they had seemed self-conscious. But beneath a sky +of stars, the words had come to them. + +As he sat at his desk later, he thought of all that the Major had said +to him: that possessions had nothing to do with love; that the test must +be, "What would there be in me to like if I were stripped of all my +worldly goods?" + +Well, he had nothing. There were only his hopes, his dreams, his +aspiration--himself. + +Would these weigh with any woman in the balance against George Dalton's +splendid trappings? + +The dawn crept in and found him still sitting at his desk. He had not +written a dozen lines. But his thoughts had been the long, long thoughts +of youth. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +GEORGIE-PORGIE + + +I + +It would never have happened if Aunt Claudia had been there. Aunt +Claudia would have built hedges about Becky. She would have warned the +Judge. She would, as a last resort, have challenged Dalton. But Fate, +which had Becky's future well in hand, had sent Aunt Claudia to meet +Truxton in New York. And she was having the time of her life. + +Her first letter was a revelation to her niece. "I didn't know," she +told the Judge at breakfast, "that Aunt Claudia could be like this----" + +"Like what?" + +"So young and gay----" + +"She is not old. And when she was young she was gayer than you." + +"Oh, not really, Grandfather." + +"Yes. And she looked like you--and had the same tricks with her hands, +and her hair was bright and brown. And she was very pretty." + +"She is pretty yet," said Becky, loyally, but she was quite sure that +whatever might have been Aunt Claudia's likeness to herself in the past, +her own charms would not in the future shrink to fit Aunt Claudia's +present pattern. It was unthinkable that her pink and white should fade +to paleness, her slenderness to stiffness, her youthful radiance to a +sort of weary cheerfulness. + +There was nothing weary in the letter, however. "Oh, my dear, my dear, +you should see Truxton. He is so perfectly splendid that I am sure he is +a changeling and not my son. I tell him that he can't be the bundle of +cuddly sweetness that I used to carry in my arms. I wore your white +house-coat that first morning, Becky, and he sent some roses, and we had +breakfast together in my rooms at the hotel. I believe it is the first +time in years that I have looked into a mirror to really like my looks. +You were sweet, my dear, to insist on putting it in. Truxton must stay +here for two weeks more, and he wants me to stay with him. Then we shall +come down together. Can you get along without me? We are going to the +most wonderful plays, and to smart places to eat, and I danced last +night on a roof garden. Should I say 'on' or 'in' a roof garden? Truxton +says that my step is as light as a girl's. I think my head is a little +turned. I am very happy." + +Becky laid the letter down. "Would anyone have believed that Aunt +Claudia _could_----" + +"You have said that before, my dear. Your Aunt Claudia wasn't born in +the ark----" + +"But, Grandfather, I didn't mean that." + +"It sounded like it. I shall write to her to stay as long as she can. We +can get along perfectly without her." + +"Of course," said Becky slowly. She had a feeling that, at all costs, +she ought to call Aunt Claudia back. + +For Dalton, after that first ride in the rain from Pavilion Hill, had +speeded his wooing. He had swept Becky along on a rushing tide. He had +courted the Judge, and the Judge had pressed upon him invitation after +invitation. Day and night the big motor had flashed up to Huntersfield, +bringing Dalton to some tryst with Becky, or carrying her forth to some +gay adventure. Her world was rose-colored. She had not dreamed of life +like this. She seemed to have drunk of some new wine, which lighted her +eyes and flamed in her cheeks. Her beauty shone with an almost +transcendent quality. As the dove's plumage takes on in the spring an +added luster, so did the bronze of Becky's hair seem to burn with a +brighter sheen. + +Yet the Judge noticed nothing. + +"Did you ask him to dine with us?" he had demanded, when Dalton had +called Becky up on the morning of the receipt of Aunt Claudia's letter. + +"No, Grandfather." + +"Then I'll do it," and he had gone to the telephone, and had urged his +hospitality. + + +II + +When Dalton came Becky met him on the front steps of the house. + +"Dinner is late," she said, "let's go down into the garden." + +The garden at Huntersfield was square with box hedges and peaked up with +yew, and there were stained marble statues of Diana and Flora and Ceres, +and a little pool with lily pads. + +"You are like the pretty little girls in the picture books," said +George, as they walked along. "Isn't that a new frock?" + +"Yes," said Becky, "it is. Do you like it?" + +"You are a rose among the roses," he said. He wondered a bit at its +apparent expensiveness. Perhaps, however, Becky was skillful with her +needle. Some women were. He did not care greatly for such skill, but he +was charmed by the effect. + +"You are a rose among the roses," he said again, and broke off a big +pink bud from a bush near by. + +"Bend your head a little. I want to put it in your hair." + +His fingers caught in the bronze mesh. "It is wound around my ring." He +fumbled in his pockets with his free hand and got his knife. "It may +pull a bit." + +He showed her presently the lock which he had cut. "It seems alive," he +kissed it and put it in his pocket. + +Her protest was genuine. "Oh, please," she said, "I wish you wouldn't." + +"Wouldn't what?" + +"Keep it." + +"Shall I throw it away?" + +"You shouldn't have cut it off." + +"Other men have been tempted--in a garden----" + +It might have startled George could he have known that old Mandy, eyeing +him from the kitchen, placed him in Eden's bower not as the hero of the +world's initial tragedy, but as its Satanic villain. + +"He sutt'n'y have bewitched Miss Becky," she told Calvin; "she ain' +got her min' on nothin' but him." + +"Yo' put yo' min' on yo' roas' lamb, honey," Calvin suggested. "How-cum +you got late?" + +"That chile kep' me fixin' that pink dress. She ain' never cyard what +she wo'. And now she stan' in front o' dat lookin'-glass an' fuss an' +fiddle. And w'en she ain' fussin' an' fiddlin', she jus' moons around, +waitin' fo' him to come ridin' up in that red car like a devil on +greased light'in'. An' I say right heah, Miss Claudia ain' gwine like +it." + +"Why ain' she?" + +"Miss Claudia know black f'um w'ite. An' dat man done got a black +heart----" + +"Whut you know 'bout hit, Mandy?" + +"Lissen. You wait. He'll suck a o'ange an' th'ow it away. He'll pull a +rose, and scattah the leaves." Mandy, stirring gravy, was none the less +dramatic. "You lissen, an' wait----" + +"W'en Miss Claudia comin'?" + +"In one week, thank the Lord," Mandy pushed the gravy to the back of the +stove and pulled forward an iron pot. "The soup's ready," she said; "you +go up and tell the Jedge, Calvin." + +All through dinner, Becky was conscious of that lock of hair in George's +pocket. The strand from which the lock had been cut fell down on her +cheek. She had to tuck it back. She saw George smile as she did it. She +forgave him. + +It was after dinner that George spoke of Becky's gown. + +"It is perfect," he said, "all except the pearls----?" + +She gave him a startled glance. "The pearls?" + +"I want to see you without them." + +She unwound them and they dripped from her hand in milky whiteness. + +He made his survey. "That's better," he said, "if they were real it +would be different--I don't like to have you cheapened by anything less +than--perfect----" + +"Cheapened?" She smiled inscrutably, then dropped the pearls into a +small box on the table beside her. "Yes," she said, "if they were real +it would be different----" + +There was something in her manner which made him say hurriedly, "You +must not think that I am criticizing your taste. If I had my way you +should have everything that money can buy----" + +Her candid eyes came up to his. "There are a great many things that +money cannot buy." + +"You've got to show me," George told her; "I've never seen anything yet +that I couldn't get with money." + +"Could you buy--dreams----" + +"I'd rather buy--diamonds." + +"And money can't buy happiness." + +"It can buy a pretty good imitation." + +"But imitation happiness is like imitation pearls." + +He laughed and sat down beside her. "You mustn't be too clever." + +"I am not clever at all." + +"I believe you are. And you don't have to be. There are plenty of clever +women but only one Becky Bannister." + +It was just an hour later that Georgie-Porgie kissed her. She was at the +piano in the music-room, and there was no light except the glimmer of +tall white candles, and the silver moonlight which fell across the +shining floor. + +Her grandfather was nodding in the room beyond, and through the open +window came the dry, sweet scent of summer, as if nature had opened her +pot-pourri to give the world a whiff of treasured fragrance. + +Becky had been singing, and she had stopped and looked up at him. + +"Oh, you lovely--lovely, little thing," he said, and bent his head. + +To Becky, that moment was supreme, sacred. She trembled with happiness. +To her that kiss meant betrothal--ultimate marriage. + +To George it meant, of course, nothing of the kind. It was only one of +many moments. It was a romance which might have been borrowed from the +Middle Ages. A rare tale such as one might read in a book. A pleasant +dalliance--to be continued until he was tired of it. If he ever +married, it must be a spectacular affair--handsome woman, big fortune, +not an unsophisticated slip of a child from an impoverished Virginia +farm. + + +III + +In the days that followed, Becky's gay lover came and rode away, and +came again. He sparkled and shone and worshipped, but not a word did he +say about the future. He seemed content with this idyl of old gardens, +scented twilights, starlight nights, with Beauty's eyes for him alone +radiant eyes that matched the stars. + +Yet as the days went on the radiance was dimmed. Becky was in a state of +bewilderment which bordered on fear. George showed himself an +incomparable lover, but always he was silent about the things which she +felt cried for utterance. + +So at last one day she spoke to the Judge. + +"Granddad, did you kiss Grandmother before you asked her to marry you?" + +"Asking always comes first, my dear. And you are too young to think of +such things." + +Grandfather was, thus obviously, no help. He sat in the Bird Room and +dreamed of the days when the stuffed mocking-bird on the wax branch sang +to a young bride, and his ideal of love had to do with the courtly +etiquette of a time when men knelt and sued and were rewarded with the +touch of finger tips. + +As for George, he found himself liking this affair rather more than +usual. There was no denying that the child was tremendously +attractive--with her youth and beauty and the reserve which like a stone +wall seemed now and then to shut her in. He had always a feeling that he +would like to climb over the wall. It had pricked his interest to find +in this little creature a strength and delicacy which he had found in no +other woman. + +He had had one or two letters from Madge, and had answered them with a +line. She gave rather generously of her correspondence and her letters +were never dull. In the last one she had asked him to join her on the +North Shore. + + "I am sorry," she said, "for the new little girl. I have a feeling + that she won't know how to play the game and that you'll hurt her. + You will probably think that I am jealous, but I can't help that. + Men always think that women are jealous when it comes to other + women. They never seem to understand that we are trying to keep the + world straight. + + "Oscar writes that Flora isn't well, that all her other guests are + gone except you--and that she wants me. But why should I come? I + wish he wouldn't ask me. Something always tugs at my heart when I + think of Flora. She has so much and yet so little. She and Oscar + would be much happier in a flat on the West Side with Flora cooking + in a kitchenette, and Oscar bringing things home from the + delicatessen. He would buy bologna and potato salad on Sunday + nights, and perhaps they would slice up a raw onion. It sounds + dreadful, doesn't it? But there are thousands of people doing just + that thing, Georgie, and being very happy over it. And it wouldn't + be dreadful for Flora and Oscar because they would be right where + they belong, and the potato salad and the bologna and the little + room where Oscar could sit with his coat off would be much more to + their liking than their present pomp and elegance. You and I are + different. You could never play any part pleasantly but that of + Prince Charming, and I should hate the kitchenette. I want wide + spaces, and old houses, and deep fireplaces--my people far back + were like that--I sometimes wonder why I stick to Flora--perhaps it + is because she clung to me in those days when Oscar was drafted and + had to go, and she cried so hard in the Red Cross rooms that I took + her under my wing---- Take it all together, Flora is rather worth + while and so is Oscar if he didn't try so hard to be what he is + not. + + "But then we are all trying rather hard to be what we are not. I am + really and truly middle-class. In my mind, I mean. Yet no one would + believe it to look at me, for I wear my clothes like a Frenchwoman, + and I am as unconventional as English royalty. And two generations + of us have inherited money. But back of that there were nice + middle-class New Englanders who did their own work. And the women + wore white aprons, and the men wore overalls, and they ate + doughnuts for breakfast, and baked beans on Sunday, and they milked + their own cows, and skimmed their own cream, and they read Hamlet + and the King James version of the Bible, and a lot of them wrote + things that will be remembered throughout the ages, and they had + big families and went to church, and came home to overflowing + hospitality and chicken pies--and they were the salt of the earth. + And as I think I remarked to you once before, I want to be like my + great-grandmother in my next incarnation, and live in a wide, low + farmhouse, and have horses and hogs and chickens and pop-corn on + snowy nights, and go to church on Sunday. + + "I don't know why I am writing like this, except that I went to + Trinity to vespers, when I stopped over in Boston. It was dim and + quiet and the boys' voices were heavenly, and over it all brooded + the spirit of the great man who once preached there--and who still + preaches---- + + "And now it is Sunday again, and I am back at the Crossing, and I + played golf all the morning, and bridge this afternoon, and all the + women smoked and all the men, and I was in a blue haze, and I + wanted to be back in the quiet church where the boys sang, and the + lights were like stars---- + + "I wish you and I could go there some day and that you could feel + as I do about it. But you wouldn't. You are always so sure and + smug--and you have a feeling that money will buy anything--even + Paradise. I wonder what you will be like on the next plane. You + won't fit into my farmhouse. I fancy that you'll be something + rather--devilish--like Don Juan--or perhaps you'll be just an + 'ostler in a courtyard, shining boots and--kissing maids---- + + "Of course I don't quite mean that. But I do feel that you'd be + rather worth while if you'd stop philandering and discover your + soul. + + "I am a bit homesick, and I haven't any home. If Dad hadn't married + a second time, I believe he would still love me a bit. But his wife + doesn't. And so here I am--and as restless as ever--seeking + something--always seeking. + + "And now, once more, don't break the heart of the new little girl. + I don't need to warn you not to break your own. You are the + greatest example of the truth of 'he who loves and runs away will + live to love another day.' Oh, Georgie-Porgie, will you ever love + any woman enough to rise with her to the heights? + + "Perhaps there aren't any heights for you or me. But I should like + to think there were. Different hilltops, of course, so that we + could wave across. We shall never climb together, Georgie. Perhaps + we are too much alike to help each other up the hills. We need + stronger props. + + "Tell me about Flora. Is she really ill? If she is, I'll come. But + I'd rather not. + + "I hope you won't read this aloud to Oscar. You might, you know, + and it wouldn't do. He would hate to believe that he'd be happier + buying things at a delicatessen, and he wouldn't believe it. But + it's true, just as it is true that you would be happy shining + boots and making love to the maids like a character in Dickens. + + "Come on up, and we'll motor to Boston on Sunday afternoon and + we'll go to Trinity; I want somebody to be good with me, Georgie, + and there are so many of the other kind. + + "Ever wistfully, + "Madge." + +George knew that he ought to go, but he was not ready yet to run away. +He was having the time of his life, and as for Becky, he would teach her +how to play the game. + + +IV + +Aunt Claudia was away for three weeks. + +"I wish she would come home," young Paine said one morning to his +mother. + +"Why?" Caroline Paine was at her desk with her mind on the dinner. "Why, +Randy?" + +"Oh, Dalton's going there a lot." + +Mrs. Paine headed her list with gumbo soup. "Do you think he goes to see +Becky?" + +"Does a duck swim? Of course he goes there to see her, and he's turning +her head." + +"He is enough to turn any woman's head. He has nice eyes." Mrs. Paine +left the topic as negligible, and turned to more important things. + +"Randy, would you mind picking a few pods of okra for the soup? Susie is +so busy and Bob and Jefferson are both in the field." + +"Certainly, Mother," his cool answer gave no hint of the emotions which +were seething within him. Becky's fate was hanging in the balance, and +his mother talked of okra! He had decided some weeks ago that boarders +were disintegrating--and that a mother was not a mother who had three +big meals a day on her mind. + +He went into the garden. An old-fashioned garden, so common at one time +in the South--with a picket fence, a little gate, orderly paths--a blaze +of flowers to the right, and to the left a riot of vegetables--fat +tomatoes weighing the vines to the ground, cucumbers hiding under their +sheltering leaves, cabbages burgeoning in blue-green, and giving the +promise of unlimited boiled dinners, onions enough to flavor a thousand +delectable dishes, sweet corn running in countless rows up the hill, +carrots waving their plumes, Falstaffian watermelons. It was evident +with the garden as an index that the boarders at King's Crest were fed +on more than milk and honey. + +Randy picked the okra and carried it to the kitchen, and returning to +the Schoolhouse found the Major opening his morning mail. + +Randy sat down on the step. "Once upon a time," he said, "we had +niggers to work in our gardens. And now we are all niggers." + +The Major's keen eyes studied him. "What's the matter?" + +"I've been picking okra--for soup, and I'm a Paine of King's Crest." + +"Well, you peeled potatoes in France." + +"That's different." + +"Why should it be different? If a thing is for the moment your job you +are never too big for it." + +"I wish I had stayed in the Army. I wish I had never come back." + +The Major whistled for a moment, thoughtfully. Then he said, "Look here, +Paine, hadn't you better talk about it?" + +"Talk about what?" + +"That's for you to tell me. There's something worrying you. You are more +tragic than--Hamlet----" + +"Well--it's--Becky----" + +"And Dalton, of course. Why don't you cut him out, Paine----" + +"Me? Oh, look here, Major, what have I to offer her?" + +"Youth and energy and a fighting spirit," the Major rapped out the +words. + +"What is a fighting spirit worth," Randy asked with a sort of weary +scorn, "when a man is poor and the woman's rich?" + +The Major had been whistling a silly little tune from a modern opera. It +was an air which his men would have recognized. It came to an end +abruptly. + +"Rich? Who is rich?" + +"Becky." + +The Major got up and limped to the porch rail. "I thought she was as +poor as----" + +"The rest of us? Well, she isn't." + +It appeared that Becky's fortune came from the Nantucket grandmother, +and that there would be more when the Admiral died. It was really a very +large fortune, well invested, and yielding an amazing income. One of the +clauses of the grandmother's will had to do with the bringing up of +Becky. Until she was of age she was to be kept as much as possible away +from the distractions and temptations of modern luxury. The Judge and +the Admiral had agreed that nothing could be better. The result, Randy +said, was that nobody ever thought of Becky Bannister as rich. + +"Yet those pearls that she wears are worth more than I ever expect to +earn." + +"It is rather like a fairy tale. The beggar-maid becomes a queen." + +"You can see now why I can't offer her just youth and a fighting +spirit." + +"I wonder if Dalton knows." + +"I don't believe he does," Randy said slowly. "I give him credit for +that." + +"He might have heard----" + +"I doubt it. He hasn't mingled much, you know." + +"It will be rather a joke on him----" + +"To find that he has married--Mademoiselle Midas?" + +"To find that she is Mademoiselle Midas, whether he marries her or not." + + +V + +Of course Georgie-Porgie ran away. It was the inevitable climax. Flora's +illness hastened things a bit. + +"She wants to see her New York doctors," Waterman had said. "I think we +shall close the house, and join Madge later at the Crossing." + +George felt an unexpected sense of shock. The game must end, yet he +wanted it to go on. The cards were in his hands, and he was not quite +ready to turn the trick. + +"When do we go?" he asked Oscar. + +"In a couple of days if we can manage it. Flora is getting worried about +herself. She thinks it is her heart." + +George rode all of that afternoon with Becky. But not a word did he say +about his departure. He never spoiled a thing like this with "Good-bye." +Back at Waterman's, Kemp was packing trunks. In forty-eight hours there +would be the folding of tents, and Hamilton Hill would be deserted. It +added a pensiveness to his manner that made him more than ever charming. +It rained on the way home, and it seemed to him significant that his +first ride and his last with Becky should have been in the rain. + +He stayed to dinner, and afterwards he and Becky walked together in the +fragrance of the wet garden. A new moon hung low for a while and was +then lost behind the hills. + +"My little girl," George said when the moment came that he must go, "My +dear little girl." He gathered her up in his arms--but did not kiss her. +For once in his life, Georgie-Porgie was too deeply moved for kisses. + +After he had gone, Becky went into the Bird Room, and stood on the +hearth and looked up at the Trumpeter Swan. There was no one to whom she +could speak of the ecstasy which surged through her. As a child she had +brought her joys here, and her sorrows--her Christmas presents in the +early morning--the first flowers of the spring. She had sat here often +in her little black frock and had felt the silent sympathy of the wise +old bird. + +He gazed down at her now with an almost uncanny intelligence. She +laughed a little and standing on tiptoe laid her cheek against the cool +glass. "When I am married," was her wordless question, "will you sound +your trumpet high up near the moon?" + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +MADEMOISELLE MIDAS + + +I + +There came to Huntersfield the next morning at about the same moment, +Kemp in his little car with a small parcel for Becky, and Calvin with a +big box from the express office. + +Becky was in her room at breakfast when Calvin brought the boxes up to +her. It was a sunshiny morning, and the Judge had gone a-fishing with +Mr. Flippin. Becky, in a lace cap and a robe that was delicately blue, +sat in a big chair with a low table in front of her. + +There were white roses on the table in a silver bowl. The Judge had sent +them to her. The Judge had for the women of his family a feeling that +was almost youthfully romantic, and which was, unquestionably, +old-fashioned. He liked to think that they had roses for their little +noses, ribbons and laces for their pretty faces. He wanted no harsh +winds to blow on them. And in return for the softness and ease with +which he would surround them, he wanted their deference to his masculine +point of view. + +With the box which George sent was a note. It was the first that Becky +had ever received from her lover. George's code did not include much +correspondence. Flaming sentiment on paper was apt to look silly when +the affair ended. + +To Becky, her name on the outside of the envelope seemed written in +gold. She was all blushing expectation. + +"There ain't no answer," Calvin said, and she waited for him to go +before she opened it. + +She read it and sat there drained of all feeling. She was as white as +the roses on her table. She read the note again and her hands shook. + + "Flora is very ill. We are taking her up to New York. After that we + shall go to the North Shore. There isn't time for me to come and + say, 'Good-bye.' Perhaps it is better not to come. It has been a + wonderful summer, and it is you who have made it wonderful for me. + The memory will linger with me always--like a sweet dream or a rare + old tale. I am sending you a little token--for remembrance. Think + of me sometimes, Becky." + +That was all, except a scrawled "G. D." at the end. No word of coming +back. No word of writing to her again. No word of any future in which +she would have a part. + +She opened the box. Within on a slender chain was a pendant--a square +sapphire set in platinum, and surrounded by diamonds. George had +ordered it in anticipation of this crisis. He had, hitherto, found such +things rather effective in the cure of broken hearts. + +Now, had George but known it, Becky had jewels in leather cases in the +vaults of her bank which put his sapphire trinket to shame. There were +the diamonds in which a Meredith great-grandmother had been presented at +the Court of St. James, and there were the pearls of which her own +string was a small part. There were emeralds and rubies, old corals and +jade--not for nothing had the Admiral sailed the seas, bringing back +from China and India lovely things for the woman he loved. And now the +jewels were Becky's, and she had not cared for them in the least. If +George had loved her she would have cherished his sapphire more than all +the rest. + +But he did not love her. She knew it in that moment. All of her doubts +were confirmed. + +The thing that had happened to her seemed incredible. + +She put the sapphire back in its box, wrapped it, tied the string +carefully and called Mandy. + +"Tell Calvin to take this to Mr. Dalton." + +Mandy knew at once that something was wrong. But this was not a moment +for words. The Bannisters did not talk about things that troubled them. +They held their heads high. And Becky's was high at this moment, and her +eyes were blazing. + +As she sat there, tense, Becky wondered what Dalton could have thought +of her. If she had not had a jewel in the world, she would not have kept +his sapphire. Didn't he know that? + +But how could he know? To him it had been "a sweet dream--a rare old +tale," and she had thought him a Romeo ready to die for her sake, an +Aucassin--willing to brave Hell rather than give her up, a Lohengrin +sent from Heaven! + +She shuddered and hid her face in her hands. At last she crept into bed. +Mandy, coming in to straighten the room, was told to lower the curtains. + +"My--my head aches, Mandy." + +Mandy, wise old Mandy, knew of course that it was her heart. "You res' +an' sleep, honey," she said, and moved about quietly setting things in +order. + +But Becky did not sleep. She lay wide awake, and tried to get the thing +straight in her mind. How had it happened? Where had she failed? Oh, why +hadn't Sister Loretto told her that there were men like this? Why hadn't +Aunt Claudia returned in time? + +In the big box which Mandy had brought up were clothes--exquisite things +which Becky had ordered from New York. She had thought it a miracle +that George should have fallen in love with her believing her poor. It +showed, she felt, his splendidness, his kingly indifference to--poverty. +Yet she had planned a moment when he should know. When their love was +proclaimed to the world he should see her in a splendor which matched +his own. He had loved her in spite of her faded cottons, in spite of her +shabby shoes. She had made up her list carefully, thinking of his +sparkling eyes when he beheld her. + +She got out of bed and opened the box. The lovely garments were wrapped +in rosy tissue paper, and tied with ribbons to match. It seemed to Becky +as if those rosy wrappings held the last faint glow of her dreams. + +She untied the ribbons of the top parcel, and disclosed a frock of fine +white lace--there was cloth of silver for a petticoat, and silver +slippers. She would have worn her pearls, and George and she would have +danced together at the Harvest Ball at the Merriweathers. It was an +annual and very exclusive affair in the county. It was not likely that +the Watermans and their guests would be invited, but there would have +been a welcome for Dalton as her friend--her more than friend. + +There was a white lace wrap with puffs of pink taffeta and knots of +silver ribbon which went with the gown. Becky with a sudden impulse put +it on. She stripped the cap from her head, and wound her bronze locks +in a high knot. She surveyed herself. + +Well, she was Becky Bannister of Huntersfield--and the mirror showed her +beauty. And Dalton had not known or cared. He thought her poor, and had +thrown her aside like an old glove! + +Down-stairs the telephone rang. Old Mandy, coming up to say that Mr. +Randy was on the wire, stood in amazement at the sight of Becky in the +rosy wrap with her hair peaked up to a topknot. + +"Ain' you in baid?" she asked, superfluously. + +"No. Who wants me, Mandy?" + +"I tole you--Mr. Randy." + +Becky deliberated. "I'll go down. When I come up we'll unpack all this, +Mandy." + +Randy at the other end of the wire was asking Becky to go to a barbecue +the next day. + +"The boarders are giving it--it is Mother's birthday and they want to +celebrate. It is to be on Pavilion Hill. They want you and the +Judge----" + +"To-morrow? Oh, I don't know, Randy." + +"Why not? Have you another engagement?" + +"No." + +"Then what's the matter? Can't you tear yourself away from your shining +knight?" + +Silence. + +"Becky--oh, I didn't mean that. I'm sorry--_Becky_----" + +Her answer came faintly, "I'll come." + +"What's the matter with the wire? I can't hear you." + +There was nothing the matter with the wire. The thing that was the +matter was Becky's voice. She found it suddenly unmanageable. "We'll +come," she told him finally, and hung up the receiver. + +She ascended the stairs as if she carried a burden on her back. Mandy +was on her knees before the hamper, untying the rosy packages. + +"Is you goin' to try 'em on, honey?" she asked. + +Becky stood in the doorway, the lace wrap hanging from her shoulders and +showing the delicate blue of the negligee beneath--her face was like +chalk but her eyes shone. "Yes," she said, "there's a pink gingham I +want to wear to the barbecue to-morrow. There ought to be a hat to match. +Did the hats come, Mandy?" + +"Calvin he say there's another box, but he ain' brought it up from the +deepot. He was ridin' dat Jo-mule, and this yer basket was all he could +ca'y." + +In the pink frock Becky looked like a lovely child. + +"Huc-cum you-all gettin' eve'y thing pink, Miss Becky?" Mandy asked. + +"For a change," said Becky. + +And how could she tell old Mandy that she had felt that in a +rose-colored world everything should be rose-color? + +She tried on each frock deliberately. She tried on every pair of +slippers. She tried on the wraps, and the hats which came up finally +with Calvin staggering beneath the bulkiness of the box. She was lovely +in everything. And she was no longer the little Becky Bannister whom +Dalton had wooed. She was Mademoiselle Midas, appraising her beauty in +her lovely clothes, and wondering what Dalton would think if he could +see her. + + +II + +Becky did not, after all, wear the pink gingham. The Judge elected to go +on horseback, so Becky rode forth by his side correctly and smartly +attired in a gray habit, with a straight black sailor and a high stock +and boots that made her look like a charming boy. + +They came to Pavilion Hill to find the boarders like the chorus in light +opera very picturesque in summer dresses and summer flannels, and with +Mrs. Paine in a broad hat playing the part of leading lady. Mr. Flippin, +who was high-priest at all of the county barbecues, was superintending +the roasting of a whole pig, and Mrs. Flippin had her mind on hot +biscuits. The young mulatto, Daisy, and Mandy's John, with the negroes +from the Paine household, were setting the long tables under the trees. +There was the good smell of coffee, much laughter, and a generally +festive atmosphere. + +The Judge, enthroned presently in the Pavilion, was the pivotal center +of the crowd. Everybody wanted to hear his stories, and with this fresh +audience to stimulate him, he dominated the scene. He wore a sack suit +and a Panama hat and his thin, fine face, the puff of curled white hair +at the back of his neck, the gayety of his glance gave an almost +theatric touch to his appearance, so that one felt he might at any +moment come down stage and sing a topical song in the best Gilbertian +manner. + +It was an old scene with a new setting. It was not the first time that +Pavilion Hill had been the backgrounds of a barbecue. But it was the +first time that a Paine of King's Crest had accepted hospitality on its +own land. It was the first time that it had echoed to the voices of an +alien group. It was the first time that it had seen a fighting black man +home from France. The old order had changed indeed. No more would there +be feudal lords of Albemarle acres. + +Yet old loyalties die hard. It was the Judge and Mrs. Paine and Becky +and Randy who stood first in the hearts of the dusky folk who served at +the long tables. The boarders were not in any sense "quality." Whatever +they might be, North, East and West, their names were not known on +Virginia records. And what was any family tree worth if it was not +rooted in Virginia soil? + +"Effen the Jedge was a king and wo' a crown," said Mandy's John to +Daisy, "he couldn't look mo' bawn to a th'one." + +Daisy nodded. "Settin' at the head o' that table minds me o' whut my old +Mammy used to say, 'han'some is as han'some does.' The Bannisters _done_ +han'some and they _is_ han'some." + +"They sure is," John agreed; "that-all's whut makes you so good-lookin', +Daisy." + +He came close to her and she drew away. "You put yo' min' on passin' +them plates," she said with severity, "or you'll be spillin' po'k gravy +on they haids." Her smile took away the sting of her admonition. John +moved on, murmuring, "Well, yo' does han'some and yo' is han'some, +Daisy, and that's why I loves you." + +There were speeches after dinner. One from Randy, in which he thanked +them in the name of his mother, and found himself quite suddenly and +unexpectedly being fond of the boarders. Major Prime was not there. He +had been summoned back to Washington, but would return, he hoped, for +the week-end. + +It was after lunch that Randy and Becky walked in the woods. Nellie +Custis followed them. They sat down at last at the foot of a hickory +tree. Becky took off her hat and the wind blew her shining hair about +her face. She was pale and wore an air of deep preoccupation. + +"Randy," she asked suddenly out of a long silence, "did you ever kiss a +girl?" + +Her question did not surprise him. He and Becky had argued many matters. +And they usually plunged in without preliminaries. He fancied that Becky +was discussing kisses in the abstract. It never occurred to him that the +problem was personal. + +"Yes," he said, "I have. What about it?" + +"Did you--ask her to marry you?" + +"No." + +"Why not?" + +He pulled Nellie Custis' ears. "One of them wasn't a nice sort of +girl--not the kind that I should have cared to introduce to--you." + +"Yet you cared to--kiss her?" + +Randy flushed faintly. "I know how it looks to you. I hated it +afterwards, but I couldn't marry a girl--like that----" + +"Who was the other girl?" + +For a moment he did not reply, then he said with something of an effort, +"It was you, Becky." + +"Me? When?" She turned on him her startled gaze. + +"Do you remember at Christmas--oh, ten years ago--and your grandfather +had a party for you. There was mistletoe in the hall, and we danced and +stopped under the mistletoe----" + +"I remember, Randy--how long ago it seems." + +"Yet ten years isn't really such a long time, is it, Becky? I was only a +little boy, but I told myself then that I would never kiss any other +girl. I thought then that--that some day I might ask you to marry me. +I--I had a wild dream that I might try to make you love me. I didn't +know then that poverty is a millstone about a man's neck." He gave a +bitter laugh. + +Becky's breath came quickly. "Oh, Randy," she said, "poverty wouldn't +have had anything to do with it--not if we had--cared----" + +"I care," said Randy, "and I think the first time I knew how much I +cared was when I kissed that other girl. Somehow you came to me that +night, a little white thing, so fine and different, and I loathed her." + +He was standing now--tall and lean and black-haired, but with the look +of race on his thin face, a rather princely chap in spite of his shabby +clothes. "Of course you don't care," he said; "I think if I had money I +should try to make you. But I haven't the right. I had thought that, +perhaps, if no other man came that some time I might----" + +Becky picked up her riding crop, and as she talked she tapped her boot +in a sort of staccato accompaniment. + +"That other man has come," _tap-tap_, "he kissed me," _tap-tap_, "and +made me love him," _tap-tap_, "and he has gone away--and he hasn't asked +me to marry him." + +One saw the Indian in Randy now, in the lifted head, the square-set jaw, +the almost cruel keenness of the eyes. + +"Of course it is George Dalton," he said. + +"Yes." + +"I could kill him, Becky." + +She laughed, ruefully. "For what? Perhaps he thinks I'm not a nice sort +of girl--like the one you kissed----" + +"For God's sake, Becky." + +He sat down on a flat rock. He was white, and shaking a little. He +wanted more than anything else in the wide world to kill George Dalton. +Of course in these days such things were preposterous. But he had murder +in his heart. + +"I blame myself," Becky said, _tap-tap_, "I should have known that a man +doesn't respect," _tap-tap_, "a woman he can kiss." + +He took the riding crop forcibly out of her hands. "Look at me, look at +me, Becky, do you love him?" + +She whispered, "Yes." + +"Then he's got to marry you." + +But her pride was up. "Do you think I want him if he doesn't want--me?" + +"He shall want you," said Randy Paine; "the day shall come when he shall +beg on his knees." + +Randy had studied law. But there are laws back of the laws of the white +man. The Indian knows no rest until his enemy is in his hands. Randy lay +awake late that night thinking it out. But he was not thinking only of +Georgie. He was thinking of Becky and her self-respect. "She will never +get it back," he said, "until that dog asks her to marry him." + +He had faith enough in her to believe that she would not marry Dalton +now if he asked her. But she must be given the chance. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +ANCESTORS + + +I + +The Judge and Mr. Flippin were fishing, with grasshoppers for bait. The +fish that they caught they called "shiners." As an edible product +"shiners" were of little account. But the Judge and Mr. Flippin did not +fish for food, they fished for sport. It was mild sport compared to the +fishing of other days when the Judge had waded into mountain streams +with the water coming up close to the pocket of his flannel shirt where +he kept his cigars, or had been poled by Bob Flippin from "riffle" to +pool. Those had been the days of speckled trout and small-mouthed bass, +and Bob had been a boy and the Judge at middle age. Now Bob Flippin had +reached the middle years, and the Judge was old, but they still fished +together. They were comrades in a very close and special sense. What Bob +Flippin lacked in education and culture he made up in wisdom and +adoration of the Judge. When he talked he had something to say, but as +a rule he let the Judge talk and was always an absorbed listener. + +There was in their relations, however, a complete adjustment to the +class distinctions which separated them. The Judge accepted as his right +the personal service with which Bob Flippin delighted to honor him. It +was always Bob who pulled the boat and carried the basket. It was Bob +who caught the grasshoppers and cooked the lunch. + +There was one dish dedicated to a day's fishing--fried ham and eggs. Bob +had a long-handled frying-pan, and the food was seasoned with the salt +and savor of the out-of-doors. + +There were always several dogs to bear their masters company. The +Judge's three were beagles--tireless hunters of rabbits, and somewhat in +disgrace as a species since Germany had gone to war with the world. +Individually, however, they were beloved by the Judge because they were +the children and grandchildren of a certain old Dinah who had slept in a +basket by his bed until she died. + +Bob Flippin had a couple of setters, and the five canines formed a +wistful semicircle around the lunch basket. + +The lunch basket was really a fishing-basket, lined with tin. In one end +was a receptacle for ice. After the lunch was eaten, the fish were put +next to the ice, and the basket thus served two purposes. Among the +other edibles there were always corn-cakes for the dogs. They knew it, +and had the patience of assured expectation. + +"Truxton comes on Saturday," said the Judge as he watched Bob turn the +eggs expertly in the long-handled pan, "and Claudia. I told Becky to +ride over this morning and ask your wife if she could help Mandy. +Mandy's all right when there's nobody but the family, but when there's +company in prospect she moans and groans." + +"Mollie's up at the Watermans'; Mrs. Waterman is worse. They expected to +take her to New York, but she is too ill, and they are going to have the +doctors bring another nurse." + +"I had a note from Mr. Dalton," said the Judge, "saying they were going. +It was rather sudden, and he was sorry. Nice fellow. He liked to come +over and look at my birds." + +Bob Flippin's eyes twinkled. "I reckon he liked to look at a pretty +girl----" + +The Judge stared at him. "At Becky?" + +Flippin nodded. "Didn't you know it?" + +"Bless my soul." The Judge was unquestionably startled. "But I don't +know anything about him. I can't have him running after Becky." + +"Seems to me he's been a-runnin'." + +"But what would Claudia say? I don't know anything about his family. +Maybe he hasn't any family. How do I know he isn't a fortune-hunter?" + +"Well, he isn't a bird hunter, I can tell you that. I saw him kick one +of your dogs. A man that will kick a dog isn't fit to hold a gun." + +"No, he isn't," said the Judge, soberly. "I'm upset by what you've said, +Flippin. Dalton's all right as far as I can see as a friend of mine. But +when anybody comes courting at Huntersfield he's got to show +credentials." + +He ate his lunch without much appetite. He was guiltily aware of what +Claudia would say if she knew what had happened. + +But perhaps nothing had happened and perhaps she need not know. He +cheered up and threw a bit of ham to the waiting dogs. Perhaps Becky +wasn't interested. Perhaps, after all, Dalton had been genuine in his +interest in the stuffed birds. + +"Becky's too young for things like that," he began hopefully. + +But Bob Flippin shook his head. "Girls are queer, Judge, and you never +can tell what they're goin' to do next. Now, there's my Mary--running +off and getting married, and coming home and not talking much about it. +She--didn't even bring her marriage certificate. Said that he had kept +it. But she's never lied to me, and I know when she says she's married, +she's--married--but it's queer. He ain't written now for weeks, but she +ain't worried. She says she knows the reason, but she can't tell me. And +when I try to ask questions, she just looks me straight in the eye and +says, 'I never lied to you, Father, did I? And it's all right.'" + +"He has a good name," said the Judge. "Branch--it's one of our names--my +wife's family." + +"But I reckon there ain't never been any Truelove Branches in your +family tree. I laugh at Mary when she calls him that. '"Truelove" ain't +any name for a man, Mary,' I tell her. But she says there couldn't be a +better one. And she insisted on naming the child 'Fidelity.' But if +anybody had told me that my little Mary--would take things into her own +hands like that--why, Judge, before she went away to teach school, she +leaned on me and her mother--and now she's as stiff as a poker when we +try to ask about her affairs----" + +"Does he support her?" the Judge asked. + +"Sends her plenty of money. She always seems to have enough, even when +he doesn't write. He'll be coming one of these days--and then we'll get +the thing straight, but in the meantime there ain't any use in asking +Mary." + +He brought out the bag of corn-cakes and fed the dogs. They were a +well-bred crew and took their share in turn, sitting in a row and going +through the ceremony with an air of enjoying not only the food but the +attention they attracted from the two men. + +"Of course," said Mr. Flippin as he gathered up the lunch things, "I'm +saying to you what I wouldn't say to another soul. Mary's my girl, and +she's all right. But I naturally have the feelings of a father." + +The Judge stretched himself on the grass, and pulled his hat over his +eyes. "Girls are queer, and if that Dalton thinks he can court my +Becky----" He stopped, and spoke again from under his hat, "Oh, what's +the use of worrying, Bob, on a day like this?" + +The Judge always napped after lunch, and Bob Flippin, stretched beside +him, lay awake and watched the stream slip by in a sheet of silver, he +watched a squirrel flattened on the limb above him, he watched the birds +that fluttered down to the pools to bathe, he watched the buzzards +sailing high above the hills. + +And presently he found himself watching his own daughter Mary, as she +came along the opposite bank of the stream. + +She was drawing Fiddle-dee-dee in a small red cart and was walking +slowly. + +She walked well. Country-born and country-bred, there was nothing about +her of plodding peasant. All her life she had danced with the +Bannisters and the Beauforts. Yet she had never been invited to the big +balls. When the Merriweathers gave their Harvest Dance, Mary and her +mother would go over and help bake the cakes, and at night they would +sit in the gallery of the great ballroom and watch the dancers, but Mary +would not be asked out on the floor. + +Seeing the Judge asleep, Mary stopped and beckoned from the other side. + +Flippin rose and made his way across the stream, stepping from stone to +stone. + +"Mother wants you to come right up to the Watermans', Father. Mrs. +Waterman is to have an operation, and you are to direct the servants in +fitting up a room for the surgeons. The nurse will tell you what to do." + +Mr. Flippin rubbed his face with his handkerchief. "I don't like to wake +the Judge." + +"I'll stay here and tell him," Mary said. "And you can send Calvin down +to carry the basket." + +She was standing beside him, and suddenly she laid her cheek against his +arm. "I love you," she said, "you are a darling, Daddy." + +He patted her cheek. "That sounds like my little Mary." + +"Don't I always sound like your little Mary?" + +"Not always." + +"Well--I've had things on my mind." Her blue eyes met his, and she +flushed a bit. "Not things that I am sorry for, but things that I am +worried about. But now--well, I am very happy in my heart, Daddy." + +He smiled down at her. "Have you heard from T. Branch?" + +"Yes, by wireless----" + +He looked his astonishment. "Wireless?" + +"Heart-wireless, Daddy. Didn't you get messages that way when you were +young--from Mother?" + +"How do I know? It's been twenty-five years since then, and we haven't +had to send messages. We've just held on to each other's hands, thank +God." He bent and kissed her. "You stay and tell the Judge, Mary. He'll +sleep for a half-hour yet; he's as regular as the clock." + +His own two dogs followed him, but the Judge's beagles lay with their +noses on their paws at their master's feet. Now and then they snapped at +flies but otherwise they were motionless. + +Before the half hour was up Fiddle-dee-dee fell asleep, and the Judge +waking, saw on the other side of a stream propped against the gray old +oak, the young mother cool in her white dress, her child in her arms. + +"Father had to go," she told him, and explained the need; "he'll send +Calvin for the basket." + +"I can carry my own basket, Mary; I'm not a thousand years old." + +"It isn't that. But you've never carried baskets, Judge." + +The Judge chuckled. "You say that is if it were an accusation." + +"It isn't. Only some of us seem born to carry baskets and others are +born to--let us carry them." Her smile redeemed her words from +impertinence. + +"Are you a Bolshevik, Mary?" + +"No. I believe in the divine rights of kings and--Judges. I'd hate to +see you carry a basket. It would rob you of something--just as I would +hate to see a king without his crown or a queen without her scepter." + +"Oh, Mary, Mary, your father has never said things like that to me." + +"He doesn't feel them. Father believes in The God of Things as They +are----" + +"And don't you?" + +"I believe in you," she rose and carrying her sleeping child, crossed +the stream on the stones as easily as if she carried no burden; "you +know I believe in you, don't you--and in all the Bannisters?" + +It was said so lightly that he took it lightly. No one was so touchy as +the Judge about his dignity if it were disregarded. But here was little +Mary smiling up at him and telling him that he was a king with a crown +and she liked it. + +"Well, well. Let's sit down, Mary." + +"Fish, if you want to, and I'll watch." + +He baited his hook and cast his line into the stream. It had a bobbing +red cork which fascinated Fiddle-dee-dee. She tried to wade out and get +it, and had to be held by her very short skirts lest she drown in the +attempt. + +"So I'm a confounded autocrat," the Judge chuckled. "Nobody ever said +that to me before, but maybe some of them have been thinking it." + +"Maybe they have," said Mary gravely, "but they haven't really cared. +Having the Bannisters at Huntersfield is like the English having a +Victoria or an Edward or a George at Buckingham Palace or at Windsor; it +adds flavor to their--democracy----" + +"Mary--who's been saying all this to you?" he demanded. + +"My husband." + +"Truelove Branch?" + +She nodded. + +"I'd like to meet him, by Jove, I'd like to meet him. He has been +teaching his wife to poke fun at her old friend----" + +She faced him fearlessly. "I'm not poking fun. I--I'd hate to have the +Bannisters lose one little bit of their beautiful traditions. I--I---- +Some day I'm going to teach little Fiddle those traditions, and tell her +what it means when--when people have race back of them. You see, I +haven't it, Judge, but I know what it's worth." + +He was touched by her earnestness. "My dear Mary," he said, "I wish my +own grandson looked at it that way. His letters of late have been very +disturbing." + +A little flush crept into her cheeks. "Disturbing?" + +"He writes that we Americans have got to fit our practice to our +theories. He says that we shout democracy and practice autocracy. That +we don't believe that all men are free and equal, and that, well, in +your words, Mary--we let other people carry our baskets." + +Mary was smiling to herself. "You are glad he is coming home?" + +"Truxton? Yes. On Saturday." + +"Becky told me. She rode over to get Mother to help Mandy." + +"I am going to have a lot of people to dine the day he arrives," said +the Judge, "and next week there'll be the Merriweathers' ball. He will +have a chance to see his old friends." + +"Yes," said Mary, "he will." + +They talked a great deal about Truxton after that. + +"I wish he bore the Bannister name," said the Judge. "Becky is the only +Bannister." + +After the death of her husband Mrs. Beaufort had come to live with the +Judge. Truxton's boyhood had been spent on the old estate. The Judge's +income was small, and Truxton had known few luxuries. Like the rest of +the boys of the Bannister family he was studying law at the University. +He and Randy had been classmates, but had gone into different branches +of the service. + +"When he comes back," the Judge told Mary, "he must show the stuff he is +made of. I can't have him selling cars around the county like Randy +Paine." + +"Well, Randy has sold a lot of them," said Mary. "Father has given him +an order----" + +"You don't mean to say that Bob Flippin is going to buy a car----" + +"He is." + +"He didn't dare tell me," the Judge said; "what's he going to do with +his horses?" + +"Keep them," said Mary serenely; "the car is for Mother--she's going to +drive it herself." + +The Judge, with a vision of Mollie Flippin's middle-aged plumpness upon +him, exclaimed: "You don't mean that your mother is going to--drive a +car?" + +"Yes," said Mary, "she is." + +"I would as soon think of Claudia----" + +"No," said Mary, "Mrs. Beaufort will never drive her own car. She has +the coachman habit, and if she ever gets a car, there'll be a man at the +wheel." + +She brought the conversation back to Truxton. "Do you remember how we +had a picnic here years ago, Mother packed the lunch, and Truxton ate up +all the raspberry tarts?" + +"He loved tarts," said the Judge, "and chocolate cake. Well, well, I +shall be glad to see him." + +"Perhaps--perhaps when he gets here you'll be disappointed." + +"Why," sharply, "why should I?" + +Mary did not answer. She stood up with Fiddle in her arms. "Calvin's +coming for the basket," she said, "and I shall have to go up on the +other side--I left the cart." + +She said "good-bye" and crossed by the stepping-stones. The Judge wound +up his fishing tackle. The day's sport resulted in three small +"shiners." But he had enjoyed the day--there had been the stillness and +the sunlight, and the good company of Bob Flippin and his daughter +Mary. + +The dogs followed, and Mary from the other side of the stream watched +the little procession, Calvin in the lead with the load, the Judge +straight and slim with his fluff of white hair, the three little dogs +paddling on their short legs. + +"Judge Bannister of Huntersfield," said Mary Flippin. Then she raised +Fiddle high in her arms. "Say _Granddad_, Fiddle," she whispered, "say +_Granddad_." + + +II + +The Flippin farmhouse was wide and rambling. It had none of the classic +elegance of the old Colonial mansions, but it had a hall in the middle +with the sitting-room on one side and on the other an old-fashioned +parlor with a bedroom back of it. The dining-room was back of the +sitting-room, and beyond that was the kitchen, and a succession of +detached buildings which served as dairy, granary, tool-house and +carriage house in the old fashion. There was much sunlight and +cleanliness in the farmhouse, and beauty of a kind, for the Flippins had +been content with simple things, and Mary's taste was evidenced in the +restraint with which the new had been combined with the old. She and her +mother did most of the work. It was not easy in these days to get +negroes to help. Daisy, the mulatto, had come down for the summer, but +they had no assurance that when the winter came they could keep her. +Divested of her high heels and city affectations, Daisy was just a +darkey, of a rather plain, comfortable, efficient type. When Mary went +in, she was getting supper. + +"Has Mother come, Daisy?" + +"No, Miss, she ain', an' yo' Poppa ain' come. An' me makin' biscuits." + +"Your biscuits are always delicious, Daisy." + +"An' me and John wants to go to the movies, Miss Mary. An' efen the +supper is late." + +"You can leave the dishes until mornin', Daisy." + +Mary smiled and sighed as she went on with Fiddle to her own room. The +good old days of ordered service were over. + +She went into the parlor bedroom. It was the one which she and Fiddle +occupied. She bathed and dressed her baby, and changed her own frock. +Then she entered the long, dim parlor. There was a family Bible on the +table. It was a great volume with steel engravings. It had belonged to +her father's father. In the middle of the book were pages for births and +deaths. The records were written legibly but not elegantly. They went +back for two generations. Beyond that the Flippins had no family tree. + +Mary had seen the family tree at Huntersfield. It was rooted in +aristocratic soil. There were Huguenot branches and Royalist +branches--D'Aubignes and Moncures, Peytons and Carys, Randolphs and +Lees. And to match every name there was more than one portrait on the +walls of Huntersfield. + +Mary remembered a day when she and Truxton Beaufort had stood in the +wide hall. + +"A great old bunch," Truxton had said. + +"If they were my ancestors I should be afraid of them." + +"Why, Mary?" + +"Oh, they'd expect so much of me." + +"Oh, that," Truxton said airily, "who cares what they expect?" + +Mr. and Mrs. Flippin came home in time for supper. The nurse had arrived +and the surgeons would follow in the morning. "It's dreadful, Mary," +Mrs. Flippin said, "to see her poor husband; money isn't everything. And +he loves her as much as if they were poor." + +Daisy washed the dishes in a perfect whirl of energy, donned her +high-heeled slippers and her Washington manner, and went off with John. +It was late that night when Mrs. Flippin went out to find Mary busy. + +"My dear," she said, "what are you doing?" + +Mary was rolling out pastry, with ice in a ginger-ale bottle. "I am +going to make some tarts. There was a can of raspberries left--and--and +well--I'm just hungry for--raspberry tarts, Mother." + + +III + +It was the Judge who told Becky that Dalton had not gone. "Mrs. Waterman +is very ill, and they are all staying down." + +Becky showed no sign of what the news meant to her, but that night pride +and love fought in the last ditch. It seemed to Becky that with Dalton +at King's Crest the agony of the situation was intensified. + +"Oh, why should I care?" she kept asking herself as she sat late by her +window. "He doesn't. And I have known him only three weeks. Why should +he count so much?" + +She knew that he counted to the measure of her own constancy. "I can't +bear it," she said over and over again pitifully, as the hours passed. +"I think I shall--die." + +It seemed to her that she wanted more than anything in the whole wide +world to see him for a moment--to hear the quick voice--to meet the +sparkle of his glance. + +Well, why not? If she called him--he would come. She was sure of that. +He was staying away because he thought that she cared. And he didn't +want her to care. But he was not really--cruel--and if she called +him---- + +She wandered around the room, stopping at a window and going on, +stopping at another to stare out into the starless night. There had been +rain, and there was that haunting wet fragrance from the garden. "I must +see him," she said, and put her hand to her throat. + +She went down-stairs. Everybody was in bed. There was no one to hear. +Her grandfather's room was over the library; Mandy and Calvin slept in +servants' quarters outside. To-morrow the house would be full of +ears--and it would be too late. + +A faint light burned in the lower hall. The stairway swept down from a +sort of upper gallery, and all around the gallery and on the stairs and +along the lower hall were the portraits of Becky's dead and gone +ancestors. + +They were really very worth-while ancestors, not as solid and +substantial perhaps as those whose portraits hung in the Meredith house +on Main Street in Nantucket, but none the less aristocratic, with a bit +of dare-devil about the men, and a hint of frivolity about the +women--with a pink coat here and a black patch there, with the sheen of +satin and the sparkle of jewels--a Cavalier crowd, with the greatest +ancestor of all in his curly wig and his sweeping plumes. + +They stared at Becky as she went down-stairs, a little white figure in +her thin blue dressing-gown, her bronze hair twisted into a curly +topknot, her feet in small blue slippers. + +The telephone was on a small table under the portrait of the greatest +grandfather. He had a high nose, and a fine clear complexion, and he +looked really very much alive as he gazed down at Becky. + +She found the King's Crest number. It was a dreadful thing that she was +about to do. Yet she was going to do it. + +She reached for the receiver. Then suddenly her hand was stayed, for it +seemed to her that into the silence her greatest grandfather shouted +accusingly: + +_"Where is your pride?"_ + +She found herself trying to explain. "But, Grandfather----" + +The clamour of other voices assailed her: + +_"Where is your pride?"_ + +They were flinging the question at her from all sides, those gentlemen +in ruffles, those ladies in shining gowns. + +Becky stood before them like a prisoner at the bar--a slight child, yet +with the look about her of those lovely ladies, and with eyes as clear +as those of the old Governor who had accused her. + +"But I love him----" + +It was no defense and she knew it. Not one of those lovely ladies would +have tried to call a lover back, not one of them but would have died +rather than show her hurt. Not one of those slender and sparkling +gentlemen but would have found swords or pistols the only settlement for +Dalton's withdrawal at such a moment. + +And she was one of them--one of that prideful group. There came to her a +sense of strength in that association. What had been done could be done +again. Other women had hidden broken hearts. Other women had held their +heads high in the face of disappointment and defeat. There were +traditions of the steadfastness of those smiling men and women. Some +day, perhaps, she would have her portrait painted, and she would +be--smiling. + +She had no fear now of their glances, as she passed them on the stairs, +as she met them in the upper hall. What she had to bear she must bear in +silence, and bear it like a Bannister. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +"T. BRANCH" + + +I + +Dalton felt that Fate had played a shabby trick. He had planned a +graceful exit and the curtain had stuck; he had wanted to run away, and +he could not. Flora was very ill, and it was, of course, out of the +question to desert Oscar. + +Madge had been sent for. She was to arrive on the noon train. He had +promised Oscar that he would drive down for her. The house was in a +hubbub. There were two trained nurses, and a half-dozen doctors. The +verdict was unanimous, Flora could not be moved, and an operation was +imperative. + +And in the meantime there was the thought of Becky beating at his heart. +With miles between them, the thing would have been easy. Other interests +would have crowded her out. But here she was definitely within +reach--and he wanted her. He wanted her more than he had ever wanted +Madge, more than he had ever wanted any other woman. There had been a +sweetness about her, a dearness. + +He thought it over as he lay in bed waiting for his breakfast. Since +waking, he had led Kemp a life of it. + +"Of all the fools," he said, when at last the tray came. + +"Anything the matter, sir?" + +George lifted a silver cover. "That's not what I ordered." + +"You said a kidney omelette, sir." + +"I wanted the kidney broiled--not in a messy sauce. Take it away." + +"I'll get you another." + +"I don't want another. Take it away." He flung his napkin on the tray +and turned his face to the wall. "I've got a headache. Tell Waterman +that if he asks for me, that I've told you to go down and meet Miss +MacVeigh." + +Kemp stood and looked at the figure humped up under the light silk +cover. He had long patience. He might have been a stick or stone under +his master's abuse. But he was not a stick or a stone. It seemed too +that suddenly his soul expanded. No man had ever called him a fool, and +he had worn a decoration in France. He knew what he was going to do. And +for the first time in many months he felt himself a free man. + +George's decision to have Kemp meet Madge had been founded on the +realization that it would be unbearably awkward if he should pass Becky +on the road. She had sent back his pendant without a word, and there was +no telling how she was taking it. If the thing were ever renewed--and +his mind dwelt daringly on that possibility, explanations would be +easy--but he couldn't make explanation if she saw him first in a car +with another woman. + +It was thus that Madge, arriving on the noon train, found Kemp waiting +for her. Kemp was very fond of Miss MacVeigh. She was not a snob and +there were so many snobs among Dalton's friends. She talked to him as if +he were a man and not a mechanical toy. Dalton, on the other hand, +treated his valet as if he were a marionette to be pulled by strings, an +organ controlled by stops, or a typewriter operated by keys. + +Major Prime had come down on the same train. Randy, driving Little +Sister, was there to meet him. + +"It is good to get back," the Major said. "I've been homesick." + +"We missed you a lot. Yesterday we had a barbecue, and you should have +been here----" + +"I wanted to be, Randy. I hope you are not going to turn me out with the +rest of the boarders when you roll in affluence." + +"Affluence, nothing--but I sold two cars yesterday----" + +"Not bad for a poet." + +"It is a funny sort of game," said Randy soberly; "all day I run around +in this funny little car, and at night I think big thoughts and try to +put them on paper." + +He could not tell the Major that the night before his thoughts had not +been the kind to put on paper. He had been in a white fury. He knew that +if he met Dalton nothing could keep him from knocking him down. He felt +that a stake and burning fagots would be the proper thing, but, failing +that, fists would do. Yet, there was Becky's name to be considered. +Revenge, if he took it, must be a subtle thing--his mind had worked on +it in the darkness of the night. + +Kemp was helping Madge into the Waterman car. "Who is she?" the Major +asked. "She came down on my train." + +"Miss MacVeigh. Mrs. Waterman is very ill. There is to be an operation +at once." + +"I watched her on the train," the Major confessed as he and Randy drove +off. "She read all the way down, and smiled over her book. I saw the +title, and it was 'Pickwick Papers.' Fancy that in these days. Most +young people don't read Dickens." + +"Well, she isn't young, is she?" + +"Not callow, if that's what you mean, you ungallant cub. But she is +young in contrast to a Methuselah like myself." + +Kemp had to look after Miss MacVeigh's trunks, so Randy's little car +went on ahead. Thus again Fate pulled wires, or Providence. If the big +car had had the lead Madge would have gone straight as an arrow to +Hamilton Hill. But as it happened, Little Sister barred the way to the +open road. + + +II + +The two cars had to pass the Flippins. Mrs. Flippin and Mary were baking +cakes for the feast at Huntersfield. Mrs. Flippin was to go over in the +afternoon and help Mandy, and to-morrow Truxton and his mother would +arrive. + +"The Judge is like a boy," said Mrs. Flippin; "he's so glad to have +Truxton home." + +"Perhaps he won't be so glad when he gets here----" + +"Why not?" Mrs. Flippin turned and stared at her daughter. + +Mary was seeding raisins, wetting her fingers now and then in a glass of +water which stood on a table by her side. "Well, Truxton may be +changed--most of the men are, aren't they?" + +"Is Randy Paine changed?" + +"Yes, Mother." + +"How?" + +"He's a grown-up." + +"Well, he needed to grow, and it wouldn't hurt Truxton either." + +"But if Truxton has grown up and wants his own way--the Judge won't like +it. The Judge has always ruled at Huntersfield." + +"Well, he supports Truxton; why shouldn't he?" + +A bright flush stained Mary's skin. "Truxton has his officer's pay now." + +"He won't have it when he gets out of the Army." + +Mary rose and went to the stove. She came back with a kettle and poured +boiling water over a dish of almonds to blanch them. + +"We ought to have made this fruit cake a week ago to have it really +good," she said, and shelved the subject of Truxton Beaufort. + +"It will be good enough as it is," said Mrs. Flippin; "there isn't +anybody in the county that can beat me when it comes to baking cakes." + +"Where's Fiddle," Mary said, suddenly; "can you see her from the window, +Mother?" + +Mrs. Flippin could not. + +"Well, she's probably sailing her celluloid fish in the chickens' water +pan," said Mary; "I'll go out and look her up in a minute." + +But Fiddle was not sailing celluloid fish. Columbus-like she had decided +that there were wider seas than the water pan. Once upon a time her +grandmother had taken her to the bottom of the hill, and at the bottom +of the hill there had been a lot of water, and Fiddle had walked in it +with her bare feet, and had splashed. She had liked it much better than +the chickens' pan. + +So she had picked up her three celluloid fish and had trotted down the +path. She wore her pink rompers, and as she bobbed along she was like a +mammoth rose-petal blown by the wind. + +At the foot of the hill she came upon a little brown stream. It was just +a thread of a stream, very shallow with a lot of big flat stones. Fiddle +walked straight into it, and the clear water swept over her toes. She +put in her little fish, and quite unexpectedly, they swam away. She +followed and came to where the stream was spanned by a rail-fence which +separated the Flippin farm from the road. The lowest rail was about as +high above the stream as her own fast-beating heart. She ducked under it +and discovered one of her fish whirling in a small eddy. It was a red +fish and she was very fond of it. She made a sudden grab, caught it, +lost her balance and sat down in the water. After the first shock, she +found that she liked it. The other fish had continued on their journey +towards the river. Perhaps some day they would come to the sea. Fiddle +forgot them. She held the little red fish fast and splashed the water +with her heels. + +Now on each side of the water was a road, which went up a hill each way, +so that cars coming down, put on speed to go up, and forded the stream +which was a mere thread of water except after high rains. + +Randy was talking to the Major as he came down the hill. He did not see +Fiddle until he was almost upon her. He was driving at high speed, and +there was only a second in which to jam things down and pull things up +and stop the car. + +Kemp was behind him. He was not prepared for Randy's sudden stop. He +swerved sharply to the left, slammed into a telegraph pole--and came +back to life to find somebody bending over him. "Who is looking after +the lady, sir?" he managed to murmur. + +"Young Paine and Mr. Flippin are carrying her to the house. You are cut +a bit. Let me tie up your head." The Major gave efficient first aid and +after that Kemp got to his feet painfully. "Is Miss MacVeigh badly +hurt?" + +"She is conscious, and not in great pain. I'm not much of a prop to lean +on, but I think we can make that hill together." + +They climbed slowly, the man of crutches and the man with the bound-up +head. + +"It's like a little bit of over there, Kemp, isn't it?" + +"Yes it is, sir--many's the time I've seen them helping each +other--master and man." + +When they got to the house, they found Madge on the sofa, and Mrs. +Flippin bending over her. "My husband has gone for the doctor," she told +the Major. "I think the blood comes from her hand; she must have put it +up to save her face." + +"I bent my head," murmured Madge, "and my hat was broad. Think what +might have happened if I had worn a little hat." + +She had started the sentence lightly but she stopped with a gasp of +pain. "Oh--my foot----" she said, "the pain--is--dreadful----" + +The Major drew up a chair, and handed his crutches to Randy. "If you'll +let us take off your shoe, it might help till the doctor comes." + +She fainted dead away while they did it, and came back to life to find +her foot bandaged, and her uncut hand held in the firm clasp of the man +with the crutches. He was regarding her with grave gray eyes, but his +face lighted as she looked up at him. + +"Drink this," he told her. "The doctor is on the way, and I think it +will help the pain until he comes." + +She liked his voice--it had a deep and musical quality. She was glad he +was there. Something in his strength seemed to reach out to her and +give her courage. + +When the pain began again, he gave her another drink from the glass, and +when she drifted off, she came back to the echo of a softly-whistled +tune. + +"I beg your pardon," the Major said as she opened her eyes; "it is a bad +habit that I permit myself when I have things on my mind. My men said +they always knew by the tune I whistled the mood I was in. And that +there was only one tune they were afraid of." + +"What was that?" + +"'Good-night, Ladies----'" He threw back his head and laughed. "When I +began on that they knew it was all up with them----" + +She tried to laugh with him, but it was a twisted grin. "Oh," she said +and began to tremble. She saw his eyes melt to tenderness. "Oh, you poor +little thing." + +She was conscious after that of the firm hand which held hers. The deep +voice which soothed. Through all that blinding agony she was conscious +of his call to courage--she wondered if he had called his men like +that--over there---- + +When the doctor came, he shook his head. "We'd better keep her here. She +is in no condition to be moved to Hamilton Hill, not over these roads. +Can you make room for her, Mrs. Flippin?" + +"She can have my room," said Mary; "Fiddle and I can go up-stairs----" + +They moved Madge, and Mrs. Flippin and Mary got her to bed. The Major +sat in the sitting-room and talked to Randy, and as he talked he held +Madge's hat in his hand. It had a brim of straw and a crown of mauve +silk. The Major, turning it round and round on a meditative finger, +thought of the woman who had worn it. She was a pretty woman, a very +oddly pretty woman. + +"Is she related to Mrs. Waterman, Kemp?" he asked. + +"No, sir. But she's been there all summer. And then she went away, and +they sent for her because Mrs. Waterman is ill." + +Randy rather indiscreetly flung out, "It seems as if the trail of that +Waterman crowd is over our world. I suppose we shall have to get the +news of this up to them somehow." + +"I can telephone Mr. Dalton, sir." + +"Is Dalton still there?" + +"Yes, sir. And he had a headache this morning, and stayed in bed, or he +would have been in the car, sir----" + +Randy wished bloodthirstily that Dalton had been in the car. Why +couldn't Dalton have been smashed instead of Madge? + +"I might call up Mr. Waterman instead of Mr. +Dalton," Kemp suggested. "If Mr. Dalton's in bed, he'll hate to be +disturbed." + +"Are you afraid of him, Kemp?" + +Kemp's honest eyes met Randy's burning glance. "No, I am not afraid. I +am leaving his service, sir." + +They stared at him. "Leaving his service, why?" Randy demanded. + +"He called me a fool this morning. And I am not a fool, sir." + +"What made him say that?" Randy asked, with interest. + +"He ordered a kidney omelette for breakfast, and I brought it, and he +wouldn't eat it, and blamed me. I am willing to serve any man, but not +without self-respect, sir." + +"What are you going to do now, Kemp?" the Major asked. + +"Find a better man to work for." + +"It won't be hard," Randy interpolated. + +"Work for me," said the Major. + +Kemp was eager----! "For you, sir?" + +"Yes. I need somebody to be legs for me--I'm only half a man. The place +is open for you if you want it." + +"I shall want it in a week," said Kemp; "I shall have to give him +notice." + +"There will be three musketeers in the old Schoolhouse, Paine. We have +all seen service." + +"It will be the best thing that ever happened to me, sir," said Kemp +ecstatically, "to know that I can wait on a fighting man." He swung down +the hall to the telephone as if he marched to the swirl of pipes. + +"Isn't Dalton a brute?" said Randy. + +"He that calleth his brother a fool----" mused the Major. He was still +turning the mauve hat in his hands. "It is queer," he said unexpectedly, +"how some women make you think of some flowers. Did you notice +everything Miss MacVeigh wore was lilac--and there's the perfume of it +about her things----" + +"Becky's a rose," said Randy, "from her own garden. She's as fresh and +sweet," his voice caught. "Oh, hang Dalton," he said, "I hate the whole +tribe of them----" + +Kemp came back to say that Oscar Waterman would be down at once. He +insisted that Miss MacVeigh should be brought up to Hamilton Hill. + +"He must talk with the doctor." + +"He is bringing a doctor of his own. One who came down for Mrs. +Waterman." + +Randy picked up his hat. "I'm going home. The same house won't hold +us----" + +Kemp was discreet. "Can I help you with your car, sir?" + +"I'll come over later and look at it." Randy, escaping by the back way, +walked over the hills. + +The Major stayed, and was in the sitting-room with the county doctor +when the others arrived. + +Dr. Dabney, the county doctor, was not old. He rode to hounds and he +enjoyed life. But he was none the less a good doctor and a wise one. +Waterman's physician confirmed the diagnosis. It would be very unwise to +move Miss MacVeigh. + +"But she can't stay here," said Dalton. + +"Why not?" + +"She can't be made comfortable." Dalton surveyed the Flippin +sitting-room critically. He was aware that Mr. Flippin was in the +doorway, and that Mrs. Flippin and Mary could not fail to catch his +words. But he did not care who heard what he said. All was wrong with +his world. It was bad enough to have Flora ill, but to have Madge out of +commission would be to forge another chain to hold him to Hamilton Hill. + +"She can be made very comfortable here," said Dr. Dabney. "Mrs. Flippin +is a famous housekeeper. And anyone who has ever slept in that east room +in summer knows that there is nothing better." + +Dalton ignored him. "What do you think?" He turned to the Washington +doctor. "What do you think?" + +"I think it best not to move her. We can send a nurse, and with Dr. +Dabney on the case, she will be in good hands." + +"The only trouble is," said Dr. Dabney, unexpectedly, "that we may +impose too much on Mrs. Flippin's hospitality." + +"We will pay----" said Dalton with a touch of insolence. + +From the doorway, Mr. Flippin answered him. "We don't want pay---- +Neighbors don't ask for money when they--help out----" + +There was a fine dignity about him. He was a rough farmer in overalls, +but Dalton would never match the simple grace of his fine gesture of +hospitality. + +The Major, who had been silent, now spoke up. "You are having more than +your share of trouble, Mr. Waterman. First your wife, and now your +guest." + +"Oh, I am, I am," said Oscar, brokenly. "I don't see what I've done to +deserve it." + +He was a pathetic figure. Whatever else he lacked, he loved his wife. If +she died--he felt that he could not bear it. For the first time in his +life Oscar faced a situation in which money did not count. He could not +buy off Death--all the money in the world would not hold back for one +moment the shadow of the Dark Angel from his wife's door. + + +III + +The window of the east room looked out on the old orchard. There was a +screened door which opened upon a porch and a stretch of lawn beyond +which was the dairy. + +Within the room there was a wide white bed, and a mahogany dresser with +a scarf with crocheted trimming, above the dresser was an old steel +engraving of Samson destroying the temple. The floor was spotless, a +soft breeze shook the curtains. Madge, relieved from pain and propped on +her pillows, watched a mother cat who with her kittens sat just outside +the door. + +She was a gray cat with white paws and breast, not fat at the moment but +with a comfortable well-fed look. She alternately washed herself and +washed her offspring. There were four of them, a rollicking lot not easy +to keep in order. + +"Aren't they--ripping?" Madge said to Mary. + +"They always come up on the step about this time in the afternoon; they +are waiting for the men to bring the milk to the dairy." + +A little later Madge saw the men coming--two of them, with the foaming +pails. The mother cat rose and went to meet them. Her tail was straight +up, and the kittens danced after her. + +"They will get a big dish of it, and then they will go around to the +kitchen door to wait for supper and the table scraps. And after that +Bessie will coax the kittens out to the barn and go hunting for the +night." + +"Is that her name--Bessie?" + +"Yes, there has always been a Bessie-cat here. And we cling to old +customs." + +"I like old customs," said Madge, "and old houses." + +After a little she asked, "Who makes the butter?" + +"I do. It's great fun." + +"Oh, when I am well, may I help?" + +"You----?" Mary came over and stood looking down at her; "of course you +may help. But perhaps you wouldn't like it." + +"I am sure I should. And I don't think I am going to get well very +soon----" + +Mary was solicitous. "Why not?" + +"I don't want to get well. I want to stay here. I think this place +is--heavenly." + +Mary laughed. "It is just a plain farmhouse. If you want the show places +you should go to Huntersfield and King's Crest----" + +"I want just this. Do you know I am almost afraid to go to sleep for +fear I shall wake up and find it a--dream----" + +A little later, she asked, "Are those apples in the orchard ripe?" + +"Yes." + +"May I have one?" + +"The doctor may not want you to have it," said her anxious nurse. + +"Just to hold in my hand," begged Madge. + +So Mary picked a golden apple, and when the doctor came after dark, he +found the room in all the dimness of shaded lamplight, and the golden +girl asleep with that golden globe in her hand. + +Up-stairs the mulatto girl, Daisy, was putting Fiddle-dee-dee to sleep. + +"You be good, and Daisy gwine tell you a story." + +Fiddle liked songs better. "Sing 'Jack-Sam bye.'" + +Daisy, without her corsets and in disreputable slippers, settled herself +to an hour of ease. She had the negro's love of the white child, and a +sensuous appreciation of the pleasant twilight, the bedtime song, the +rhythm of the rocking-chair. + +"Well, you lissen," she said, and rocked in time to the tune. + + Bye, oh, bye, little Jack-Sam, bye. + Bye, oh, bye, my baby, + When you wake, you shall have a cake-- + And all the pretty little horses-- + +Her voice was low and pleasant, with queer, quavering minor cadences. +But Fiddle-dee-dee was not sleepy. + +"'Tory," she begged, when the song was ended. + +So Daisy told the story of the three bears. Fiddle was too young to +fully comprehend, but she liked the sound of Daisy's voice at the +climaxes, "Who's been sittin' in _my_ chair?" and "Who's been sleepin' +in _my_ bed?" and "Who's been eatin' _my_ soup?" Daisy was dramatic or +nothing, and she entered into the spirit of her tale. It was such an +exciting performance altogether that Fiddle was wider awake than ever +when the story was finished. + +"Ain' you evah gwine shut yo' eyes?" + +"Daisy, sing," said Fiddle. + +"I'se sung twel my th'oat's dry," said Daisy. And just then Mary came +in. "Isn't she asleep, Daisy?--I'll take her. Bannister's John is +down-stairs and wants to see you." + +"Well, I ain' wantin' to see him," Daisy tossed her head; "you jus' take +Miss Fiddle whilst I goes down and settles _him_. I ain' dressed and I +ain' ready, Miss Mary. You jes' look at them feet." She stuck them out +for inspection. Her shoes were out at the toes and down at the heels. +"This ain' my comp'ny night." As she went down-stairs, her voice died +away in a querulous murmur. + +Mary, with her child in her arms, sat by the window and looked out upon +the quiet scene. There was faint rose in the sky, and a silver star. But +while she watched the rose faded. + +Fiddle, warm and heavy in her arms, slept finally. Then Mary took off +her dress and donned a thin white kimono. She let down her hair and +braided it---- + +There was no light in the room, and her mother, coming up, asked softly, +"Are you there?" + +"Yes." + +"Fiddle asleep?" + +"Yes, Mother." + +Mrs. Flippin found her way to the window and sat down. "The nurse is +here, and a lot of clothes and things just came over for Miss MacVeigh +from Hamilton Hill. Mary, I wish you could see them." + +"I shall in the morning, Mother." + +"The nurse got her into a satin nightgown before I came up, with nothing +but straps for sleeves--but she looked like a Princess----" + +"Aren't you tired to death, dear?" + +Mrs. Flippin laughed. "Me? I like it. I am sorry to have Miss MacVeigh +hurt, but having her in the house with all those pretty things and +people coming and going is better than a circus." + +Mary laughed a little. "You are such a darling--making the best of +things----" + +"Well, making the best is the easiest way," said Mrs. Flippin. "I ain't +taking any credit, Mary." + +"You've had a hard day. You'd better go to bed." + +"I'll have a harder one to-morrow. Nothing would do but I must go back +to Huntersfield. Mandy's off her head, and the Judge wants the whole +house turned upside down for Truxton." + +"And Truxton comes--on the noon train." + +"Yes." + +There was a long silence. Then Mary said in a queer voice, "Mother, I've +got to tell you something--to-night----" + +"You ain't got anything to tell me, honey." + +"But I have--something--I should have told you--months ago." + +"There isn't anything you can tell me that I don't know." + +_"Mother----"_ + +"Girls can't fool their mothers, Mary. Do you think that when Fiddle +grows up, she is going to fool you?" + + +IV + +The next morning Mr. Flippin was at the foot of the stairs when his +daughter came down. + +"So you lied to me, Mary." + +She shook her head, "No." + +"You said his name was Truelove Branch." + +"He is my true love, Father. And his name is T. Branch--Truxton Branch +Beaufort." + +"What do you think the Judge is going to say about this?" + +"He is going to hate it. He is going to think that your daughter isn't +good enough for his grandson." + +"You are good enough for anybody, Mary. But this wasn't the right way." + +"It was the only way. Didn't Mother tell you that he begged me to let +him write to you and go to the Judge, and I wouldn't?" + +"Why not?" + +"I wanted to have him here, so that we might face it together." + +"Your mother says she guessed it long ago. But she didn't say anything. +Talking might make it worse." + +"Talking would have made it worse, Dad. We had done it--and I'd do it +again," there was a lift of her head, a light in her eyes, "but it +hasn't been easy--to know that you wondered--that other people wondered. +But it wouldn't have been any better if I had told. Truxton had to be +here to make it right if he could." + +"Why didn't he come a-runnin' to you as soon as he got on this side?" + +"He couldn't. His orders kept him in New York, and he wanted me to come. +But I wouldn't. I made him ask his mother. I could spare him for three +weeks,--he will be mine for the rest of his life--and he is to tell her +before they get here." + +"I wouldn't have had it happen for a thousand dollars," said troubled +Bob Flippin. "I've always done everything on the square with the Judge." + +"I know," said Mary, with the sudden realization of how her act had +affected others, "I know. That's the only thing I am sorry about. But--I +don't believe the Judge would be so silly as to let anything I did make +any difference about you----" + +"Where are you going to live?" + +For the first time Mary's air of assurance left her. "He is hoping his +grandfather will want us at Huntersfield----" + +"He can keep on a-hoping," said Bob Flippin. "I know the Judge." + +Mary flared. "We can find a little house of our own----" + +Her father laid his hand on her shoulder. "Look at me, daughter," he +said, and turned her face up to him. "Our house is yours, Mary," he +said. "I don't like the way you did it, and I hate to think what will +happen when the Judge finds out. But our home is yours, and it's your +husband's. As long as you like to stay----" + +And now Mary sobbed--a little slip of a thing in her father's arms. All +the long months she had kept her secret, holding it safe in her heart, +dreading yet longing for the moment when she could tell the world that +she was the wife of Truxton Beaufort, whom she had adored from babyhood. + +"I would have married him, Dad, if--if I had had to tramp the road." + +Truxton came on the noon train. He drove at once to Huntersfield with +his mother, was embraced by the Judge, kissed Becky, and suddenly +disappeared. + +"Where's he gone?" the Judge asked, irritably. "Where has he gone, +Claudia?" + +"He will be back in time for lunch," said Mrs. Beaufort. "May I speak to +you in the library, Father?" + +Becky, from the moment of her aunt's arrival, had known that something +was wrong. She had expected to see Mrs. Beaufort glowing with renewed +youth, radiant. Instead, she looked as if a blight had come upon her, +shrivelled--old. When she smiled it was without joy; she was dull and +flat. + +It was a half hour before Aunt Claudia came out from the library. "My +dear," she said, finding Becky still on the porch, "I have something to +tell you. Will you go up-stairs with me?--I--think I should like to--lie +down----" + +Becky put a strong young arm about her and they went up together. + +"It's--it's about Truxton," Aunt Claudia said, prone on the couch in her +room. "Becky--he's married----" + +_"Married?"_ + +"Married, my dear. He did not tell me until--last night. He wanted me to +be happy--as long as I could. He's a dear boy, Becky--but--he's +married----" She went on presently with an effort. "He has been married +over two years--and, Becky--he has married--Mary Flippin." + +_"Aunt Claudia----"_ + +"He married her in Petersburg--before he went to France with the first +ambulance corps. They decided not to tell anyone. Mary took Truxton's +middle name. When the baby came, Truxton was wild to write us, but +Mary--wouldn't. She felt if he was here when it was told that we would +forgive him---- If anything--happened to him--she didn't want him to die +feeling that we had--blamed him---- I must say that Mary--was +wise--but--to think that my son has married--Mary Flippin." + +"Mary's a dear," said Becky stoutly. + +"Yes," Aunt Claudia agreed, "but not a wife for my son. I had such hopes +for him, Becky. He could have married anybody." + +Becky knew the kind of woman that Aunt Claudia had wanted Truxton to +marry--one whose ancestors were like those whose portraits hung in the +hall at Huntersfield--a woman with a high-held head--a woman whose +family traditions paralleled those of the Bannisters and Beauforts. + +"Then Fiddle is Truxton's child." + +"And I am a grandmother, Becky. Mrs. Flippin and I are grandmothers----" +She said it with a sort of bitter mirth. + +"What did Grandfather say?" + +"I left him--raging. It was--very hard on me. I had hoped--he would make +it easy. He declares that Mary Flippin shan't step inside of his front +door. That he is going to recall all the invitations that he had sent +out for to-night. I tried to show him that now that the thing is +done--we might as well--accept it. But he wouldn't listen. If he keeps +it up like this, I don't want Truxton to come back--to lunch. I had +hoped that he might bring Mary with him---- She's his wife, Becky--and +I've got to love her----" + +"Aunt Claudia," Becky came over and put her arms about the pitiful black +figure, "you are the best sport--ever----" + +"No, I'm not," but Aunt Claudia kissed her, and for a moment they clung +together; "you mustn't make me cry, Becky." + +But she did cry a little, wiping her eyes with her black-bordered +handkerchief, and saying all the time, "He's my son, Becky. I--I can't +put him away from me----" + +"He loved her," said Becky, with a catch of her breath. "I--I think that +counts a great deal, Aunt Claudia." + +"Yes, it does. And they did no wrong. They were only foolish children." + +"If anyone was to blame," she went on steadily, "it was Truxton. He had +been brought up a--gentleman. He knew what was expected of a man of his +birth and breeding. Secrecy is never honorable and I told him--last +night--that I was sorry to be less proud of my son than of the men who +had gone before him." + +"Did you tell him that?" + +"Yes. If pride of family means anything, Becky, it means holding on to +the finest of your traditions. If you break the rules--you are a little +less fine--a little less worthy----" + +What a stern little thing she was. Yet one felt the stimulus of her +strength. "Aunt Claudia," said Becky, tremulously, "if I could only be +as sure of things as you are----" + +"What things?" + +"Of right and wrong and all the rest of it." + +"I don't know what you mean by all the rest. But right is right, and +wrong is wrong, my dear. There is no half-way, in spite of all the +sophistries with which people try to salve their consciences." + +She stopped, and plunged again into the discussion of her problem. "I +must telephone to Truxton--he mustn't come--not until his grandfather +asks him, Becky." + +"He is coming now," said Becky, who sat by the window. "Look, Aunt +Claudia." + +Tramping up the hill towards the second gate was a tall figure in khaki. +Resting like a rose-petal on one shoulder was a mite of a child in pink +rompers. + +"He is bringing Fiddle with him," Becky gasped. "Oh, Aunt Claudia, he is +bringing Fiddle." + +Aunt Claudia rose and looked out---- "Well," she said, "let her come. +She's his child. If Father turns them out, I'll go with them." + +Truxton saw them at the window and waved. "Shall we go down?" Becky +said. + +"No--wait a minute. Father's in the hall." Aunt Claudia stood tensely in +the middle of the room. "Becky, listen over the stair rail to what they +are saying." + +"But----" + +"Go on," Aunt Claudia insisted; "there are times when--one breaks the +rules, Becky. I've got to know what they are saying----" + +The voices floated up. Truxton's a lilting tenor---- + +"Are you going to forgive us, Grandfather?" + +"I am not the grandfather of Mary Flippin's child," the Judge spoke +evidently without heat. + +"You are the grandfather of Fidelity Branch Beaufort," said Truxton +coolly; "you can't get away from that----" + +"The neighborhood calls her Fiddle Flippin," the Judge reminded him. + +"What's in a name?" said Truxton, and swung his baby high in the air. +"Do you love your daddy, Fiddle-dee-dee?" + +"'Ess," said Fiddle, having accepted him at once on the strength of +sweet chocolate, and an adorable doll. + +"What are they saying?" whispered Aunt Claudia, still tense in the +middle of the room. + +"Hush," Becky waved a warning hand. + +"There is," said the Judge, in a declamatory manner, "everything in a +name. The Bannisters of Huntersfield, the Paines of King's Crest, the +Randolphs of Cloverdale, do you think these things don't count, +Truxton?" + +"I think there's a lot of rot in it," said young Beaufort, "when we were +fighting for democracy over there----" + +The shot told. "Democracy has nothing to do with it----" + +"Democracy," said Truxton, "has a great deal to do with it. The days of +kings and queens are dead, they have married each other for generations +and have produced offspring like--William of Germany. Class assumptions +of superiority are withered branches on the tree of civilization. Mary +is as good as I am any day." + +"You wrote things like this," said the Judge, interested in spite of +himself, and loving argument. + +"I wrote them because I believed them. I am ready to apologize for not +telling you of my marriage before this. I have no apologies to make for +my wife---- + +"I have no apologies to make for my wife," Truxton repeated. "I fought +for democratic ideals. I am practising them. Mary is a lady. You must +admit that, Grandfather." + +"I do admit it," said the Judge slowly, "in the sense that you mean it. +But in the county sense? Do you think the Merriweathers will ask her to +their ball? Do you think Bob Flippin will dine with my friends +to-night?" + +"I don't think he will expect to dine with you, Grandfather. I think if +you ask him, he will refuse. But if you take your friendship from him it +will break his heart----" + +"Who said I would take my friendship away from Bob Flippin?" + +"He is afraid--you may----" + +"Because you married Mary?" + +"Yes." + +The Judge was breathing hard. "Whom does he think I'd go fishing with?" + +"Do you think he'll want to go fishing with you if you cast off Mary?" + +The Judge had a vision of life without Bob Flippin. On sunshiny days +there would be no one to cut bait for him, no one to laugh with him at +the dogs as they sat waiting for their corn-cakes, no one to listen with +flattering attention to his old, old tales. + +It had not occurred to him that Bob Flippin, too, might have his pride. + +He sat down heavily in a porch chair. + +"Go and get Mary," he exploded; "bring her here. The thing is done. The +milk is spilled. And there's no use crying over it. And if you think you +two young people can separate me and Bob Flippin----" + +Mrs. Beaufort and Becky came down presently, to find the old man gazing, +frowning, into space. + +"I have told him to bring Mary, Claudia, but I must say that I am +bitterly disappointed." + +"Mary is a good little thing, Father." Aunt Claudia's voice shook. + +The old man looked up at her. "It is hardest for you, my dear. And I +have helped to make it hard." + +He reached out his hand to her. She took it. "He is my son--and I love +him----" + +"And I love you, Claudia." + +"May I get the blue room ready?" + +The blue room was the bridal chamber at Huntersfield; kept rather +sacredly at other times for formal purposes. + +"Do as you please. The house is yours, my dear." + +And so that night the lights of the blue room shone on Fiddle Flippin +and her new grandmother. + +"Do you think she would let me put her to bed?" Mrs. Beaufort had asked +Mary. + +"If you will sing, 'Jack-Sam Bye.'" + +Mary pulled the last little garment from the pink plump body, and +Fiddle, like a rosy Cupid, counted her toes gleefully in the middle of +the wide bed. + +"I told Truxton," Mary said suddenly, "that he might not want to call +her 'Fiddle.' The whole neighborhood says 'Fiddle Flippin.'" + +"It is a dear little name," Aunt Claudia was bending adoringly over the +baby, "but Fidelity is better--Fidelity Branch Beaufort----" + +"I want her to be as proud of her name as I am," Mary's voice had a +thrilling note. "It is a great thing to know that my child has in her +the blood of all those wonderful people whose portraits hang in the +hall. I want her to be worthy of her name." + +She could have said nothing better. Aunt Claudia's face was lighted by +the warmth in her heart. "Such a lot of ancestors for one little fat +Fidelity," she said; "put on her nightgown, Mary, and I'll rock her to +sleep." + + + + +CHAPTER X + +A GENTLEMAN'S LIE + + +I + +Becky was not well. Aunt Claudia, perceiving her listlessness, decided +that she needed a change. Letters were written to the Nantucket +grandfather, and plans made for Becky's departure. She was to spend a +month on the island, come back to Boston to the Admiral's big old house +on the water-side of Beacon Street, and return to Huntersfield for +Christmas. + +Becky felt that it was good of everybody to take so much trouble. She +really didn't care in the least. She occupied herself steadily with each +day's routine. She bent her head over the fine embroidery of a robe she +was making for Mary. She cut the flowers for the vases and bowls, she +recited nursery rhymes to Fiddle, entrancing that captious young person +with "Oranges and Lemons" and "Lavender's Blue." She read aloud to the +Judge, planned menus for Aunt Claudia, and was in fact such an angel in +the house that Truxton, after three days of it, protested. + +"Oh, what's the matter with Becky, Mums?" + +"Why?" + +"She hasn't any pep." + +"I know." + +"Isn't she well?" + +"I have tried to have her see a doctor. But she won't. She insists that +she is all right----" + +"She is not. She is no more like the old Becky than champagne is +like--milk---- Becky was the kind that--went to your head--Mums. You +know that--sparkling." + +"I have wondered," Mrs. Beaufort said, slowly, "if anything happened +while I was away." + +"What could happen----" + +His mother sighed. "Nothing, I suppose----" She let it go at that. Her +intuitions carried her towards the truth. She had learned from Mandy and +the Judge that Dalton had spent much time at Huntersfield in her +absence. Becky never mentioned him. Her silence spoke eloquently, Mrs. +Beaufort felt, of something concealed. Becky was apt to talk of things +that interested her. And there had been no doubt of her interest in +Dalton before her aunt had gone away. + +Randy, coming often now to Huntersfield, had his heart torn for his +beloved. No one except himself knew what had happened, and the knowledge +stirred him profoundly. He held that burning torches and a stake were +none too good for Dalton. He sighed for the old days in Virginia when +gentlemen settled such matters in the woods at dawn, with pistols, +seconds, a shot or two. Farther back it would have been an affair of +knives and tomahawks--Indian chiefs in a death struggle. + +But neither duels nor death struggles were in the modern mode, nor would +any punishment which he might inflict on Dalton help Becky in this +moment of deep humiliation. He knew her pride and the hurt that had come +to her, he knew her love, and the deadly inertia which had followed the +loss of illusion. + +Randy's love was not a selfish love. In that tense moment of Becky's +confession on the day of the barbecue, his own hopes had died. The boy +in him had died, too, and he had reached the full stature of a man. He +wanted to protect and shield--he was all tenderness. He felt that he +would dare anything, do anything, if he could bring back to Becky the +dreams of which Dalton robbed her. + +Night after night he sat in his room up-stairs in the old Schoolhouse, +and wrote on "The Trumpeter Swan." It was an outlet for his pent-up +emotions, and something of the romance which was denied him, something +of the indignation which stirred him, something of the passions of love +and revenge which fought within him, drove his pen onward, so that his +little tale took on color and life. Crude, perhaps, in form, it was yet +a song of youth and patriotism. It was Randy's call to his comrades. +There was to be no compromise. They must make men look up and listen--to +catch the sound of their clear note. The ideals which had made them +fight brutality and greed were living ideals. They were not to be doffed +with their khaki and overseas caps. Their country called, the whole +world called, for men with faith and courage. There was no place for +pessimism, no place for materialism, no place for sordidness. + +His hero was, specifically, a man who had come back from the fighting, +flaming with the thought of his high future. He had found the world +smiling and unconcerned. It was this world which needed to listen to the +call of trumpets--high up---- + +The chapters in which he wrote of love--for there was a woman in the +story--were more beautiful than Randy realized. It was of a boy's love +that he told--delicately. It was his own story of love denied, yet +enriching a life. + +Yet--because man cannot live up always to the measure of his own vision, +there came often between Randy and the written page the image of George +Dalton, smiling and insolent. And he would lay down his pen, and lean +his head on his hand, and gaze into space, and sometimes he would speak +out in the silence. "I will make him suffer." + +It was in one of these moments that he saw how it might be done. "He +would let fruit drop to the ground and rot if no other man wanted it," +he analyzed keenly, "but if another man tried to pick it up, he would +fight for it." + +Dalton was still at King's Crest. Mrs. Waterman had not responded +satisfactorily to the operation. The doctors had grave doubts as to her +recovery. Madge was convalescing at the Flippins'. + +Randy had been content, hitherto, to receive bulletins indirectly from +both of the invalids. But on the morning following the birth of his +great idea he rode on horseback to King's Crest. He looked well on +horseback, and in his corduroys, with a soft shirt and flowing tie, a +soft felt hat, he was at his best. + +He found George and Oscar on the west terrace, shaded by blue and +white-striped awnings, with a macaw, red and blue on a perch--a peacock +glimmering at the foot of the steps--and the garden blazing beyond. + +There were iced drinks in tall glasses--a litter of cigarettes on +smoking-stands, magazines and newspapers on the stone floors, packs of +cards on a small table. Oscar, hunched up in a high-backed Chinese +chair, was white and miserable. George looked bored to extinction. + +Randy, coming in, gave a clear-cut impression of strength and youth. + +"Mother sent some wine jelly for Mrs. Waterman," he said to Oscar. "It +was made from an old recipe, and she thought it might be different. And +there were some hundred-leaved roses from our bush. I gave them to your +man." + +Oscar brightened. He was grateful for the kindness of these queer +neighbors of his who would have nothing to do with him and his wife when +they were well, and who had seemed to care not at all for his money. But +who, now that sickness had come and sorrow, offered themselves and their +possessions unstintedly. + +"I'll go and see that Flora gets them," he said. "She hasn't any +appetite. She's--it's rather discouraging----" + +Randy, left alone with Dalton, was debonair and delightful. George, +looking at him with speculative eyes, decided that there was more to +this boy than he would have believed. He had exceedingly good manners +and an ease that was undeniable. There was of course good blood back of +him. And in a way it counted. George knew that he could never have been +at ease in old clothes in the midst of elegance. + +It was Randy who spoke first of Becky. Dalton's heart jumped when he +heard her name. Night after night he had ridden towards Huntersfield, +only to turn back before he reached the lower gate. Once he had ventured +on foot as far as the garden, and in the hush had called softly, +"Becky." But no one had answered. He wondered what he would have done if +Becky had responded to his call. "I am not going to be fool enough to +marry her," he told himself, angrily, yet knew that if he played the +game with Becky there could be no other end to it. + +Randy said, quite naturally, that Becky was going away. To Nantucket. He +asked if George had been there. + +"Once, on Waterman's yacht. It's quaint--but a bit spoiled by summer +people----" + +"Becky doesn't know the summer people. Her great-grandparents were among +the first settlers, and the Merediths have never sold the old home." + +"She is a pretty little thing," George said. "And she's buried down +here." + +"I shouldn't call it exactly--buried." + +George, with his eyes on the peacock, smiled and shrugged his shoulders. + +Randy smiled and his eyes, too, were on the peacock. He was thinking +that there were certain points of resemblance between the gorgeous bird +and Dalton. They glimmered in the sunlight and strutted a bit---- + +He came back to say easily, "Has Becky told you of our happiness----" + +George gave him a startled glance. "Happiness?" + +"We are to be married when she comes back--at Christmas." + +"Married----" + +"Yes," coolly, "it was rather to be expected, you know. We played +together as children--our fathers played together--our grandfathers--our +great-grandfathers." + +A cold wave seemed to sweep over George. So this young cub would have +her beauty! + +"Aren't you rather young----?" he demanded, "and what have you to give +her?" + +"Love," said Randy calmly, "a man's respect for her goodness and +worth--for her innocence. She's a little saint in a shrine." + +"Is she?" Georgie-Porgie asked, and smiled to himself; "few women are +that." + +After Randy had gone George Dalton walked the floor. He knew innocence +when he saw it, and he knew that Randy had told the truth. Becky +Bannister was as white as the doves that were fluttering down to the +garden pool to drink. He had never cared particularly for innocence. +But he cared for Becky. He knew now that he cared tremendously. Randy +had made him know it. It had not seemed so bad to think of Becky as +breaking her heart and waiting for a word from him. It seemed very bad, +indeed, when he thought of her as married to Randy. + +He felt that, of course, she did not love Randy; that he, +Georgie-Porgie, had all that she had to give---- But woman-like, she had +taken this way to get back at him. He wondered if she had sent Randy. + +Up and down the terrace he raged like a lion. He wanted to show that +cub--oh, if he might show him----! + +Randy had known that he would rage, and as he rode home he had the +serene feeling that he had stuck a splinter in George's flesh. + +Oscar Waterman joined George on the terrace, but noticed nothing. His +mind was full of Flora. "I am sorry young Paine went so soon. I wanted +to thank him. Flora can't eat the jelly, but it was good of them to send +it. She can't eat anything. She's worse, George. I don't know how I am +going to stand it." + +George was in no mood for condolence. Yet he was not quite heartless. +"Look here," he said, "you mustn't give up." + +"George, if she dies," Oscar said, wildly, "what do you think will +happen to me? I never planned for this. I planned for a good time. I +thought maybe that when we were old--one of us might go. But it wouldn't +be fair to take her now--and leave me." + +"I have given her--everything----" he went on. "I--I think I've been a +good husband. I have always loved her a lot, George, you know that." + +He was a plain little man, but at this moment he gained something of +dignity. And there was this to say for him, that what he felt for Flora +was a deeper emotion than George had ever known. + +"The doctor says the crisis comes to-night. I am not going to bed. I +couldn't sleep. George--I've been wondering if I oughtn't to call +in--some kind of clergyman--to see her." + +"People don't, nowadays, do they?" George asked rather uncomfortably. + +"Well, I don't see why they shouldn't. There ought to be somebody to +pray for Flora." + +There was, it developed upon inquiry, a little old rector who lived not +far away. George went for him in his big car. + +The little man, praying beside Flora's gorgeous bed, felt that this was +the hundredth sheep who had wandered and was found. The other ninety and +nine were safely in the fold. He had looked after the spiritual +condition of the county for fifty years. There had been much to +discourage him, but in the main if they strayed they came back. + +He prayed with fervor, the fine old prayers of his church. + +"Look down from heaven, we humbly beseech thee, with the eyes of mercy +upon this child now lying upon the bed of sickness: Visit her, O Lord, +with thy salvation; deliver her in thy good appointed time from bodily +pain, and save her soul for thy mercies' sake; that, if it shall be thy +pleasure to prolong her days here on earth, she may live for thee, and +be an instrument of thy glory, by serving thee faithfully, and doing +good in her generation; or else receive her into those heavenly +habitations, where the souls of those who sleep in the Lord Jesus enjoy +perpetual rest and felicity." + +Flora, lying inert and bloodless, opened her eyes. "Say it again," she +whispered. "Say it again." + + +II + +Randy rode straight from Hamilton Hill to Huntersfield. He found Becky +in the Bird Room. She had her head tied up in a white cloth, and a big +white apron enveloped her. She was as white as the whiteness in which +she was clad, and there were purple shadows under her eyes. The windows +were open and a faint breeze stirred the curtains. The shade of the +great trees softened the light to a dim green. After the glare of +Oscar's terrace it was like coming from a blazing desert to the bottom +of the sea. + +There was a wide seat under a window which looked out towards the hills. +Becky sat down on it. "Everybody is out," she said, "except Aunt +Claudia. She is taking a nap up-stairs." + +"I didn't come to see everybody, Becky. I came to see you." + +"I am glad you came. I can rest a bit." + +"You work as hard as if you had to do it." + +She leaned back against the green linen cushions of the window seat and +looked up at him. "I do have to do it. There is nobody else. Mandy is +busy, and, anyhow, Grandfather doesn't like to have the servants in +here. And neither do I---- It is almost as if the birds were alive--and +loved me." + +Randy hugged his knee and meditated. "But there are lots of rich women +who wouldn't dust a room." + +She made a gesture of disdain. "Oh, _that_ kind of rich people." + +"What kind?" + +"The kind that aren't used to their money. Who think ladies--are idle. +Sister Loretto says that is the worst kind--the awful kind. She talked +to me every day about it. She said that money was a curse when people +used it only for their ease. Sister Loretto hates laziness. She had +money herself before she took her vows, but now she works every hour of +the day and she says it brings her happiness." + +Randy shook his head. "Most of us need to play around a bit, Becky." + +"Do we? I--I think most women would be better off if they were like +Sister Loretto." + +"They would not. Stop talking rot, Becky, and take that thing off your +head. It makes you look like a nun." + +"I know. I saw myself in the glass. I don't mind looking like a nun, +Randy." + +"Well, I mind. Turn your head and I'll take out that pin." + +"Don't be silly, Randy." + +He persisted. "Keep still while I take it out----" + +He found the pin and unwound the white cloth. "There," he said, drawing +a long breath, "you look like yourself again. You were so--austere, you +scared me, Becky." + +He was again hugging his knees. "When are you going away?" + +"On the twenty-ninth. I shall stay over until next week for the +Merriweathers' ball." + +"I didn't know whether you would feel equal to it." + +"I shall go on Mary's account. It will be her introduction to Truxton's +friends, and if I am there it will be easier for her. She has a lovely +frock, jade green tulle with a girdle of gold brocade. It came down for +me with a lot of other clothes, and it needed only a few changes for her +to wear it." + +"You will be glad to get away?" + +"It will be cooler--and I need the change. But it is always more formal +up there--they remember that I have money. Here it is forgotten." + +"I wish I could forget it." + +"Why should you ever think of it?" she demanded with some heat. "I am +the same Becky with or without it." + +"Not quite the same," he was turning his hat in his hand. Then, raising +his eyes and looking at her squarely, he said what he had come to say, +"I have--I have just been to see Dalton, Becky." + +A wave of red washed over her neck, touched her chin, her cheeks. "I +don't see what that has to do with me." + +"It has a great deal to do with you. I told him you were going to marry +me." + +The wave receded. She was chalk-white. + +"Randy, how dared you do such a thing?" + +"I dared," said Randy, with tense fierceness, "because a man like Dalton +wants what other men want. He will think about you a lot, and I want him +to think. He won't sleep to-night, and I want him to stay awake. He will +wonder whether you love me, and he will be afraid that you do--and I +want him to be afraid." + +"But it was a lie, Randy. I am not going to marry you." + +"Do you think that I meant that----? That I am expecting anything for +myself?" + +"No," unsteadily, her slender body trembling as if from cold, "but what +did you mean?" + +"I told you. Dalton's got to come back to you and beg--on his knees--and +he will come when he thinks you are mine----" + +"I don't want him to come. And when you talk like that it makes me +feel--smirched----" + +Dead silence. Then, "It was a gentleman's lie----" + +"Gentlemen do not lie. Go to him this minute, Randy, and tell him that +it isn't true." + +"Give me three days, Becky. If in that time he doesn't try to see you or +call you up, I'll go---- But give me three days." + +She wavered. "What good will it do?" + +He caught up her cold little hands in his. "You will have a chance to +get back at him. And when you stick in the knife, you can turn it--until +it hurts." + + +III + +It was while the family at Huntersfield were at dinner that the +telephone rang. Calvin answered, and came in to say that Miss Becky was +wanted. She went listlessly. But the first words over the wire stiffened +her. + +It was George's voice, quick imploring. Saying that he had something to +tell her. That he must see her---- + +"Let me come, Becky." + +"Of course." + +"You mean that I--may----?" + +"Why not?" + +He seemed to hesitate. "But I thought----" + +Her laugh was light and clear. "I must get back to my dinner. I have +only had my soup. And I am simply--_starving_----" + +It was not what he had expected. Not in the least. As he hung up the +receiver he was conscious too of a baffled feeling that Becky had, in a +sense, held the reins of the situation. + +In spite of her famished condition, Becky did not at once go to the +dining-room. She called up King's Crest, and asked for Randy. + +She wanted to know, she said, whether he had anything on for the +evening. No? Then could he come over and bring the boarders? Oh, as many +of them as would come. And they would dance. She was bored to _death_. +Her laugh was still clear and light, and Randy wondered. + +Then she went back to the dinner table and ate the slice of lamb which +the Judge had carved for her. She ate mint sauce and mashed potatoes, +she ate green corn pudding, and a salad, and watermelon. Her cheeks were +red, and Aunt Claudia felt that Becky was looking much better. For how +could Aunt Claudia know that everything that Becky ate was like sawdust +to her palate. She found herself talking and laughing a great deal, and +Truxton teased her. + +After dinner she went up-stairs with Mary and showed her a new way to do +her hair, and found an entrancing wisp of a frock for Mary to wear. + +"It will be great fun having the boarders from King's Crest. There are a +lot of young people of all kinds--and not many of them our kind, Mary." + +Mary smiled at her. "I am not quite your kind, am I?" + +"Why not? And oh, Mary, you are happy, happy. And you are lovely with +your hair like that, close to your head and satin-smooth." + +Mary, surveying herself in the glass, gave an excited laugh. "Do you +know when I married Truxton I never thought of this?" + +"Of what?" Becky asked. + +"Of pretty clothes--and dances--and dinners. I just knew that he--loved +me, and that he had to leave me. But I don't suppose I could make the +world believe it." + +"Truxton believes it, doesn't he, Mary?" + +"Yes." + +"And I believe it. And what do you care for the others? It is what we +know of ourselves, Mary," she drew a quick breath. "It is what we know +of ourselves----" + +Becky was wearing the simple frock of pale blue in which George had seen +her on that first night when he came to Huntersfield. + +"Aren't you going to change?" Mary asked. + +"No. It is too much trouble." Becky was in front of the mirror. Her +pearls caught the light of the candles. Her bronze hair was a shining +wave across her forehead. "It is too much trouble," she said, again, and +turned from the mirror. + +She had a dozen frocks that had come in the rosy hamper--frocks that +would have made the boarders open their eyes. Frocks that would have +made Dalton open his. But Becky had the feeling that this was not the +moment for lovely clothes. She felt that she would be cheapened if she +decked herself for George. + +When the two girls went down-stairs Truxton was waiting for his wife. "I +thought you would never come," he said. He drew her within the circle of +his arm, and they went out into the garden. The Judge and Mrs. Beaufort +were on the porch. Becky sat on the step and leaned her head against +Aunt Claudia's knee. + +"What in the world made you ask all those people over, Becky?" the Judge +demanded. + +"Oh, they're great fun, Grandfather, and I felt like it." + +"Have you planned anything for them to eat, Claudia?" + +"Watermelons. Calvin has put a lot of them in the spring." + +The stars were thick overhead. Becky looked up at them and relaxed a +little. Since Dalton had spoken to her over the wire she had gone +through the motions of doing normal things. She had eaten and talked, +and now she was sitting quite still on the step while Aunt Claudia +smoothed her hair, and the Judge talked of things to eat. + +But shut up within her was a clock which ticked and never stopped. _"He +will come--when he thinks--you are mine---- He will come--when he +thinks--you are mine----"_ + +Randy and his mother arrived in Little Sister, with two of the boarders +for good measure in the back seat. They had dropped Major Prime at +Flippins', where he was to make a call on Madge MacVeigh. He had +promised to come later, however, if Randy would drive over and get him. + +The rest of the boarders were packed variously into their cars and the +surrey, and as soon as they arrived they proceeded to occupy the lawn +and the porch, and to overflow the garden. They made a great deal of +pleasant noise about it, and the white gowns of the women, and the white +flannels of the men gave an impressionistic effect of faint blue against +the deeper blue of the night. + +Within the house, the rugs were up in the drawing-room, the library, the +dining-room, and the wide hall; there sounded, presently, the tinkling +music of the phonograph, and there was the unceasing movement of +white-clad figures which seemed to float in a golden haze. + +Becky danced a great deal, with Randy, with the younger boarders, and +with the genial gentleman. She laughed with an air of unaffected gayety. +And she felt that her heart stopped beating, when at last she looked up +and saw Dalton standing in the door. + +She at once went towards him, and gave him her hand. "I wonder if you +know everybody?" + +Her clear eyes met his without self-consciousness. He attempted a +swagger. "I don't want to know everybody. How do they happen to be +here?" + +"I asked them. And they are really very nice." + +He did not see the niceness. He had thought to find her in the setting +which belonged to her beauty. The silent night, the fragrance of the +garden, the pale statues among the trees, and himself playing the game +with a greater sense of its seriousness than ever before. + +Throughout the evening George watched for a chance to see Becky alone. +Without conspicuously avoiding him, she had no time for him. He +complained constantly. "I want to talk to you. Run away with me, +Becky--and let these people go." + +"It isn't proper for a hostess to leave her guests." + +"Are you trying to--punish me?" + +"For what?" + +So--she too was playing----! She had let him come that he might see +her--indifferent. + +Becky had danced with George once, and with Randy three times. George +had protested, and Becky had said, "But I promised him before you +came----" + +"You knew I was coming?" + +"Yes." + +"You might have kept a few----" + +She seemed to consider that. "Yes, I might. But not from Randy----" + +At last he said to her, "I have been out in the garden. There is a star +shining in the little pool where the fishes are. I want you to see the +star." + +It was thus he had won her. He had always seen stars shining in little +pools, or a young moon rising from a rosy bed. But it had never meant +anything. She shook her head. "I should like to see your little star. +But I haven't time." + +"Are you afraid to come?" + +"Why should I be?" + +"Well, there's Love--in the garden," he was daring--his sparkling eyes +tried to hold hers and failed. + +She was looking straight beyond him to where Randy stood by a window, +tall and thin with his Indian profile, and his high-held head. + +"We are going to have watermelons in a minute," was her romantic +response to Dalton's fire. "You'd better stay and eat some." + +"I don't want to eat. And if you aren't afraid you'll come." + +Calvin and Mandy and their son, John, with Flippins' Daisy, had +assembled the watermelons on a long table out-of-doors. Above the table +on the branch of a tree was hung an old ship's lantern brought by +Admiral Meredith to his friend, the Judge. It gave a faint but steady +light, and showed the pink and green and white of the fruit, the dusky +faces of the servants as they cut and sliced, and handed plates to the +eager and waiting guests. + +Becky, standing back in the shadows with Randy by her side, watched the +men surge towards the table, and retire with their loads of +lusciousness. Grinning boys were up to their ears in juice, girls, +bare-armed and bare-necked, reached for plates held teasingly aloft. It +was all rather innocently bacchanal--a picture which for Becky had an +absolutely impersonal quality. She had entertained her guests as she had +eaten her dinner, outwardly doing the normal and conventional thing, +while her mind was chaotic. This jumble of people on the lawn seemed +unreal and detached. The only real people in the world were herself and +Dalton. + +"How did you happen to ask us?" Randy was saying. + +"Because I wanted you----" + +"That doesn't explain it. It has something to do with Dalton----" + +"He said he was coming--and I wanted a crowd." + +"Were you afraid to see him alone?" + +"He says that I am." + +"When did he say it?" + +"Just now. He's in the garden, Randy." + +"Waiting for you?" + +"He says that he is waiting." + +Randy gave a quick exclamation. "Surely you won't go." + +"Why not? I've got to turn--the knife----" + +He groaned. "So this is what I've let you in for----" + +"Well, I shall see it through, Randy." + +"Becky, don't go to him in the garden." + +"Why not?" + +"The whole thing is wrong," the boy said, slowly. "I lied to give you +your opportunity, and now, I'd rather die than think of you out +there----" + +"Then you don't trust me, Randy?" + +"My dear, I do. But I don't trust--him." + + +IV + +George had known that she would come. Yet when he saw the white blur of +her gown against the blackness of the bushes, his heart leaped. All +through the ages men have waited for women in gardens--"_She is coming, +my own, my sweet_----" and farther back, "_Make haste, my beloved_," and +in the beginning, as Mandy could have told, a serpent waited. + +Dalton was not, of course, a serpent. He was merely a very selfish man, +who had always had what he wanted, and now he wanted Becky. He was +still, perhaps, playing the game, but he was playing it in dead earnest +with Randy as his opponent and Becky the prize. + +She recognized a new note in his voice and was faintly disturbed by it. + +"So you are not afraid?" + +"No." + +She sat down on the bench. Behind them was the pale statue of Diana, the +pool was at their feet with its little star. + +"Why should I be afraid?" she asked. + +"You are trying to shut me out of your heart, Becky--and you are afraid +I may try to--open the door." + +"Silly," she said, clearly and lightly, but with a sense of panic. Oh, +why had she come? The darkness seemed to shut her in; his voice was +beating against her heart---- + +He was saying that he loved her, _loved_ her. Did she understand? That +he had been _miserable_? His defense was masterly. He played on her +imagination delicately, as if she were a harp, and his fingers touched +the strings. He realized what a cad he must have seemed. But she was a +saint in a shrine--it will be seen that he did not hesitate to borrow +from Randy. She was a saint in a shrine, and well, he knelt at her +feet--a sinner. "You needn't think that I don't know what I have done, +Becky. I swept you along with me without a thought of anything serious +in it for either of us. It was just a game, sweetheart, and lots of +people play it, but it isn't a game now, it is the most serious thing in +life." + +There is no eloquence so potent as that which is backed by genuine +passion. Becky coming down through the garden had been so sure of +herself. She had felt that pride would be the rock to which she would +anchor her resistance to his enchantments. Yet here in the garden---- + +"Oh, _please_," she said, and stood up. + +He rose, too, and towered above her. "Becky," he said, hoarsely, "it's +the real thing--for me----" + +His spell was upon her. She was held by it--drawn by it against her +will. Her cry was that of a frightened and fascinated bird. + +He bent down. His face was a white circle in the dark, but she could see +the sparkle of his eyes. "Kiss me, Becky." + +"I shall never kiss you again." + +"I love you." + +"Love," she said, with a sort of tense quiet, "does not kiss and run +away." + +"My heart never ran away. I swear it. Marry me, Becky." + +He had never expected to ask her. But now that he had done it, he was +glad. + +She was swayed by his earnestness, by the thought of all he had meant +to her in her dreams of yesterday. But to-day was not yesterday, and +George was not the man of those dreams. Yet, why not? There was the +quick laughter, with its new ring of sincerity, the sparkling eyes, the +Apollo head. + +"Marry me, Becky." + +Beyond the pool which reflected the little star was the dark outline of +the box hedge, and beyond the hedge, the rise of the hill showed dark +against the dull silver of the sky--a shadow seemed to rise suddenly in +that dim brightness, the tall thin shadow of a man with a clear-cut +profile, and a high-held head! + +Becky drew a sharp breath--then faced Dalton squarely. "I am going to +marry Randy." + +His laugh was triumphant---- + +"Do you think I am going to let you? You are mine, Becky, and you know +it. _You are mine_----" + + +V + +Randy, having made a record run with Little Sister to the Flippins', had +brought back Major Prime. When he returned Becky had disappeared. He +looked for her, knowing all the time that she had gone down into the +garden to meet Dalton. And he had brought Dalton back to her, he had +given him this opportunity to plead his cause, had given him the +incentive of a man of his kind to still pursue; he had, as he had said, +let Becky in for it, and now he was raging at the thought. + +[Illustration: BECKY DREW A SHARP BREATH--THEN FACED DALTON SQUARELY--"I +AM GOING TO MARRY RANDY"] + +Nellie Custis, padding at his heels, had known that something disturbed +him. He walked restlessly from room to room, from porch to porch, across +the lawn, skirted the garden, stopped now and then to listen, called +once when he saw a white figure alone by the big gate, "Becky!" + +Nellie knew who it was that he wanted. And at last she instituted a +search on her own account. She went through the garden, passed the pool, +found Becky's feet in blue slippers, and rushed back to her master with +an air of discovery. + +But Randy would not follow her. He must, he knew, set a curb on his +impatience. He walked beyond the gate, following the ridge of the hill +to the box hedge. He was not in the least aware that his shadow showed +up against the silver of the sky. Perhaps Fate guided him to the ridge, +who knows? At any rate, it seemed so afterwards to Becky, who felt that +the shadow of Randy against the silver sky was the thing that saved her. + +She gave the old Indian cry, and he answered it. + +His shadow wavered on the ridge. He was lost for a moment against the +blackness of the hedge, and emerged on the other side of the pool. + +"Randy," she was a bit breathless, "here we are. Mr. Dalton and I. I +saw you on the ridge. You have no idea how tall your shadow seemed----" + +She was talking in that clear light voice which was not her own. Dalton +said sullenly, "Hello, Paine." And Randy's heart was singing, "She +called me." + +The three of them walked to the house together. Becky had insisted that +she must go back to her guests. George left them at the step. He was for +the moment beaten. As he drove his car madly back to King's Crest, he +tried to tell himself that it was all for the best. That he must let +Becky alone. He would be a fool to throw himself away on a shabby +slender slip of a thing because she had clear eyes and bronze hair. + +But it was not because of her slenderness and clear eyes and bronze hair +that Becky held him, it was because of the force within her which +baffled him. + +The guests were leaving. They had had the time of their lives. They +packed themselves into their various cars, and the surrey, and shouted +"good-bye." The Major stayed and sat on the lawn to talk to the Judge +and Mrs. Beaufort. Mary and Truxton ascended the stairs to the Blue +Room, where little Fiddle slept in the Bannister crib that had been +brought down from the attic. + +Becky and Randy went into the Bird Room and sat under the swinging +lamp. "I have something to tell you, Randy," Becky had said, and as in +the days of their childhood the Bird Room seemed the place for +confidences. + +Becky curled herself up in the Judge's big chair like a tired child. +Randy on the other side of the empty fireplace said, "You ought to be in +bed, Becky." + +"I shan't--sleep," nervously. There were deep shadows under her troubled +eyes. "I shan't sleep when I go." + +Randy came over and knelt by her side. "My dear, my dear," he said, "I +am afraid I have let you in for a lot of trouble." + +"But the things you said were true--he came--because he thought +I--belonged to--you." + +She hesitated. Then she reached out her hand to him. "Randy," she said, +"I told him I was going to marry--you." + +His hand had gone over hers, and now he held it in his strong clasp. "Of +course it isn't true, Becky." + +"I am going to make it true." + +Dead silence. Then, "No, my dear." + +"Why not?" + +"You don't love me." + +"But I like you," feverishly, "I like you, tremendously, and don't you +want to marry me, Randy?" + +"God knows that I do," said poor Randy, "but I must not. It--it would be +Heaven for me, you know that. But it wouldn't be quite--cricket--to let +you do it, Becky." + +"I am not doing it for your sake. I am doing it for my own. I want to +feel--safe. Do I seem awfully selfish when I say that?" + +A great wave of emotion swept over him. She had turned to him for +protection, for tenderness. In that moment Randy grew to the full +stature of a man. He lifted her hand and kissed it. "You are making me +very happy, Becky, dear." + +It was a strange betrothal. Behind them the old eagle brooded with +outstretched wings, the owl, round-eyed, looked down upon them and +withheld his wisdom, the Trumpeter, white as snow, in his glass case, +was as silent as the Sphinx. + +"You are making me very happy, Becky, dear," said poor Randy, knowing as +he said it that such happiness was not for him. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +WANTED--A PEDESTAL + + +I + +The Major's call on Miss MacVeigh had been a great success. She was +sitting up, and had much to say to him. Throughout the days of her +illness and convalescence, the Major had kept in touch with her. He had +sent her quaint nosegays from the King's Crest garden, man-tied and +man-picked. He had sent her nice soldierly notes, asking her to call +upon him if there was anything he could do for her. He had sent her +books, and magazines, and now on this first visit, he brought back the +"Pickwick" which he had picked up in the road after the accident. + +"I have wondered," Madge said, "what became of it." + +They were in the Flippin sitting-room. Madge was in a winged chair with +a freshly-washed gray linen cover. The chair had belonged to Mrs. +Flippin's father, and for fifty years had held the place by the east +window in summer and by the fireplace in winter. Oscar had wanted to +bring things from Hamilton Hill to make Madge comfortable. But she had +refused to spoil the simplicity of the quiet old house. "Everything that +is here belongs here, Oscar," she had told him, "and I like it." + +She wore a mauve negligee that was sheer and soft and flowing, and her +burnt-gold hair was braided and wound around her head in a picturesque +and becoming coiffure. + +As she turned the pages of the little book the Major noticed her hands. +They were white and slender, and she wore only one ring--a long amethyst +set in silver. + +"Do you play?" he asked abruptly. + +"Yes. Why?" + +"Your hands show it." + +She smiled at him. "I am afraid that my hands don't quite tell the +truth." She held them up so that the light of the lamp shone through +them. "They are really a musician's hands, aren't they? And I am only a +dabbler in that as in everything else." + +"You can't expect me to believe that." + +"But I am. I have intelligence. But I'm a 'dunce with wits.' I know what +I ought to do but I don't do it. I think that I have brains enough to +write, I am sure I have imagination enough to paint, I have strength +enough when I am well to"--she laughed,--"scrub floors. But I don't +write or play or paint--or scrub floors--I don't believe that there is +one thing in the world that I can do as well as Mary Flippin makes +biscuits." + +Her eyes seemed to challenge him to deny her assertion. He settled +himself lazily in his chair, and asked about the book. + +"Tell me why you like Dickens, when nobody reads him in these days +except ourselves." + +"I like him because in my next incarnation I want to live in the kind of +world he writes about." + +He was much interested. "You do?" + +She nodded. "Yes. I never have. My world has always been--cut and dried, +conventional, you know the kind." The slender hand with the amethyst +ring made a little gesture of disdain. "There were three of us, my +mother and my father and myself. Everything in our lives was very +perfectly ordered. We were not very rich--not in the modern sense, and +we were not very poor, and we knew a lot of nice people. I went to +school with girls of my own kind, an exclusive school. I went away +summers to our own cottage in an exclusive North Shore colony. We took +our servants with us. After my mother died I went to boarding-school, +and to Europe in summer, and when my school days were ended, and I +acquired a stepmother, I set up an apartment of my own. It has +Florentine things in it, and Byzantine things, and things from China +and Japan, and the colors shine like jewels under my lamps--you know the +effect. And my kitchen is all in white enamel, and the cook does things +by electricity, and when I go away in summer my friends have Italian +villas--like the Watermans, on the North Shore, although all of my +friends are not like the Watermans." She threw this last out casually, +not as a criticism, but that he might, it seemed, withhold judgment of +her present choice of associates. "And I have never known the world of +good cheer that Dickens writes about--wide kitchens, and teakettles +singing and crickets chirping and everybody busy with things that +interest them. Do you know that there are really no bored people in +Dickens except a few aristocrats? None of the poor people are bored. +They may be unhappy, but there's always some recompense in a steaming +drink or savory stew, or some gay little festivity;--even the vagabonds +seem to get something out of life. I realize perfectly that I've never +had the thrills from a bridge game that came to the Marchioness when she +played cards with Dick Swiveller--by stealth." + +She talked rapidly, charmingly. He could not be sure how much in earnest +she might be--but she made out her case and continued her argument. + +"When I was a child I walked on gray velvet carpets, and there were +etchings on the wall, and chilly mirrors between the long windows in +the drawing-room. And the kitchen was in the basement and I never went +down. There wasn't a cozy spot anywhere. None of us were cozy, my mother +wasn't. She was very lovely and sparkling and went out a great deal and +my father sparkled too. He still does. But there was really nothing to +draw us together--like the Cratchits or even the Kenwigs. And we were +never comfortable and merry like all of these lovely people in +Pickwick." + +She went on wistfully, "When I was nine, I found these little books in +our library and after that I enjoyed vicariously the life I had never +lived. That's why I like it here--Mrs. Flippin's kettle sings--and the +crickets chirp--and Mr. and Mrs. Flippin are comfortable--and cozy--and +content." + +It was a long speech. "So now you see," she said, as she ended, "why I +like Dickens." + +"Yes. I see. And so--in your next incarnation you are going to be +like----" + +"Little Dorrit." + +He laughed and leaned forward. "I can't imagine--you." + +"She really had a heavenly time. Dickens tried to make you feel sorry +for her. But she had the best of it all through. Somebody always wanted +her." + +"But she was imposed upon. And her unselfishness brought her heavy +burdens." + +"She got a lot out of it in the end, didn't she? And what do selfish +people get? I'm one of them. I live absolutely for myself. There isn't a +person except Flora who gets anything of service or self-sacrifice out +of me. I came down here because she wanted me, but I hated to come. The +modern theory is that unselfishness weakens. And the modern psychologist +would tell you that little Dorrit was all wrong. She gave herself for +others--and it didn't pay. But does the other thing pay?" + +"Selfishness?" + +"Yes. I'm selfish, and Oscar is, and Flora, and George Dalton, and most +of the people we know. And we are all bored to death. If being unselfish +is interesting, why not let us be unselfish?" Her lively glance seemed +to challenge him, and they laughed together. + +"I know what you mean." + +"Of course you do. Everybody does who _thinks_." + +"And so you are going to wait for the next plane to do the things that +you want to do?" + +"Yes." + +"But why--wait?" + +"How can I break away? I am tied into knots with the people whom I have +always known; and I shall keep on doing the things I have always done, +just as I shall keep on wearing pale purples and letting my skin get +burned so that I may seem distinctive." + +It came to him with something of a shock that she did these things with +intention. That the charms which seemed to belong to her were carefully +planned. + +Yet how could he tell if what she said was true, when her eyes laughed? + +"I shall get all I can out of being here. Mary Flippin is going to let +me help her make butter, and Mrs. Flippin will teach me to make +corn-bread, and some day I am going fishing with the Judge and Mr. +Flippin and learn to fry eggs out-of-doors----" + +"So those are the things you like?" + +She nodded. "I think I do. George Dalton says it is only because I crave +a change. But it isn't that. And I haven't told him the way I feel about +it--the Dickens way--as I have told you." + +He was glad that she had not talked to Dalton as she had talked to him. + +"I wonder," he said slowly, "why you couldn't shake yourself free from +the life which binds you?" + +"I'm not strong enough. I'm like the drug-fiend, who doesn't want his +drug, but can't give it up." + +"Perhaps you need--help. There are doctors of everything, you know, in +these days." + +"None that can cure me of the habit of frivolity--of the claims of +custom----" + +"If a man takes a drug, he is cured by substituting something else for a +while until he learns to do without it." + +"What would you substitute for--my drug?" + +"I'll have to think about it. May I come again and tell you?" + +"Of course. I am dying to know." + +Mrs. Flippin entered just then with a tall pitcher of lemonade and a +plate of delicate cakes. "I think Miss MacVeigh is looking mighty fine," +she said; "don't you, Major?" + +He would not have dared to tell how fine she looked to him. + +He limped across the room with the plate of cakes, and poured lemonade +into a glass for Madge. Her eyes followed his strong soldierly figure. +What a man he must have been before the war crippled him. What a man he +was still, and his strength was not merely that of body. She felt the +strength too of mind and soul. + +"I think," said Mrs. Flippin that night, "that Major Prime is one of the +nicest men." + +Madge was in bed. The nurse had made her ready for the night, and was +out on the porch with Mr. Flippin. Mrs. Flippin had fallen into the +habit of having a little nightly talk with Madge. She missed her +daughter, and Madge was pleasant and friendly. + +"I think that Major Prime is one of the nicest men," repeated Mrs. +Flippin as she sat down beside the bed, "but what a dreadful thing that +he is lame." + +"I am not sure," Madge said, "that it is dreadful." + +She hastened to redeem herself from any possible charge of +bloodthirstiness. + +"I don't mean," she said, "that it isn't awful for a man to lose his leg. +But men who go through a thing like that and come out--conquerors--are +rather wonderful, Mrs. Flippin." + +Madge had hold of Mrs. Flippin's hand. She often held it in this quiet +hour, and the idea rather amused her. She was not demonstrative, and it +seemed inconceivable that she should care to hold Mrs. Flippin's hand. +But there was a motherliness about Mrs. Flippin, a quality with which +Madge had never before come closely in contact. "It is like the way I +used to feel when I was a little girl and said my prayers at night," she +told herself. + +Madge did not say her prayers now. Nobody did, apparently. She thought +it rather a pity. It was a comfortable thing to do. And it meant a great +deal if you only believed in it. + +"Do you say your prayers, Mrs. Flippin?" she asked suddenly. + +Mrs. Flippin was getting used to Madge's queer questions. She treated +them as a missionary might treat the questions of a beautiful and +appealing savage, who having gone with him to some strange country was +constantly interrogatory. + +"She don't seem to know anything about the things we do," Mrs. Flippin +told her husband. "She got the nurse to wheel her out into the kitchen +this afternoon, and watched me frost a cake and cut out biscuits. And +she says that she has never seen anything so sociable as the teakettle, +the way it rocks and sings." + +So now when Madge asked Mrs. Flippin if she said her prayers, Mrs. +Flippin said, "Do you mean at night?" + +"Yes." + +"Bob and I say them together," said Mrs. Flippin. "We started on our +wedding night, and we ain't ever stopped." + +It was a simple statement of a sublime fact. For thirty years this plain +man and this plain woman had kept alive the spiritual flame on the +household altar. No wonder that peace was under this roof and serenity. + +Madge, as she lay there holding Mrs. Flippin's hand, looked very young, +almost like a little girl. Her hair was parted and the burnished braids +lay heavy on her lovely neck. Her thin fine gown left her arms bare. +"Mrs. Flippin," she said, "I wish I could live here always, and have you +come every night and sit and hold my hand." + +Her eyes were smiling and Mrs. Flippin smiled back. "You'd get tired." + +"No," said Madge, "I don't believe anybody ever gets tired of goodness. +Not real goodness. The kind that isn't hypocritical or priggish. And in +these days it is so rare, that one just loves it. I am bored to death +with near-bad people, Mrs. Flippin, and near-good ones. I'd much rather +have them real saints and real sinners." + +The nurse came in just then, and Mrs. Flippin went away. And after a +time the house was very still. Madge's bed was close to the window. +Outside innumerable fireflies studded the night with gold. Now and then +a screech-owl sounded his mournful note. It was a ghostly call, and +there was the patter of little feet on the porch as the old cat played +with her kittens in the warm dark. But Madge was not afraid. She had a +sense of great content as she lay there and thought of the things she +had said to Major Prime. It was not often that she revealed herself, and +when she did it was still rarer to meet understanding. But he had +understood. She was sure of that, and she would see him soon. He had +promised. And she would not have to go back to Oscar and Flora until she +was ready. Flora was better, but still very weak. It would be much +wiser, the doctor had said, if she saw no one but her nurses for several +days. + + +II + +Truxton Beaufort rode over to King's Crest the next morning, and sat on +the steps of the Schoolhouse. Randy and Major Prime were having +breakfast out-of-doors. It was ten o'clock, but they were apparently +taking their ease. + +"I thought you had to work," Truxton said to Randy. + +"I sold a car yesterday----" + +"And to-day you are playing around like a plutocrat. I wish I could sell +cars. I wish I could do _anything_. Look here, you two. I wonder if you +feel as I do." + +"About what?" + +"Coming back. I came home expecting a pedestal--and I give you my word +nobody seems to think much of me except my family. And they aren't +worshipful--exactly. They can't be. How can they rave over my one +decoration when that young nigger John has two, and deserved them, and +when the butcher and baker and candlestick-maker are my ranking +officers? War used to be a gentleman's game. But it isn't any more." + +"We've got to carve our own pedestals," said the Major. "We are gods of +yesterday. The world won't stop to praise us. We did our duty, and we +would do it again. But our laurel wreaths are doffed. Our swords are +beaten into plowshares. Peace is upon us. If we want pedestals, we've +got to carve them." + +Truxton argued that it wasn't quite fair. The Major agreed that it might +not seem so, but the thing had been so vast, and there were so many men +involved, so many heroes. + +"Every little family has a hero of its own," Truxton supplemented. "Mary +thinks none of the others did _anything_--I won the _whole_ war. That's +where I have it over you two," he grinned. + +"It is a thing," said the Major, cheerfully, "which can be remedied." + +"It can," Truxton told him; "which reminds me that our young John is +going to marry Flippins' Daisy, and our household is in mourning. Mandy +doesn't approve of Daisy, and neither does Calvin. Mandy took to her bed +when she heard the news, and young John cooked breakfast to the tune of +his Daddy's lamentations. But it was a good breakfast." + +"Marriage," said the Major, "seems rather epidemic in these days." + +Randy rose restlessly and sat on the porch rail. "Why in the world does +John want to marry Daisy----" + +"Why not?" easily. "There's some style about Daisy----" + +"But there are lots of nice, comfortable, hard-working girls in this +neighborhood." + +"Lead me to 'em," Truxton mimicked young John, "lead me to 'em. Mary +says that Daisy is the best of the lot. She has plenty of good sense +back of her foolishness, and she is one of the best cooks in the county. +She and John are planning to go up to Washington and open an +old-fashioned oyster house. She says that people are complaining that +they can't get oysters as they did in the old days, and she is going to +show them. I wouldn't be surprised if they made a success of it. And I +tell you this--I envy John. He will have a paying business, and here I +am without a thing ahead of me, and I have married a wife and the ravens +won't feed us." + +Randy stuck his hands in his pockets with an air of sudden resolution. + +"Look here," he said, "why can't we go halves in this car business? It +will pay our expenses, and we can finish our law course at the +University." + +"Law? Oh, look here, Randy, I thought you had given that up." + +"I haven't, and why should you? We will finish, and some day we will +open an office together." + +The Major, whistling softly, listened and said nothing. + +"I have been thinking a lot about it," Randy went on, "and I can't see +much of a future ahead of me. Not the kind of future that our families +are expecting of us. You and I have got to stand for something, Truxton, +or some day the world will be saying that all the great men died with +Thomas Jefferson." + +The Major went on with his lilting tune. What a pair they were, these +lads! Randy, afire with his dreams, and rather tragic in his dreaming. +Truxton, light as a feather--laughing. + +"Why can't we give to the world as much as the men who have gone before +us?" Randy was demanding. "Are we going to take everything from our +ancestors, and give nothing to our descendants?" + +Truxton chuckled. "By Jove," he said, "now that I come to think of it, I +am the head of a family--there's Fiddle-dee-dee, and I shall have to +reckon with Fiddle-dee-dee's children and grandchildren and +great-grandchildren--who will expect that my portrait will hang on the +wall at Huntersfield." + +"It is all very well to laugh," said Randy hotly, "but that is the way +it looks to me; that we have got to show to the world that our ambitions +are--big. It is all very well to talk about the day's work. I am going +to do it, and pay my way, but there's got to be something beyond that to +think about--something bigger than I have ever known." + +He gained dignity through the sincerity of his purpose. The Major, still +whistling softly, wondered what had come over the boy. He recognized a +difference since he had last talked to him. Randy was not only roused; +he was ready to look life in the face, to wrest from it the best. "If +that is what love of the little girl is doing for him," said the Major +to himself, "then let him love her." + +Truxton continued to treat the situation lightly. "Look here," he said, +"do you think you are going to be the only great man in our generation?" + +Randy laughed; but the fire was still in his eyes. "The county will hold +the two of us." + +And now the Major spoke. "No man can be great by simply saying it. But I +think most of our great men have expected things of themselves. They +have dreamed dreams of greatness. I fancy that Lincoln did in his log +cabin, and Roosevelt on the plains. And it wasn't egotism--it was a +boy's wish to give himself to the world. And the wish was the urge. And +the trouble with many of our men in these days is that they are content +to dream of what they can get instead of what they can do. Paine has the +right idea. There must be a day's work no matter how hard, and it must +be done well, but beyond that must be a dream of bigger things for the +future----" + +Truxton stood up. "I asked for bread and you have given me--caviar. +Sufficient unto the day is the greatness thereof. And in the meantime, +Randy, I will make the grand gesture--and help you sell cars." He was +grinning as he left them. "Good-bye, Major. Good-bye, T. Jefferson, Jr. +Let me know when you want me in your Cabinet." + +It was late that afternoon that Mary, looking for her husband, found him +in the Judge's library. + +"What are you doing?" she asked, with lively curiosity. + +Truxton was sitting on the floor with a pile of calf-bound books beside +him. + +"What are you doing, lover?" + +"Come here and I'll tell you." He made a seat for her of four of the big +books. His arm went around her and he laid his head against her +shoulder. + +"Mary," he said, "I am carving a pedestal." + +"You are what?" + +He explained. He laughed a great deal as he gave her an account of his +conversation with the Major and Randy that morning. + +"You see before you," with a final flourish, "a potential great man. A +Thomas Jefferson, up-to-date; a John Randolph of the present day; the +Lincoln of my own time; the ancestor of Fiddle's great-grandchildren." + +She rumpled his hair. "I like you as you are." + +He caught her hand and held it. "But you'd like me on--a pedestal?" + +"If you'll let me help you carve it." + +He kissed the hand that he held. "If I am ever anything more than I am," +he said, and now he was not laughing, "it will be because of you--my +dearest darling." + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +INDIAN--INDIAN + + +I + +The Merriweather fortunes had not been affected by the fall of the +Confederacy. There had been money invested in European ventures, and +when peace had come in sixty-five, the old grey stone house had again +flung wide its doors to the distinguished guests who had always honored +it, and had resumed its ancient custom of an annual harvest ball. + +The ballroom, built at the back of the main house, was connected with it +by wide curving corridors, which contained the family portraits, and +which had long windows which opened out on little balconies. On the +night of the ball these balconies were lighted by round yellow lanterns, +so that the effect from the outside was that of a succession of full +moons. + +The ballroom was octagonal, and canopied with a blue ceiling studded +with silver stars. There were cupids with garlands on the side walls, +and faded blue brocade hangings. Across one end of the ballroom was the +long gallery reserved for those whom the Merriweathers still called "the +tenantry," and it was here that Mary and Mrs. Flippin always sat after +baking cakes. + +Mrs. Flippin had not baked the cakes to-day, nor was she in the gallery, +for her daughter, Mary, was among the guests on the ballroom floor, and +her mother's own good sense had kept her at home. + +"I shall look after Miss MacVeigh," she had said. "I want Truxton to +bring you over and show you in your pretty new dress." + +When they came, Madge, who was sitting up, insisted that she, too, must +see Mary. "My dear, my dear," she said, "what a wonderful frock." + +"Yes," Mary said, "it is. It is one of Becky's, and she gave it to me. +And the turquoises are Mrs. Beaufort's." + +Madge, who knew the whole alphabet of smart costumers, was aware of the +sophisticated perfection of that fluff of jade green tulle. The touch of +gold at the girdle, the flash of gold for the petticoat. She guessed the +price, a stiff one, and wondered that Mary should speak of it casually +as "one of Becky's." + +"The turquoises are the perfect touch." + +"That was Becky's idea. It seemed queer to me at first, blue with the +green. But she said if I just wore this band around my hair, and the +ring. And it does seem right, doesn't it?" + +"It is perfect. What is Miss Bannister wearing?" + +"Silver and white--lace, you know. The new kind, like a cobweb--with +silver underneath--and a rose-colored fan--and pearls. You should see +her pearls, Miss MacVeigh. Tell her about them, Truxton." + +"Well, once upon a time they belonged to a queen. Becky's +great-grandfather on the Meredith side was a diplomat in Paris, and he +bought them, or so the story runs. Becky only wears a part of them. The +rest are in the family vaults." + +Madge listened, and showed no surprise. But that account of lace and +silver, and priceless pearls did not sound in the least like the new +little girl about whom George had, in the few times that she had seen +him of late, been so silent. + +"If only Flora would get well, and let me leave this beastly hole," had +been the burden of his complaint. + +"I thought you liked it." + +"It is well enough for a time." + +"What about the new little girl?" + +He was plainly embarrassed, but bluffed it out. "I wish you wouldn't ask +questions." + +"I wish you wouldn't be--rude--Georgie-Porgie." + +"I hate that name, Madge. Any man has a right to be rude when a woman +calls him 'Georgie-Porgie.'" + +"So that's it? Well, now run along. And please don't come again until +you are nice--and smiling." + +"Oh, look here, Madge." + +"Run along----" + +"But there isn't any place to run." + +Laughter lurked in her eyes. "Oh, Georgie-Porgie--for once in your life +can't you run away?" + +"Do you think you are funny?" + +"Perhaps not. Smile a little, Georgie." + +"How can anybody smile, with everybody sick?" + +"Oh, no, we're not. We are better. I am so glad that Flora is +improving." + +"Oscar thinks it is because that little old man prayed for her. Fancy +Oscar----" + +Madge meditated. "Yet it might be, you know, George. There are things in +that old man's petition that transcend all our philosophy." + +"Oh, you're as bad as Oscar," said George. He rose and stood frowning on +the threshold. "Well, good-bye, Madge." + +"Good-bye, Georgie, and smile when you come again." + +She had guessed then that something had gone wrong in the game with the +new little girl. She had a consuming curiosity to know the details. But +she could never force things with Georgie. Some day, perhaps, he would +tell her. + +And now here was news indeed! She waited until young Beaufort and his +wife had driven away, and until Mrs. Flippin had time for that quiet +hour by her bedside. + +"Mary looked lovely," said Madge. + +"Didn't she?" Mrs. Flippin rocked and talked. "You would never have +known that dress was made for anybody but for Mary. Becky gave Mary +another dress out of a lot she had down from New York. It is yellow +organdie, made by hand and with little embroidered scallops." + +Madge knew the house which made a specialty of those organdie gowns with +embroidered scallops, and she knew the price. + +"But how does--Becky manage to have such lovely things?" + +"Oh, she's rich," Mrs. Flippin was rocking comfortably. "You would never +know it, and nobody thinks of it much. But she's got money. From her +grandmother. And there was something in the will about having her live +out of the world as long as she could. That's why they sent her to a +convent and kept her down here as much as possible. She ain't ever +seemed to care for clothes. She could always have had anything she +wanted, but she ain't cared. She told Mary that she had a sudden notion +to have some pretty things, and she sent for them, and it was lucky for +Mary that she did. She couldn't have gone to this ball, for there wasn't +any time to get anything made. Mr. Flippin and I are going to buy her +some nice things when she goes to Richmond. But they won't be like the +things that Becky gets, of course." + +Madge, listening to further details of the Meredith fortunes, wondered +how much of this Georgie knew. "Becky's mother died when she was five, +and her father two years later," Mrs. Flippin was saying. "She might +have been spoiled to death if she had been brought up as some children +are. But she has spent her winters at the convent with Sister Loretto, +and she's never worn much of anything but the uniform of the school. You +wouldn't think that she had any money to see her, would you, Miss +MacVeigh?" + +"No, you wouldn't," said Madge, truthfully. + +It was after nine o'clock--a warm night--with no sound but the ticking +of the clock and the insistent hum of locusts. + +"Mrs. Flippin," said Madge, "I wish you'd call up Hamilton Hill and ask +for Mr. Dalton, and tell him that Miss MacVeigh would like to have him +come and see her if he has nothing else on hand." + +Mrs. Flippin looked her astonishment. "To-night?" + +"Oh, I am not going to receive him this way," Madge reassured her. "If +he can come, I'll get nurse to dress me and make me comfy in the +sitting-room." + +Having ascertained that Dalton would be over at once, the nurse was +called, and Madge was made ready. It was a rather high-handed +proceeding, and both Mrs. Flippin and the nurse stood aghast. + +The nurse protested. "You really ought not, Miss MacVeigh." + +"I love to do things that I ought not to do." + +"But you'll tire yourself." + +"If you were my Mary," said Mrs. Flippin severely, "I wouldn't let you +have your way----" + +"I love to have my own way, Mrs. Flippin. And--I am not your Mary"--then +fearing that she had hurt the kind heart, she caught Mrs. Flippin's hand +in her own and kissed it,--"but I wish I were. You're such a lovely +mother." + +Mrs. Flippin smiled at her. "I'm as near like your mother as a hen is +mother to a bluebird." + +Madge, robed in the mauve gown, refused to have her hair touched. "I +like it in braids," and so when George came there she sat in the +sitting-room, all gold and mauve--a charming picture for his sulky +eyes. + +"Oh," she said, as he came in, in a gray sack suit, with a gray cap in +his hand, "why, you aren't even dressed for dinner!" + +"Why should I be?" he demanded. "Kemp has left me." + +She had expected something different. "Kemp?" + +"Yes." + +"Why?" + +"He didn't give any reason. Just said he was going--and went. He said he +had intended to go before, and had only stayed until Mrs. Waterman was +better. Offered to stay on a little longer if it would embarrass me any +to have him leave. I told him that if he wanted to go, he could get out +now. And he is packing his bags." + +"But what will you do without him?" + +"I have wired to New York for a Jap." + +"Where will Kemp go?" + +"To King's Crest. To work for that lame officer--Prime." + +"Oh--Major Prime? How did it happen?" + +"Heaven only knows. I call it a mean trick." + +"Well, of course, Kemp had a right to go if he wanted to. And perhaps +you will like a Jap better. You always said Kemp was too independent." + +"He is," shortly, "but I hate to be upset. It seems as if everything +goes wrong these days. What did you want with me, Madge?" + +Her eyelashes flickered as she surveyed him. "I wanted to see +you--smile, Georgie." + +"You didn't bring me down here to tell me that----" But in spite of +himself the corners of his lips curled. "Oh, what's the answer, Madge?" +he said, and laughed in spite of himself. + +"I wanted to talk a little about--your Becky." + +His laughter died at once. "Well, I'm not going to talk about her." + +"Please--I am dying of curiosity--I hear that she is very--rich, +Georgie." + +"Rich?" + +"Yes. She has oodles of money----" + +"I don't believe it." + +"But it is true, Georgie." + +"Who told you?" + +"Mrs. Flippin." + +"It is all--rot----" + +"It isn't rot, Georgie. Mrs. Flippin knows about it. Becky inherits from +her Meredith grandmother. And her grandfather is Admiral Meredith of +Nantucket, with a big house on Beacon Street in Boston. And they all +belong to the inner circle." + +He stared at her. "But Becky doesn't look it. She doesn't wear rings and +things." + +"'Rings on her fingers and bells on her toes'? Oh, George, did you think +it had to be like that when people had money? Why, her pearls belonged +to a queen." She told him their history. + +It came back to him with a shock that he had said to Becky that the +pearls cheapened her. "If they were _real_," he had said. + +"It was rather strange the way I found it out," Madge was saying. "Mary +Flippin had on the most perfect gown--with all the marks on it of +exclusive Fifth Avenue. She was going to the Merriweather ball, and +Becky is to be there." + +She saw him gather himself together. "It is rather a Cinderella story, +isn't it?" he asked, with assumed lightness. + +"Yes," she said, "but I thought you'd like to know." + +"What if I knew already?" + +She laughed and let it go at that. "I'm lonesome, Georgie, talk to me," +she said. But he was not in a mood to talk. And at last she sent him +away. And when he had gone she sat there a long time and thought about +him. There had been a look in his eyes which made her almost sorry. It +seemed incredible as she came to think of it that anybody should ever be +sorry for Georgie. + + +II + +Since that night with Becky in the garden at Huntersfield George had +been torn by conflicting emotions. He knew himself at last in love. He +knew himself beaten at the game by a little shabby girl, and a lanky +youth who had been her champion. + +He would not acknowledge that the thing was ended, and in the end he had +written her a letter. He cried to Heaven that a marriage between her and +young Paine would be a crime. "How can you love him, Becky--you are +mine." + +The letter had been returned unopened. His burning phrases might have +been dead ashes for all the good they had done. She had not read them. + +And now Madge had told him the unbelievable thing--that Becky Bannister, +the shabby Becky of the simple cottons and the stubbed shoes, was rich, +not as Waterman was rich, flamboyantly, vulgarly, with an eye to letting +all the world know. But rich in a thoroughbred fashion, scorning +display--he knew the kind, secure in a knowledge of the unassailable +assets of birth and breeding and solid financial standing. + +No wonder young Paine wanted to marry her. George, driving through the +night, set his teeth. He was seeing Randy, poor as Job's turkey, with +Becky's money for a background. + +Well, he should not have it. He should not have Becky. + +George headed his car for the Merriweathers'. Becky was there, and he +was going to see Becky. How he was to see her he left to the +inspiration of the moment. + +He parked his car by the road, and walked through the great stone gates. +The palatial residence was illumined from top to bottom, its windows +great squares of gold against the night. The door stood open, but except +for a servant or two there was no one in the wide hall. The guests were +dancing in the ballroom at the back, and George caught the lilt of the +music as he skirted the house, then the sound of voices, the light +laughter of the women, the deeper voices of the men. + +The little balconies, lighted by the yellow lanterns, were empty. As +soon as the music stopped they would be filled with dancers seeking the +coolness of the outer air. He stood looking up, and suddenly, as if the +stage had been set, Becky stepped out on the balcony straight in front +of him, and stood under the yellow lantern. The light was dim, but it +gave to her white skin, to her lace frock, to the pink fan, a faint +golden glow. She might have been transmuted from flesh into some fine +metal. George had not heard the Major's name for her, "Mademoiselle +Midas," but he had a feeling that the little golden figure was +symbolic--here was the real Golden Girl for him--not Madge or any other +woman. + +Randy was with her, back in the shadow, but unmistakable, his lean +height, the lift of his head. + +George moved forward until, hidden by a bush, he was almost under the +balcony. He could catch the murmur of their voices. But not a word that +they said was intelligible. + +They were talking of Mary. Her introduction to her husband's friends had +been an ordeal for Bob Flippin's daughter. But she had gone through it +simply, quietly, unaffectedly, with the Judge by her side standing +sponsor for his son's wife in chivalrous and stately fashion, with Mrs. +Beaufort at her elbow helping her over the initial small talk of her +presentation. With Truxton beaming, and with Becky drawing her into that +charmed circle of the younger set which might so easily have shut her +out. More than one of those younger folk had had it in mind that at last +year's ball Mary Flippin had sat in the gallery. But not even the most +snobbish of them would have dared to brave Becky Bannister's +displeasure. Back of her clear-eyed serenity was a spirit which flamed +and a strength which accomplished. Becky was an amiable young person who +could flash fire at unfairness or injustice or undue assumption of +superiority. + +The music had stopped and the balconies were filled. George, in the +darkness, was aware of the beauty of the scene--the lantern making +yellow moons--the golden groups beneath them. Mary and Truxton with a +friend or two were in the balcony adjoining the one where Becky sat with +young Paine. + +"Isn't she a dear and a darling, Randy?" Becky was saying; "and how well +she carries it off. Truxton is so proud of her, and she is so pretty." + +"She can't hold a candle to you, Becky." + +"It is nice of you to say it." She leaned on the stone balustrade and +swung her fan idly. + +"I am not saying it to be nice." + +"Aren't you--oh----!" She gave a quick exclamation. + +"What's the matter?" + +"I dropped my fan." + +"I'll go and get it," he said, and just then the music started. + +"No," said Becky, "never mind now. This is your dance with Mary--and she +mustn't be kept waiting." + +"Aren't you dancing this?" + +"It is Truxton's, and I begged off. Run along, dear boy." + +When he was gone she leaned over the rail. Below was a tangle of bushes, +and the white gleam of a stone bench. Beyond the bushes was a path, and +farther on a fountain. It was a rather imposing fountain, with a Neptune +in bronze riding a seahorse, with nymphs on dolphins in attendance. +Neptune poured water from a shell which he held in his hand, and the +dolphins spouted great streams. The splash of the water was a grateful +sound in the stillness of the hot night, and the mist which the slight +breeze blew towards a bed of tuberoses seemed to bring out their heavy +fragrance. Always afterwards when Becky thought of that night, there +would come to her again that heavy scent and the splash of streaming +water. + +"Becky," a voice came up from below, "I have your fan." + +She peered down into the darkness, but did not speak. + +"Becky, I am punished enough, and I am--starved for you----" + +"Give me my fan----" + +"I want to talk to you--I must--talk to you----" + +"Give me my fan----" + +"I can't reach----" + +"You can stand on that bench." + +He stood on it, and she could see his figure faintly defined. + +"I am afraid I am still too far away. Lean over a bit, Becky--and I'll +hand it to you." + +She stretched her white arm down into the darkness. Her hand was caught +in a strong clasp. "Becky, give me just five minutes by the fountain." + +"Let me go." + +"Not until you promise that you'll come." + +"I shall never promise." + +"Then I shall keep your fan----" + +"Keep it--I have others." + +"But you will think about this one, because I have it." There was a note +of triumph in his soft laugh. + +He kissed her finger-tips and reluctantly released her hand. "The fan is +mine, then, until you ask for it." + +"I shall never ask." + +"Who knows? Some day you may--who knows?" and he was gone. + +He could not have chosen a better way in which to fire her imagination. +His voice in the dark, his laughing triumph, the daring theft of her +fan. Her heart followed him, seeing him a Conqueror even in this, seeing +him a robber with his rose-colored booty, a Robin Hood of the Garden, a +Dick Turpin among the tuberoses. + +The spirit of Romance went with him. The things that Pride had done for +her looked gray and dull. She had promised to marry Randy, and felt that +she faced a somewhat sober future. Set against it was all that George +had given her, the sparkle and dash and color of his ardent pursuit. + +He was not worth a thought, yet she thought of him. She was still +thinking of him when Randy came back. + +"Did you get your fan?" he asked. + +"No. Never mind, Randy. I will have one of the servants look for it." + +"But I do mind." + +She hesitated. "Well, don't look for it now. Let's go in and join the +others. Are they going down to supper?" + +Supper was served in the great Hunt Room, which was below the ballroom. +It was a historic and picturesque place, and had been the scene for over +a century of merry-making before and after the fox-hunts for which the +county was famous. There were two great fireplaces, almost hidden +to-night by the heaped-up fruits of the harvest, orange and red and +green, with cornstalks and goldenrod from the fields for decorations. + +Becky found Mary alone at a small table in a corner. Truxton had left +her to forage for refreshments and Randy followed him. + +"Are you having a good time, Mary?" + +Mary did not answer at once. Then she said, bravely, "I don't quite fit +in, Becky. I am still an--outsider." + +"Oh, Mary!" + +"I am not--unhappy, and Truxton is such a dear. But I shall be glad to +get home, Becky." + +"But you look so lovely, Mary, and everybody seems so kind." + +"They are, but underneath I am just plain--Mary Flippin. They know that, +and so do I, and it will take them some time to forget it." + +There was an anxious look in Becky's eyes. "It seems to me that you are +feeling it more than the others." + +"Perhaps. And I shouldn't have said anything. Don't let Truxton know." + +"Has anyone said anything to hurt you, Mary?" + +"No, but when I dance with the men, I can't speak their language. I +haven't been to the places--I don't know the people. I am on the +outside." + +Becky had a sudden forlorn sense that things were wrong with the whole +world. But she didn't want Mary to be unhappy. + +"Truxton loves you," she said, "and you love him. Don't let anything +make you miserable when you have--that. Nothing else counts, Mary." + +There was a note of passion in her voice which brought a pulsing +response from Mary. + +"It _is_ the only thing that counts, Becky. How silly I am to worry." + +Her young husband was coming towards her--flushed and eager, a prince +among men, and he was hers! + +As he sat down beside her, her hand sought his under the table. + +He looked down at her. "Happy, little girl?" + +"Very happy, lover." + + +III + +Caroline Paine was having the time of her life. She wore a new dress of +thin midnight blue which Randy had bought for her and which was very +becoming; her hair was waved and dressed, and she had Major Prime as an +attentive listener while she talked of the past and linked it with the +present. + +"Of course there was a time when the men drank themselves under the +tables. Everybody calls them the 'good old times,' but I reckon they +were bad old times in some ways, weren't they? There was hot blood, and +there were duels. There's no denying it was picturesque, Major, but it +was foolish for all that. Men don't settle things now by shooting each +other, except in a big way like the war. The last duel was fought by the +old fountain out there--one of the Merriweathers met one of the Paines. +Merriweather was killed, and the girl died of a broken heart." + +"Then it was Merriweather that she loved?" + +"Yes. And young Paine went abroad, and joined the British army and was +killed in India. So nobody was happy, and all because there was, +probably, a flowing bowl at the harvest ball. I am glad they don't do it +that way now. Just think of my Randy stripped to his shirt and with +pistols for two. We are more civilized in these days and I'm glad of +it." + +"Are we?" said the Major; "I'm not sure. But I hope so." + +Randy came by just then and spoke to them. "Are you getting everything +you want, Mother?" + +"Yes, indeed. The Major looked after me. I've had salad twice, and +everything else----" + +"That sounds greedy, but it isn't, not when you think of the groaning +boards of other days. Has she been telling you about them, Major?" + +"Yes, she has peopled the room with ghosts----" + +"Now, Major!" + +"Pleasant ghosts--in lace ruffles and velvet coats, smoking long pipes +around a punch bowl; beautiful ghosts in patches and powder," he made an +expressive gesture; "they have mingled with the rest of +you--shadow-shapes of youth and loveliness." + +"Well, if anybody can tell about it, Mother can," said Randy, "but I +don't believe there were ever any prettier girls than are here +to-night." + +"Becky looks like an angel," Mrs. Paine stated, "but she's pale, Randy." + +"She is tired, Mother. I think she ought to go home. I shall try to +make her when I come back. She dropped her fan and I am going to get +it." + +He had not told Becky where he was going. He had slipped away--his mind +intent on regaining her property. But when he reached the bushes and +flashed his pocket-light on the ground beneath, there was no fan. It +must have fallen here. He was sure he had made no mistake. + +He decided finally that someone else had found it. It seemed unlikely, +however, for the spot was remote, and the thickness of the bushes +offered a barrier to anyone strolling casually through the grounds. + +He went slowly back to the house. Ever since that night when Becky had +said she would marry him he had lived in a dream. They were pledged to +each other, yet she did not love him. How could he take her? And again, +how could he give her up? She had offered herself freely, and he wanted +her in his future. And there was a fighting chance. He had youth and +courage and a love for her he challenged any man to match. Why not? Was +it beyond the bounds of reason that some day he could make Becky love +him? + +They had agreed that no one was to be told. "Not until I come back from +Nantucket," Becky had stipulated. + +"By that time you won't want me, my dear." + +"Well, I shan't if you talk like that," Becky had said with some spirit. + +"Like what?" + +"As if I were a queen and you were a slave. When you were a little boy +you bossed me, Randy." + +There had been a gleam in his eye. "I may again." + +He wondered if, after all, that would be the way to win her. Yet he +shrank from playing a game. When she came to him, if she ever came, it +must be because she found something in him that was love-worthy. At +least he could make himself worthy of love, whether she ever came to him +or not. + +He stopped by the fountain; just beyond it the long windows of the Hunt +Room opened out upon the lawn. The light lay in golden squares upon the +grass. Randy, still in the shadow, stood for a moment looking in. There +were long tables and little ones, kaleidoscopic color, movement and +light, and Becky back in her corner in the midst of a gay group. + +He was aware, suddenly, that he was not the only one who watched. Half +hidden by the shadows of one of the great pillars of the lower porch was +a man in light flannels and a gray cap. + +He was not skulking, and indeed he seemed to have a splendid +indifference to discovery. He was staring at Becky and in his hand, a +blaze of lovely color against his coat, was Becky's fan! + +Randy took a step forward. George turned and saw him. + +"I was looking for that," Randy said, and held out his hand for the fan. + +But Dalton did not give it to him. "She knows I have it." + +"How could she know?" Randy demanded; "she dropped it from the balcony." + +"And I was under the balcony"--George's laugh was tantalizing,--"a +patient Romeo." + +"You picked it up." + +"I picked it up. And she knew that I did. Didn't she tell you?" + +She had not told him. He remembered now her unwillingness to have him +search for it. + +He had no answer for George. But again he held out his hand. + +"She will be glad to get it. Will you give it to me?" + +"She told me I might--keep it." + +"Keep it----?" + +"For remembrance." + +There was a tense pause. "If that is true," said Randy, "there is, of +course, nothing else for me to say." + +He turned to go, but George stopped him. "Wait a minute. You are going +to marry her?" + +"Yes." + +"And she is very--rich." + +"Her money does not enter into the matter." + +"Some people might think it did. There are those who might be unkind +enough to call you a--fortune-hunter." + +"I shall be called nothing of the kind by those who know me." + +"But there are so many who don't know you." + +"I wonder," said Randy, fiercely, "why I am staying here and letting you +say such things to me. There is nothing you can say which can hurt me. +Becky knows--God knows, that I wish she were as poor as poverty. Perhaps +money doesn't mean as much to us as it does to you. I wish I had it, +yes--so that I could give it to her. But love for us means a tent in the +desert--a hut on a mountain--it can never mean what we could buy with +money." + +"Does love mean to her," George's tone was incisive, "a tent in the +desert, a hut on a mountain?" + +Randy's anger flamed. "I think," he said, "that I should beg Becky's +pardon for bringing her name into this at all---- And now, will you give +me her fan?" + +"When she asks for it--yes." + +Randy was breathing heavily. "Will you give me her--fan----" + +The mist from the fountain blew cool against his hot cheeks. The water +which old Neptune poured from his shell flashed white under the stars. + +"Let her ask for it----" George's laugh was light. + +It was that laugh which made Randy see red. He caught George's wrists +suddenly in his hands. "Drop it." + +George stopped laughing. "Let her ask for it," he said again. + +Randy twisted the wrists. It was a cruel trick. But his Indian blood was +uppermost. + +"Drop it," he said, with another twist, and the fan fell. + +But Randy was not satisfied. "Do you think," he said, "that I am through +with you? What you need is tar and feathers, but failing that----" he +did not finish his sentence. He caught George around the body and began +to push him back towards the fountain. + +George fought doggedly--but Randy was strong with the muscular strength +of youth and months of military training. + +"I'll kill you for this," George kept saying. + +"No," said Randy, conserving his breath, "they don't--do +it--in--these--days----" + +He had Dalton now at the rim and with a final effort of strength he +lifted him--there was a splash, and into the deeps of the great basin +went George, while the bronze Neptune, and the bronze dolphins, and the +nymphs with flowing hair, splashed and spouted a welcoming chorus that +drowned his cry! + +Randy, head up, eyes shining, marched into the house and had a servant +brush him off and powder a scratch on his chin; then he went down-stairs +to the Hunt Room and strode across the room until he came to where Becky +sat in her corner. + +"I found your fan," he told her, and laid it, a blaze of lovely color, +on the table in front of her. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE WHISTLING SALLY + + +I + +Becky, as she journeyed towards the north, had carried with her a vision +of a new and rather disturbing Randy--a Randy who, striding across the +Hunt Room with high-held head, had delivered her fan, and had, later, +asked for an explanation. + +"How did he get it, Becky?" + +She had told him. + +"Why didn't you tell me when I came back and said I would go for it?" + +"I was afraid he might still be there." + +"Well?" + +"And that something might happen." + +Something had happened later by the fountain. But Randy did not speak of +it. "I saw the fan in his hand and asked for it," grimly, "and he gave +it to me----" + +On the night before she went away, Randy had said, "I can't tell you all +that you mean to me, Becky, and I am not going to try. But I am yours +always--remember that----" He had kissed her hand and held it for a +moment against his heart. Then he had left her, and Becky had wanted to +call him back and say something that she felt had been left unsaid, but +had found that she could not. + +Admiral Meredith met his granddaughter in New York, and the rest of the +trip was made with him. + +Admiral Meredith was as different from Judge Bannister in his mental +equipment as he was in physical appearance. He was a short little man, +who walked with a sailor's swing, and who laughed like a fog-horn. He +had ruddy cheeks, and the manners of a Chesterfield. If he lacked the +air of aristocratic calm which gave distinction to Judge Bannister, he +supplied in its place a sophistication due to his contact with a world +which moved faster than the Judge's world in Virginia. + +He adored Becky, and resented her long sojourn in the South. "I believe +you love the Judge better than you do me," he told her, as he turned to +her in the taxi which took them from the train to the boat. + +"I don't love anybody better than I do you," she said, and tucked her +hand in his. + +"What have they been doing to you?" he demanded; "you are as white as +paper." + +"Well, it has been hot." + +"Of all the fool things to keep you down there in summer. I am going to +take you straight to 'Sconset to the Whistling Sally and keep you there +for a month." + +"The Whistling Sally" was the Admiral's refuge when he was tired of the +world. It was a gray little house set among other gray little houses +across the island from Nantucket town. It stood on top of the bluff and +overlooked a sea which stretched straight to Spain. It was called "The +Whistling Sally" because a ship's figure-head graced its front yard, the +buxom half of a young woman who blew out her cheeks in a perpetual +piping, and whose faded colors spoke eloquently of the storms which had +buffeted her. + +The Admiral, as has been indicated, had an imposing mansion in Nantucket +town. For two months in the summer he entertained his friends in all the +glory of a Colonial background--white pillars, spiral stairway, polished +floors, Chinese Chippendale, lacquered cabinets, old china and oil +portraits. He gave dinners and played golf, he had a yacht and a motor +boat, he danced when the spirit moved him, and was light on his feet in +spite of his years. He was adored by the ladies, lionized by everybody, +and liked it. + +But when the summer was over and September came, he went to Siasconset +and reverted to the type of his ancestors. He hobnobbed with the men and +women who had been the friends and neighbors of his forbears. He doffed +his sophistication as he doffed his formal clothes. He wore a slicker on +wet days, and the rain dripped from his rubber hat. He sat knee to knee +with certain cronies around the town pump. He made chowder after a +famous recipe, and dug clams when the spirit moved him. + +His housekeeper, Jane, adjourned from the town house to "The Whistling +Sally" when Becky was there; at other times the Admiral did for himself, +keeping the little cottage as neat as a pin, and cooking as if he were +born to it. + +It seemed to Becky that as the long low island rose from the sea, the +burdens which she had carried for so long dropped from her. There were +the houses on the cliff, the glint of a gilded dome, and then, gray and +blue and green the old town showed against the skyline, resolving itself +presently into roofs, and church towers, and patches of trees, with long +piers stretching out through shallow waters, boat-houses, fishing +smacks, and at last a thin line of people waiting on the wharf. + +The air was like wine. The sky was blue with the deep sapphire which +follows a wind-swept night. There was not a hint of mist or fog. Flocks +of gulls rose and dipped and rose again, or rested unafraid on the +wooden posts of the pier. + +The 'Sconset 'bus was waiting and they took it. Until two years ago no +automobiles had been allowed on the island, but there had been the +triumph of utility over the picturesque and quaint, and now one motored +across the moor on smooth asphalt, in one-half the time that the trip +had been made in the old days. + +The Admiral did not like it. He admitted that it was quicker. "But we +used to see the pheasants fly up from the bushes, and the ducks from the +pools, and now they are gone before we can get our eyes on them." + +Becky was not in a captious mood. The moor was before her, rising and +falling in low unwooded hills, amber with dwarf goldenrod, red with the +turning huckleberry, purple with drying grasses, green with a thousand +lovely growing things still unpainted by the brush of autumn. The color +was almost unbelievably gorgeous. Even the pools by the roadside were +almost unbelievably blue, as if the water had been dyed with indigo, and +above all was that incredible blue sky----! + +Then out of the distance clear cut like cardboard the houses lifted +themselves above the horizon, with the sea a wall to the right, and to +the left, across the moor, the Sankaty lighthouse, white and red with +the sun's rays striking across it. + +They entered the village between rows of pleasant informal residences, +many of them closed until another season; they passed the tennis +courts, and came to the post-office, with its flag flying. The 'bus +stopped, and they found Tristram waiting for them. + +"Tristram" is an old name in Nantucket. There was a Tristram among the +nine men who had purchased the island from Thomas Mayhew in 1659 for "30 +pounds current pay and two beaver hats." The present Tristram wore the +name appropriately. Fair-haired and tall, not young but towards the +middle-years, strong with the strength of one who lives out-of-doors in +all weathers, browned with the wind and sun, blue-eyed, he called no man +master, and was the owner of his own small acres. + +Like the Admiral, he gave himself up for two months of the year to the +summer people. If his association with them was a business rather than a +social affair, it was, none the less, interesting. The occupation of +Nantucket by "off-islanders" was a matter of infinite speculation and +amusement. Into the serenity of his life came restless men and women who +golfed and swam and rode and danced, who chafed when it rained, and +complained of the fog, who seemed endlessly trying to get something out +of life and who were endlessly bored, who wondered how Tristram could +stand the solitudes and who pitied him. + +Tristram knew that he did not need their pity. He had a thousand things +that they did not have. He was never bored, and he was too busy to +manufacture amusements. There were always things happening on the +island--each day brought something different. + +To-day, it was the winter gulls. "They are coming down--lots of them +from the north," he told the Admiral as they drove through the quaint +settlement with its gray little houses, "the big ones----" + +There was also the _gerardia_, pale pink and shading into mauve. He had +brought a great bunch to "The Whistling Sally," and had put it in a bowl +of gray pottery. + +When Becky saw the flowers, she knew whom to thank. "Oh, Tristram," she +said, "you found them on the moor." + +Tristram, standing in the little front room of the Admiral's cottage, +seemed to tower to the ceiling. "The Whistling Sally" from the outside +had the look of a doll's house, too small for human habitation. Within +it was unexpectedly commodious. It had the shipshape air of belonging to +a seafaring man. The rooms were all on one floor. There was the big +front room, which served as a sitting-room and dining-room. It had a +table built out from the wall with high-backed benches on each side of +it, and a rack for glasses overhead. There was a window above the table +which looked out towards the sea. The walls were painted blue, and +there was an old brick fireplace. A model of a vessel from which the +figure-head in the front yard had been taken was over the mantel, +flanked by an old print or two of Nantucket in the past. There were +Windsor chairs and a winged chair; some pot-bellied silver twinkled in a +corner cupboard. + +The windows throughout were low and square and small-paned and +white-curtained. The day was cool, and there was a fire on the hearth. +The blaze and the pink flowers, and the white curtains gave to the +little room an effect of brightness, although outside the early twilight +was closing in. + +Jane came in with her white apron and added another high light. She +kissed Becky. "Did your grandfather tell you that Mr. Cope is coming +over to have chowder?" she asked. + +It would be impossible to describe Jane's way of saying "chowder." It +had no "r," and she clipped it off at the end. But it is the only way in +the world, and the people who so pronounce it are usually the only +people in the world who can make it. + +"Who is Mr. Cope?" Becky asked. + +Mr. Cope, it seemed, had a cottage across the road from the Admiral's. +He leased it, and it was his first season at 'Sconset. His sister had +been with him only a week ago. She had gone "off-shore," but she was +coming back. + +"Is he young?" Becky asked. + +"Well, he isn't old," said Jane, "and he's an artist." + +Becky was not in the least interested in Mr. Cope, so she talked to +Tristram until he had to go back to his farm and the cows that waited to +be milked. Then Becky went into her room, and took off her hat and coat +and ran a comb through the bronze waves of her hair. She did not change +the straight serge frock in which she had travelled. She went back into +the front room and found that Mr. Cope had come. + +He was not old. That was at once apparent. And he was not young. He did +not look in the least like an artist. He seemed, rather, like a +prosperous business man. He wore a Norfolk suit, and his reddish hair +was brushed straight back from his forehead. He had rather humorous gray +eyes, and Becky thought there was a look of delicacy about his white +skin. Later he spoke of having come for his health, and she learned that +he had a weak heart. + +He had a pleasant laughing voice. He belonged to Boston, but had lived +abroad for years. + +"With nothing to show for it," he told her with a shrug, "but one +portrait. I painted my sister, and she kept that. But before we left +Paris we burned the rest----" + +"Oh, how dreadful," Becky cried. + +"No, it wasn't dreadful. They were not worth keeping. You see, I played +a lot and made sketches and things, and then there was the war--and I +wasn't very well." + +He had had two years of aviation, and after that a desk in the War +Department. + +"And now I am painting again." + +"Gardens?" Becky asked, "or the sea?" + +"Neither. I am trying to paint the moor. I'll show you in the morning." + +The Admiral was in the kitchen, superintending the chowder. Jane knew +how to make it, and he knew that she knew. But he always went into the +kitchen at the psychological moment, tied on an apron, and put in the +pilot crackers. Then he brought the chowder in, in a big porcelain +tureen which was shaped like a goose. Becky loved him in his white +apron, with his round red face, and the porcelain goose held high. + +"If you could paint him like that," she suggested to Archibald Cope. + +"Do you think he would let me?" eagerly. + +After supper the two men smoked by the fire, and Becky sat between them +and watched the blaze. She heard very little of the conversation. Her +mind was in Albemarle. How far away it seemed! Just three nights ago she +had danced at the Merriweathers' ball, and George had held her hand as +she leaned over the balcony. + +"If you can bring yourself back for a moment, Becky, to present +company," her grandfather was saying, "you can tell Mr. Cope whether you +will walk with us to-morrow to Tom Never's." + +"I'd love it." + +"Really?" Cope asked. "You are sure you won't be too tired?" + +"Not in this air. I feel as if I could walk forever." + +"How about a bit of a walk to-night--up to the bluff? Is it too late, +Admiral?" + +"Not for you two. I'll finish my pipe, and read my papers." + +The young people followed the line of the bluff until they came to an +open space which looked towards the east. To the left of them was the +ridge with a young moon hanging low above it, and straight ahead, +brighter than the moon, whitening the heavens, stretching out and out +until it reached the sailors in their ships, was the Sankaty light. + +"I always come out to look at it before I go to bed," said Cope; "it is +such a _living_ thing, isn't it?" + +The wind was rising and they could hear the sound of the sea. Becky +caught her breath. "On dark nights I like to think how it must look to +the ships beyond the shoals----" + +"The sea is cruel," said Cope; "that's why I don't paint it." + +"Oh, it isn't always cruel." + +"When isn't it? Last year, with the submarines, it was--a monster. I saw +a picture once in a gallery, 'The Eternal Siren,' just the sea. And a +woman asked, 'Where's the Siren?'" + +Becky laughed. "If you had sailor blood in you, you wouldn't feel that +way. Ask Grandfather." + +"The Admiral is prejudiced. He loves--the siren----" + +"He would tell you that the sea isn't a siren. It's a bold, blustering +lass like the Whistling Sally out there in the front yard. Man has tamed +her even if he hasn't quite mastered her." + +"He will never master her. She will go on and on, after we are dead, +through the ages, wooing men to--destruction----" + +Becky shivered. "I hate to think of things--after we are dead." + +"Do you? I don't. I like to think way beyond the ages to the time when +there shall be no more sea----" + +He pulled himself up abruptly. "I am talking rather dismally, I am +afraid, about death and destruction. You won't want to walk with me +again." + +"Oh, yes, I shall. And I want to see your pictures." + +"You may not care for them. Lots of people don't. But I have to work in +my own way----" + +As they walked back, he told her what he was trying to do. As she +listened, Becky seemed to have two minds, one that caught his words, and +answered them, and another which went back and back to the things which +had happened since she had last walked this bluff with the wind in her +face and the sound of the sea in her ears. + +It seemed to her as if a lifetime had elapsed since last she had looked +at the Sankaty light. + + +II + +When Becky wrote to Randy, she had a great deal to say about Archibald +Cope. + + "He is trying to paint the moor. He wants to get its meaning, and + then make other people see what it means. He doesn't look in the + least like that, Randy--as if he were finding the spirit of things. + He has red hair and wears correct clothes, and says the right + things, and you feel as if he ought to be in Wall Street buying + bonds. But here he is, refusing to believe that anything he has + done is worth while until he does it to his own satisfaction. + + "We walked to Tom Never's Head yesterday. It was one of those clear + silver days, a little cloudy and without much color. The + cranberries are ripe, and the moor was carpeted with them. When we + got to Tom Never's we sat on the edge of the bluff, and Mr. Cope + told me what he meant about the moor. It has its moods, he said. On + a quiet, cloudy morning, it is a Quaker lady. With the fog in, it + is a White Spirit. There are purple twilights when it + is--Cleopatra, and windy nights with the sun going down blood-red, + when it is--Medusa---- He says that the trouble with the average + picture is that it is just--paint. I am not sure that I understand + it all, but it is terribly interesting. And when he had talked a + lot about that, he talked of the history of the island. He said + that he should never be satisfied until somebody put a bronze + statue of an Indian right where we stood, with his back to the sea. + And when I said, 'Why with his back to it?' he said, 'Wasn't the + sea cruel to the red man? It brought a conquering race in ships.' + + "I told him then about our Indians in Virginia, and that some of us + had a bit of red blood in our veins, and I told him that you and I + always used the old Indian war cry when we called to each other, + and he asked, 'Who is Randy?' and I said that you were an old + friend, and that we had spent much of our childhood together." + +As a matter of fact, Cope had been much interested in her account of +young Paine. "Do you mean to say that he is still living on all that +land?" + +"Yes." + +"Master of his own domain. I can't see it. The way I like to live is +with a paint box, and a bag, and nothing to keep me from moving on." + +"We aren't like that in the South." + +"Do you like to stay in one place?" + +"I never have. I have always been handed around." + +"Would you like a home of your own?" + +"Of course--after I am married." + +"North, south, east or west?" + +She put the question to him seriously. "Do you think it would make any +difference if you loved a man, where you lived?" + +"Well, of course, there might be difficulties--on a desert island." + +"Not if you loved him." + +"My sister wouldn't agree with you." + +"Why not?" + +"She is very modern. She says that love has nothing to do with it. Not +romantic love. She says that when she marries she shall choose a man who +lives in New York, who likes to go to Europe, and who hates the tropics. +He must fancy pale gray walls and willow-green draperies, and he must +loathe Florentine furniture. He must like music and painting, and not +care much for books. He must adore French cooking, and have a prejudice +against heavy roasts. He must be a Republican and High Church. She is +sure that with such a man she would be happy. The dove of peace would +hover over the household, because she and her husband would have nothing +to quarrel about." + +"Of course she doesn't mean it." + +"She thinks she does." + +"She won't if she is ever really in love." + +He glanced at her. "Then you believe in the desert island?" + +"I think I do----" + +She stood up. "Did you feel a drop of rain? And Grandfather is waving." + +The Admiral on the porch of the closed Lodge was calling to them to come +under shelter. + +It was a gentle rain, and they decided to walk home in it. They went at +a smart pace, which they moderated as Cope showed signs of fatigue. +"It's a beastly nuisance," he said, "to give out. I wish you would go on +ahead, and let me rest here----" + +They rested with him. The two men talked, and Becky was rather silent. +When they started on again, Cope said to her, "Are you tired? It is a +long walk." + +"No," she said, "I am not tired. And I have been thinking a lot about +the things you said to me." + +He was not a conceited man, and he was aware that it was the things +which he had said to her which had set her mind to work, not any +personal fascination. She was quaint and charming, and he was glad that +she had come. He had been lonely since his sister left. And his +loneliness had fear back of it. + +It was because of this conversation with Cope that Becky ended her +letter to Randy with the following paragraph: + + "Mr. Cope has a sister, Louise. She thinks that people ought to + marry because they like the same things. She thinks that if two + people care for the same furniture and the same religion and the + same things to eat, that life will be lovely. She couldn't love a + man enough to live on a desert island with him, because she adores + New York. Of course, there is something in that, and if it is so, + you and I ought to be very happy, Randy. We like old houses and the + Virginia hills, and lots of books, and fireplaces--and dogs and + horses and hot biscuits and fried chicken. It sounds awfully funny + to put it that way, doesn't it, and practical? But perhaps Louise + Cope is right, and one isn't likely, of course, to have the desert + island test. Do you _really_ think that anybody could be happy on a + desert island, Randy?" + +Randy replied promptly. + + "If you were in love with me, Becky, you wouldn't be asking + questions. You would believe that we could be blissful on a desert + island. I believe it. It may not be true, yet I feel that a hut on + a mountain top would be heaven for me if you were in it, Becky. In + a way Cope's sister is right. The chances for happiness are + greatest with those who have similar tastes, but not fried chicken + tastes or identical religious opinions. These do not mean so much, + but it would mean a great deal that we think alike about honesty + and uprightness and truth and courage---- + + "And now, Becky, I might as well say it straight from the shoulder. + I haven't the least right in the world to let you feel that you are + engaged to me. I shall never marry you unless you love me--unless + you love me so much that you would have the illusion of happiness + with me on a desert island. + + "I have no right to let you tie yourself to me. The whole thing is + artificial and false. You are strong enough to stand alone. I want + you to stand alone, Becky, for your own sake. I want you to tell + yourself that Dalton isn't worth one single thought of yours. Tell + yourself the truth, Becky, about him. It is the only way to own + your soul. + + "You may be interested to know that the Watermans left Hamilton + Hill yesterday. Dalton went with them. I haven't seen him since the + night of the Merriweathers' ball. I didn't tell you, did I, that + after I took the fan away from him, I dropped him into the + fountain? I had much rather have tied him to a stake, and have + built a fire under him, but that isn't civilized, and of course, I + couldn't. But I am glad I dropped him in the fountain----" + +Becky read Randy's letter as she sat alone on the beach. It was cool and +sunshiny and she was wrapped in a red cape. The winter gulls were +beating strong wings above the breakers, and their sharp cries cut +across the roar of the waters. + +There had been a storm the night before--wind booming out of the +northeast and the sea still sang the song of it. + +Becky felt, suddenly, that she was very angry with Randy. It was as if +he had broken a lovely thing that she had worshipped. She hated to think +of that struggle in the dark---- She hated to think of Randy as--the +Conqueror. She hated to think of George as dank and dripping. She wanted +to think of him as shining and splendid, and Randy had spoiled that. + +But she wanted to be fair. Hadn't George, after all, spoiled his own +splendidness? He had wooed her and had run away. And he had not run back +until he thought another man wanted her. + +"Of course," said somebody behind her, "you won't tell me what you are +thinking about. But if you will just let me sit here and think, by your +side, it will be a great privilege." + +It was Mr. Cope, and she was not sure that she wanted him at this +moment. Perhaps something of her thought showed in her eyes, for when +she said, "Oh, yes," he stood looking down at her. + +"Would you rather be alone with your letters? Don't hedge and be polite. +Tell me." + +"Well," she admitted, "my letters are a bit on my mind. But if you don't +care if I am stupid, you can stay----" + +He sat down. He had known her for ten days, and dreaded to think that in +ten days more she might be gone. "I won't talk if you don't wish it." + +Becky's eyes were on the sea. "I think I should like to talk. I have +been thinking--about that Indian that you want commemorated in bronze up +there on the bluff. Do you think he was cruel?" + +"Who knows? He was, perhaps, a savage. Yet he may have been +tender-hearted. I hope so, if he is going to be fixed in bronze for the +ages to stare at." + +"Did you," Becky asked, deliberately, "ever want to tie a man to a stake +and build a fire under him?" + +He turned and stared at her. "My dear child, what ever put such an idea +in your head?" + +"Well, did you?" + +He considered it. "There was a time in France when I wanted to do worse +than that." + +"But that was war." + +"No, it was a brute in my own company. He broke the heart of a little +girl that he met in Brittany. He--he--well he murdered her--dreams." + +"Perhaps he didn't know what he was doing." + +"He knew. Every man knows." + +"And you wanted to make him--suffer----" + +"Yes." + +She shivered. "Are all men like that?" + +"Like what?" + +"Cruel." + +"It can't be cruelty. It's a sense of justice." + +"I hope it is." She kept thinking about George rising dank and dripping +from the fountain. She hated to think about it. + +So she changed the subject. "I thought you were painting." + +"I was. But the moor is fickle. Yesterday she billowed towards the +south, all gray and blue. And last night the storm spoiled it; she is +gorgeous and gay to-day, and I don't like her." + +"Oh, why not?" + +"She is too obvious. Anybody can paint a Persian carpet, but one can't +put soul into a--carpet----" + +He was petulant. "I shall never paint the pictures I want to paint. Life +is too short." + +"Life isn't short. Look at Grandfather. You will have forty years yet in +which to paint." + +And now it was he who changed the subject, quickly, as if he were afraid +of it. + +"My sister is coming to-morrow. I rather think you will like her." + +"Will she like me, that's more important." + +"She will love you, as I do, as everybody does, Becky." + +They had reached that point in ten days that he could say such things to +her and win her smile. She did not believe in the least that he loved +her. He always laughed when he said it. + +She liked him very much. She felt that the Admiral and Tristram and +Archibald Cope were all of them the best of comrades. Except for Jane, +she had had practically no feminine society since she came. And Jane was +not especially inspiring, not like Tristram, who seemed to carry one's +imagination back to Viking days. + +Cope was immensely enthusiastic about Tristram. "If I could paint +figures as I want to," he said, "I'd do Tristram as 'The Islander.' One +feels that he belongs here as inevitably as the moors or the sands or +the sea. Perhaps it is he who ought to be in bronze on the bluff, +instead of the Indian." + +"But he'd have to face the sea," said Becky. + +"Yes," Cope agreed, "he would. He loves it and his ancestors lived by +it. I'll stick to my Indian and the moor." + +Becky gathered up her letters. "It is time for lunch, and Jane doesn't +like to be kept waiting. Won't you lunch with us? Grandfather will be +delighted." + +"I shall get to be a perpetual guest. I feel as if I were taking +advantage of your hospitality." + +"We shouldn't ask you if we didn't want you." + +"Then I'll come." + +They walked up the beach together. Becky was muffled in her red cape, +Cope had a sweater under his coat. The air was sharp and clear as +crystal. + +"How anybody can go in bathing in this weather," Becky shivered, as a +woman ran down the sands towards the sea. She cast off her bathing cloak +and stood revealed, slim and rather startling, in yellow. + +"She goes in every day," said Cope, "even when it storms." + +"Who is she?" + +"A dancer--from New York. Haven't you seen her before?" + +"No. Where is she staying?" + +"At the hotel." + +"I thought the hotel was closed." + +"Not for three weeks. There aren't many guests. This one came up a month +ago. She dances on the moor--practising for some play which opens in +October." + +"What's her name?" + +"I don't know. They call her 'The Yellow Daffodil' because of that +bathing suit." + +The girl was swimming now beyond the breakers. + +Becky was envious. "I wish I could swim like that." + +"You can do other things--that she can't do." + +"What things?" + +"Well, be a lady, for example. That's not exactly cricket, is it, to +draw a deadly parallel? But I don't want people like that dancing on my +moor." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +THE DANCER ON THE MOOR + + +I + +Randy's letter had set Becky adrift. She was not in love with him. She +was sure of that. And he had said he would not marry her without love. +He had said that if she owned her soul she would think of Dalton as a +cad and as a coward. + +It seemed queer that Randy should be demanding things of her. He had +always been so glad to take anything she would give, and now she had +offered him herself, and he wouldn't have her. Not till she owned her +soul. + +She knew what he meant. The thought of George was always with her. She +kept seeing him as she had first seen him at the station; as he had been +that wonderful day when they had had tea in the Pavilion; the night in +the music room when he had kissed her; the old garden with its pale +statues and box hedges; and always there was his sparkling glance, his +quick voice. + +She would never own her soul until she forgot George. Until she put him +out of her life; until the thought of him would not make her burn hot +with humiliation; until the thought of him would not thrill to her +finger-tips. + +She found Cope's easy and humorous companionship a balance for her +hidden emotions. And when Louise Cope came, she proved to be a rather +highly emphasized counterpart of her brother. Her red-gold hair was +thick and she wore it bobbed. Her skin was white but lacked the look of +delicacy which seemed to contradict constantly Cope's vivid personality. +She seemed to laugh at the world as he did. She called Becky "quaint," +but took to her at once. + +"Archie has been writing to me of you," she told Becky; "he says you +came up like a bird from the south." + +"Birds don't fly north in the fall----" + +"Well, you were the--miracle," Cope asserted. + +Louise Cope's shrewd glance studied him. "He has fallen in love with +you, Becky Bannister," was her blunt assurance, "but you needn't let it +worry you. As yet it is only an æsthetic passion. But there is no +telling what may come of it----" + +"Does he fall in love--like that?" Becky demanded. + +"He has never been in love," Louise declared, "not really. Except with +me." + +Becky felt that the Copes were a charming pair. When she answered +Randy's letter she spoke of them. + + "Louise adores her brother, and she thinks he would be a great + artist if he would take himself seriously. But neither of them + seems to take anything seriously. They always seem to be laughing + at the world in a quiet way. Louise is not pretty, but she gives an + effect of beauty---- She wears a big gray cape and a black velvet + tam, and I am not sure that the color in her cheeks is real. She is + different from other people, but it doesn't seem to be a pose. It + is just because she has lived in so many places and has seen so + many people and has thought for herself. I have always let other + people think for me, haven't I, Randy? + + "And now that I have done with the Copes, I am going to talk about + the things that you said to me in your letter, and which are really + the important things. + + "I hated to think that you dropped Mr. Dalton in the fountain. I + hated to think that you wanted to burn him at the stake--there was + something--cruel--and--dreadful in it all. I have kept thinking of + that struggle between you--in the dark---- I have hated to think + that a few years ago if you had felt as you do about him--that you + might have--killed him. But perhaps men are like that. They care + more for justice than for--mercy. + + "I am trying to take your advice and tell myself the truth about + Mr. Dalton. That he isn't worth a thought of mine. Yet I think of + him a great deal. I am being very frank with you, Randy, because we + have always talked things out. I think of him, and wonder which is + the real man--the one I thought he was--and I thought him very fine + and splendid. Or is he just trifling and commonplace? Perhaps he is + just between, not as wonderful as I thought him, nor as + contemptible as I seem forced to believe. + + "Yet I gave him something that it is hard to take back. I gave a + great deal. You see I had always been shut up in a glass case like + the bob-whites and the sandpipers in the Bird Room, and I knew + nothing of the world. And the first time I tried my wings, I + thought I was flying towards the sun, and it was just a blaze + that--burned me. + + "Of course you are right when you say that you won't marry me + unless I love you. I had a queer feeling at first about it--as if + you were very far away and I couldn't reach you. But I know that + you are right, and that you are thinking of the thing that is best + for me. But I know I shall always have you as a friend. I don't + think that I shall ever love anybody. And after this we won't talk + about it. There are so many other things that we have to say to + each other that don't hurt----" + +Becky could not, of course, know the effect of her letter on Randy. The +night after its receipt, he roamed the woods. She had thought him +cruel--and dreadful. Well, let her think it. He was glad that he had +dropped George in the fountain. He should always be glad. But women were +not like that--they were tender--and hated--hardness. Perhaps that was +because they were--mothers---- + +And men were--hard. He had been hard, perhaps, in the things he had said +in his letter. Her words rang in his ears. "I had a queer feeling at +first that you were very far away, and that I could not reach you." And +she had said that, when his soul ached to have her near. + +Yet he had tried to do the best that he could for Becky. He had felt +that she must not be bound by a tie that was no longer needed to protect +her from Dalton. She was safe at 'Sconset, with the Admiral and her new +friends the Copes. He envied them, their hours with her. He was +desperately lonely, with a loneliness which had no hope. + +He worked intensively. The boarders had gone from King's Crest, and he +and the Major had moved into the big house. Randy spent a good deal of +time in the Judge's library at Huntersfield. He and Truxton had great +plans for their future. They read law, sold cars, and talked of their +partnership. The firm was to be "Bannister, Paine and Beaufort"; it was +to have brains, conscience, and business acumen. + +"In the order named," Truxton told the Major. "The Judge has brains, +Randy has a conscience. There's nothing left for me but to put pep into +the business end of it." + +Randy worked, too, on his little story. He did not know in the least +what he was going to do with it, but it was an outlet for the questions +which he kept asking himself. The war was over and the men who had +fought had ceased to be important. He and the Major and Truxton talked a +great deal about it. The Major took the high stand of each man's +satisfaction in the thing he had done. Truxton was light-heartedly +indifferent. He had his Mary, and his future was before him. But Randy +argued that the world ought not to forget. "It was a rather wonderful +thing for America. I want her to keep on being wonderful." + +The Major in his heart knew that the boy was right. America must keep on +being wonderful. Her young men must go high-hearted to the tasks of +peace. It was the high-heartedness of people which had won the war. It +would be the high-heartedness of men and women which would bring sanity +and serenity to a troubled world. + +"The difficulty lies in the fact that we are always trying to make laws +to right the world, when what we need is to form individual ideals. The +boy who says in his heart, 'I want to be like Lincoln,' and who stands +in front of a statue of Lincoln, and learns from that rugged countenance +the lesson of simple courage and honesty, has a better chance of a +future than the boy who is told, 'There is evil in the world, and the +law punishes those who transgress.' Half of our Bolsheviks would be +tamed if they had the knowledge and love of some simple hero in their +hearts, and felt that there was a chance for them to be heroic. The war +gave them a chance. We have now to show them that there is beauty and +heroism in orderly living----" + +He was talking to Madge. She was still with the Flippins. The injury to +her foot had been more serious than it had seemed. She might have gone +with Oscar and Flora when they left Hamilton Hill. But she preferred to +stay. Flora was to go to a hospital; Madge would not be needed. + +"I am going to stay here as long as you will let me," she said to Mrs. +Flippin; "you will tell me if I am in the way----" + +Mrs. Flippin adored Madge. "It is like having a Princess in the house," +she said, "only she don't act like a Princess." + +The Major came over every afternoon. Kemp drove him, as a rule, in the +King's Crest surrey. If the little man missed Dalton's cars, he said no +word. He made the Major very comfortable. He lived a life of ease if not +of elegance, and he loved the wooded hills, the golden air, the fine old +houses, the serene autumn glory of this southern world. + +On the afternoon when the Major talked to Madge of the world at peace, +they were together under the apple tree which Madge had first seen from +the window of the east room. There were other apple trees in the old +orchard, but it was this tree that Madge liked because of its golden +globes. "The red ones are wonderful," she said, "but red isn't my color. +With my gold skin, they make me look like a gypsy. If I am to be a +golden girl, I must stay away from red----" + +"Is that what you are--a golden girl?" + +"That was always George Dalton's name for me." + +"I am sorry." + +"Why?" + +"Because I should like it to be mine for you. I should like to link my +golden West with the thought of you." + +"And you won't now, because it was somebody else's name for me?" + +Kemp, before he went away, had made her comfortable with cushions in a +chair-like crotch of the old tree. The Major was at her feet. He +meditated a moment. "I shall make it my name for you. What do I care +what other men have called you." + +"Do you know what you called me--once?" she was smiling down at him. + +"No." + +"A little lame duck. It was when I first tried to use my foot. And you +laughed, and said that it--linked us--together. And now you are trying +to link me with your West----" + +"You know why, of course." + +"Yes, I do." + +He drew a long breath. "Most women would have said, 'No, I don't know.' +But you told the truth. I want to link you with my life in every way I +can because I love you. And you know that I care--very much--that I want +you for my wife--my golden girl in my golden West----?" + +"You have never told me before that--you cared." + +"There was no need to tell it. You knew." + +"Yes. I was afraid it was true----" + +He was startled. "Afraid? Why?" + +"Oh, I oughtn't to let you care," she said. "You don't know what a +slacker I've been. And I don't want you to find out----" + +"The only thing that I want to find out is whether you care for me." + +She flushed a little under his steady gaze, then quite unexpectedly she +reached her hand down to him. He took it in his firm clasp. "I do +care--an awful lot," she said, "but I've tried not to. And I shouldn't +let you care for me." + +"Why--shouldn't?" + +"I'm not--half good enough. My life has always been lived at loose ends. +Nothing bad, but a thousand things that you wouldn't--like to hear--I'm +not a golden girl--I'm a gilded one----" + +"Why should you tell me things like that? I don't believe it." + +"Please believe it," she said earnestly, "don't whitewash things. Just +let me begin again--loving you----" + +Her voice broke. He drew himself up, and took her in his arms. "My dear +girl," he said, "my dear girl----" + +"I never met a man like you, I never believed there were--such men----" +He felt her tears against his hand. + +"Listen," he said quietly; "let me tell you something of my life." He +told her the things he had told Randy. Of the little wife he had not +loved. "Perhaps if it had not been for her, I should not have had the +courage to offer to you my--maimed--self. When I married her I was +strong and young and had wealth to give her. Yet I did not give her +love. And love is more than all the rest. I have that to give you--you +know it." + +"Yes." + +"I have some money. I don't think it is going to count much with either +of us. What will count is the way we plan our future. I have a big old +ranch, and we'll live in it--with the dairy and the wide kitchen that +you've talked about--and you won't have to wait for another world, +dearest, to get your heart's desire----" + +"I have my heart's desire," she whispered; "you are--my world." + + +II + +Madge wrote to George Dalton that she was going to marry Major Prime. + + "There is no reason why we should put it off, Georgie. The + clergyman who prayed for Flora will perform the ceremony, and the + wedding will be at the Flippins' farm. + + "It seems, of course, too good to be true. Not many women have such + luck. Not my kind of women anyway. We meet men as a rule who want + us to be gilded girls, and not golden ones. But Mark wants me to be + gold all through. And I shall try to be---- We are to live on his + ranch, a place that passes in California for a farm--a sort of + glorified country place. Mrs. Flippin is teaching me to make + butter, so that I can superintend my own dairy, and I have learned + a great deal about chickens and eggs. + + "I am going to be a housewife in what I call a reincarnated + sense--loving my house and the things which belong to it, and + living as a part of it, not above it, and looking down upon it. + Perhaps all American women will come to that some day and I shall + simply be blazing the way for them. I shall probably grow rosy and + round, and if you ever ride up to my door-step, you will find me a + buxom and blooming matron instead of a golden girl. And you won't + like it in the least. But my husband will like it, because he + thinks a bit as I do about it, and he doesn't care for the woman + who lives for her looks. + + "I shall come and see Flora before I go West. But I am going to be + married first. We both have a feeling that it must be now--that + something might happen if we put it off, and nothing must happen. I + love him too much. Of course you won't believe that. I can hardly + believe it myself. But I have someone to climb the heights with me, + Georgie, and we shall ascend to the peak--together." + +For a wedding present George sent Madge the pendant he had bought for +Becky. To connect it up with Madge's favorite color scheme, he had an +amethyst put in place of the sapphire. He was glad to give it away. +Every time he had come upon it, it had reminded him of things that he +wished to forget. + +Yet he could not forget. Even as Becky had thought of him, he had +thought of her; of her radiant youth on the morning that Randy had +arrived; at the Horse Show in her shabby shoes and sailor hat; in the +Bird Room in pale blue under the swinging lamp; in the music room +between tall candles; in the garden, with a star shining into the still +pool; that last night, on the balcony, leaning over, with a yellow +lantern like a halo behind her. + +There were other things that he thought of--of Randy, in khaki on the +station platform; Randy, lean and tall among the boarders; Randy, left +behind with Kemp in the rain; Randy, debonair and insolent, announcing +his engagement on the terrace at Hamilton Hill; Randy, a shadow against +a silver sky, answering Becky's call; Randy, in the dark by the +fountain, with muscles like iron, forcing him inevitably back, lifting +him above the basin, letting him drop----; Randy, the Conqueror, +marching away with Becky's fan as his trophy----! + +New York was, of course, at this season of the year, a pageant of +sparkling crowds, and of brilliant window displays, of new productions +at the theaters. People were coming back to town. Even the fashionable +folk were running down to taste the elixir of the early days in the +metropolis. + +But George found everything flat and stale. He did the things he had +always done, hunted up the friends he had always known. He spent +week-ends at various country places, and came always back to town with +an undiminished sense of his need of Becky, and his need of revenge on +Randy. + +He had heard before he left Virginia that Becky was at Nantucket. He had +found some consolation in the fact that she was not at Huntersfield. To +have thought of her with Randy in the old garden, on Pavilion Hill, in +the Bird Room, would have been unbearable. + +He had a feeling that, in a sense, Madge's marriage was a desertion. He +did not in the least want to marry her, but there were moments when he +needed her friendship very much. He needed it now. And she was going to +marry Major Prime, and go out to some God-forsaken place, and get fat +and lose her beauty. He wished that she would not talk about such +things--it made him feel old, and worried about his waist-line. + +Even Oscar was failing him. "When Flora gets well," the little man kept +telling him, "we are going to do some good with our money. We have done +nothing but think of ourselves----" + +"Oh, for Heaven's sake, don't preach," George exploded. It seemed to him +that the world had gone mad on the subject of reforms. Man was no longer +master of his fate. The time would come when the world would be a dry +desert, without a cocktail or a highball for a thirsty soul, and all +because a lot of people had been feeling for some time as Flora and +Oscar felt at this moment. + +"I shall take Flora up to the Crossing in a few days," Oscar was +saying; "the doctor thinks the sea air will do her good. I wish you +would come with us." + +George had no idea of going with Oscar and Flora. He had been marooned +long enough with a sick woman and her depressed spouse. When Flora was +better and she and Oscar got over their mood of piety and repentance, he +would be glad to join them. In the meantime he searched his mind for +some reasonable excuse. + +"Look here," he said, "I'll join you later, Oscar. I've promised some +friends at Nantucket that I'll come down for the hunting." + +"I didn't know that you had friends in Nantucket," Oscar told him +moodily. + +"The Merediths," George remembered in the nick of time the name of +Becky's grandfather. Oscar would not know the difference. + +Having committed himself, his spirits soared. It had, he felt, been an +inspiration to put it over on Oscar like that. Subconsciously he had +known that some day he would follow Becky, and when the moment came, he +had spoken out of his thoughts. + +In the two or three days that elapsed between his decision and the date +that he had set for his departure, he found himself enjoying the +city--its clear skies, its hurrying crowds, its color and glow, the +tingle of its rush and hurry, its light-hearted acceptance of the +pleasure of the moment. + +He telegraphed for a room at a hotel in Nantucket. Once there, he was +confident that he could find Becky. Everybody would know Admiral +Meredith. + +He went by boat from New York to New Bedford, and enjoyed the trip. +Later on the little steamer, _Sankaty_, plying between New Bedford and +Nantucket, he was so shining and splendid that he was much observed by +the other passengers. His Jap servant, trotting after him, was perhaps +less martial in bearing than the ubiquitous Kemp, but he was none the +less an ornament. + +Thus George came, at last, to Nantucket, and to his hotel. Having dined, +he asked the way to the Admiral's house. He did not of course plan to +storm the citadel after dark, but a walk would not hurt him, and he +could view from the outside the cage which held his white dove. For he +had come to that, sentimentally, that Becky was the white dove that he +would shelter against his heart. + +The clerk at the hotel desk, directing him, thought that the Admiral was +not in his house on Main Street. He was apt at this season to spend his +time in Siasconset. + +"'Sconset? Where's 'Sconset?" + +"Across the island." + +"How can I get there?" + +"You can motor over. There's a 'bus, or you can get a car." + +So the next morning, George took the 'bus. He saw little beauty in the +moor. He thought it low and flat. His heart leaped with the thought that +every mile brought him nearer Becky--his white dove--whom he had--hurt! + +He was set down by the 'bus at the post-office. He asked his way, and +was directed to a low huddle of gray houses on a grassy street. "It is +the 'Whistling Sally,'" the driver of the 'bus had told him. + +When George reached "The Whistling Sally," he felt that there must be +some mistake. Here was no proper home for an Admiral or an heiress. His +eyes were blind to the charms of the wooden young woman with the +puffed-out cheeks, to the beauty of silver-gray shingles, of late +flowers blooming bravely in the little garden. + +He kept well on the other side of the street. It might perhaps be +embarrassing if he met Becky while she was with her grandfather. He +wanted to see her alone. With no one to interfere, he would be, he was +sure, master of the situation. + +He passed the house. The windows were open, and the white curtains blew +out. But there was no one in sight. At the next corner, he accosted a +tall man in work clothes, with bronzed skin and fair hair. + +"Can you tell me," George asked, "whether Admiral Meredith lives in that +cottage--'The Whistling Sally'?" + +"Yes. But he isn't there. He's gone to Boston." + +George was conscious of a sense of shock. + +"Boston?" + +"Yes. He wasn't very well and he wanted to see his doctor." + +"Has his--granddaughter gone with him?" + +"Miss Becky? Yes." + +"But--the windows of the house are open----" + +"I open them every morning. The housekeeper is in Nantucket. But they +are all coming back at the end of the week." + +"Coming back?" eagerly; "the Admiral, and Miss Bannister?" + +"Yes." + +George drew a long breath. He walked back with Tristram to the low gray +house. "Queer little place," he said. + +Tristram eyed him with easy tolerance. "Of course it seems queer if you +aren't used to it----" + +"I thought the Admiral had money." + +"Well, he has. But he forgets it out here----" + +"Is there a good hotel?" + +"Yes. It is usually closed by now. But they are keeping it open for +some guests who are up for the hunting." + +The hotel was a pleasant rambling structure, and overlooked the sea. +George engaged a room for Saturday--and said that his man would bring +his bags. He would have his lunch and take the afternoon 'bus back to +Nantucket. + +As he waited for the dining-room doors to open, a girl wrapped in a +yellow cape crossed the porch and descended the steps which led to the +beach. She wore a yellow bathing cap and yellow shoes. George walked to +the top of the bluff and watched her. She threw off the cape, and stood +slim and striking for a moment before she dived into the sea. She swam +splendidly. It was very cold, and George wondered how she endured it. +When she came running back up the steps and across the porch, she was +wrapped in the cape. She was rather handsome in a queer dark way. "It +was cold," she said, as she passed George. + +He took a step forward. "You were brave----" + +She stopped and shrugged her shoulders. "One gets warm," she said, "in a +moment." + +She left him, and he went in to lunch. He stopped at the desk on the way +out. "I have changed my mind. My man will bring my bags to-morrow." + +It was still too early for the 'bus, so George walked back up the +bluff, turning at last towards the left. Crossing a grassy space, there +was ahead of him a ridge which marked the edge of the moor. A little fog +was blowing in, and mistily through the fog he saw a figure which moved +as light as smoke above the eminence. It was a woman dancing. + +As he came nearer, he saw that she wore gray with a yellow sash. Her +yellow cape lay on the ground. "I am not sure," George said, as he +stopped beside her, "whether you are a pixie or a mermaid." + +"Look," she said, smiling, "I'll show you what I am----" + +She began with a light swaying motion, like a leaf stirred by a breeze. +Then, whipped into action, she ran before the pursuing elements. She +cowered, and registered defiance. Her loosened hair hung heavy about her +shoulders, then wound itself about her, as she whirled in a cyclone of +movement. Beaten to the ground, she rose languidly, swayed again to that +light step and stopped. + +Then she came close to George. "You see," she said, "I am not a pixie or +a mermaid. I am the spirit of the storm." + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +THE TRUMPETER SWAN + + +I + +The Admiral's rheumatism had taken Becky to Boston. "There'll be +treatments every morning," he said, "and we'll invite the Copes to visit +us, and they will look after you while I am away." + +The Copes were delighted. "Only it seems like an imposition----" + +"The house is big enough for an army," the Admiral told them; "that's +what we built houses for in the old days. To have our friends. Charles, +my butler, and his wife, Miriam, who cooks, stay in the house the year +round, so it is always open and ready." + +"And you and I shall see Boston together," Archibald told Becky, +triumphantly. "I wonder if you have ever seen Boston as I shall show it +to you." + +"Well, I've been to all the historic places." + +"Bunker Hill and the embattled farmers, of course," said Archibald; "but +have you seen them since the war?" + +"No. Are they different?" + +"They aren't, but you are. All of us are." + +Louise was not quite sure that her brother ought to leave the island. +"You are down here for the air, Arch, and the quiet." + +He was impatient. "Do you think I am going to miss this?" + +She frowned and shook her head. "I don't want you to miss it. But it +will be going against the doctor's orders." + +"Oh, hang the doctor, Louise. Being in Boston with Becky will be +like--wine----" + +But she was not satisfied. "You always throw yourself into things +so--desperately----" + +"Well, when I lose my enthusiasm I want to--die." + +"No, you don't, Arch. Don't say things like that." Her voice was sharp. + +He patted her hand. "I won't. But don't curb me too much, old girl. Let +me play--while I can----" + +They arrived in Boston to find a city under martial law, a city whose +streets were patrolled by khaki-clad figures with guns, whose traffic +was regulated by soldierly semaphores, who linked intelligence with +military training, and picturesqueness with both. + +For a short season Boston had been in the hands of the mob. All of her +traditions of law and order had not saved her. It had been her +punishment perhaps for leaving law and order in the hands of those who +cared nothing for them. People with consciences had preferred to keep +out of politics. So for a time demagogues had gotten the ear of the +people, and chaos had resulted until a quiet governor had proved himself +as firm as steel, and soldiers had replaced the policemen who had for a +moment followed false gods. + +"It all proves what I brought you here to see," Cope told Becky eagerly. + +Coffee was being served in the library of the Meredith mansion on Beacon +Street. The Admiral's library was as ruddy and twinkling as the little +man himself. He had furnished it to suit his own taste. A great +davenport of puffy red velvet was set squarely in front of a fireplace +with shining brasses. The couch was balanced by a heavy gilt chair also +in puffy red. The mantel was in white marble, and over the mantel was an +oil portrait of the Admiral's wife painted in '76. She wore red velvet +with a train, and with the pearls which had come down to Becky. The room +had been keyed up to her portrait, and had then been toned down with +certain heavy pieces of ebony, a cabinet of black lacquer, the dark +books which lined the wall to the ceiling. The room was distinctly +nineteenth-century. If it lacked the eighteenth-century exquisiteness +of the house at Nantucket, with its reminder of austere Quaker +prejudices, it was none the less appropriate as a glowing background for +the gay old Admiral. + +Becky and Cope sat on the red davenport. It was so wide that Becky was +almost lost in a corner of it. The old butler, Charles, served the +coffee. The coffee service was of repoussé silver. The Admiral would +have no other. It had been given him by a body of seamen when he had +retired from active duty. + +"It all proves what I brought you here to see," Archibald emphasized, +"how the gods of yesterday are going to balance the gods of to-day." + +The Admiral chuckled. "There aren't any gods of to-day." + +"The gods of to-day are our young men," Cope flung out, glowingly; "the +war has left them with their dreams, and they have got to find a way to +make their dreams come true. And that's where the old gods will help. +Those fine old men who dreamed, backed their dreams with deeds. Then for +a time we were so busy making money that we forgot their dreams. And +when foreigners came crowding to our shores, we didn't care whether they +were good Americans or not. All we cared was to have them work in our +mills and factories and in our kitchens, and let us alone in our pride +of ancestry and pomp of circumstance. We forgot to show them Bunker +Hill and to tell them about the old North Church and Paul Revere and the +shot heard 'round the world, and what liberty meant and democracy, and +now we've got to show them. I am going to take you around to-morrow, +Becky, and pretend you are Olga from Petrograd, and that you are seeing +America for the first time." + +Archibald Cope was kindled by fires which gave color to his pale cheeks. +"Will you be--Olga from Petrograd?" + +"I'd love it." + +But the next morning it rained. "And you can't, of course, be Olga of +Petrograd in the rain. Bunker Hill must have the sun on it, and the +waves of the harbor must be sparkling when I tell you about the tea." + +They decided, therefore, to read aloud "The Autocrat of the Breakfast +Table." + +"Then if it stops raining," said Archibald, "we'll step straight out +from its pages into the Boston that I want to show you." + +He read well. Louise sat at a little table sewing a pattern of beads on +a green bag. Becky had some rose-colored knitting. The Admiral was in +his big chair by the fire with his hands folded across his waistcoat and +his eyes shut. The colorful work of the two women, the light of the +fire, the glow of the little lamp at Cope's elbow, the warmth of the +red furniture saved the room from dreariness in spite of the rain +outside. + + "'It was on the Common,'" read Cope, "'that we were walking. The + mall, or boulevard of our Common, you know, has various branches + leading from it in different directions. One of these runs down + from opposite Joy Street southward across the whole length of the + Common to Boylston Street. We called it the long path, and were + fond of it. + + "'I felt very weak indeed (though of a tolerably robust habit) as + we came opposite the head of this path on that morning. I think I + tried to speak twice without making myself distinctly audible. At + last I got out the question, "Will you take the long path with me?" + "Certainly," said the schoolmistress, "with much pleasure." + "Think," I said, "before you answer: if you take the long path with + me now, I shall interpret it that we are to part no more!" The + schoolmistress stepped back with a sudden movement, as if an arrow + had struck her. + + "'One of the long granite blocks used as seats was hard by--the one + you may still see close by the Gingko-tree. "Pray sit down," I + said. "No, no," she answered, softly, "I will walk the _long path_ + with you!" + + "'--The old gentleman who sits opposite met us walking arm in arm + about the middle of the long path, and said, very + charmingly,--"Good-morning, my dears!"'" + +The reading stopped at luncheon time, and it was still raining. On the +table were letters for Becky forwarded from Siasconset. An interesting +account from Aunt Claudia of the wedding of Major Prime and Madge MacVeigh. + + "They were married in the old orchard at the Flippins', and it was + beautiful. The bride wore simple clothes like the rest of us. It + was cool and we kept on our wraps, and she was in white linen with + a loose little coat of mauve wool, and a hat to match. The only + bride-y thing about her was a great bunch of lilacs that the Major + ordered from a Fifth Avenue florist. They are to stay in New York + for a day or two, and then visit the Watermans on the North Shore. + After that they will go at once to the West, where they are to live + on the Major's ranch. He has been relieved from duty at Washington, + and will have all of his time to give to his own affairs. + + "There has been an epidemic of weddings. Flippins' Daisy waited + just long enough to help Mrs. Flippin get Miss MacVeigh married; + then she and young John had an imposing ceremony in their church, + with Daisy in a train and white veil, and four bridesmaids, and + Mandy and Calvin in front seats, and Calvin giving the bride away. + I think the elaborateness of it all really reconciled Mandy to her + daughter-in-law." + +There was also, from Randy, a long envelope enclosing a thick manuscript +and very short note. + + "I want you to read this, Becky. It belongs in a way to you. I + don't know what I think about it. Sometimes it seems as if I had + done a rather big thing, and as if it had been done without me at + all. I wonder if you understand what I mean--as if I had held the + pen, and it had--come---- I have sent it to the editor of one of + the big magazines. Perhaps he will send it back, and it may not + seem as good to me as it does at this moment. Let me know what you + think." + +Becky, finishing the letter, felt a bit forlorn. Randy, as a rule, wrote +at length about herself and her affairs. But, of course, he had other +things now to think of. She must not expect too much. + +There was no time, however, in which to read the manuscript, for Cope +was saying, wistfully, "Do you think you'd mind a walk in the rain?" + +"No." She gathered up her letters. + +"Then we'll walk across the Common." + +They shared one umbrella. And they played that it was over fifty years +ago when the Autocrat had walked with the young Schoolmistress. They +even walked arm in arm under the umbrella. They took the long path to +Boylston Street. And Cope said, "Will you take the long path with me?" + +And Becky said, "Certainly." + +And they both laughed. But there was no laughter in Cope's heart. + +"Becky," he said, "I wish that you and I had lived a century ago in +Louisberg Square." + +"If we had lived then, we shouldn't be living now." + +"But we should have had our--happiness----" + +"And I should have worn lovely flowing silk skirts. Not short things +like this, and little bonnets with flowers inside, and velvet +mantles----" + +"And you would have walked on my arm to church. And we would have owned +one of those old big houses--and your smile would have greeted me across +the candles every day at dinner----" He was making it rather personal, +but she humored his fancy. + +"And you would have worn a blue coat, and a bunch of big seals, and a +furry high hat----" + +"You are thinking all the time about what we would wear," he complained; +"you haven't any sense of romance, Becky----" + +"Well, of course, it is all make-believe." + +"Yes, it is all--make-believe," he said, and walked in silence after +that. + +The wind blew cold and they stopped in a pastry shop on Boylston Street +and had a cup of tea. + +Becky ate little cream cakes with fluted crusts, and drank Orange Pekoe. + +"I am glad you don't wear flowing silks and velvet mantles," said +Archibald, suddenly; "I shall always remember you like this, Becky, in +your rough brown coat and your close little hat, and that your hand was +on my arm when we walked across the Common. Do you like me as a +playmate, Becky?" + +"Yes." + +"Do you--love me--as a playmate?" He leaned forward. + +"Please--don't." + +"I beg your--pardon----" he flushed. "I am not going to say such things +to you, Becky, and spoil things for both of us--I know you don't want to +hear them----" + +"Make-believe is much nicer," she reminded him steadily. + +"But I am not a make-believe friend, am I? Our friendship--that at least +is--real?" + +Her clear eyes met his. "Yes. We shall always be friends--forever----" + +"How long is forever, Becky?" + +She could not answer that. But she was sure that friendship was like +love and lived beyond the grave. They were very serious about it, these +two young people drinking tea. + + +II + +It was when the four of them were gathered together that night in the +library that Becky asked Archibald Cope to read "The Trumpeter Swan." + +"Randy wrote it," she said, "and he sent the manuscript to me this +morning." + +The Admiral was at once interested. "He got the name from the swan in +the Judge's Bird Room?" + +"Yes." + +"Has he ever written anything before?" Louise asked. + +"Lots of little things. Lovely things----" + +"Have they been published?" + +"I don't think he has tried." + +Becky had the manuscript in her work-bag. She brought it out and handed +it to Archibald. "You are sure you aren't too tired?" + +Louise glanced up from her beaded bag. "You've had a hard day, Arch. You +mustn't do too much." + +"I won't, Louise," impatiently. + +She went back to her work. "It will be on your own head if you don't +sleep to-night, not on mine." + +"The Trumpeter Swan" was a story of many pages. Randy had confined +himself to no conventional limits. He had a story to tell, and he did +not bring it to an end until the end came naturally. In it he had asked +all of the questions which had torn his soul. What of the men who had +fought? What of their futures? What of their high courage? Their high +vision? Was it all now to be wasted? All of that aroused emotion? All of +that disciplined endeavor? Would they still "carry on" in the spirit of +that crusade, or would they sink back, and forget? + +His hero was a simple lad. He had fought for his country. He had found +when he came back that other men had made money while he fought for +them. He loved a girl. And in his absence she had loved someone else. +For a time he was overthrown. + +Yet he had been one of a glorious company. One of that great flock which +had winged its exalted flight to France. Throughout the story Randy wove +the theme of the big white bird in the glass case. His hero felt himself +likewise on the shelf, shut-in, stuffed, dead--his trumpet silent. + +"Am I, too, in a glass case?" he asked himself; "will my trumpet never +sound again?" + +The first part of the story ended there. "Jove," Cope said, as he looked +up, "that boy can write----" + +Louise had stopped working. "It is rather--tremendous, don't you think?" + +Archibald nodded. "In a quiet way it thrills. He hasn't used a word too +much. But he carries one with him to a sort of--upper sky----" + +Becky, flushing and paling with the thought of such praise as this for +Randy, said, "I always thought he could do it." + +But even she had not known that Randy could do what he did in the second +part of the story. + +For in it Randy answered his own questions. There was no limit to a +man's powers, no limits to his patriotism, if only he believed in +himself. He must strive, of course, to achieve. But striving made him +strong. His task might be simple, but its very simplicity demanded that +he put his best into it. He must not measure himself by the rule of +little men. If other men had made money while he fought, then let them +be weighed down by their bags of gold. He would not for one moment set +against their greed those sacred months of self-sacrifice. + +And as for the woman he loved. If his love meant anything it must burn +with a pure flame. What he might have been for her, he would be because +of her. He would not be less a man because he had loved her. + +And so the boy came in the end of the story to the knowledge that it was +the brave souls who sounded their trumpets---- One did not strive for +happiness. One strove for--victory. One strove, at least, for one clear +note of courage, amid the clamor of the world. + +Louise, listening, forgot her beads. The Admiral blew his nose and wiped +his eyes. Becky felt herself engulfed by a wave of surging memories. + +"That's corking stuff, do you know it?" Archibald was asking. + +Louise asked, "How old is he?" + +"Twenty-three." + +"He is young to have learned all that----" + +"All what, Louise?" Archibald asked. + +"Renunciation," said Louise, slowly, "that's what it is in the final +analysis," she went back to her beads and her green bag. + +"Randy ought to do great things," said Becky; "the men of his family +have all done great things, haven't they, Grandfather?" + +"Randolph blood is Randolph blood," said the Admiral; "fine old +Southerners; proud old stock." + +"If I could write like that," said Archibald, and stopped and looked +into the fire. + +Louise rose and came and stood back of him. "You can paint," she said, +"why should you want to write?" + +"I can't paint," he reached up and caught her hand in his; "you think I +can, but I can't. And I am not wonderful---- Yet here I must sit and +listen while you and Becky sing young Paine's praises." + +He flung out his complaint with his air of not being in earnest. + +The Admiral got up stiffly. "I've a letter to write before I go to bed. +Don't let me hurry the rest of you." + +"Please take Louise with you," Archibald begged; "I want to talk to +Becky." + +His sister rumpled his hair. "So you want to get rid of me. Becky, he is +going to ask questions about that boy who wrote the story." + +"Are you?" Becky demanded. + +"Louise is a mind reader. That's why I want her out of the way----" + +"You can stay until the Admiral finishes his letter." Louise bent and +kissed him, picked up her beaded bag, and left them together. + +When she reached the threshold, she stopped and looked back. Archibald +had piled up two red cushions and was sitting at Becky's feet. + +"Tell me about him." + +"Randy?" + +"Yes. He's in love with you, of course." + +"What makes you think that?" + +"He sent you the story." + +"Well, he is," she admitted, "but I am not sure that we ought to talk +about it." + +"Why not?" + +"Is it quite fair, to him?" + +"Then we'll talk about his story. It gripped me---- Oh, let's have it +out, Becky. He loves you and you don't love him. Why don't you?" + +"I can't--tell you----" + +There was silence for a moment, then Archibald Cope said gently, "Look +here, girl dear, you aren't happy. Don't I know it? There's something +that's awfully on your mind and heart. Can't you think of me as a sort +of--father confessor--and let me--help----?" + +She clasped her hands tensely on her knees; the knuckles showed white. +"Nobody can help." + +"Is it as bad as that?" + +"Yes." She looked away from him. "There is somebody else--not Randy. +Somebody that I shouldn't think about. But I--do----" + +She was dry-eyed. But he felt that here was something too deep for +tears. + +"Does Randy know?" + +"Yes. I told him. We have always talked about things----" + +"I see," he sat staring into the fire, "and of course it is Randy that +you ought to marry----" + +"I don't want to marry anyone. I shall never marry----" + +"Tut-tut, my dear." He laid his hand over hers. "Do you know what I was +thinking, Becky, to-day, as we walked the Boston streets? I was thinking +of why those big houses were built, rows upon rows of them, and of the +people who lived in them. Those old houses speak of homes, Becky, of +people who wanted household gods, and neighborly gatherings, and +community interests. They weren't the kind of people who ran around +Europe with a paint box, as I have been doing. They had home-keeping +hearts and they built for the future." + +He was very much in earnest. She had, indeed, never seen him so much in +earnest. + +"It is all very well," he went on, "to talk of a tent in a desert or a +hut on a mountain top, but when we walked across the Common this +morning, it seemed to me that if I could really have lived the game we +played--that life could have held nothing better in the world for me +than that, my dear." + +She tried to withdraw her hand, but he held it. "Let me speak to-night, +Becky--and then forever, we'll forget it. I love you--very much. You +don't love me, and I should thank the stars for that, although I am not +sure that I do. I am not a man to deal in--futures. I'll tell you why +some day." He drew a long breath and went on in a lighter tone: "But +you, Becky--you've got to find a man whose face you will want to see at +the other end of the table--for life. It sounds like a prisoner's +sentence, doesn't it?" + +But he couldn't carry it off like that, and presently he hid his face +against her hands. "Oh, Becky, Becky," she heard him whisper. + +Then there was the Admiral's step in the hall and Archibald was on his +feet, staring in the fire when the little man came in. + +"Any letters for Charles to mail?" + +"No, Grandfather." + +The Admiral limped away. Becky stood up. Cope turned from the fire. + +"If it doesn't rain to-morrow, I'll show America to Olga of Petrograd." + +They smiled at each other, and Becky held out her hand. He bent and +kissed it. "I shall sleep well to-night because of--to-morrow." + + +III + +But when to-morrow came there was a telephone message for Becky that +Major Prime and his wife were in town. They had messages for her from +Huntersfield, and from King's Crest. + +"And so our day is spoiled," said Archibald. + +"We can come again," said the Admiral, "but we must be getting back to +Siasconset to-morrow. I wrote to Tristram. We'll have Prime and his wife +here for dinner to-night, and drive them out somewhere this afternoon. I +remember Mark Prime well. I played golf with him one season at Del +Monte. How did you happen to know him, Becky?" + +Becky told of the Major's sojourn to King's Crest. + +The Copes made separate plans for the afternoon. "If I can't have you to +myself, Becky," Cope complained, "I won't have you at all----" + +Madge, sitting later next to Becky in the Admiral's big car, was lovely +in a great cape of pale wisteria, with a turban of the same color set +low on her burnt-gold hair. + +"I have brought you wonderful news of Randy Paine," she said to Becky. +"He has sold his story, 'The Trumpeter Swan.' To one of the big +magazines. And they have asked for more. He is by way of being +rather--famous. He came on to New York the day after we arrived. They +had telegraphed for him. We wanted him to come up here with us, but he +wouldn't." + +"Why wouldn't he?" + +"He had some engagements, and after that----" + +"He will never write another story like 'The Trumpeter Swan,'" said +Becky. + +"Why not?" + +"It--it doesn't seem as if he could---- It is--wonderful, Mrs. +Prime----" + +"Well, Randy--is wonderful," said Madge. + +A silence fell between them, and when Madge spoke again it was of the +Watermans. "We go to the Crossing to-morrow. I must see Flora before I +go West." + +The blood ran up into Becky's heart. She wondered if George Dalton was +with the Watermans. But she did not dare ask. + +So she asked about California instead. "You will live out there?" + +"Yes, on a ranch. There will be chickens and cows and hogs. It sounds +unromantic, doesn't it? But it is really frightfully interesting. It is +what I have always dreamed about. Mark says this is to be +my--reincarnation." + +She laughed a little as she explained what she meant. "And when I was in +New York, I bought the duckiest lilac linens and ginghams, and white +aprons, frilly ones. Mark says I shall look like a dairy maid in 'Robin +Hood.'" + +The Major, who was in front of them with the Admiral, turned and spoke. + +"Tell her about Kemp." + +"Oh, he is going with us. It develops that there is a girl in Scotland +who is waiting for him. And he is going to send for her--and they are to +have a cottage on the ranch, and come into the house to help us, and +there is an old Chinese cook that Mark has had for years." + +Becky spoke sharply. "You don't mean Mr.--Dalton's Kemp?" + +"Yes. He came to Mark. Didn't you know?" + +Becky had not known. + +"Why did he leave Mr.--Dalton?" + +"He and Georgie had a falling out about an omelette. I fancy it was a +sort of comic opera climax. So Mark got a treasure and Georgie-Porgie +lost one----" + +"Georgie-Porgie?" + +"Oh, I always call him that, and he hates it," Madge laughed at the +memory. + +"You did it to--tease him?" slowly. + +"I did it because it was--true. You know the old nursery rhyme? Well, +George is like that. There were always so many girls to be--kissed, and +it was so easy to--run away----" + +She said it lightly, with shrugged shoulders, but she did not look at +Becky. + +And that night when she was dressing for dinner, Madge said to her +husband, "It sounded--catty--Mark. But I had to do it. There's that +darling boy down there eating his heart out. And she is nursing a +dream----" + +The Major was standing by his wife's door, and she was in front of her +mirror. It reflected her gold brocade, her amethysts linked with +diamonds in a long chain that ended in a jeweled locket. Her jewel case +was open and she brought out the pendant that George had sent her and +held it against her throat. "It matches the others," she said. + +He arched his eyebrows in inquiry. + +"I wouldn't wear it," she said with a sudden quick force, "if there was +not another jewel in the world. I wish he hadn't sent it. Oh, Mark, I +wish I hadn't known him before I found--you," she came up to him +swiftly; "such men as you," she said, "if women could only meet +them--_first_----" + +His arm went around her. "It is enough that we--met----" + +Becky was also at her mirror at that moment. She had dressed carefully +in silver and white with her pearls and silver slippers. Louise came in +and looked at her. "I haven't any grand and gorgeous things, you know. +And I fancy your Mrs. Prime will be rather gorgeous." + +"It suits her," said Becky, "but after this she is going to be +different." She told Louise about the ranch and the linen frocks and the +frilled aprons. "She is going to make herself over. I wonder if it will +be a success." + +"It doesn't fit in with my theories," said Louise. "I think it is much +better if people marry each other ready-made." + +Becky turned from her mirror. "Louise," she said, "does anything ever +fit in with a woman's theories when she falls in love?" + +"One shouldn't fall in love," Louise said, serenely, "they should walk +squarely into it. That's what I shall do, when I get ready to marry---- +But I shall love Archibald as long as the good Lord will let me----" + +She was trying to say it lightly, but a quiver of her voice betrayed +her. + +"Louise," Becky said, "what's the matter with Archibald? Is anything +really the matter?" + +Louise began to cry. "Archie saw the doctor to-day, and he won't promise +anything--I made Arch tell me----" + +"Oh, Louise." Becky's lips were white. + +"Of course if he takes good care of himself, it may not be for years. +You mustn't let him know that I told you, Becky. But I had to tell +somebody. I've kept it all bottled up as if I were a stone image. And +I'm not a stone image, and he's all I have." + +She dabbed her eyes with a futile handkerchief. The tears dripped. "I +must stop," she kept saying, "I shall look like a fright for dinner----" + +But at dinner she showed no signs of her agitation. She had used powder +and rouge with deft touches. She had followed Becky's example and wore +white, a crisp organdie, with a high blue sash. With her bobbed hair and +pink cheeks she was not unlike a painted doll. She carried a little blue +fan with lacquered sticks, and she tapped the table as she talked to +Major Prime. The tapping was the only sign of her inner agitation. + +The Admiral's table that night seemed to Becky a circle of sinister +meaning. There was Archibald, condemned to die--while youth still beat +in his veins---- There was Louise, who must go on without him. There was +the Admiral--the last of a vanished company; there was the Major, whose +life for four years had held--horrors. There was Madge, radiant to-night +in the love of her husband, as she had perhaps once been radiant for +Dalton. + +_Georgie-Porgie!_ + +It was a horrid name. "_There were always so many girls to be +kissed--and it was so easy to run away_----" + +She had always hated the nursery rhyme. But now it seemed to sing itself +in her brain. + + _"Georgie-Porgie, + Pudding and pie, + Kissed the girls, + And made them cry----"_ + +Cope was at Becky's right. "Aren't you going to talk to me? You haven't +said a word since the soup." + +"Well, everybody else is talking." + +"What do I care for anybody else?" + +Becky wondered how Archibald did it. How he kept that light manner for a +world which he was not long to know. And there was Louise with rouge +and powder on her cheeks to cover her tears---- That was courage---- She +thought suddenly of "The Trumpeter Swan." + +She spoke out of her thoughts. "Randy has sold his story." + +He wanted to know all about it, and she repeated what Madge had said. +Yet even as she talked that hateful rhyme persisted, + + _"When the girls + Came out to play, + Georgie-Porgie + Ran away----"_ + +After dinner they went into the drawing-room so that Louise could play +for them. A great mirror which hung at the end of the room reflected +Louise on the piano bench in her baby frock. It reflected Madge, slim +and gold, with a huge fan of lilac feathers. It reflected Becky--in a +rose-colored damask chair, it reflected the three men in black. Years +ago there had been other men and women--the Admiral's wife in red velvet +and the same pearls that were now on Becky's neck---- She shuddered. + +As they drove home that night, the Major spoke to his wife of Becky. +"The child looks unhappy." + +"She will be unhappy until some day her heart rests in her husband, as +mine does in you. Shall I spoil you, Mark, if I talk like this?" + +When they reached their hotel there were letters. One was from Flora: +"You asked about George. He is not with us. He has gone to Nantucket to +visit some friends of his--the Merediths. He will be back next week." + +"The Merediths?" Madge said. "George doesn't know any--Merediths. +Mark--he is following Becky." + +"Well, she's safe in Boston." + +"She is going back. On Wednesday. And he'll be there." Her eyes were +troubled. + +"Mark," she said, abruptly, "I wonder if Randy has left New York. Call +him up, please, long distance. I want to talk to him." + +"My darling girl, do you know what time it is?" + +"Nearly midnight. But that's nothing in New York. And, anyhow, if he is +asleep, we will wake him up. I am going to tell him that George is at +Siasconset." + +"But, my dear, what good will it do?" + +"He's got to save Becky. I know Dalton's tricks and his manners. He can +cast a glamour over anything. And Randy's the man for her. Oh, Mark, +just think of her money and his genius----" + +"What have money and genius to do with it?" + +"Nothing, unless they love each other. But--she cares---- You should +have seen her eyes when I said he had sold his story. But she doesn't +know that she cares, and he's got to make her know." + +"How can he make her know?" + +"Let her see him--now. She has never seen him as he was in New York with +us, sure of himself, knowing that he has found the thing that he can do. +He was beautiful with that radiant boy-look. You know he was, Mark, +wasn't he?" + +"Yes, my darling, yes." + +"And I want him to be happy, don't you?" + +"Of course, dear heart." + +"Then get him on the 'phone. I'll do the rest." + + +IV + +Randy, in New York, acclaimed by a crowd of enthusiasts who had read his +story as a gold nugget picked up from a desert of literary mediocrity. +Randy, not knowing himself. Randy, modest beyond belief. Randy, in his +hotel at midnight, walking the floor with his head held high, and saying +to himself, "I've done it." + +It seemed to him that, of course, it could not be true. The young editor +who had eyed him through shell-rimmed glasses had said, "There's going +to be a lot of hard work ahead--to keep up to this----" + +Randy, in his room, laughed at the thought of work. What did hardness +matter? The thing that really mattered was that he had treasure to lay +at the feet of Becky. + +He sat down at the desk to write to her, cheeks flushed, eyes bright, a +hand that shook with excitement. + + "I am to meet a lot of big fellows to-morrow--I shall feel like an + ugly duckling among the swans--oh, the _swans_, Becky, did we ever + think that the Trumpeter in his old glass case----" + +The telephone rang. Randy, answering it, found Madge at the other end. +There was an exchange of eager question and eager answer. + +Then Randy hung up the receiver, tore up his note to Becky, asked the +office about trains, packed his bag, and went swift in a taxi to the +station. + +It was not until he was safe in his sleeper, and racketing through the +night, that he remembered the meeting with the literary swans and the +editor with the shell-rimmed glasses. A telegram would convey his +regrets. He was sorry that he could not meet them, but he had on hand a +more important matter. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +THE CONQUEROR + + +I + +If Randy's train had not missed a connection, he would have caught the +same boat that took the Admiral and his party back to the island. They +motored down to Wood's Hole, and boarded the _Sankaty_, while Randy, +stranded at New Bedford, was told there would not be another steamer out +until the next day. + +The Admiral was the only gay and apparently care-free member of his +quartette. Becky felt unaccountably depressed. Louise sat in the cabin +and worked on her green bag. There was a heavy sky and signs of a storm. +It was not pleasant outside. + +Archibald was nursing a grievance. "If your grandfather had only stayed +over another day." + +"He had written Tristram that we would come. He is very exact in his +engagements." + +"And he feels that fifty years in 'Sconset is better than a cycle +anywhere else." + +"Yes. It will be nice to get back to our little gray house, and the +moor, don't you think?" + +"Yes. But I wanted to show you Boston as if you had never seen it, and +now I shall never show it." + +They were on deck, wrapped up to their chins. "Tell me what you would +have shown me," Becky said; "play that I am Olga and that you are +telling me about it." + +He looked down at her. "Well, you've just arrived. You aren't dressed in +a silver-toned cloak with gray furs and a blue turban with a silver +edge. That's a heavenly outfit, Becky. But what made you wear it on a +day like this?" + +"It is the silver lining to my--cloud," demurely; "dull clothes are +dreadful when the sky is dark." + +"I am not sure but I liked you better in your brown--in the rain with +your hand on my arm---- That is--unforgettable----" + +She brought him back to Olga. "I have just arrived----" + +"Yes, and you have a shawl over your head, and a queer old coat and +funny shoes. I should have to speak to you through an interpreter, and +you would look at me with eager eyes or perhaps frightened ones." + +"And first we should have gone to Bunker Hill, and I should have said, +'Here we fought. Not of hatred of our enemy, but for love of liberty. +The thing had to be done, and we did it. We had a just cause.' And then +I should have taken you to Concord and Lexington, and I would have said, +'These farmers were clean-hearted men. They believed in law and order, +they hated anarchy, and upon that belief and upon that hatred they built +up a great nation.' And thus ends the first lesson." + +He paused. "Lesson the second would have to do with the old churches." + +They had stopped by the rail; the wind buffeted them, but they did not +heed it. "It was in the churches that the ideals of the new nation were +crystallized. No country prospers which forgets its God." + +"Lesson number three," he went on, "would have had to do with the +bookshops." + +"The bookshops?" + +He nodded. "The old bookshops and the new of Boston. I would have taken +you to them, and I would have said, 'Here, Olga, is the voice of the +nation speaking to you through the printed page. Learn to read in the +language of your new country.' Oh, Becky," he broke off, "I wanted to +show you the bookshops. It's a perfect pilgrimage----" + +The Admiral, swaying to the wind, came up to them. "Hadn't you better go +inside?" he shouted. "Becky will freeze out here." + +They followed him. The cabin was comparatively quiet after the tumult. +Louise was still working on the green bag. "What have you two been +doing?" she asked. + +"Playing Olga of Petrograd," said Archibald, moodily, "but Becky was +cold and came in." + +"Grandfather brought me in," said Becky. + +"If you had cared to stay, you would have stayed," he told her, rather +unreasonably. "Perhaps, after all, Boston to Olga simply means baked +beans which she doesn't like, and codfish which she prefers--raw----" + +"Now you have spoiled it all," said Becky. "I loved the things that you +said about the churches and the bookshops and Bunker Hill." + +"Did you? Well, it is all true, Becky, the part they have played in +making us a nation. And it is all going to be true again. We Americans +aren't going to sell our birthright for a mess of pottage!" + +And now the island once more rose out of the sea. The little steamer had +some difficulty in making a landing. But at last they were on shore, and +the 'bus was waiting, and it was after dark when they reached "The +Whistling Sally." + +The storm was by that time upon them--the wind blew a wild gale, but the +little gray cottage was snug and warm. Jane in her white apron went +unruffled about her pleasant tasks--storms might come and storms might +go--she had no fear of them now, since none of her men went down to the +sea in ships. + +Tristram in shining oilskins brought up their bags. He stood in the hall +and talked to them, and before he went away, he said casually over his +shoulder, "There's a gentleman at the hotel that has asked for you once +or twice." + +"For me?" the Admiral questioned. + +"You and Miss Becky." + +"Do you know his name?" + +"It's Dalton. George Dalton----" + +"I don't know any Daltons. Do you, Becky?" + +Becky stood by the table with her back to them. She did not turn. "Yes," +she said in a steady voice. "There was a George Dalton whom I met this +summer--in Virginia." + + +II + +There was little sleep for Becky that night. The storm tore around the +tiny house, but its foundations were firm, and it did not shake. The +wind whistled as if the wooden figure in the front yard had suddenly +come to life and was madly making up for the silence of a half-century. + +So George had followed her. He had found her out, and there was no way +of escape. She would have to see him, hear him. She would have to set +herself against the charm of that quick voice, those sparkling eyes. +There would be no one to save her now. Randy was far away. She must make +her fight alone. + +She turned restlessly. Why should she fight? What, after all, did George +mean to her? A chain of broken dreams? A husk of golden armor? +_Georgie-Porgie_--who had kissed and run away. + +She was listless at breakfast. The storm was over, and the Admiral was +making plans for a picnic the next day to Altar Rock. "Hot coffee and +lobster sandwiches, and a view of the sea on a day like this." + +Becky smiled. "Grandfather," she said, "I believe you are happy because +you keep your head in the stars and your feet on the ground." + +"What's the connection, my dear?" + +"Well, lobster sandwiches and a view of the sea. So many people can't +enjoy both. They are either lobster-sandwich people, or view-of-the-sea +people." + +"Which shows their limitations," said the Admiral, promptly; "the people +of Pepys' time were eloquent over a pigeon pie or a poem. The good Lord +gave us both of them. Why not?" + +It was after breakfast that a note was brought to Becky. The boy would +wait. + + "I am here," George wrote, "and I shall stay until I see you. Don't + put me off. Don't shut your heart against me. I am very unhappy. + May I come?" + +She wrote an immediate answer. She would see him in the afternoon. The +Admiral would be riding over to Nantucket. He had some business affairs +to attend to--a meeting at the bank. Jane would be busy in her kitchen +with the baking. The coast would be clear. There would be no need, if +George came in the afternoon, to explain his presence. + +Having dispatched her note, and with the morning before her, she was +assailed by restlessness. She welcomed Archibald Cope's invitation from +the adjoining porch. He sang it in the words of the old song, + + "Madam, will you walk! + Madam, will you talk? + Madam, will you walk and talk + With me----" + +"Where shall we go?" + +"To Sankaty----" + +She loved the walk to the lighthouse. In the spring there was Scotch +broom on the bluffs--yellow as gold, with the blue beyond. In summer +wild roses, deep pink, scenting the air with their fresh fragrance. But, +perhaps, she loved it best on a day like this, with the breakers on the +beach below, racing in like white horses, and with the winter gulls, +dark against the brightness of the morning. + +"Why aren't you painting?" she asked Archibald. + +"Because," he said, "I am not going to paint the moor any more. It gets +away from me--it is too vast---- It has a primal human quality, and yet +it is not alive." + +"It sometimes seems alive to me," she said, "when I look off over it--it +seems to rise and fall as if it--breathed." + +"That's the uncanny part of it," Archibald agreed, "and I am going to +give it up. I am not going to paint it---- I want to paint you, Becky." + +"Me? Why do you want to do that?" + +He flashed a glance at her. "Because you are nice to look at." + +"That isn't the reason." + +"Why should you question my motives?" he demanded. "But since you must +have the truth--it is because of a fancy of mine that I might do it +well----" + +"I should like it very much," she said, simply. + +"Would you?" eagerly. + +"Yes." + +She had on her red cape, and a black velvet tam pulled over her shining +hair. + +"I shall not paint you like this," he said, "although the color +is--superlative---- Ever since you read to me that story of Randy +Paine's, I have had a feeling that the real story ought to have a happy +ending, and that I should like to make the illustration." + +"I don't know what you mean?" + +"Why shouldn't the girl care for the boy after he came back? Why +shouldn't she, Becky Bannister?" + +Her startled gaze met his. "Let's sit down here," he said, "and have it +out." + +There was a bench on the edge of the bluff, set so that one might have a +wider view of the sea. + +"There ought to be a happy ending, Becky." + +"How could there be?" + +"Why not you--and Randy Paine? I haven't met him, but somehow that story +tells me that he is the right sort. And think of it, Becky, you and that +boy--in that big house down there, going to church, smiling across the +table at each other," his breath came quickly, "your love for him, his +for you, making a background for his--genius." + +She tried to stop him. "Why should you say such things?" + +"Because I have thought them. Last night in the storm--I couldn't sleep. +I--I wanted to be a dog in the manger. I couldn't have you, and I'd be +darned if I'd help anyone else to get you. You--you see, I'm a sort of +broken reed, Becky. It--it isn't a sure thing that I am going to get +well. And if what I feel for you is worth anything, it ought to mean +that I must put your happiness--first. And that's why I want to make the +picture for the--happy ending." + +Her hand went out to him. "It is a beautiful thing for you to do. But I +am not sure that there will be a--happy ending." + +"Why not?" + +She could not tell him. She could not tell--that between her and her +thought of Randy was the barrier of all that George Dalton had meant to +her. + +"If you paint the picture," she evaded, "you must finish it at +Huntersfield. Why can't you and Louise come down this winter? It would +be heavenly." + +"It would be Heaven for me. Do you mean it, Becky?" + +She did mean it, and she told him so. + +"I shall paint you," he planned, "as a little white slip of a girl, with +pearls about your neck, and dreams in your eyes, and back of you a +flight of shadowy swans----" + +They rose and walked on. "I thought you were to be with the Admiral in +Boston this winter." + +"I stay until Thanksgiving. I always go back to Huntersfield for +Christmas." + +After that it was decided that she should sit for him each morning. They +did not speak again of Randy. There had been something in Becky's manner +which kept Archibald from saying more. + +When they reached the lighthouse, the wind was blowing strongly. Before +them was the sweep of the Nantucket Shoals--not a ship in sight, not a +line of smoke, the vast emptiness of heaving waters. + +Becky stood at the edge of the bluff, her red cape billowing out into a +scarlet banner, her hair streaming back from her face, the velvet tam +flattened by the force of the wind. + +Archibald glanced at her. "Are you cold?" + +"No, I love it." + +He was chilled to the bone, yet there she stood, warm with life, bright +with beating blood---- + +"What a beastly lot of tumbling water," he said with sudden +overmastering irritation. "Let's get away from it, Becky. Let's get +away." + +Going back they took the road which led across the moor. The clear day +gave to the low hills the Persian carpet coloring which Cope had +despaired of painting. Becky, in her red cape, was almost lost against +the brilliant background. + +But she was not the only one who challenged nature. For as she and +Archibald approached the outskirts of the town, they discerned, at some +distance, at the top of a slight eminence, two figures--a man and a +woman. The woman was dancing, with waving arms and flying feet. + +"She calls that dance 'Morning on the Moor,'" Cope told Becky; "she has +a lot of them--'The Spirit of the Storm, 'The Wraith of the Fog.'" + +"Do you know her?" + +"No. But Tristram says she dances every morning. She is getting ready +for an act in one of the big musical shows." + +The man sat on the ground and watched the woman dance. Her primrose cape +was across his knee. He was a big man and wore a cap. Becky, surveying +him from afar, saw nothing to command closer scrutiny. Yet had she +known, she might have found him worthy of another look. For the man with +the primrose cape was Dalton! + + +III + +George Dalton, entering the little sitting-room of "The Whistling +Sally," had to bend his head. He was so shining and splendid that he +seemed to fill the empty spaces. It seemed, indeed, to Becky, as if he +were too shining and splendid, as if he bulked too big, like a giant, +top-heavy. + +But she was not unmoved. He had been the radiant knight of her girlish +dreams--some of the glamour still remained. Her cheeks were touched with +pink as she greeted him. + +He took both of her hands in his. "Oh, you lovely, lovely little thing," +he said, and stood looking down at her. + +They were the words he had said to her in the music-room. They revived +memories. Flushing a deeper pink, she drew away from him. "Why did you +come?" + +"I could not stay away." + +"How long have you been here?" + +"Five days----" + +"Please--sit down"--she indicated a chair on the other side of the +hearth. She had seated herself in the Admiral's winged chair. It came up +over her head, and she looked very slight and childish. + +George, surveying the room, said, "This is some contrast to +Huntersfield." + +"Yes." + +"Do you like it?" + +"Oh, yes. I have spent months here, you know, and Sally, who whistles +out there in the yard, is an old friend of mine. I played with her as a +child." + +"I should think the Admiral would rather have one of those big houses on +the bluff." + +"Would you?" + +"Yes." + +"But he has so many big houses. And this is his play-house. It belonged +to his grandfather, and that ship up there is one on which our Sally was +the figure-head." + +He forced himself to listen while she told him something of the history +of the old ship. He knew that she was making conversation, that there +were things more important to speak of, and that she knew it. Yet she +was putting off the moment when they must speak. + +There came a pause, however. "And now," he said, leaning forward, "let's +talk about ourselves, I have been here five days, Becky--waiting----" + +"Waiting? For what?" + +"To ask you to--forgive me." + +Her steady glance met his. "If I say that I forgive you, will that +be--enough?" + +"You know it will not," his sparkling eyes challenged her. "Not if you +say it coldly----" + +"How else can I say it?" + +"As if--oh, Becky, don't keep me at long distance--like this. Don't tell +me that you are engaged to Randy Paine. Don't----. Let this be our +day----" He seemed to shine and sparkle in a perfect blaze of gallantry. + +"I am not engaged to Randy." + +He gave an exclamation of triumph. "You broke it off?" + +"No," she said, "he broke it." + +"What?" + +She folded her hands in her lap. "You see," she said, "he felt that I +did not love him. And he would not take me that way--unloving." + +"He seemed to want to take you any way, the day he talked to me. I asked +him what he had to offer you----" He gave a light laugh--seemed to brush +Randy away with a gesture. + +Her cheeks flamed. "He has a great deal to offer." + +"For example?" lazily, with a lift of the eyebrows. + +"He is a gentleman--and a genius----" + +His face darkened. "I'll pass over the first part of that until later. +But why call him a 'genius'?" + +"He has written a story," breathlessly, "oh, all the world will know it +soon. The people who have read it, in New York, are crazy about it----" + +"Is that all? A story? So many people write nowadays." + +"Well," she asked quietly, "what more have you to offer?" + +"Love, Becky. You intimated a moment ago that I was not--a +gentleman--because I failed--once. Is that fair? How do you know that +Paine has not failed--how do you know----? And love hasn't anything to +do with genius, Becky, it has to do with that night in the music-room, +when you sang and when I--kissed you. It has to do with nights like +those in the old garden, with the new moon and the stars, and the old +goddesses." + +"And with words which meant--nothing----" + +"_Becky_," he protested. + +"Yes," she said, "you know it is true--they meant nothing. Perhaps you +have changed since then. I don't know. But I know this, that I have +changed." + +He felt back of her words the force which had always baffled him. + +"You mean that you don't love me?" + +"Yes." + +"I--I don't believe it----" + +"You must----" + +"But----" he rose and went towards her. + +"Please--we won't argue it. And--Jane is going to give us some tea." She +left him for a moment and came back to sit behind the little table. Jane +brought tea and fresh little cakes. + +"For Heaven's sake, Becky," George complained, when the old woman had +returned to her kitchen, "can you eat at a moment like this?" + +"Yes," she said, "I can eat and the cakes are very nice." + +She did not let him see that her hand trembled as she poured the tea. + +George had had five days in the company of the dancer in yellow. He had +found her amusing. She played the game at which he had proved himself so +expert rather better than the average woman. She served for the moment, +but no sane man would ever think of spending his life with her. But here +was the real thing--this slip of a child in a blue velvet smock, with +bows on her slippers, and a wave of bronze hair across her forehead. He +felt that Becky's charms would last for a lifetime. When she was old, +and sat like that on the other side of the hearth, with silver hair and +bent figure, she would still retain her loveliness of spirit, the +steadfast gaze, the vivid warmth of word and gesture. + +For the first time in his life George knew the kind of love that +projects itself forward into the future, that sees a woman as friend and +as companion. And this woman whom he loved had just said that she did +not love him. + +"I won't give you up," he said doggedly. + +"How can you keep me?" she asked quietly, and suddenly the structure of +hope which he had built for himself tumbled. + +"Then this is the--end?" + +"I am afraid it is," and she offered him a cup. + +His face grew suddenly gray. "I don't want any tea. I want you," his +hands went over his face. "I want you, Becky." + +"Don't," she said, shakily, "I am sorry." + +She was sorry to see him no longer shining, no longer splendid, but she +was glad that the spell was broken--the charm of sparkling eyes and +quick voice gone--forever. + +She said again, as she gave him her hand at parting, "I'm sorry." + +His laugh was not pleasant. "You'll be sorrier if you marry Paine." + +"No," she said, and he carried away with him the look which came into +her eyes as she said it, "No, if I marry Randy I shall not be sorry." + + +IV + +Randy, arriving on the evening boat, caught the 'bus, and found the +Admiral in it. + +"It's Randy Paine," he said, as he climbed in and sat beside the old +gentleman. + +"My dear boy, God bless you. Becky will be delighted." + +"I was in New York," was Randy's easy explanation, "and I couldn't +resist coming up." + +"We read your story, and Mrs. Prime told us how the editor received it. +You are by way of being famous, my boy." + +"Well, it's mighty interesting, sir," said young Randy. + +It was late when they reached the little town, but the west was +blood-red above the ridge, with the moor all darkling purple. + +Becky was not in the house. "I saw her go down to the beach," Jane told +them. + +"In what direction?" Randy asked; "I'll go after her." + +"She sometimes sits back of the blue boat," said Jane, "when there's a +wind. But if you don't find her, Mr. Paine, she'll be back in time for +supper. I told her not to be late. I am having raised rolls and broiled +fish, and Mr. and Miss Cope are coming." + +"I'll find her," said Randy, and was off. + +The moon was making a path of gold across the purple waters, and casting +sharp shadows on the sand. The blue boat, high on the beach, had lost +its color in the pale light. But there was no other boat, so Randy went +towards it. And as he went, he gave the old Indian cry. + +Becky, wrapped in her red cape, deep in thoughts of the thing that had +happened in the afternoon, heard the cry and doubted her ears. + +It came again. + +"Randy," she breathed, and stood up and saw him coming. She ran towards +him. "Oh, Randy, Randy." + +She came into his arms as if she belonged there. And he, amazed but +rapturous, received her, held her close. + +"Oh, oh," she whispered, "you don't know how I have wanted you, Randy." + +"It is nothing to the way that I have wanted you, my dear." + +"Really, Randy?" + +"Really, my sweet." + +The moon was very big and bright. It showed her face white as a +rose-leaf against his coat. He scarcely dared to breathe, lest he should +frighten her. They stood for a moment in silence, then she said, simply, +"You see, it was you, after all, Randy." + +"Yes," he said, "I see. But when did you find it out?" + +"This afternoon. Let's sit down here out of the wind behind the boat, +and I'll tell you about it----" + +But he was not ready yet to let her go. "To have you here--like this." + +[Illustration: "OH, OH," SHE WHISPERED, "YOU DON'T KNOW HOW I HAVE +WANTED YOU"] + +He stopped. He could not go on. He lifted her up to him, and their +lips met. Years ago he had kissed her under the mistletoe; the kiss that +he gave her now was a pledge for all the years to come. + +They were late for supper. Jane relieved her mind to the Admiral and his +guests. "She had a gentleman here this afternoon for tea, and neither of +them ate anything. And now there's another gentleman, and the rolls are +spoiling." + +"You can serve supper, Jane," the Admiral told her; "they can eat when +they come." + +When they came, Becky's cheeks were as red as her cape. As she swept +within the radius of the candle-light, Archibald Cope, who had risen at +her entrance, knew what had happened. Her eyes were like stars. "Did +Jane scold about us?" she asked, with a quick catch of her breath; "it +was so lovely--with the moon." + +Back of her was young Randy--Randy of the black locks, of the high-held +head and Indian profile, Randy, with his air of Conqueror. + +"I've told them all about you," Becky said, "and they have read your +story. Will you please present him properly, Grandfather, while I go and +fix my hair?" + +She came back very soon, slim and childish in her blue velvet smock, her +hair in that bronze wave across her forehead, her eyes still lighted. + +She sat between her grandfather and Archibald. + +"So," said Cope softly, under cover of the conversation, "it has +happened?" + +"What has happened?" + +"The happy ending." + +"Oh--how did you know?" + +"As if the whole world wouldn't know just to look at you." + +The Randy of the supper table at "The Whistling Sally" was a Randy that +Becky had never seen. Success had come to him and love. There was the +ring of it in his young voice, the flush of it on his cheeks. He was a +man, with a man's future. + +He talked of his work. "If I am a bore, please tell me," he said, "but +it is rather a fairy-tale, you know, when you've made up your mind to a +hum-drum law career to find a thing like this opening out." + +Becky sat and listened. Her eyes were all for her lover. Already she +thought of him at King's Crest, writing for the world, with her money +making things easy for him, but not spoiling the simplicity of their +tastes. If she thought at all of George Dalton, it was to find the +sparkle and shine of his splendid presence dimmed by Randy's radiance. + +"I hate to say that he is--charming," Cope complained. + +He was a good sport, and he wanted Becky to be happy. But it was not +easy to sit there and see those two--with the pendulum swinging between +them of joy and dreams, and the knowledge of a long life together. + +"Why should it be?" he asked Louise, as he stood beside her, later, on +their own little porch which overlooked the sea; "those two--did you see +them? While I----" + +Louise laid her hand on his shoulder. "Yes. I think it is something like +this, Arch. They've got to live it out, and life isn't always going to +be just to-night for them. And perhaps in the years together they may +lose some of their dreams. They've got to grow old, and you, you'll go +out--with all--your dreams----" + +He reached up and took the kind hand. + +"'They all go out like this--into the night--but what a fleet +of--stars.' Is that it, Louise?" + +"Yes." + +The clearness of the moonlight was broken by long fingers of fog +stretched up from the horizon. + +"I'll wrap up and sit here, Louise," Archibald said; "I shan't sleep if +I go in." + +"Don't stay too long. Good-night, my dear, good-night." + +Archibald, watching the fog shut out the moonlight, had still upon him +that sense of revolt. Fame had never come to him, and love had come too +late. + +Yet for Randy there was to be fulfillment--the wife of his heart, the +applause of the world. What did it all mean? Why should one man have +all, and the other--nothing? + +Yet he had had his dreams. And the dreams of men lived. That which died +was the least of them. The great old gods of democracy--Washington, +Jefferson, Adams--had seen visions, and the visions had endured. Only +yesterday Roosevelt had proclaimed his gallant doctrines. He had died +proclaiming them, and the world held its head higher, because of his +belief in its essential rightness. + +The mists enveloped Archibald in a sort of woolly dampness. He saw for a +moment a dim and distant moon. If he could have painted a moon like +that--with fingers of fog reaching up to it----! + +His own dreams of beauty? What of them? His pictures would not live. He +knew that now. But he had given more than pictures to the world. He had +given himself in a crusade which had been born of high idealism and a +sense of brotherhood. Day after day, night after night, his plane had +hung, poised like an eagle, above the enemy. He had been one of the +young gods who had set their strength and courage against the greed and +grossness of gray-coated hordes. + +And these dreams must live--the dreams of the young gods--as the dreams +of the old gods had endured. Because men had died to make others free, +freedom must be the song on the lips of all men. + +He thought of Randy's story. The Trumpeter Swan was only a stuffed bird +in a glass case. But once he had spread his wings--flown high in the +upper air. There had been strength in his pinions--joy in his +heart--thrilling life in every feather of him. Some lovely lines drifted +through Archibald's consciousness-- + + "Upon the brimming water, among the stones + Are nine and fifty swans. + Unwearied still, lover by lover, + They paddle in the cold + Companionable streams or climb the air; + Their hearts have not grown old; + Passion and conquest, wander where they will. + Attend upon them still----" + +From the frozen north the swan had come to the sheltered bay and some +one had shot him. He had not been asked if he wanted to live; they had +taken his life, and had set him up there on the shelf--and that had been +the end of him. + +But was it the end? Stuffed and quiet in his glass case, he had looked +down on a little boy. And the little boy had seen him not dead, but +sounding his trumpet. And now the whole world would hear of him. In +Randy's story, the Trumpeter would live again in the hearts of men. + +The wind was rising--the fog blown back before it showed the golden +track of the sea--light stretching to infinity! + +He rose and stood by the rail. Then suddenly he felt a hand upon his, +and looking down, he saw Becky. + +"I ran away from Randy," she said, breathlessly, "just for a moment. I +was afraid you might be alone, and unhappy." + +His hand held hers. "Just for this moment you are mine?" + +"Yes." + +"Then let me tell you this--that I shall never be alone as long as I may +have your friendship--I shall always be happy because I have--loved +you." + +He kissed her hand. "Run back to your Randy. Good-night, my dear, +good-night." + +Her lover received her rapturously at the door of the little house. They +went in together. And Archibald looked out, smiling, over a golden sea. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Trumpeter Swan, by Temple Bailey + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRUMPETER SWAN *** + +***** This file should be named 17697-8.txt or 17697-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/7/6/9/17697/ + +Produced by Sjaani, Beginners Projects and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Trumpeter Swan + +Author: Temple Bailey + +Illustrator: Alice Barber Stephens + +Release Date: February 7, 2006 [EBook #17697] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRUMPETER SWAN *** + + + + +Produced by Sjaani, Beginners Projects and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<table summary="Title"> +<tr> +<td><a name="ILLUS1" id="ILLUS1"></a><div class="figleft" style="width: 350px;"> +<img src="images/tsillus01.jpg" width="350" height="550" alt=""WHEN I AM MARRIED WILL YOU SOUND YOUR TRUMPET HIGH UP +NEAR THE MOON?"" title=""WHEN I AM MARRIED WILL YOU SOUND YOUR TRUMPET HIGH UP NEAR THE MOON?"" /></div> +</td><td> +<h1>The +Trumpeter Swan</h1> + +<h3>By</h3> + +<h2>TEMPLE BAILEY</h2> + +<p align="center"><i>Author of "The Tin Soldier" "Contrary Mary"<br /> +"Mistress Anne" "Glory of Youth"</i></p> + +<p align="center"><i>Sonus ex nubibus te revocabit a mundo</i><br /> +A sound from the clouds shall call thee from this earth</p> + + +<p align="center">Illustrated by<br /> +ALICE BARBER STEPHENS</p> + + +<p align="center">THE PENN PUBLISHING<br /> +COMPANY PHILADELPHIA<br /> +1920</p> + +<p align="center">COPYRIGHT<br /> +1920 BY<br /> +THE PENN<br /> +PUBLISHING<br /> +COMPANY</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/tsillus02.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="Emblem" title="Emblem" /> +</div></td> +</tr> +</table> +<p><!-- Page 3 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents"> +<tr><td align='left'>CHAPTER</td><td align='left'>PAGE</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_I">I. A Major and Two Minors</a></td><td align='right'>7</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_II">II. Stuffed Birds</a></td><td align='right'>33</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_III">III. A Wolf in the Forest</a></td><td align='right'>61</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">IV. Rain and Randy's Soul</a></td><td align='right'>88</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_V">V. Little Sister</a></td><td align='right'>108</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">VI. Georgie-Porgie</a></td><td align='right'>127</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">VII. Mademoiselle Midas</a></td><td align='right'>147</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">VIII. Ancestors</a></td><td align='right'>161</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">IX. "T. Branch"</a></td><td align='right'>181</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_X">X. A Gentleman's Lie</a></td><td align='right'>214</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">XI. Wanted—a Pedestal</a></td><td align='right'>245</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">XII. Indian—Indian</a></td><td align='right'>263</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">XIII. The Whistling Sally</a></td><td align='right'>289</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">XIV. The Dancer on the Moor</a></td><td align='right'>313</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">XV. The Trumpeter Swan</a></td><td align='right'>333</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">XVI. The Conqueror</a></td><td align='right'>361</td></tr> +</table></div> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Illustrations"> +<tr><td align='left'>ILLUSTRATIONS</td><td align='right'>PAGE</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ILLUS1">"When I am Married Will You Sound Your Trumpet High Up Near the Moon?"</a></td><td align='right'><i>Frontispiece</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ILLUS2">"It's So Heavenly to Have You Home"</a></td><td align='right'>9</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ILLUS3">Becky Drew A Sharp Breath—Then Faced Dalton Squarely—"I Am Going to Marry Randy"</a></td><td align='right'>143</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ILLUS4">"Oh, Oh," She Whispered, "You Don't Know How I Have Wanted You"</a></td><td align='right'>257</td></tr> +</table></div> +<p><!-- Page 7 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> + +<h1>THE TRUMPETER SWAN</h1> + + +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h3> + +<h2>A MAJOR AND TWO MINORS</h2> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>It had rained all night, one of the summer rains that, beginning in a +thunder-storm in Washington, had continued in a steaming drizzle until +morning.</p> + +<p>There were only four passengers in the sleeper, men all of them—two in +adjoining sections in the middle of the car, a third in the +drawing-room, a fourth an intermittent occupant of a berth at the end. +They had gone to bed unaware of the estate or circumstance of their +fellow-travellers, and had waked to find the train delayed by washouts, +and side-tracked until more could be learned of the condition of the +road.</p> + +<p>The man in the drawing-room shone, in the few glimpses that the others +had of him, with an effulgence which was dazzling. His valet, the +intermittent sleeper in the end berth, was a smug little soul, with a +small nose which pointed to the stars. When the door of the compartment +opened to admit break<!-- Page 8 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span>fast there was the radiance of a brocade +dressing-gown, the shine of a sleek head, the staccato of an imperious +voice.</p> + +<p>Randy Paine, long and lank, in faded khaki, rose, leaned over the seat +of the section in front of him and drawled, "'It is not raining rain to +me—it's raining roses—down——'"</p> + +<p>A pleasant laugh, and a deep voice, "Come around here and talk to me. +You're a Virginian, aren't you?"</p> + +<p>"By the grace of God and the discrimination of my ancestors," young +Randolph, as he dropped into the seat opposite the man with the deep +voice, saluted the dead and gone Paines.</p> + +<p>"Then you know this part of it?"</p> + +<p>"I was born here. In this county. It is bone of my bone and flesh of my +flesh," there was a break in the boy's voice which robbed the words of +grandiloquence.</p> + +<p>"Hum—you love it? Yes? And I am greedy to get away. I want wider +spaces——"</p> + +<p>"California?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Haven't seen it for three years. I thought when the war was over I +might. But I've got to be near Washington, it seems. The heat drove me +out, and somebody told me it would be cool in these hills——"</p> + +<p>"It is, at night. By day we're not strenuous."<!-- Page 9 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I like to be strenuous. I hate inaction."</p> + +<p>He moved restlessly. There was a crutch by his side. Young Paine noticed +it for the first time. "I hate it."</p> + +<p>He had a strong frame, broad shoulders and thin hips. One placed him +immediately as a man of great physical force. Yet there was the crutch. +Randy had seen other men, broad-shouldered, thin-hipped, who had come to +worse than crutches. He did not want to think of them. He had escaped +without a scratch. He did not believe that he had lacked courage, and +there was a decoration to prove that he had not. But when he thought of +those other men, he had no sense of his own valor. He had given so +little and they had given so much.</p> + +<p>Yet it was not a thing to speak of. He struck, therefore, a note to +which he knew the other might respond.</p> + +<p>"If you haven't been here before, you'll like the old places."</p> + +<p>"I am going to one of them."</p> + +<p>"Which?"</p> + +<p>"King's Crest."</p> + +<p>A moment's silence. Then, "That's my home. I have lived there all my +life."</p> + +<p>The lame man gave him a sharp glance. "I heard of it in +Washington—delightful atmosphere—and all that——"<!-- Page 10 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You are going as a—paying guest?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>A deep flush stained the younger man's face. Suddenly he broke out. "If +you knew how rotten it seems to me to have my mother keeping—boarders——"</p> + +<p>"My dear fellow, I hope you don't think it is going to be rotten to have +me?"</p> + +<p>"No. But there are other people. And I didn't know until I came back +from France—— She had to tell me when she knew I was coming."</p> + +<p>"She had been doing it all the time you were away?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Before I went we had mortgaged things to help me through the +University. I should have finished in a year if I hadn't enlisted. And +Mother insisted there was enough for her. But there wasn't with the +interest and everything—and she wouldn't sell an acre. I shan't let her +keep on——"</p> + +<p>"Are you going to turn me out?"</p> + +<p>His smile was irresistible. Randy smiled back. "I suppose you think I'm +a fool——?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. For being ashamed of it."</p> + +<p>Randy's head went up. "I'm not ashamed of the boarding-house. I am +ashamed to have my mother work."<!-- Page 11 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p> + +<p>"So," said the lame man, softly, "that's it? And your name is Paine?"</p> + +<p>"Randolph Paine of King's Crest. There have been a lot of us—and not a +piker in the lot."</p> + +<p>"I am Mark Prime."</p> + +<p>"Major Prime of the 135th?"</p> + +<p>The other nodded. "The wonderful 135th—God, what men they were——" his +eyes shone.</p> + +<p>Randy made his little gesture of salute. "They were that. I don't wonder +you are proud of them."</p> + +<p>"It was worth all the rest," the Major said, "to have known my men."</p> + +<p>He looked out of the window at the drizzle of rain. "How quiet the world +seems after it all——"</p> + +<p>Then like the snap of bullets came the staccato voice through the open +door of the compartment.</p> + +<p>"Find out why we are stopping in this beastly hole, Kemp, and get me +something cold to drink."</p> + +<p>Kemp, sailing down the aisle, like a Lilliputian drum major, tripped +over Randy's foot.</p> + +<p>"Beg pardon, sir," he said, and sailed on.</p> + +<p>Randy looked after him. "'His Master's voice——'"</p> + +<p>"And to think," Prime remarked, "that the coldest thing he can get on +this train is ginger ale."</p> + +<p>Kemp, coming back with a golden bottle, with cracked ice in a tall +glass, with a crisp curl of<!-- Page 12 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> lemon peel, ready for an innocuous +libation, brought his nose down from the heights to look for the foot, +found that it no longer barred the way, and marched on to hidden music.</p> + +<p>"Leave the door open, leave it open," snapped the voice, "isn't there an +electric fan? Well, put it on, put it on——"</p> + +<p>"He drinks nectar and complains to the gods," said the Major softly, +"why can't we, too, drink?"</p> + +<p>They had theirs on a table which the porter set between them. The train +moved on before they had finished. "We'll be in Charlottesville in less +than an hour," the conductor announced.</p> + +<p>"Is that where we get off, Paine?"</p> + +<p>"One mile beyond. Are they going to meet you?"</p> + +<p>"I'll get a station wagon."</p> + +<p>Young Paine grinned. "There aren't any. But if Mother knows you're +coming she'll send down. And anyhow she expects me."</p> + +<p>"After a year in France—it will be a warm welcome——"</p> + +<p>"A wet one, but I love the rain, and the red mud, every blooming inch of +it."</p> + +<p>"Of course you do. Just as I love the dust of the desert."</p> + +<p>They spoke, each of them, with a sort of tense<!-- Page 13 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> calmness. One doesn't +confess to a lump in one's throat.</p> + +<p>The little man, Kemp, was brushing things in the aisle. He was hot but +unconquered. Having laid out the belongings of the man he served, he +took a sudden recess, and came back with a fresh collar, a wet but +faultless pompadour, and a suspicion of powder on his small nose.</p> + +<p>"All right, sir, we'll be there in fifteen minutes, sir," they heard him +say, as he was swallowed up by the yawning door.</p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>Fifteen minutes later when the train slowed up, there emerged from the +drawing-room a man some years older than Randolph Paine, and many years +younger than Major Prime. He was good-looking, well-dressed, but +apparently in a very bad temper. Kemp, in an excited, Skye-terrier +manner, had gotten the bags together, had a raincoat over his arm, had +an umbrella handy, had apparently foreseen every contingency but one.</p> + +<p>"Great guns, Kemp, why are we getting off here?"</p> + +<p>"The conductor said it was nearer, sir."</p> + +<p>Randolph Paine was already hanging on the step, ready to drop the moment +the train stopped. He had given the porter an extra tip to look after<!-- Page 14 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> +Major Prime. "He isn't used to that crutch, yet. He'd hate it if I tried +to help him."</p> + +<p>The rain having drizzled for hours, condensed suddenly in a downpour. +When the train moved on, the men found themselves in a small and stuffy +waiting-room. Around the station platform was a sea of red mud. Misty +hills shot up in a circle to the horizon. There was not a house in +sight. There was not a soul in sight except the agent who knew young +Paine. No one having come to meet them, he suggested the use of the +telephone.</p> + +<p>In the meantime Kemp was having a hard time of it. "Why in the name of +Heaven didn't we get off at Charlottesville," his master was demanding.</p> + +<p>"The conductor said this was nearer, sir," Kemp repeated. His response +had the bounding quality of a rubber ball. "If you'll sit here and make +yourself comfortable, Mr. Dalton, I'll see what I can do."</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's a beastly hole, Kemp. How can I be comfortable?"</p> + +<p>Randy, who had come back from the telephone with a look on his face +which clutched at Major Prime's throat, caught Dalton's complaint.</p> + +<p>"It isn't a beastly hole," he said in a ringing voice, "it's God's +country—— I got my mother on the 'phone, Major. She has sent for us +and the horses are on the way."<!-- Page 15 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p> + +<p>Dalton looked him over. What a lank and shabby youth he was to carry in +his voice that ring of authority. "What's the answer to our getting off +here?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Depends upon where you are going."</p> + +<p>"To Oscar Waterman's——"</p> + +<p>"Never heard of him."</p> + +<p>"Hamilton Hill," said the station agent.</p> + +<p>Randy's neck stiffened. "Then the Hamiltons have sold it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. A Mr. Waterman of New York bought it."</p> + +<p>Kemp had come back. "Mr. Waterman says he'll send the car at once. He is +delighted to know that you have come, sir."</p> + +<p>"How long must I wait?"</p> + +<p>"Not more than ten minutes, he said, sir," Kemp's optimism seemed to +ricochet against his master's hardness and come back unhurt. "He will +send a closed car and will have your rooms ready for you."</p> + +<p>"Serves me right for not wiring," said Dalton, "but who would believe +there is a place in the world where a man can't get a taxi?"</p> + +<p>Young Paine was at the door, listening for the sound of hoofs, watching +with impatience. Suddenly he gave a shout, and the others looked to see +a small object which came whirling like a bomb through the mist.<!-- Page 16 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Nellie, little old lady, little old lady," the boy was on his knees, +the dog in his arms—an ecstatic, panting creature, the first to welcome +her master home!</p> + +<p>Before he let her go, the little dog's coat was wet with more than rain, +but Randy was not ashamed of the tears in his eyes as he faced the +others.</p> + +<p>"I've had her from a pup—she's a faithful beast. Hello, there they +come. Gee, Jefferson, but you've grown! You are almost as big as your +name."</p> + +<p>Jefferson was the negro boy who drove the horses. There was a great +splashing of red mud as he drew up. The flaps of the surrey closed it +in.</p> + +<p>Jefferson's eyes were twinkling beads as he greeted his master. "I sure +is glad to see you, Mr. Randy. Miss Caroline, she say there was another +gemp'mun?"</p> + +<p>"He's here—Major Prime. You run in there and look after his bags."</p> + +<p>Randy unbuttoned the flaps and gave a gasp of astonishment:</p> + +<p>"<i>Becky</i>—Becky Bannister!"</p> + +<p>In another moment she was out on the platform, and he was holding her +hands, protesting in the meantime, "You'll get wet, my dear——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I want to be rained on, Randy. It's so heavenly to have you home. I +caught Jefferson on the way down. I didn't even wait to get my hat."</p> + +<a name="ILLUS2" id="ILLUS2"></a><div class="figleft" style="width: 350px;"> +<img src="images/tsillus03.jpg" width="350" height="550" alt=""IT'S SO HEAVENLY TO HAVE YOU HOME"" title=""IT'S SO HEAVENLY TO HAVE YOU HOME"" /> +</div><p> +<!-- Page 17 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></p> + +<p>She did not need a hat. It would have hidden her hair. George Dalton, +watching her from the door, decided that he had never seen such hair, +bronze, parted on the side, with a thick wave across the forehead, it +shaded eyes which were clear wells of light.</p> + +<p>She was a little thing with a quality in her youth which made one think +of the year at the spring, of the day at morn, of Botticelli's +Simonetta, of Shelley's lark, of Wordsworth's daffodils, of Keats' Eve +of St. Agnes—of all the lovely radiant things of which the poets of the +world have sung——</p> + +<p>Of course Dalton did not think of her in quite that way. He knew +something of Browning and little of Keats, but he had at least the wit +to discern the rareness of her type.</p> + +<p>As for the rest, she wore faded blue, which melted into the blue of the +mists, stubbed and shabby russet shoes and an air of absorption in her +returned soldier. This absorption Dalton found himself subconsciously +resenting. Following an instinctive urge, he emerged, therefore, from +his chrysalis of ill-temper, and smiled upon a transformed universe.</p> + +<p>"My raincoat, Kemp," he said, and strode forth across the platform, a +creature as shining and splendid as ever trod its boards.<!-- Page 18 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p> + +<p>Becky, beholding him, asked, "Is that Major Prime?"</p> + +<p>"No, thank Heaven."</p> + +<p>Jefferson, steering the Major expertly, came up at this moment. Then, +splashing down the red road whirled the gorgeous limousine. There were +two men on the box. Kemp, who had been fluttering around Dalton with an +umbrella, darted into the waiting-room for the bags. The door of the +limousine was opened by the footman, who also had an umbrella ready. +Dalton hesitated, his eyes on that shabby group by the mud-stained +surrey. He made up his mind suddenly and approached young Paine.</p> + +<p>"We can take one of you in here. You'll be crowded with all of those +bags."</p> + +<p>"Not a bit. We'll manage perfectly, thank you," Randy's voice dismissed +him.</p> + +<p>He went, with a lingering glance backward. Becky, catching that glance, +waked suddenly to the fact that he was very good-looking. "It was kind +of him to offer, Randy."</p> + +<p>"Was it?"</p> + +<p>Nothing more was said, but Becky wondered a bit as they drove on. She +liked Major Prime. He was an old dear. But why had Randy thanked Heaven +that the other man was not the Major?<!-- Page 19 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>III</h3><p>The Waterman motor passed the surrey, and Dalton, straining his eyes for +a glimpse of the pretty girl, was rewarded only by a view of Randy on +the front seat with his back turned on the world, while he talked with +someone hidden by the curtains.</p> + +<p>Perhaps the fact that she was hidden by the curtains kept Dalton's +thoughts upon her. He felt that her beauty must shine even among the +shadows—he envied Major Prime, who sat next to her.</p> + +<p>The Major was aware that his position was enviable. It was worth much to +watch these two young people, eager in their reunion. "Becky Bannister, +whom I have known all my life," had been Randy's presentation of the +little lady with the shining hair.</p> + +<p>"Grandfather doesn't know that I came, or Aunt Claudia. They felt that +your mother ought to see you first and so did I. Until the last minute. +Then I saw Jefferson driving by—I was down at the gate to wave to you, +Randy—and I just came——" her gay laugh was infectious—the men +laughed with her.</p> + +<p>"You must let me out when we get to Huntersfield, and you mustn't +tell—either of you. We are all to dine together to-night at your house, +Randy,<!-- Page 20 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> and when you meet me, you are to say—<i>Becky</i>'—just as you did +to-day, as if I had fallen from the skies."</p> + +<p>"Well, you did fall—straight," Randy told her. "Becky, you are too good +to be true; oh, you're too pretty to be true. Isn't she, Major?"</p> + +<p>"It is just because I am—American. Are you glad to get back to us, +Randy?"</p> + +<p>"Glad," he drew a long breath. Nellie, who had wedged herself in tightly +between her master and Jefferson, wriggled and licked his hand. He +looked down at her, tried to say something, broke a little on it, and +ended abruptly, "It's Heaven."</p> + +<p>"And you weren't hurt?"</p> + +<p>"Not a scratch, worse luck."</p> + +<p>She turned to Major Prime and did the wise thing and the thing he liked. +"You were," she said, simply, "but I am not going to be sorry for you, +shall I?"</p> + +<p>"No," he said, "I am not sorry for—myself——"</p> + +<p>For a moment there was silence, then Becky carried the conversation into +lighter currents. "Everybody is here for the Horse Show next week. Your +mother's house is full, and those awful Waterman people have guests."</p> + +<p>"One of them came down with us."</p> + +<p>"The good-looking man who offered us a ride?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, of course if you like that kind of looks, he's<!-- Page 21 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> the kind of man +you'd like," said Randy, "but coming down he seemed rather out of tune +with the universe."</p> + +<p>"How out of tune?"</p> + +<p>"Well, it was hot and he was hot——"</p> + +<p>"It <i>is</i> hot, Randy, and perhaps he isn't used to it."</p> + +<p>"Are you making excuses for him?"</p> + +<p>"I don't even know him."</p> + +<p>Major Prime interposed. "His man was a corking little chap, never turned +a hair, as cool as a cucumber, with everybody else sizzling."</p> + +<p>They were ascending a hill, and the horse went slowly. Ahead of them was +a buggy without a top. In the buggy were a man and a woman. The woman +had an umbrella over her, and a child in her arms.</p> + +<p>"It's Mary Flippin and her father. See if you can't overtake them, +Jefferson. I want you to see Fiddle Flippin, Randy."</p> + +<p>"Who is Fiddle Flippin?"</p> + +<p>"Mary's little girl. Mary is a war bride. She was in Petersburg teaching +school when the war broke out, and she married a man named Branch. Then +she came home—and she called the baby Fidelity."</p> + +<p>"I hope he was a good husband."</p> + +<p>"Nobody has seen him, he was ordered away at<!-- Page 22 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> once. But she is very +proud of him. And the baby is a darling. Just beginning to walk and +talk."</p> + +<p>"Stop a minute, Jefferson, while I speak to them."</p> + +<p>Mr. Flippin pulled up his fat horse. He was black-haired, ruddy, and +wide of girth. "Well, well," he said, with a big laugh, "it is cert'n'y +good to see you."</p> + +<p>Mary Flippin was slender and delicate and her eyes were blue. Her hair +was thick and dark. There was Scotch-Irish blood in the Flippins, and +Mary's charm was in that of duskiness of hair and blueness of eye. "Oh, +Randy Paine," she said, with her cheeks flaming, "when did you get +back?"</p> + +<p>"Ten minutes ago. Mary, if you'll hand me that corking kid, I'll kiss +her."</p> + +<p>Fiddle was handed over. She was rosy and round with her mother's blue +eyes. She wore a little buttoned hat of white piqué, with strings tied +under her chin.</p> + +<p>"So," said Randy, after a moist kiss, "you are Fiddle-dee-dee?"</p> + +<p>"Ess——"</p> + +<p>"Who gave you that name?"</p> + +<p>"It is her own way of saying Fidelity," Mary explained.</p> + +<p>"Isn't she rather young to say anything?"<!-- Page 23 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, Randy, she's a year and a half," Becky protested. "Your mother says +that you talked in your cradle."</p> + +<p>Randy laughed, "Oh, if you listen to Mother——"</p> + +<p>"I'm glad you're in time for the Horse Show," Mr. Flippin interposed, +"I've got a couple of prize hawgs—an' when you see them, you'll say +they ain't anything like them on the other side."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Father——"</p> + +<p>"Well, they ain't. I reckon Virginia's good enough for you to come back +to, ain't it, Mr. Randy——?"</p> + +<p>"It is good enough for me to stay in now that I'm here."</p> + +<p>"So you're back for good?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Well, we're mighty glad to have you."</p> + +<p>Fiddle Flippin, dancing and doubling up on Randy's knee like a very soft +doll, suddenly held out her arms to her mother.</p> + +<p>As Mary leaned forward to take her, Randy was aware of the change in +her. In the old days Mary had been a gay little thing, with an +impertinent tongue. She was not gay now. She was a Madonna, tender-eyed, +brooding over her child.</p> + +<p>"She has changed a lot," Randy said, as they drove on.</p> + +<p>"Why shouldn't she change?" Becky demanded.<!-- Page 24 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Wouldn't any woman change if she had loved a man and had let him go to +France?"</p> + + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>It was still raining hard when the surrey stopped at a high and rusty +iron gate flanked by brick pillars overgrown with Virginia creeper.</p> + +<p>"Becky," said young Paine, "you can't walk up to the house. It's +pouring."</p> + +<p>"I don't see any house," said Major Prime.</p> + +<p>"Well, you never do from the road in this part of the country. We put +our houses on the tops of hills, and have acres to the right of us, and +acres to the left, and acres in front, and acres behind, and you can +never visit your neighbors without going miles, and nobody ever walks +except little Becky Bannister when she runs away."</p> + +<p>"And I am going to run now," said Becky. "Randy, there's a raincoat +under that seat. I'll put it on if you will hand it out to me."</p> + +<p>"You are going to ride up, my dear child. Drive on, Jefferson."</p> + +<p>"Randy, <i>please</i>, your mother is waiting. She didn't come down to the +station because she said that if she wept on your shoulder, she would +not do it before the whole world. But she is <i>waiting</i>—— And it isn't +fair for me to hold you back a minute."<!-- Page 25 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p> + +<p>He yielded at last reluctantly. "Remember, you are to act as if you had +never met me," she said to Major Prime as she gave him her hand at +parting, "when you see me to-night."</p> + +<p>"Becky," Randy asked, in a sudden panic, "are the boarders to be drawn +up in ranks to welcome me?"</p> + +<p>"No, your mother has given you and Major Prime each two rooms in the +Schoolhouse, and we are to dine out there, in your sitting-room—our +families and the Major. And there won't be a soul to see you until +morning, and then you can show yourself off by inches."</p> + +<p>"Until to-night then," said Randy, and opened the gate for her.</p> + +<p>"Until to-night," she watched them and waved her hand as they drove off.</p> + +<p>"A beautiful child," the Major remarked from the shadow of the back +seat.</p> + +<p>"She's more than beautiful," said Randy, glowing, "oh, you wait till you +really know her, Major."</p> + + +<h3>V</h3> + +<p>The Schoolhouse at King's Crest had been built years before by one of +the Paines for two sons and their tutor. It was separated from the old +brick mansion by a wide expanse of unmowed lawn, thick now in midsummer +with fluttering poppies. There<!-- Page 26 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> was a flagged stone walk, and an orchard +at the left, beyond the orchard were rolling fields, and in the distance +one caught a glimpse of the shining river.</p> + +<p>On the lower floor of the Schoolhouse were two ample sitting-rooms with +bedrooms above, one of which was reached by outside stairs, and the +other by an enclosed stairway. Baths had been added when Mrs. Paine had +come as a widow to King's Crest with her small son, and had chosen the +Schoolhouse as a quiet haven. Later, on the death of his grandparents, +Randy had inherited the estate, and he and his mother had moved into the +mansion. But he had kept his rooms in the Schoolhouse, and was glad to +know that he could go back to them.</p> + +<p>Major Prime had the west sitting-room. It was lined with low bookcases, +full of old, old books. There was a fireplace, a winged chair, a broad +couch, a big desk of dark seasoned mahogany, and over the mantel a steel +engraving of Robert E. Lee. The low windows at the back looked out upon +the wooded green of the ascending hill; at the front was a porch which +gave a view of the valley.</p> + +<p>Randolph's arrival had had something of the effect of a triumphal entry. +Jefferson had driven him straight to the Schoolhouse, but on the way +they had encountered old Susie, Jefferson's mother,<!-- Page 27 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> who cooked, and old +Bob, who acted as butler, and the new maid who waited on the table. +These had followed the surrey as a sort of ecstatic convoy. Not a +boarder was in sight but behind the windows of the big house one was +aware of watching eyes.</p> + +<p>"They are all crazy to meet you," Randy's mother had told him, as they +came into the Major's sitting-room after those first sacred moments when +the doors had been shut against the world, "they are all crazy to meet +you, but you needn't come over to lunch unless you really care to do it. +Jefferson can serve you here."</p> + +<p>"What do you want me to do?"</p> + +<p>"My dear, I'm so proud of you, I'd like to show you to the whole world."</p> + +<p>"But there are so many of us, Mother."</p> + +<p>"There's only one of you——"</p> + +<p>"And we haven't come back to be put on pedestals."</p> + +<p>"You were put on pedestals before you went away."</p> + +<p>"I'll be spoiled if you talk to me like that."</p> + +<p>"I shall talk as I please, Randy. Major Prime, isn't he as handsome as +a—rose?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Mother</i>——"</p> + +<p>"Well, you are——"</p> + +<p>"Mother, if you talk like this to the boarders, I'll go back and get +shot up——"<!-- Page 28 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p> + +<p>She clung to him. "Randy, don't say such a thing. He mustn't talk like +that, must he, Major?"</p> + +<p>"He doesn't mean it. Paine, this looks to me like the Promised Land——"</p> + +<p>"I'm glad you like it," said Mrs. Paine, "and now if you don't mind, +I'll run along and kill the fatted calf——"</p> + +<p>She kissed her son, and under a huge umbrella made her way through the +poppies that starred the grass——</p> + +<p>"<i>On Flanders field—where poppies blow</i>"—the Major drew a sudden quick +breath—— He wished there were no poppies at King's Crest.</p> + +<p>"I hate this hero stuff," Randy was saying, "don't you?"</p> + +<p>"I am not so sure that I do. Down deep we'd resent it if we were not +applauded, shouldn't we?"</p> + +<p>Randy laughed. "I believe we should."</p> + +<p>"I fancy that when we've been home for a time, we may feel somewhat +bitter if we find that our pedestals are knocked from under us. Our +people don't worship long. They have too much to think of. They'll put +up some arches, and a few statues and build tribute houses in a lot of +towns, and then they'll go on about their business, and we who have +fought will feel a bit blank."</p> + +<p>Randy laughed, "You haven't any illusions about it, have you?"<!-- Page 29 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, but you and I know that it's all right however it goes."</p> + +<p>Randy, standing very straight, looked out over the valley where the +river showed through the rain like a silver thread. "Well, we didn't do +it for praise, did we?"</p> + +<p>"No, thank God."</p> + +<p>Their eyes were seeing other things than these quiet hills. Things they +wanted to forget. But they did not want to forget the high exaltation +which had sent them over, or the quiet conviction of right which had +helped them to carry on. What the people at home might do or think did +not matter. What mattered was their own adjustment to the things which +were to follow.</p> + +<p>Randy went up-stairs, took off his uniform, bathed and came down in the +garments of peace.</p> + +<p>"Glad to get out of your uniform?" the Major asked.</p> + +<p>"I believe I am. Perhaps if I'd been an officer, I shouldn't."</p> + +<p>"Everybody couldn't be. I've no doubt you deserved it."</p> + +<p>"I could have pulled wires, of course, before I went over, but I +wouldn't."</p> + +<p>From somewhere within the big house came the reverberation of a Japanese +gong.</p> + +<p>Randy rose. "I'm going over to lunch. I'd<!-- Page 30 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> rather face guns, but Mother +will like it. You can have yours here."</p> + +<p>"Not if I know it," the Major rose, "I'm going to share the fatted +calf."</p> + + +<h3>VI</h3> + +<p>It was late that night when the Major went to bed. The feast in Randy's +honor had lasted until ten. There had been the shine of candles, and the +laughter of the women, the old Judge's genial humor. Through the windows +had come the fragrance of honeysuckle and of late roses. Becky had sung +for them, standing between two straight white candles.</p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 2em;">"In the beauty of the lilies, Christ was born across the sea,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With the glory in his bosom which transfigures you and me.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">While God is marching on——"</span><br /></p> + +<p>The last time the Major had heard a woman sing that song had been in a +little French town just after the United States had gone into the war. +She was of his own country, red-haired and in uniform. She had stood on +the steps of a stone house and<!-- Page 31 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> weary men had clustered about +her—French, English, Scotch, a few Americans. Tired and spent, they had +gazed up at her as if they drank her in. To them she was more than a +singing woman. She was the daughter of a nation of dreamers, <i>the +daughter of a nation which made its dreams come true</i>! Behind her stood +a steadfast people, and—God was marching on——!</p> + +<p>He had had his leg then, and after that there had been dreadful +fighting, and sometimes in the midst of it the voice of the singing +woman had come back to him, stiffening him to his task.</p> + +<p>And here, miles away from that war-swept land, another woman sang. And +there was honeysuckle outside, and late roses—and poppies, and there +was Peace. And the world which had not fought would forget. But the men +who had fought would remember.</p> + +<p>He heard Randy's voice, sharp with nerves. "Sing something else, Becky. +We've had enough of war——"</p> + +<p>The Major leaned across the table. "When did you last hear that song, +Paine?"</p> + +<p>"On the other side, a red-haired woman—whose lover had been killed. I +never want to hear it again——"</p> + +<p>"Nor I——"</p> + +<p>It was as if they were alone at the table, seeing<!-- Page 32 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> the things which they +had left behind. What did these people know who had stayed at home? The +words were sacred—not to be sung; to be whispered—over the graves +of—France.<!-- Page 33 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h3> + +<h2>STUFFED BIRDS</h2> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>The Country Club was, as Judge Bannister had been the first to declare, +"an excrescence."</p> + +<p>Under the old régime, there had been no need for country clubs. The +houses on the great estates had been thrown open for the county families +and their friends. There had been meat and drink for man and beast.</p> + +<p>The servant problem had, however, in these latter days, put a curb on +generous impulse. There were no more niggers underfoot, and hospitality +was necessarily curtailed. The people who at the time of the August +Horse Show had once packed great hampers with delicious foods, and who +had feasted under the trees amid all the loveliness of mellow-tinted +hills, now ordered by telephone a luncheon of cut-and-dried courses, and +motored down to eat it. After that, they looked at the horses, and with +the feeling upon them of the futility of such shows yawned a bit. In due +season, they held, the horse would be as extinct as the Dodo, and as +mythical as the Centaur.<!-- Page 34 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Judge argued hotly for the things which had been. Love of the horse +was bred in the bone of Old Dominion men. He swore by all the gods that +when he had to part with his bays and ride behind gasoline, he would be +ready to die.</p> + +<p>Becky agreed with her grandfather. She adored the old traditions, and +she adored the Judge. She spent two months of every year with him in his +square brick house in Albemarle surrounded by unprofitable acres. The +remaining two months of her vacation were given to her mother's father, +Admiral Meredith, whose fortune had come down to him from whale-hunting +ancestors. The Admiral lived also in a square brick house, but it had no +acres, for it was on the Main Street of Nantucket town, with a Captain's +walk on top, and a spiral staircase piercing its middle.</p> + +<p>The other eight months of the year Becky had spent at school in an old +convent in Georgetown. She was a Protestant and a Presbyterian; the +Nantucket grandfather was a Unitarian of Quaker stock, Judge Bannister +was High Church, and it was his wife's Presbyterianism which had been +handed down to Becky. Religion had therefore nothing to do with her +residence at the school. A great many of the Bannister girls had been +educated at convents, and when a Bannister had done a thing once it was +apt to be done again.<!-- Page 35 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p> + +<p>Becky was nineteen, and her school days were just over. She knew nothing +of men, she knew nothing indeed of life. The world was to her an open +sea, to sail its trackless wastes she had only a cockle-shell of dreams.</p> + +<p>"If anybody," said Judge Bannister, on the first day of the Horse Show, +"thinks I am going to eat dabs of things at the club when I can have +Mandy to cook for me, they think wrong."</p> + +<p>He gave orders, therefore, which belonged to more opulent days, when his +father's estate had swarmed with blacks. There was now in the Judge's +household only Mandy, the cook, and Calvin, her husband. Mandy sat up +half the night to bake a cake, and Calvin killed chickens at dawn, and +dressed them, and pounded the dough for biscuits on a marble slab, and +helped his wife with the mayonnaise.</p> + +<p>When at last the luncheon was packed there was coffee in the thermos +bottle. Prohibition was an assured fact, and the Judge would not break +the laws. The flowing glass must go into the discard with other +picturesque customs of the South. His own estate that had once been sold +by John Randolph to Thomas Jefferson for a bowl of arrack punch——! Old +times, old manners! The Judge drank his coffee with the air of one who +accepts a good thing regretfully. He stood staunchly by the<!-- Page 36 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> +Administration. If the President had asked the sacrifice of his head, he +would have offered it on the platter of political allegiance.</p> + +<p>So on this August morning, an aristocrat by inheritance, and a democrat +by assumption, he drove his bays proudly. Calvin, in a worn blue coat, +sat beside him with his arms folded.</p> + +<p>Becky was on the back seat with Aunt Claudia. Aunt Claudia was a widow +and wore black. She was small and slight, and the black was made smart +by touches of white crepe. Aunt Claudia had not forgotten that she had +been a belle in Richmond. She was a stately little woman with a firm +conviction of the necessity of maintaining dignified standards of +living. She was in no sense a snob. But she held that women of birth and +breeding must preserve the fastidiousness of their ideals, lest there be +social chaos.</p> + +<p>"There would be no ladies left in the world," she often told Becky, "if +we older women went at the modern pace."</p> + +<p>Becky, in contrast to Aunt Claudia's smartness, showed up rather +ingloriously. She wore the stubbed russet shoes, a not too fresh cotton +frock of pale yellow, and a brown straw sailor.</p> + +<p>"You might at least have stopped to change your shoes," Aunt Claudia +told her, as they left the house behind.<!-- Page 37 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I was out with Randy and the dogs. It was heavenly, Aunt Claudia."</p> + +<p>"My dear, if a walk with Randy is heavenly, what will you call Heaven +when you get to it?"</p> + +<p>They drove through the first gate, and Calvin climbed down to open it. +Beyond the gate the road descended gradually through an open pasture, +where sheep grazed on the hillside or lay at rest in the shade. The +bells of the leaders tinkled faintly, the ewes and the lambs were +calling. Beyond the big gate, the highroad was washed with the recent +rains. From the gate to the club was a matter of five miles, and the +bays ate up the distance easily.</p> + +<p>The people on the porch of the Country Club were very gay and gorgeous, +so that Becky in her careless frock and shabby shoes would have been a +pitiful contrast if she had cared in the least what the people on the +porch thought of her. But she did not care. She nodded and smiled to a +friend or two as the Judge stopped for a moment in the crush of motors.</p> + +<p>George Dalton was on the porch. When he saw Becky he leaned forward for +a good look at her.</p> + +<p>"Some girl," he said to Waterman, as the surrey moved on, "the one in +the sailor hat. Who is she?"</p> + +<p>Oscar Waterman was a newcomer in Albemarle. He had bought a thousand +acres, with an idea of<!-- Page 38 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> grafting on to Southern environment his own +ideas of luxurious living. The county families had not called, but he +was not yet aware of his social isolation. He was rich, and most of the +county families were poor—from his point of view the odds were in his +favor—and it was never hard to get guests. He could always motor up to +Washington and New York, and bring a crowd back with him. His cellars +were well stocked, and his hospitality undiscriminating.</p> + +<p>"I don't know the girl," he told Dalton, "but the old man is Judge +Bannister. He's one of the natives—no money and oodles of pride."</p> + +<p>In calling Judge Bannister a "native," Oscar showed a lack of +proportion. A native, in the sense that he used the word, is a South Sea +Islander, indigenous but negligible. Oscar was fooled, you see, by the +Judge's old-fashioned clothes, and the high surrey, and the horses with +the flowing tails. His ideas of life had to do with motor cars and +mansions, and with everybody very much dressed up. He felt that the only +thing in the world that really counted was money. If you had enough of +it the world was yours!</p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>Year after year the Bannisters of Huntersfield had eaten their Horse +Show luncheon under a<!-- Page 39 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> clump of old oaks beneath which the horses now +stopped. The big trees were dropping golden leaves in the dryness. From +the rise of the hill one looked down on the grandstand and the crowd as +from the seats of an amphitheater.</p> + +<p>Judge Bannister remembered when the women of the crowd had worn hoops +and waterfalls. Aunt Claudia's memory went back to bustles and bonnets. +There were deeper memories, too, than of clothes—of old friends and +young faces—there was always a moment of pensive retrospect when the +Bannisters stopped under the old oak on the hill.</p> + +<p>Randolph Paine, his mother and Major Prime were to join them at +luncheon. Separate plans had been made by the boarders who had packed +themselves into various cars and carriages, and had their own boxes and +baskets.</p> + +<p>"Caroline Paine is always late," the Judge said with some impatience; +"if we don't eat on time, we shall have to hurry. I have never hurried +in my life and I don't want to begin now."</p> + +<p>Claudia Beaufort was accustomed to impatience in men, and she was +inflexible as a hostess. "Well, of course, we couldn't begin without +them, could we?" she asked. "There they come now, Father. William, you'd +better help Major Prime."<!-- Page 40 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p> + +<p>Randy was driving the fat mare, Rosalind. Nellie Custis, Randolph's wiry +hound, loped along with flapping ears in the rear of the low-seated +carriage. Major Prime was on the back seat with Mrs. Paine.</p> + +<p>"My dear Judge," he said, as the old gentleman came to the side of the +carriage, "I can't tell you how honored I am to be included in your +party. This is about the best thing that has happened to me in a long +time."</p> + +<p>"I wanted you to get the old atmosphere. You can't get it at the Country +Club. We Bannisters have lunched up here for sixty years—older than you +are, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Twenty years——"</p> + +<p>"We used to call it the races, but now they tack on the Horse Show. It +was different, of course, when all the old places were owned by the old +families. But they can't change the oaks and the sweep of the hills, and +the mettle of the horses, thank God."</p> + +<p>"I am sorry I was late," said Caroline Paine, as they settled themselves +under the trees, "but I went to town to have my hair waved."</p> + +<p>"I wish you wouldn't, Caroline," Mrs. Beaufort told her, "your hair is +nice enough without it."</p> + +<p>Caroline Paine took off her hat, "I couldn't get it up to look like +this, could I?"<!-- Page 41 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Judge surveyed the undulations critically. "Caroline," he said, "you +are too pretty to need it."</p> + +<p>"I want to keep young for Randolph's sake," Mrs. Paine told him, "then +he'll like me better than any other girl."</p> + +<p>"You needn't think you have to get your hair curled to make me love +you," said her tall son; "you are ducky enough as you are."</p> + +<p>Major Prime, delighting in their lack of self-consciousness, made a +diplomatic contribution. "Why quarrel with such a charming coiffure?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Paine smiled at him, comfortably. "I feel much better," she said; +"they are always trying to hold me back."</p> + +<p>She was a woman of ample proportions and of leisurely habit. Life had of +late hurried her a bit, but she still gave the effect of restful calm. +She was of the same generation as Aunt Claudia, and a widow. But she +wore her widowhood with a difference. She had on to-day a purple hat. +Her hair was white, her dress was white, and her shoes. She was prettier +than Aunt Claudia but she lacked her distinction of manner and of +carriage.</p> + +<p>"They always want to hold me back when I try to be up-to-date," she +repeated.</p> + +<p>Randy threw an acorn at her. "Nobody can hold you back, Mother," he +said, "when you get<!-- Page 42 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> your mind on a thing. Aunt Claudia, what do you +hear from Truxton?"</p> + +<p>"A letter came this morning," said Mrs. Beaufort, lighting up with the +thought of it. "I hadn't heard for days before that. And I was worried."</p> + +<p>"Truxton hasn't killed himself writing letters since he went over," the +Judge asserted. "Claudia, can't we have lunch?"</p> + +<p>"William is unpacking the hamper now, Father. And I think Truxton has +done very well. It isn't easy for the boys to find time."</p> + +<p>"Randy wrote to me every week."</p> + +<p>"Now, Mother——"</p> + +<p>"Well, you did."</p> + +<p>"But I'm that kind. I have to get things off my mind. Truxton isn't. And +I'll bet when Aunt Claudia does get his letters that they are worth +reading."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Beaufort nodded. "They are lovely letters. I have the last one with +me; would you like to hear it?"</p> + +<p>"Not before lunch, Claudia," the Judge urged.</p> + +<p>"I will read it while the rest of you eat." There were red spots in Mrs. +Beaufort's cheeks. She adored her son. She could not understand her +father's critical attitude. Had she searched for motives, however, she +might have found them in the Judge's jealousy.<!-- Page 43 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was while she was reading Truxton's letter that the Flippins came +by—Mr. Flippin and his wife, Mary, and little Fidelity. A slender +mulatto woman followed with a basket.</p> + +<p>The Flippins were one of the "second families." Between them and the +Paines of King's Crest and the Bannisters of Huntersfield stretched a +deep chasm of social prejudice. Three generations of Flippins had been +small farmers on rented lands. They had no coats-of-arms or family +trees. They were never asked to dine with the Paines or Bannisters, but +there had been always an interchange of small hospitalities, and much +neighborliness, and as children Mary Flippin, Randy and Becky and +Truxton had played together and had been great friends.</p> + +<p>So it was now as they stopped to speak to the Judge's party that Mrs. +Beaufort said graciously, "I am reading a letter from Truxton. Would you +like to hear it?"</p> + +<p>Mary, speaking with a sort of tense eagerness, said, "Yes."</p> + +<p>So the Flippins sat down, and Mrs. Beaufort read in her pleasant voice +the letter from France.</p> + +<p>Randy, lying on his back under the old oak, listened. Truxton gave a +joyous diary of the days—little details of the towns through which he +passed, of the houses where he was billeted, jokes of the<!-- Page 44 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> men, of the +food they ate, of his hope of coming home.</p> + +<p>"He seems very happy," said Mrs. Beaufort, as she finished.</p> + +<p>"He is and he isn't——"</p> + +<p>"You might make yourself a little clearer, Randolph," said the Judge.</p> + +<p>"He is happy because France in summer is a pleasant sort of +Paradise—with the cabbages stuck up on the brown hillsides like +rosettes—and the minnows flashing in the little brooks and the old +mills turning—and he isn't happy—because he is homesick."</p> + +<p>Randy raised himself on his elbow and smiled at his listening +audience—and as he smiled he was aware of a change in Mary Flippin. The +brooding look was gone. She was leaning forward, lips parted—"Then you +think that he is—homesick?"</p> + +<p>"I don't <i>think</i>. I know. Why, over there, my bones actually ached for +Virginia."</p> + +<p>The Judge raised his coffee cup. "Virginia, God bless her," he murmured, +and drank it down!</p> + +<p>The Flippins moved on presently—the slender mulatto trailing after +them.</p> + +<p>"If the Flippins don't send that Daisy back to Washington," Mrs. Paine +remarked, "she'll spoil all the negroes on the place."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Beaufort agreed, "I don't know what we<!-- Page 45 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> are coming to. Did you see +her high heels and tight skirt?"</p> + +<p>"Once upon a time," the Judge declaimed, "black wenches like that wore +red handkerchiefs on their heads and went barefoot. But the world moves, +and some day when we have white servants wished on us, we'll pray to God +to send our black ones back."</p> + +<p>Calvin was passing things expertly. Randy smiled at Becky as he filled +her plate.</p> + +<p>"Hungry?"</p> + +<p>"Ravenous."</p> + +<p>"You don't look it."</p> + +<p>"Don't I?"</p> + +<p>"No. You're not a bread and butter sort of person."</p> + +<p>"What kind am I?"</p> + +<p>"Sugar and spice and everything nice."</p> + +<p>"Did you learn to say such things in France?"</p> + +<p>"Haven't I always said them?"</p> + +<p>"Not in quite the same way. You've grown up, Randy. You seem <i>years</i> +older."</p> + +<p>"Do you like me—older?"</p> + +<p>"Of course." There was warmth in her voice but no coquetry. "What a +silly thing to ask, Randy."</p> + +<p>Calvin, having served the lunch, ate his own particular feast of chicken +backs and necks under the<!-- Page 46 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> surrey from a pasteboard box cover. Having +thus separated himself as it were from those he served, he was at his +ease. He knew his place and was happy in it.</p> + +<p>Mary Flippin also knew her place. But she was not happy. She sat higher +up on the hill with her child asleep in her arms, and looked down on the +Judge's party. Except for an accident of birth, she might be sitting now +among them. Would she ever sit among them? Would her little daughter, +Fidelity?</p> + + +<h3>III</h3><p>"We are the only one of the old families who are eating lunch out of a +basket," said Caroline Paine; "next year we shall have to go to the +Country Club with the rest of them."</p> + +<p>"I shall never go to the Country Club," said Judge Bannister, "as long +as there is a nigger to fry chicken for me."</p> + +<p>"We may have to swim with the tide."</p> + +<p>"Don't tell me that you'd rather be up there than here, Caroline."</p> + +<p>"I'd like it for some things," Mrs. Paine admitted frankly; "you should +see the clothes that those Waterman women are wearing."</p> + +<p>"What do you care what they wear. You don't want to be like them, do +you?"<!-- Page 47 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I may not care to be like them, but I want to look like them. I got the +pattern of this sweater I am knitting from one of my boarders. Do you +want it, Claudia?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Beaufort winced at the word "boarders." She hated to think that +Caroline must—— "I never wear sweaters, Caroline. They are not my +style. But I am knitting one for Becky."</p> + +<p>"Is it blue?" Randy asked. "Becky ought always to wear blue, except when +she wears pale yellow. That was a heavenly thing you had on at dinner +the night we arrived, wasn't it, Major?"</p> + +<p>"Everything was heavenly. I felt like one who expecting a barren plain +sees—Paradise."</p> + +<p>It was not flattery and they knew it. They were hospitable souls, and in +a week he had become, as it were, one of them.</p> + +<p>Randy, returning to the subject in hand, asked, "Will you wear the blue +if I come up to-night, Becky?"</p> + +<p>"I will not." Becky was making herself a chaplet of yellow leaves, and +her bronze hair caught the light. "I will not. I shall probably put on +my old white if I dress for dinner."</p> + +<p>"Of course you'll dress," said Mrs. Beaufort; "there are certain things +which we must always demand of ourselves——"</p> + +<p>Caroline Paine agreed. "That's what I tell<!-- Page 48 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> Randy when he says he +doesn't want to finish his law course. His father was a lawyer and his +grandfather. He owes it to them to live up to their standards."</p> + +<p>Randy was again flat on his back with his hands under his head. "If I +stay at the University, it means no money for either of us except what +you earn, Mother."</p> + +<p>The war had taken its toll of Caroline Paine. Things had not been easy +since her son had left her. They would not be easy now. "I know," she +said, "but you wouldn't want your father to be ashamed of you."</p> + +<p>Randy sat up. "It isn't that—but I ought to make some money——"</p> + +<p>The word was a challenge to the Judge. "Don't run with the mob, my boy. +The world is money-mad."</p> + +<p>"I'm not money-mad," said Randy; "I know what I should like to do if my +life was my own. But it isn't. And I'm not going to have Mother twist +and turn as she has twisted and turned for the last fifteen years in +order to get me educated up to the family standard."</p> + +<p>"If you don't mind I shouldn't." Caroline Paine was setting her feet to +a rocky path, but she did not falter. "You shouldn't mind if I don't."</p> + +<p>Becky laid down the chaplet of leaves. She<!-- Page 49 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> knew some of the things +Caroline Paine had sacrificed and she was thrilled by them. "Randy," she +admonished, with youthful severity, "it would be a shame to disappoint +your mother."</p> + +<p>Randolph flushed beneath his dark skin. The Paines had an Indian strain +in them—Pocahontas was responsible for it, or some of the other +princesses who had mixed red blood with blue in the days when Virginia +belonged to the King. Randy showed signs of it in his square-set jaw, +the high lift of his head, his long easy stride, the straightness of his +black hair. He showed it, too, in a certain stoical impassiveness which +might have been taken for indifference. His world was, for the moment, +against him; he would attempt no argument.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid this doesn't interest Major Prime," he said.</p> + +<p>"It interests me very much," said the Major. "It is only another case of +the fighting man's adjustment to life after his return. We all have to +face it in one way or another." His eyes went out over the hills. They +were gray eyes, deep set, and, at this moment, kindly. They could blaze, +however, in stress of fighting, like bits of steel. "We all have to face +it in one way or another. And the future of America depends largely on +our seeing things straight."</p> + +<p>"Well, there's only one way for Randy to face<!-- Page 50 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> it," said Caroline Paine, +firmly, "and that is to do as his fathers did before him."</p> + +<p>"If I do," Randy flared, "it will be three years before I can make a +living, and I'll be twenty-five."</p> + +<p>Becky put on the chaplet of leaves. It fitted like a cap. She might have +been a dryad, escaped for a moment from the old oak. "Three years isn't +long."</p> + +<p>"Suppose I should want to marry——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you—Randy——"</p> + +<p>"But why shouldn't I?"</p> + +<p>"I don't want you to get married," she told him; "when I come down we +couldn't have our nice times together. You'd always be thinking about +your wife."</p> + + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>From the porch of the Country Club, George Dalton had seen the Judge's +party at luncheon. According to George's lexicon no one who could afford +to go to the club would eat out of a basket. He rather blushed for Becky +that she must sit there in the sight of everybody and share a feast with +a shabby old Judge, a lean and lank stripling with straight hair, a lame +duck of an officer, and two middle-aged women, who made spots of black +and purple on the landscape. Like Oscar, George's ideas of life had to +do largely with motor cars and yachts,<!-- Page 51 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> and estates on Long Island, +palaces at Newport and Len ox and Palm Beach. During the war he had +served rather comfortably in a becoming uniform in the Quartermaster's +Department in Washington. Now that the war was over, he regretted the +becomings of the uniform. He felt to-day, however, that there were +compensations in his hunting pink. He was slightly bronzed and had blue +eyes. He was extremely popular with the women of the Waterman set, but +was held to be the especial property of Madge MacVeigh.</p> + +<p>Madge had observed his interest in the party on the hill.</p> + +<p>"George," she said, "what are you looking at?"</p> + +<p>"I am looking at those people who are picnicking. They probably have +ants in the salad and spiders in their coffee."</p> + +<p>"They are getting more out of it than you and I," said Madge.</p> + +<p>"How getting more?"</p> + +<p>"We are tired of things, Georgie-Porgie."</p> + +<p>"Speak for yourself, Madge."</p> + +<p>"I am speaking for both of us. You are tired of me, for example."</p> + +<p>"My dear girl, I am not."</p> + +<p>"You are. And I am tired of you. It's not your fault, and it's not mine. +It is the fault of any house-party. People see too much of each other.<!-- Page 52 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> +I am glad I am going away to-morrow, and you'll be glad. And when we +have been separated a month, you will rush up to see me, and say you +couldn't live without me."</p> + +<p>She dissected him coolly. Madge had a modern way of looking at things. +She was not in the least sentimental. But she had big moments of +feeling. It was because of this deep current which swept her away now +and then from the shallows that she held Dalton's interest. He never +knew in what mood he should find her, and it added spice to their +friendship.</p> + +<p>"I didn't know you were going to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Neither did I till this morning, but I am bored to death, Georgie."</p> + +<p>She did not look it. She was long-limbed, slender, with heavy +burned-gold hair, a skin which was pale gold after a July by the sea. +The mauve of her dress and hat emphasized the gold of hair and skin. +Some one had said that Madge MacVeigh at the end of a summer gave the +effect of a statue cast in new bronze. Dalton in the early days of their +friendship had called her his "Golden Girl." The name had stuck to her. +She had laughed at it but had liked it. "I should hate it," she had +said, "if I were rich. Perhaps some day some millionaire will turn me +into gold and make it true."</p> + +<p>"Just because you are bored to death," Dalton<!-- Page 53 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> told her, "is no reason +why you should accuse me of it."</p> + +<p>"It isn't accusation. It's condolence. I am sorry for both of us, +George, that we can't sit there under the trees and eat out of a basket +and have spiders and ants in things and not mind it. Here we are in the +land of Smithfield hams and spoon-bread and we ate canned lobster for +lunch, and alligator pear salad."</p> + +<p>"Baked ham and spoon-bread—for our sins?"</p> + +<p>"It is because you and I have missed the baked ham and spoon-bread +atmosphere, that we are bored to death, Georgie. Everything in our lives +is the same wherever we go. When we are in Virginia we ought to do as +the Virginians do, and instead Oscar Waterman brings a little old New +York with him. It's Rome for the Romans, Georgie, lobsters in New +England, avocados in Los Angeles, hog and hominy here."</p> + +<p>There were others listening now, and she was aware of her amused +audience.</p> + +<p>"If you don't like my little old New York," Waterman said, "I'll change +it."</p> + +<p>"No, I am going back to the real thing, Oscar. To my sky-scrapers and +subways. You can't give us those down here—not yet. Perhaps some day +there will be a system of camouflage by which no matter where we are—in +desert or mountain, we<!-- Page 54 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> can open our windows to the Woolworth Building +on the skyline or the Metropolitan Tower, or to Diana shooting at the +stars,—and have some little cars in tunnels to run us around your +estate."</p> + +<p>"By Jove, Jefferson nearly did it," said Waterman; "you should see the +subterranean passages at Monticello for the servants, so that the guests +could look over the grounds without a woolly head in sight."</p> + +<p>"Great old boob, Jefferson," said Waterman's wife, Flora.</p> + +<p>"No," Madge's eyes went out over the hills to where Monticello brooded +over great memories, "he was not a boob. He was so big that little +people like us can't focus him, Flora."</p> + +<p>She came down from her perch. "I adore great men," she said; "when I go +back, I shall make a pilgrimage to Oyster Bay. I wonder how many of us +who weep over Great heart's grave would have voted for him if he had +lived. In a sense we crucified him."</p> + +<p>"Madge is serious," said Flora Waterman, "now what do you think of +that?"</p> + +<p>"I have to be serious sometimes, Flora, to balance the rest of you. You +can be as gay as you please when I am gone, and if you perish, you +perish."</p> + +<p>George walked beside her as the party moved to<!-- Page 55 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span>wards the grandstand. +"I've half a mind to go to New York with you, Madge. I came down on your +account."</p> + +<p>"It's because you followed me that I'm tired of you, Georgie. If you go, +I'll stay."</p> + +<p>She was smiling as she said it. But he did not smile. "Just as you wish, +of course. But you mustn't expect me to come running when you crook your +finger."</p> + +<p>"I never expect things, but you'll come."</p> + +<p>Perhaps she would not have been so sure if she could have looked into +his mind. The day that Becky had ridden away, hidden by the flaps of the +old surrey, the spark of his somewhat fickle interest had been lighted, +and the glimpse that he had had of her this morning had fanned the spark +into a flame.</p> + +<p>"Did you say the old man's name is Bannister?" he asked Oscar as the +Judge's party passed them later on their way to their seats.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Judge Bannister. I tried to buy his place before I decided on +Hamilton Hill. But he wouldn't sell. He said he wouldn't have any place +for his stuffed birds."</p> + +<p>"Stuffed birds?"</p> + +<p>"His hobby is the game birds of Virginia. He has a whole room of them. I +offered him a good price, but I suppose he'd rather starve than take +it."<!-- Page 56 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Judge's box was just above Oscar Waterman's. Becky, looking up, saw +Dalton's eyes upon her.</p> + +<p>"It's the man who came with you on the train," she told Randy.</p> + +<p>"What's he wearing a pink coat for?" Randy demanded. "He isn't riding."</p> + +<p>"He probably knows that he looks well in it."</p> + +<p>"That isn't a reason."</p> + +<p>Becky took another look. "He has a head like the bust of Apollo in our +study hall."</p> + +<p>"I'd hate to have a head like that."</p> + +<p>"Well, you haven't," she told him; "you may hug that thought to yourself +if it is any consolation, Randy."</p> + + +<h3>V</h3> + +<p>Caroline Paine's boarders sat high up on the grandstand. If the boarders +seem in this book to be spoken of collectively, like the Chorus in a +Greek play, or the sisters and aunts and cousins in "Pinafore," it is +not because they are not individually interesting. It is because, <i>en +Massey</i> only, have they any meaning in this history.</p> + +<p>Now as they sat on the grandstand, they discerned Mrs. Paine in the +Judge's box. They waved at her, and they waved at Randy, they waved also +at Major Prime. They demanded <!-- Page 57 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span>recognition—some of the more enthusiastic +detached themselves finally from the main group and came down to visit +Caroline. The overflow straggled along the steps to the edge of the +Waterman box. One genial gentleman was forced finally to sit on the +rail, so that his elbow stuck straight into the middle of the back of +George's huntsman's pink.</p> + +<p>George moved impatiently. "Can't you find any other place to sit?"</p> + +<p>The genial gentleman beamed on him. "I have a seat over there. But we +came down to see Mrs. Paine. She is in Judge Bannister's box and we +board with her—at King's Crest. And say, she's a corker!"</p> + +<p>George, surveying Becky with increasing interest, decided that she was a +bit above her surroundings. She sat as it were with—Publicans. George +may not have used the Scriptural phrase, but he had the feeling. He was +Pharisaic ally thankful that he was not as that conglomerate group in +the Bannister box. A cheap crowd was his estimate. It would be rather +nice to give the little girl a good time!</p> + +<p>Filled, therefore, with a high sense of his philanthropic purpose, he +planned a meeting. With his blue eyes on the flying horses, with his +staccato voice making quick comments, he had Becky in the back of his +mind. He found a moment, when the<!-- Page 58 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> crowd went mad as the county favorite +came in, to write a line on the back of an envelope, and hand it to +Kemp, who hovered in the background, giving him quiet instructions.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," said Kemp guardedly, and stood at attention until the races +were over, and the crowd began to move, and then he handed the note to +Judge Bannister.</p> + +<p>The Judge put on his glasses and read it. "Where is he?" he asked Kemp.</p> + +<p>"In the other box, sir. The one above."</p> + +<p>"Tell him to come down."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, thank you, sir."</p> + +<p>The Judge was as pleased as Punch. "That man up there in Waterman's box +has heard of my collection," he explained to his party. "He wants me to +settle a point about the Virginia partridge."</p> + +<p>"Which man?" Randy's tone was ominous.</p> + +<p>Dalton's arrival saved the Judge an answer. In his hunting pink, with +his Apollo head, Dalton was upon them. The Judge, passing him around to +the members of his party, came at last to Becky.</p> + +<p>"My granddaughter, Becky Bannister."</p> + +<p>With George's sparkling gaze bent full upon her, Becky blushed.</p> + +<p>Randy saw the blush. "Oh, Lord," he said, under his breath, and stuck +his hands in his pockets.<!-- Page 59 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I've always called it a quail," Dalton was saying.</p> + +<p>"You would if you come from the North. To be exact, it isn't either, +it's an American Bob-white. I'd be glad to have you come up and look at +my collection. There is every kind of bird that has been shot in +Virginia fields or Virginia waters. I've got a Trumpeter Swan. The last +one was seen in the Chesapeake in sixty-nine. Mine was killed and +stuffed in the forties. He is in a perfect state of preservation, and in +the original glass case."</p> + +<p>"I'd like to come," George told him. "Could I—to-night? I don't know +just how long I shall be staying down."</p> + +<p>"Any time—any time. To-night, of course. There's nothing I like better +than to talk about my birds, unless it is to eat them. Isn't that so, +Claudia?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Father." Mrs. Beaufort was studying Dalton closely. His manner was +perfect. It was, indeed, she decided, too perfect. "He is thinking too +much of the way he does it." The one sin in Aunt Claudia's mind was +social self-consciousness. People who thought all of the time about +manners hadn't been brought up to them. They must have them without +thinking. George was not, she decided, a gentleman in the Old Dominion +sense. Dalton would have been amazed could he have looked<!-- Page 60 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> into Aunt +Claudia's mind and have seen himself a—Publican.</p> + +<p>"Father," she said, after Dalton had left them, "did I hear you invite +him to dinner?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, my dear, but he could not come——"</p> + +<p>"I'm glad he couldn't."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not sure that he's—our kind——"</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, he's a very fine fellow."</p> + +<p>"How do you know?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I know this," testily, "that I am not to be instructed as to the +sort of person I can ask to my house."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Father, I didn't mean that. Of course you can do as you please."</p> + +<p>"Of course I shall, Claudia."</p> + +<p>"I think he is charming," said Mrs. Paine. "He has lovely eyes."</p> + +<p>"Hasn't he?" said little Becky.<!-- Page 61 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h3> + +<h2>THE WOLF IN THE FOREST</h2> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>The Bird Room at Judge Bannister's was back of the library. It was a big +room lined with glass cases. There hung about it always the faint odor +of preservatives. The Trumpeter Swan had a case to himself over the +mantel. He had been rather stiffly posed on a bed of artificial moss, +but nothing could spoil the beauty of him—the white of his plumage, the +elegance of his lines. He was one of a dying race—the descendants of +the men who had once killed for food had killed later to gratify the +vanity of women who must have swans down to set off their beauty, puffs +to powder their noses. No more did great flocks wing an exalted flight, +high in the heavens, or rest like a blanket of snow on river banks. The +old kings were dead—the glassy eyes of the Trumpeter looked out upon a +world which knew his kind no more.</p> + +<p>In the other cases were the little birds and big ones—ducks, swimming +on crystal pools, canvas-backs and redheads, mallards and teal; +Bob-whites, single and in coveys; sandpipers, tip-ups and peeps, those +little ghosts of the seashore, shadows on the<!-- Page 62 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> sand; there were soar and +other rails, robins and blackbirds, larks and sparrows, wild turkeys and +wild geese, all the toll which the hunter takes from field and stream +and forest.</p> + +<p>It was in a sense a tragic room, but it had never seemed that to Becky. +She came of a race of men who had hunted from instinct but with a sense +of honor. The Judge and those of his kind hated wanton killing. Their +guns would never have swept away the feathered tribes of tree and sky. +It was the trappers and the pot-hunters who had done that. There had +motored once to the Judge's mansion a man and his wife who had raged at +the brutes who hunted for sport. They had worn fur coats and there had +been a bird's breast on the woman's hat.</p> + +<p>The Judge, holding on to his temper, had exploded finally. "If you were +consistent," he had flung at them, "you would not be decked in the +bodies of birds and beasts."</p> + +<p>Becky loved the birds in the glass cases, the peeps and the tip-ups, the +old owl who did not belong among the game birds, but who, with the great +eagle with the outstretched wings, had been admitted because they had +been shot within the environs of the estate. She loved the little nests +of tinted eggs, the ducks on the crystal pools.</p> + +<p>But most of all she loved the Trumpeter. Years<!-- Page 63 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> ago the Judge had told +her of the wild swans who flew so high that no eye could see them. Yet +the sound of their trumpets might be heard. It was like the fairy tale +of "The Seven Brothers," who were princes, and who were turned into +swans and wore gold crowns on their heads. She was prepared to believe +anything of the Trumpeter. She had often tiptoed down in the night, +expecting to see his case empty, and to hear his trumpet sounding high +up near the moon.</p> + +<p>There was a moon to-night. Dinner was always late at Huntersfield. In +the old days three o'clock had been the fashionable hour for dining in +the county, with a hot supper at eight. Aunt Claudia, keeping up with +the times, had decided that instead of dining and supping, they must +lunch and dine. The Judge had agreed, stipulating that there should be +no change in the evening hour. "Serve it in courses, if you like, and +call it dinner. But don't have it before candle-light."</p> + +<p>So the moon was up when Becky came down in her blue dress. She had not +expected to wear the blue. In spite of the fact that Randy and his +mother and Major Prime had come back with them for dinner, she had +planned to wear her old white, which had been washed and laid out on the +bed by Mandy. But the blue was more becoming, and the man with the +Apollo head had eyes to see.<!-- Page 64 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span></p> + +<p>She came into the Bird Room with a candle in her hand. There was a lamp +high up, but she could not reach it, so she always carried a candle. She +set it down on the case where the Bob-whites were cuddled in brown +groups. She whistled a note, and listened to catch the answer. It had +been a trick of hers as a child, and she had heard them whistle in +response. She had been so sure that she heard them—a far-off silvery +call——</p> + +<p>Well, why not? Might not their little souls be fluttering close? "You +darlings," she said aloud.</p> + +<p>Randy, arriving at that moment on the threshold, heard her. "You are +playing the old game," he said.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," she caught her breath, "do you remember?"</p> + +<p>He came into the room. "I remembered a thousand times when I was in +France. I thought of this room and of the Trumpeter Swan, and of how you +and I used to listen on still nights and think we heard him. There was +one night after an awful day—with a moon like this over the +battlefield, and across the moon came a black, thin streak—and a bugle +sounded—far away. I was half asleep, and I said, 'Becky, there's the +swan,' and the fellow next to me poked his elbow in my ribs, and said, +'You're dreaming.' But I wasn't—quite, for the thin black streak was a +Zeppelin——"<!-- Page 65 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> + +<p>She came up close to him and laid her hand on his arm. He towered above +her. "Randy," she asked, "was the war very dreadful?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "it was. More dreadful than you people at home can ever +grasp. But I want you to know this, Becky, that there isn't one of us +who wouldn't go through it again in the same cause."</p> + +<p>There was no swagger in his statement, just simple earnestness. The room +was very still for a moment.</p> + +<p>Then Becky said, "Well, it's awfully nice to have you home again," and +Randy, looking down at the little hand on his arm, had to hold on to +himself not to put his own over it.</p> + +<p>But she was too dear and precious——! So he just said, gently, "And I'm +glad to be at home, my dear," and they walked to the window together, +and stood looking out at the moon. Behind them the old eagle watched +with outstretched wings, the great free bird which we stamp on American +silver, backed with "In God We Trust." It is not a bad combination, and +things in this country might, perhaps, have been less chaotic if we had +taught newcomers to link love of God with love of liberty.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Dalton is coming to see the birds," said Becky, and in a moment she +had spoiled everything for Randy.<!-- Page 66 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Is that why you put on your blue dress?"</p> + +<p>She was honest. "I am not sure. Perhaps."</p> + +<p>"Yet you thought the old white one was good enough for me."</p> + +<p>"Well, don't you like me just as well in my old white as in this?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course."</p> + +<p>"Well, then," Becky was triumphant, "why should I bother to change for +you, Randy, when you like me just as well in anything?"</p> + +<p>The argument was unanswerable, but Randy was not satisfied. "It is a +mistake," he said, "not to be as nice to old friends as new ones."</p> + +<p>"But I am nice. You said so yourself this afternoon. That I was sugar +and spice and everything—nice——"</p> + +<p>He laughed. "You are, of course. And I didn't come all the way from +France to quarrel with you——"</p> + +<p>"We've always quarreled, Randy."</p> + +<p>"I wonder why?"</p> + +<p>"Sister Loretta says that people only argue when they like each other. +Otherwise they wouldn't want to convince."</p> + +<p>"Do you quarrel with Sister Loretta?"</p> + +<p>"Of course not. Nuns don't. But she writes notes when she doesn't agree +with me—little sermons—and pins them on my pillow. She's a great<!-- Page 67 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> +dear. She hates to have me leave the school. She has the feeling that +the world is a dark forest, and that I am Red Riding Hood, and that the +Wolf will get me."</p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>Dalton found them all at dinner when he reached Huntersfield. He was not +in the least prepared for the scene which met his eyes—shining +mahogany, old silver and Sheffield, tall white candles, Calvin in a +snowy jacket, Mrs. Beaufort and Mrs. Paine in low-necked gowns, the +Judge and Randy in dinner coats somewhat the worse for wear, Becky in +thin, delicate blue, with a string of pearls which seemed to George an +excellent imitation of the real thing.</p> + +<p>He had thought that the trail of Mrs. Paine's boarding-house might be +over it all. He had known boarding-houses as a boy, before his father +made his money. There had been basement dining-rooms, catsup bottles, +and people passing everything to everybody else!</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I'm early," he said in his quick voice.</p> + +<p>"Not a bit. Calvin, place a chair for Mr. Dalton."</p> + +<p>There were fruit and nuts and raisins in a great silver Pegeen, with fat +cupids making love among garlands. There was coffee in Severus cups.<!-- Page 68 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> + +<p>Back among the shadows twinkled a priceless mirror; shutting off +Calvin's serving table was a painted screen worth its weight in gold. It +was a far cry from the catsup bottles and squalid service of George's +early days. The Bannisters of Huntersfield wore their poverty like a +plume!</p> + +<p>The Judge carried Dalton off presently to the Bird Boom. George went +with reluctance. This was not what he had come for. Becky, slim and +small, with her hair peaked up to a topknot, Becky in pale blue, Becky +as fair as her string of imitation pearls, Becky in the golden haze of +the softly illumined room, Becky, Becky Bannister—the name chimed in +his ears.</p> + +<p>Dalton had had some difficulty in getting away from Hamilton Hill.</p> + +<p>"It's my last night," Madge had said; "shall we go out in the garden and +watch the moon rise?"</p> + +<p>"Sorry," George had told her, "but I've promised Flora to take a fourth +hand at bridge."</p> + +<p>"And after that?" asked Madge softly.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Who is the new—little girl?"</p> + +<p>It was useless to pretend. "She's a beauty, rather, isn't she?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Georgie-Porgie, I wish you wouldn't."</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't what?"</p> + +<p>"Kiss the girls—and make them—cry——"<!-- Page 69 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You've never cried——"</p> + +<p>She laughed at that. "If I haven't it is because I know that afterwards +you always—run away."</p> + +<p>He admitted it. "One can't marry them all."</p> + +<p>"I wonder if you are ever serious," she told him, her chin in her hand.</p> + +<p>"I am always serious. That's what makes it—interesting——"</p> + +<p>"But the poor little—hearts?"</p> + +<p>"Some one has to teach, them," said George, "that it's a pretty +game——"</p> + +<p>"Will it be always a game—to you—Georgie?"</p> + +<p>"Who knows?" he said. "So far I've held trumps——"</p> + +<p>"Your conceit is colossal, but somehow you seem to get away with it." +She smiled and stood up. "I'm going to bed early. I have been losing my +beauty sleep lately, Georgie."</p> + +<p>He chose to be gallant. "You are not losing your beauty, if that's what +you mean."</p> + +<p>Her dinner gown was of the same shade of mauve that she had worn in the +afternoon. But it was of a material so sheer that the gold of her skin +seemed to shine through.</p> + +<p>"Good-night, Golden Girl," said Dalton, and kissed the tips of her +fingers as she stood on the stairs. Then he went off to join the others.</p> + +<p>Madge did not go to bed. She went out alone<!-- Page 70 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> and watched the moon rise. +Oscar Waterman's house was on a hill which gave a view of the whole +valley. Gradually under the moon the houses of Charlottesville showed +the outlines of the University, and far beyond the shadowy sweep of the +Blue Ridge. What a world it had been in the old days—great men had +ridden over these red roads in swaying carriages, Jefferson, Lafayette, +Washington himself.</p> + +<p>If she could only meet men like that. Men to whom life was more than a +game—a carnival. From the stone bench where she sat she had a view +through the long French windows of the three tables of bridge—there +were slender, restless girls, eager, elegant youths. "Perhaps they are +no worse than those who lived here before them," Madge's sense of +justice told her. "But isn't there something better?"</p> + +<p>From her window later, she saw Dalton's car flash out into the road. The +light wound down and down, and appeared at last upon the highway. It was +not the first time that George had played the game with another girl. +But he had always come back to her. She had often wondered why she let +him come. "Why do I let him?" she asked the moon.<!-- Page 71 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>III</h3><p>It really was a great moon. It shone through the windows of the Bird +Room at Huntersfield, wooing George out into the fragrant night. He +could hear voices on the lawn—young Paine's laugh—Becky's. Once when +he looked he saw them on the ridge, silhouetted against the golden sky. +They were dancing, and Randy's clear whistle, piping a modern tune, came +up to him, tantalizing him.</p> + +<p>But the Judge held him. It took him nearly an hour to get through with +the Bob-whites and the sandpipers, the wild turkeys, the ducks and the +wild geese. And long before that time George was bored to extinction. He +had little imagination. To him the Trumpeter was just a stuffed old +bird. He could not picture him as blowing his trumpet beside the moon, +or wearing a golden crown as in "The Seven Brothers." He had never heard +of "The Seven Brothers," and nobody in the world wore crowns except +kings. As for the old eagle, it is doubtful whether George had ever felt +the symbolism of his presence on a silver coin, or that he had ever +linked him in his heart with God.</p> + +<p>Then, suddenly, the whole world changed. Becky appeared on the +threshold.</p> + +<p>"Grandfather," she said, "Aunt Claudia says there is lemonade on the +lawn."</p> + +<p>"In a moment, my dear."<!-- Page 72 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p> + +<p>George rose hastily. "Don't let me keep you, Judge——"</p> + +<p>Becky advanced into the room. "Aren't the birds wonderful?"</p> + +<p>"They are," said George, seeing them wonderful for the first time.</p> + +<p>"I always feel," she said, "as if some time they will flap their wings +and fly away—on a night like this—the swans going first, and then the +ducks and geese, and last of all the little birds, trailing across the +moon——" Her hands fluttered to show them trailing. Becky used her +hands a great deal when she talked. Aunt Claudia deplored it as +indicating too little repose. The nuns, she felt, should have corrected +the habit. But the nuns had loved Becky's descriptive hands, poking, +emphasizing, and had let her alone.</p> + +<p>The three of them, the Judge and Becky and Dalton, went out together. +The little group which sat in the wide moonlighted space in front of the +house was dwarfed by the great trees which hung in masses of black +against the brilliant night. The white dresses of the women seemed +touched with silver.</p> + +<p>The lemonade was delicious, and Aunt Claudia forced herself to be +gracious. Caroline Paine was gracious without an effort. She liked +Dalton. Not in the same way, perhaps, that she liked Major<!-- Page 73 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> Prime, but +he was undoubtedly handsome, and of a world which wore lovely clothes +and did not have to count its pennies.</p> + +<p>Major Prime had little to say. He was content to sit there in the +fragrant night and listen to the rest. A year ago he had been jolted +over rough roads in an ambulance. There had been a moon and men +groaning. There had seemed to him something sinister about that white +night with its spectral shadows, and with the trenches of the enemy +wriggling like great serpents underground. The trail of the serpent was +still over the world. He had been caught but not killed. There was still +poison in his fangs!</p> + +<p>He spoke sharply, therefore, when Dalton said, "It was a great adventure +for a lot of fellows who went over——"</p> + +<p>"Don't," said the Major, and sat up. "Does it matter what took them? +<i>The thing that matters is how they came back</i>——"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"A thousand reasons took them over. Some of them went because they had +to, some of them because they wanted to. Some of them dramatized +themselves as heroes and hoped for an opportunity to demonstrate their +courage. Some of them were scared stiff, but went because of their +consciences, some of them wanted to fight and some of them<!-- Page 74 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> didn't, but +whatever the reason, <i>they went</i>. And now they are back, and it is much +more important to know what they think now about war than what they +thought about it when they were enlisted or drafted. If their baptism of +fire has made them hate cruelty and injustice, if it has opened their +eyes to the dangers of a dreaming idealism which refuses to see evil +until evil has had its way, if it has made them swear to purge America +of the things which has made Germany the slimy crawling enemy of the +universe, if they have come back feeling that God is in His Heaven but +that things can't be right with the world until we come to think in +terms of personal as well as of national righteousness—if they have +come back thus illumined, then we can concede to them their great +adventure. But if they have come back to forget that democracy is on +trial, that we have talked of it to other nations and do not know it +ourselves, if they have come back to let injustice or ignorance +rule—then they had better have died on the fields of France——"</p> + +<p>He stopped suddenly amid a startled silence. Not a sound from any of +them.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon," he laughed a bit awkwardly, "I didn't mean to +preach a sermon."</p> + +<p>"Don't spoil it, <i>please</i>," Aunt Claudia begged brokenly; "I wish more +men would speak out."</p> + +<p>"May I say this, then, before I stop? The future<!-- Page 75 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> of our country is in +the hands of the men who fought in France. On them must descend the +mantles of our great men, Washington, Lincoln, Roosevelt—we must walk +with these spirits if we love America——"</p> + +<p>"Do you wonder," Randy said, under his breath to Becky, "that his men +fought, and that they died for him?"</p> + +<p>She found her little handkerchief and wiped her eyes. "He's +a—perfect—darling," she whispered, and could say no more.</p> + +<p>Dalton was for the time eclipsed. He knew it and was not at ease. He was +glad when Mrs. Paine stood up. "I am sorry to tear myself away. But I +must. I can't be sure that Susie has made up the morning rolls. There's +a camp-meeting at Jessica, and she's lost the little mind that she +usually puts on her cooking."</p> + +<p>Randy and the Major went with her in the low carriage, with Rosalind +making good time towards the home stable, and with Nellie Custis +following with flapping ears.</p> + +<p>Dalton stayed on. The Judge urged him. "It's too lovely to go in," he +said; "what's your hurry?"</p> + +<p>Aunt Claudia, who was inexpressibly weary, felt that her father was +exceeding the bounds of necessary hospitality. She felt, too, that the +length of Dalton's first call was inexcusable. But she did<!-- Page 76 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> not go to +bed. As long as Becky was there, she should stay to chaperon her. With a +sense of martyrdom upon her, Mrs. Beaufort sat stiffly in her chair.</p> + +<p>The Judge was talkative and brilliant, glad of a new and apparently +attentive listener. Becky had little to say. She sat with her small feet +set primly on the ground. Her hands were folded in her lap. Dalton was +used to girls who lounged or who hung fatuously on his words, as if they +had set themselves to please him.</p> + +<p>But Becky had no arts. She was frank and unaffected, and apparently not +unconscious of Dalton's charms. The whole thing was, he felt, going to +be rather stimulating.</p> + +<p>When at last he left them, he asked the Judge if he might come again. +"I'd like to look at those birds by daylight."</p> + +<p>Becky, giving him her hand, hoped that he might come. She had been all +the evening in a sort of waking dream. Even when Dalton had been silent, +she had been intensely aware of his presence, and when he had talked, he +had seemed to speak to her alone, although his words were for others.</p> + +<p>"I saw you dancing," he said, before he dropped her hand.</p> + +<p>"Oh, did you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."<!-- Page 77 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p> + +<p>Back of the house the dogs barked.</p> + +<p>"Will you dance some time with me?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, could I?"</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>A moment later he was gone. The light of his motor flashed down the +hills like a falling star.</p> + +<p>"I wonder what made the dogs bark," the Judge said as they went in.</p> + +<p>"They probably thought it was morning," was Mrs. Beaufort's retort, as +she preceded Becky up the stairs.</p> + + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>The dogs had barked because Randy after a quick drive home had walked +back to Huntersfield.</p> + +<p>"Look here," he burst out as he and the Major had stood on the steps of +the Schoolhouse, "do you like him?"</p> + +<p>"Who? Dalton?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"He's not a man's man," the Major said, "and he doesn't care in the +least what you and I think of him."</p> + +<p>"Doesn't he?"</p> + +<p>"No, and he doesn't care for—stuffed birds—and he doesn't care for the +Judge, and he doesn't care for Mrs. Beaufort——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you needn't rub it in. I know what he's after."<!-- Page 78 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Do you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes——"</p> + +<p>The Major whistled softly a lilting tune. He had been called "The +Whistling Major" by his men and they had liked his clear piping.</p> + +<p>He stopped abruptly. "Well, you can't build fences around lovely little +ladies——"</p> + +<p>"I wish I could. I'd like to shut her up in a tower——"</p> + +<p>They left it there. It was really not a thing to be talked about. They +both knew it, and stopped in time.</p> + +<p>Randy, climbing the outside stairs, presently, to his bedroom, turned at +the upper landing to survey the scene spread out before him. The hills +were steeped in silence. The world was black and gold—the fragrance of +the honeysuckle came up from the hedge below. On such a night as this +one could not sleep. He felt himself restless, emotionally keyed up. He +descended the stairs. Then, suddenly, he found himself taking the trail +back towards Huntersfield.</p> + +<p>He walked easily, following the path which led across the hills. The +distance was not great, and he had often walked it. He loved a night +like this. As he came to a stretch of woodland, he went under the trees +with the thrill of one who enters an enchanted forest.<!-- Page 79 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p> + +<p>An owl hooted overhead. A whip-poor-will in a distant swamp sounded his +plaintive call.</p> + +<p>Randy could not have analyzed the instinct which sent him back to Becky. +It was not in the least to spy upon her, nor upon Dalton. He only knew +that he could not sleep, that something drew him on and on, as Romeo was +drawn perchance to Capulet's orchard.</p> + +<p>He came out from under the trees to other hills. He was still on his own +land. These acres had belonged to his father, his grandfather, his +great-grandfather, and back of that to a certain gallant gentleman who +had come to Virginia with grants from the King. There had been, too, a +great chief, whose blood was in his veins, and who had roamed through +this land before Europe knew it. Powhatan was a rare old name to link +with one's own, and Randy had a Virginian's pride in his savage strain.</p> + +<p>So, as he went along, he saw canoes upon the shining river. He saw tall +forms with feathers blowing. He saw fires on the heights.</p> + +<p>The hill in front of him dipped to a little stream. He and Becky had +once waded in that stream together. How white her feet had been on the +brown stones. His life, as he thought of it, was bound up in memories of +Becky. She had come down from school for blissful week-ends and +holi<!-- Page 80 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span>days, and she and Randy had tramped over the hills and through the +pine woods, finding wild-flowers in the spring, arbutus, flushing to +beauty in its hidden bed, blood-root, hepatica, wind-flowers, violets in +a purple glory; finding in the summer wild roses, dewberries, +blackberries, bees and butterflies, the cool shade of the little groves, +the shine and shimmer of the streams; finding in the fall a golden +stillness and the redness of Virginia Creeper. They had ridden on +horseback over the clay roads, they had roamed the stubble with a pack +of wiry hounds at their heels, they had gathered Christmas greens, they +had sung carols, they had watched the Old Year out and the New Year in, +and their souls had been knit in a comradeship which had been a very +fine thing indeed for a boy like Randy and a girl like Becky.</p> + +<p>There had been, too, about their friendship a rather engaging +seriousness. They had talked a great deal of futures. They had dreamed +together very great dreams. Their dreams had, of course, changed from +time to time. There had been that dream of Becky's when she first went +to the convent, that she wanted some day to be a nun like Sister +Loretto. The fact that it would involve a change of faith was thrashed +over flamingly by Randy. "It is all very well for an old woman, Becky. +But you'd hate it."<!-- Page 81 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p> + +<p>Becky had been sure that she would not hate it. "You don't know how +lovely she looks in the chapel."</p> + +<p>"Well, there are other ways to look lovely."</p> + +<p>"But it would be nice to be—good."</p> + +<p>"You are good enough."</p> + +<p>"I am not really, Randy. Sister Loretto says her prayers all day——"</p> + +<p>"How often do you say yours?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, at night. And in the mornings—sometimes——"</p> + +<p>"That's enough for anybody. If you say them hard enough once, what more +can the Lord ask?"</p> + +<p>He had been a rather fierce figure as he had flung his questions, but he +had not swerved her in the least from her thought of herself as a novice +in a white veil, and later as a full-fledged sister, with beads and a +black head-dress.</p> + +<p>This dream had, in time, been supplanted by one imposed upon her by the +ambitions of a much-admired classmate.</p> + +<p>"Maude and I are going to be doctors," Becky had announced as she and +Randy had walked over the fields with the hounds at their heels. "It's a +great opportunity for women, Randy, and we shall study in Philadelphia."</p> + +<p>"Shall you like cutting people up?" he had demanded brutally.<!-- Page 82 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p> + +<p>She had shuddered. "I shan't have to cut them up very much, shall I?"</p> + +<p>"You'll have to cut them up a lot. All doctors do, and sometimes they +are dead."</p> + +<p>She had argued a bit shakily after that, and that night she had slept +badly. The next morning they had gone over it again. "You fainted when +the kitten's paw was crushed in the door."</p> + +<p>"It was dreadful——"</p> + +<p>"And you cried when I cut my foot with the hatchet and we were out in +the woods. And if you are going to be a doctor you'll have to look at +people who are crushed and cut——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, please, Randy——"</p> + +<p>Three days of such intensive argument had settled it. Becky decided that +it was, after all, better to be an authoress. "There was Louisa Alcott, +you know, Randy."</p> + +<p>He was scornful. "Women weren't made for that—to sit in an attic and +write. Why do you keep talking about doing things, Becky? You'll get +married when you grow up and that will be the end of it."</p> + +<p>"I am not going to get married, Randy."</p> + +<p>"Well, of course you will, and I shall marry and be a lawyer like my +father, and perhaps I'll go to Congress."<!-- Page 83 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p> + +<p>Later he had a leaning towards the ministry. "If I preached I could make +the world better, Becky."</p> + +<p>That was the time when she had come down for Hallowe'en, and it was on +Sunday evening that they had talked it over in the Bird Room at +Huntersfield. There had been a smouldering fire on the wide hearth, and +the Trumpeter Swan had stared down at them with shining eyes. They had +been to church that morning and the text had been, "The harvest is past, +the summer is ended, and we are not saved."</p> + +<p>"I want to make the world better, Becky," Randy had said in the still +twilight, and Becky had answered in an awed tone, "It would be so +splendid to see you in the pulpit, Randy, wearing a gown like Dr. +Hodge."</p> + +<p>But the pulpit to Randy had meant more than that. And the next day when +they walked through the deserted mill town, he had said, "Everybody is +dead who lived here, and once they were alive like us."</p> + +<p>She had shivered, "I don't like to think of it."</p> + +<p>"It's a thing we've all got to think of. I like to remember that Thomas +Jefferson came riding through and stopped at the mill and talked to the +miller."</p> + +<p>"How dreadful to know that they are—dead."<!-- Page 84 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Mother says that men like Jefferson never die. Their souls go marching +on."</p> + +<p>The stream which ground the county's corn was at their feet. "But what +about the miller?" Becky had asked; "does his soul march, too?"</p> + +<p>Randy, with the burden of yesterday's sermon upon him, hoped that the +miller was saved.</p> + +<p>He smiled now as he thought of the rigidness of his boyish theology. To +him in those days Heaven was Heaven and Hell was Hell.</p> + +<p>The years at school had brought doubt—apostasy. Then on the fields of +France, Randy's God had come back to him—the Christ who bound up +wounds, who gave a cup of cold water, who fought with flaming sword +against the battalions of brutality, who led up and up that white +company who gave their lives for a glorious Cause. Here, indeed, was a +God of righteousness and of justice, of tenderness and purity. To other +men than Randy, Christ had in a very personal and specific sense been +born across the sea.</p> + +<p>It was in France, too, that the dream had come to him of a future of +creative purpose. He had always wanted to write. Looking back over his +University days, he was aware of a formative process which had led +towards this end. It was there he had communed with the spirit of a +tragic muse. There had been all the traditions of Poe and<!-- Page 85 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> his +tempestuous youth—and Randy, passing the door which had once opened and +closed on that dark figure, had felt the thrill of a living +personality—of one who spoke still in lines of ineffable +beauty—"_Banners yellow, glorious, golden, On its roof did float and +flow_——" and again "_A dirge for her the doubly dead, in that she died +so young_——" with the gayety and gloom and grandeur of those chiming, +rhyming, tolling bells—"_Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic +rhyme_——" and that "_grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly +shore_——"</p> + +<p>"Do you think I could write?" Randy had asked one of his teachers, +coming verse-saturated to the question.</p> + +<p>The man had looked at him with somber eyes. "You have an ear for it—and +an eye—— But genius pays a price."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"It shows its heart to the world, dissects its sacred thoughts, has no +secrets——"</p> + +<p>"But think of leaving a thing behind you like—'To Helen——'"</p> + +<p>"Do you think the knowledge that he had written a few bits of +incomparable verse helped Poe to live? If he had invented a pill or a +headache powder, he would have slept on down and have dined from gold +dishes."<!-- Page 86 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'd rather write 'Ulalume' than dine from gold dishes."</p> + +<p>"You think that now. But in twenty years you will sigh for a—feather +bed——"</p> + +<p>"You don't believe that."</p> + +<p>There had come a lighting of the somber eyes. "My dear fellow, if you, +by the grace of God, have it in you to write, what I believe won't have +anything to do with it. You will crucify yourself for the sake of a +line—starve for the love of a rhythm."</p> + +<p>Randy had not yet starved for love of a rhythm, but he had lost sleep +during those nights in France, trying to put into words the things that +gripped his soul. There had been beauty as well as horror in those days. +What a world it had been, a world of men—a striving, eager group, +raised for the moment above sordidness, above self——</p> + +<p>He had not found verse his medium, although he had drunk eagerly of the +golden cups which others had to offer him. But his prose had gained +because of his belief in beauty of structure and of singing lovely +words. As yet he had nothing to show for his pains, but practice had +given strength to his pen—he felt that some day with the right theme he +might do—wonders——</p> + +<p>The trees had again closed in about him. A shadow flitted by—a fox, +unafraid and in search of a belated meal. Randy remembered the days<!-- Page 87 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> +when he and Becky had thought that there might be wolves in the forest. +He laughed a little, recalling Becky's words. "Sister Loretto has the +feeling that the world is a dark forest, and that I am Red Riding Hood." +Was it that which had brought him back? Was there, indeed, a Wolf?</p> + +<p>When he reached Huntersfield, and the dogs barked, he had feared for the +moment discovery. He was saved, however, by the friendly silence which +followed that first note of alarm. The dogs knew him and followed him +with wagging tails as he skirted the lawn and came at last to the gate +which had closed a few minutes before on Dalton's car. He saw the Judge +go in, Aunt Claudia, Becky—shadowy figures between the white pillars.</p> + +<p>Then, after a moment, a room on the second floor was illumined. The +shade was up and he saw the interior as one sees the scene of a play. +There was the outline of a rose-colored canopy, the gleam of a mirror, +the shine of polished wood, and in the center, Becky in pale blue, with +a candle in her hand.</p> + +<p>And as he saw her there, Randolph knew why he had come. To worship at a +shrine. That was where Becky belonged—high above him. The flame of the +candle was a sacred fire.<!-- Page 88 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h3> + +<h2>RAIN AND RANDY'S SOUL</h2> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>Madge came down the next morning dressed for her journey. "Oscar and +Flora are going to take me as far as Washington in their car. They want +you to make a fourth, Georgie."</p> + +<p>Dalton was eating alone. Breakfast was served at small tables on the +west terrace. There was a flagged stone space with wide awnings +overhead. Except that it overlooked a formal garden instead of streets, +one might have been in a Parisian café. The idea was Oscar's. Dalton had +laughed at him. "You'll be a <i>boulevardier</i>, Oscar, until you die."</p> + +<p>Oscar had been sulky. "Well, how do you want me to do it?"</p> + +<p>"Breakfast in bed—or in a breakfast room with things hot on the +sideboard, luncheon, out here on the terrace when the weather permits, +tea in the garden, dinner in great state in the big dining-room."</p> + +<p>"I suppose you think you know all about it.<!-- Page 89 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> But the thing that I am +always asking myself is, were you born to it, Dalton?"</p> + +<p>"I've been around a lot," Dalton evaded. "Of course if you don't want me +to be perfectly frank with you, I won't."</p> + +<p>"Be as frank as you please," Oscar had said, "but it's your air of +knowing everything that gets me."</p> + +<p>Dalton's breakfast was a hearty one—bacon and two eggs, and a pile of +buttered toast. There had been a melon to begin with, and there was a +pot of coffee. He was eating with an appetite when Madge came down.</p> + +<p>"I had mine in bed," Madge said, as George rose and pulled out a chair +for her. "Isn't this the beastliest fashion, having little tables?"</p> + +<p>"That's what I told Oscar."</p> + +<p>"Oscar and Flora will never have too much of restaurants. They belong to +the class which finds all that it wants in a jazz band and scrambled +eggs at Jack's at one o'clock in the morning. Georgie, in my next +incarnation, I hope there won't be any dansants or night frolics. I'd +like a May-pole in the sunshine and a lot of plump and rosy women and +bluff and hearty men for my friends—with a fine old farmhouse and +myself in the dairy making butter——"</p> + +<p>George smiled at her. "I should have fancied<!-- Page 90 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> you an Egyptian princess, +with twin serpents above your forehead instead of that turban."</p> + +<p>"Heavens, no. I want no ardours and no Anthonys. Tell me about the new +little girl, Georgie."</p> + +<p>"How do you know there is a—new little girl?"</p> + +<p>"I know your tricks and your manners, and the way you managed to meet +her at the Horse Show. And you saw her last night."</p> + +<p>"How do you know?"</p> + +<p>"By the light in your eyes."</p> + +<p>"Do I show it like that? Well, she's rather—not to be talked about, +Madge——"</p> + +<p>She was not in the least affronted. "So that's it? You always begin that +way—putting them on a pedestal—— If you'd only keep one of us there +it might do you good."</p> + +<p>"Which one—you?" he leaned a little forward.</p> + +<p>"No." Indignation stirred within her. How easy it was for him to play +the game. And last night she had lain long awake, listening for the +sound of his motor. She had seen the moon set, and spectral dawn steal +into the garden. "No, I'm running away. I am tired of drifting always on +the tides of other people's inclination. We have stayed down here where +it is hot because Oscar and Flora like it, yet there's all the coolness +of the North Shore waiting for us——"</p> + +<p>She rose and walked to the edge of the terrace.<!-- Page 91 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> The garden was splashed +now with clear color, purple and rose and gold. The air was oppressive, +with a gathering haze back of the hills.</p> + +<p>"I'm tired of it. Some day I'm going to flap my wings and fly away where +you won't be able to find me, Georgie. I'd rather be a wild gull to the +wind-swept sky, than a tame pigeon—to eat from your hand——" She said +it lightly; this was not a moment for plaintiveness.</p> + +<p>There was a dancing light in his eyes. "You're a golden pheasant—and +you'll never fly so far that I shan't find you."</p> + +<p>Oscar arriving at this moment saved a retort. "Flora's not well. We +can't motor up, Madge."</p> + +<p>"I am sorry but I can take a train."</p> + +<p>"There's one at three. I don't see why you are going," irritably; "Flora +won't stay here long after you leave."</p> + +<p>"I am not as necessary as you think, Oscar. There are plenty of others, +and I must go——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, very well. Andrews will drive you down."</p> + +<p>"I'll drive her myself," said Dalton.</p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>Aunt Claudia was going to Washington also on the three o'clock train. +She had had a wireless from Truxton who had sailed from Brest and would +arrive at New York within the week.<!-- Page 92 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Of course you'll go and meet him, Aunt Claudia," Becky had said; "I'll +help you to get your things ready."</p> + +<p>Aunt Claudia, quite white and inwardly shaken by the thought of the +happiness which was on its way to her, murmured her thanks.</p> + +<p>Becky, divining something of the tumult which was beneath that outward +show of serenity, patted the cushions of the couch in Mrs. Beaufort's +bedroom. "Lie down here, you darling dear. It was such a surprise, +wasn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Well, my knees are weak," Mrs. Beaufort admitted.</p> + +<p>The nuns had taught Becky nice ways and useful arts, so she folded and +packed under Aunt Claudia's eye and was much applauded.</p> + +<p>"Most girls in these days," said Mrs. Beaufort, "throw things in. Last +summer I stayed at a house where the girls sat on their trunks to shut +them, and sent parcel-post packages after them of the things they had +left out."</p> + +<p>"Sister Loretto says that I am not naturally tidy, so she keeps me at +it. I used to weep my eyes out when she'd send me back to my room—— +But crying doesn't do any good with Sister Loretto."</p> + +<p>"Crying is never any good," said Aunt Claudia. She was of Spartan mold. +"Crying only weakens.<!-- Page 93 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> When things are so bad that you must cry, then do +it where the world can't see."</p> + +<p>Becky found herself thrilled by the thought of Aunt Claudia crying in +secret. She was a martial little soul in spite of her distinctly +feminine type of mind.</p> + +<p>Aunt Claudia's lingerie, chastely French-embroidered in little scallops, +with fresh white ribbons run in, was laid out on the bed in neat piles. +There was also a gray corduroy dressing-gown, lined with silk.</p> + +<p>"This will be too warm," Becky said; "please let me put in my white +crepe house-coat. It will look so pretty, Aunt Claudia, when Truxton +comes in the morning to kiss you——"</p> + +<p>Aunt Claudia had been holding on to her emotions tightly. The thought of +that morning kiss which for three dreadful years had been denied +her—for three dreadful years she had not known whether Truxton would +ever breeze into her room before breakfast with his "Mornin' Mums." She +felt that if she allowed herself any softness or yielding at this moment +she would spoil her spotless record of self-control and weep in maudlin +fashion in Becky's arms.</p> + +<p>So in self-defense, she spoke with coldness. "I never wear borrowed +clothes, my dear."</p> + +<p>Becky, somewhat dishevelled and warm from her<!-- Page 94 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> exertions, sat down to +argue it. "I haven't had it on. And I'd love to give it to you——"</p> + +<p>"My dear, of course not. It's very generous of you—very——" Aunt +Claudia buried her face suddenly in the pillows and sobbed stormily.</p> + +<p>Becky stood up. "Oh, Aunt Claudia," she gasped. Then with the +instinctive knowledge that silence was best, she gave her aunt a little +pat on the shoulder and crept from the room.</p> + +<p>She crept back presently and packed the crepe house-coat with the other +things. Then, since Aunt Claudia made no sign, she went down-stairs to +the kitchen.</p> + +<p>Mandy, the cook, who had a complexion like an old copper cent, and who +wore a white Dutch cap in place of the traditional bandana, was cutting +corn from the cob for fritters.</p> + +<p>"If you'll make a cup of tea," Becky said, "I'll take it up to Aunt +Claudia. She's lying down."</p> + +<p>"Is you goin' wid her?" Mandy asked.</p> + +<p>"To New York? No. She'll want Truxton all to herself, Mandy."</p> + +<p>"Well, I hopes she has him," Mandy husked an ear of corn viciously. "I +ain' got my boy. He hol's his haid so high, he ain' got no time fo' his +ol' Mammy."</p> + +<p>"You know you are proud of him, Mandy."</p> + +<p>"I ain' sayin' I is, and I ain' sayin' I isn't.<!-- Page 95 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> But dat Daisy down the +road, she ac' like she own him."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Daisy? Is he in love with her?"</p> + +<p>"Love," with withering scorn, "_love_? Ain' he got somefin' bettah to do +than lovin' when he's jes' fit and fought fo' Uncle Sam?" She beat the +eggs for her batter as if she had Daisy's head under the whip. "He fit +and fought fo' Uncle Sam," she repeated, "and now he comes home and +camps hisse'f on Daisy's do'-step."</p> + +<p>Against the breeze of such high indignation, any argument would be blown +away. Becky changed the subject hastily. "Mandy," she asked, "are you +making corn fritters?"</p> + +<p>"I is——"</p> + +<p>"What else for lunch?"</p> + +<p>"An omlec——"</p> + +<p>"Mandy, I'm so hungry I could eat a house——"</p> + +<p>"You look it," Mandy told her; "effen I was you, I'd eat and git fat."</p> + +<p>"It isn't fashionable to be fat, Mandy."</p> + +<p>"Skeletums may be in style," said Mandy, breaking eggs for the omelette, +"but I ain' ever found good looks in bones."</p> + +<p>"Don't you like <i>my</i> bones, Mandy?"</p> + +<p>"You ain't got none, honey."</p> + +<p>"You called me a skeleton."</p> + +<p>The kettle boiled. "Effen I called you a skele<!-- Page 96 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>tum," Mandy said as she +placed a cup and saucer on a small napkined tray, "my min' was on dat-ar +Daisy. You ain' got no bones, Miss Becky. But Daisy, she's got a neck +like a picked tukkey, and her shoulder-blades stan' out like wings."</p> + + +<h3>III</h3><p>Becky went to the train with her aunt. George Dalton drove Madge down +and passed the old surrey on the way.</p> + +<p>Later Madge met Mrs. Beaufort and Becky on the station platform, and it +was when Dalton settled her in her chair in the train that she said, +"She's a darling. Keep her on a pedestal, Georgie——"</p> + +<p>"You're a good sport," he told her; "you know you'd hate it if I did."</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't. I'd like to think of you on your knees——"</p> + +<p>It was time for him to leave her. She gave him her hand. "Until we meet +again, Georgie."</p> + +<p>Her eyes were cool and smiling. Yet later as she looked out on the +flying hills, there was trouble in them. There had been a time when +Dalton had seemed to square with her girlish dreams.</p> + +<p>And now, there was no one to warn this other girl with dreams in her +eyes. George was not a vulture, he was simply a marauding bee——!<!-- Page 97 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p> + +<p>Becky was already in the surrey when George came back, and Calvin was +gathering up his reins.</p> + +<p>"Oh, look here, I wish you'd let me drive you up, Miss Bannister," +George said, sparkling; "there's no reason, is there, why you must ride +alone?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no."</p> + +<p>"Then you will?"</p> + +<p>Her hesitation was slight. "I should like it."</p> + +<p>"And can't we drive about a bit? You'll show me the old places? It is +such a perfect day. I hope you haven't anything else to do."</p> + +<p>She had not. "I'll go with Mr. Dalton, Calvin."</p> + +<p>Calvin, who had watched over more than one generation of Bannister +girls, and knew what was expected of them, made a worried protest.</p> + +<p>"Hit's gwine rain, Miss Becky."</p> + +<p>Dalton dismissed him with a wave of the hand. "I won't let her get wet," +he lifted Becky from the surrey and walked with her to his car.</p> + +<p>Kemp, who had come down in the house truck with Madge's trunks, stood +stiff and straight by the door. Being off with Miss MacVeigh he was on +with Miss Bannister. Girls might come and girls might go in his master's +life, but Kemp had an air of going on forever.</p> + +<p>When he had seated Becky, Dalton stepped back and gave hurried +instructions.<!-- Page 98 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p> + +<p>"At four, Kemp," he said, "or if you are later, wait until we come."</p> + +<p>"Very well, sir." Kemp stood statuesquely at attention until the car +whirled on. Then he sat down on the station platform, and talked to the +agent. He was no longer a servant but a man.</p> + +<p>As the big car whirled up the hill, Becky, looking out upon the familiar +landscape, saw it with new eyes. There was a light upon it which had +never been for her on sea or land. She had not believed that in all the +world there could be such singing, blossoming radiance.</p> + +<p>They drove through the old mill town and the stream was bright under the +willows. They stopped on the bridge for a moment to view the shining +bend.</p> + +<p>"There are old chimneys under the vines," Becky said; "doesn't it seem +dreadful to think of all those dead houses——"</p> + +<p>George gave a quick turn. "Why think of them? You were not made to think +of dead houses, you were made to live."</p> + +<p>On and on they went, up the hills and down into the valleys, between +rail fences which were a riot of honeysuckle, and with the roads in +places rough under their wheels, with the fields gold with stubble, the +sky a faint blue, with that thick look on the horizon.<!-- Page 99 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p> + +<p>George talked a great deal about himself. Perhaps if he had listened +instead to Becky he might have learned things which would have surprised +him. But he really had very interesting things to tell, and Becky was +content to sit in silence and watch his hands on the wheel. They were +small hands, and for some tastes a bit too plump and well-kept, but +Becky found no fault with them. She felt that she could sit there +forever, and watch his hands and listen to his clear quick voice.</p> + +<p>At last George glanced at the little clock which hung in front of him. +"Look here," he said, "I told Kemp to have tea for us at a place which I +found once when I walked in the woods. A sort of summer house which +looks towards Monticello. Do you know it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Pavilion Hill. It's on Randy Paine's plantation—King's Crest."</p> + +<p>"Then you've been there?"</p> + +<p>"A thousand times with Randy."</p> + +<p>"I thought it was Waterman's. We shan't be jailed as trespassers, shall +we?"</p> + +<p>"No. But how could you tell your man to have tea for us when you didn't +know that I'd be—willing?"</p> + +<p>"But I did—know——"</p> + +<p>A little silence, then "How?"<!-- Page 100 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Because when I put my mind on a thing I usually get my way."</p> + +<p>She sat very still. He bent down to her. "You're not angry?"</p> + +<p>"No." Her cheeks were flaming. She was thrilled by his masterfulness. No +man had ever spoken to her like that. She was, indeed, having her first +experience of ardent, impassioned pursuit. So might young Juliet have +given ear to Romeo. And if Romeo had been a Georgie-Porgie, then alas, +poor Juliet!</p> + +<p>The Pavilion had been built a hundred and fifty years before of cedar +logs. There had been a time when Thomas Jefferson had walked over to +drink not tea, but something stronger with dead and gone Paines. Its +four sides were open, but the vines formed a curtain which gave within a +soft gloom. They approached it from the east side, getting out of their +car and climbing the hill from the roadside. They found Kemp with +everything ready. The kettle was boiling, and the tea measured into the +Canton teapot which stood in its basket——</p> + +<p>"Aren't you glad you came?" Dalton asked. "Kemp, when you've poured the +tea, you can look after the car."</p> + +<p>The wind, rising, tore the dry leaves from the trees. Kemp, exiled, as +it were, from the Pavilion,<!-- Page 101 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> sat in the big car and watched the +gathering blackness. Finally he got out and put up the curtains. +Everything would be ready when Dalton came. He knew better, however, +than to warn his master. George was apt to be sharp when his plans were +spoiled.</p> + +<p>And now throughout the wooded slope there was the restless movement of +nature disturbed in the midst of peaceful dreaming. The trees bent and +whispered. The birds, flying low, called sharp warnings. A small dog, +spurning the leaves, as she followed a path up the west side of the +hill, stopped suddenly and looked back at the man who followed her.</p> + +<p>"We'll make the Pavilion if we can, old girl," he told her, and as if +she understood, she went up and up in a straight line, disregarding the +temptation of side tours into bush and bramble.</p> + +<p>George and Becky had finished their tea. There had been some rather +delectable sweet biscuit which Kemp kept on hand for such occasions, and +there was a small round box of glacé nuts, which George had insisted +that Becky must keep. The box was of blue silk set off by gold lace and +small pink roses.</p> + +<p>"Blue is your color," George had said as he presented it.</p> + +<p>"That's what Randy says."<!-- Page 102 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You are always talking of Randy."</p> + +<p>She looked her surprise. "I've always known him."</p> + +<p>"Is he in love with you?"</p> + +<p>She set down the box and looked at him. "Randy is only a boy. I am very +fond of him. But we aren't either of us—silly."</p> + +<p>She brought the last sentence out with such scorn that George had a +moment of startled amaze.</p> + +<p>Then, recovering, he said with a smile, "Is being in love silly?"</p> + +<p>"I think it's rather sacred——"</p> + +<p>The word threw him back upon himself. Love was, you understand, to +George, a game. And here was Becky acting as if it were a ritual.</p> + +<p>Yet the novelty of her point of view made her seem more than ever +adorable. In his heart he found himself saying, "Oh, you lovely, lovely +little thing."</p> + +<p>But he did not say it aloud. Indeed he, quite unaccountably, found +himself unable to say anything, and while he hesitated, there charged up +the west hill a panting dog with flapping ears. At the arched opening of +the Pavilion she paused and wagged a tentative question.</p> + +<p>"It's Nellie Custis——" Becky rose and ran towards her. "Where's your +master, darling? <i>Randy</i>——"<!-- Page 103 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p> + +<p>In response to her call came an eerie cry—the old war cry of the Indian +chiefs. Then young Paine came running up. "Becky! Here? There's going to +be a storm. You better get home——"</p> + +<p>He stopped short. Dalton was standing by the folding table.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Paine," he said, with ease. "We're playing 'Babes in the Wood.'"</p> + +<p>"You seem very comfortable," Randy was as stiff as a wooden tobacco +sign.</p> + +<p>"We are," Becky said. "Mr. Dalton waved his wand like the Arabian +nights——"</p> + +<p>"My man did it," said Dalton; "he's down there in the car."</p> + +<p>Randy felt a sense of surging rage. The Pavilion was his. It was old and +vine-covered, and hallowed by a thousand memories. And here was Dalton +trespassing with his tables and chairs and his Canton teapot. What right +had George Dalton to bring a Canton teapot on another man's acres?</p> + +<p>Becky was pouring tea for him. "Two lumps, Randy?"</p> + +<p>"I don't want any tea," he said ungraciously. His eyes were appraising +the flame of her cheeks, the light in her eyes. What had Dalton been +saying? "I don't want any tea. And there's a storm coming."</p> + +<p>All her life Becky had been terrified in a storm.<!-- Page 104 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> She had cowered and +shivered at the first flash of lightning, at the first rush of wind, at +the first roll of thunder. And now she sat serene, while the trees waved +despairing arms to a furious sky, while blackness settled over the +earth, while her ears were assailed by the noise of a thousand guns.</p> + +<p>What had come over her? More than anything else, the thing that struck +against Randy's heart was this lack of fear in Becky!</p> + + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>Of course it was Dalton who took Becky home. There had been a sharp +summons to Kemp, who came running up with raincoats, a rush for the car, +a hurried "Won't you come with us, Randy?" from Becky, and Randy's curt +refusal, and then the final insult from Dalton.</p> + +<p>"Kemp will get you home, Paine, when he takes the tea things."</p> + +<p>Randy wanted to throw something after him—preferably a tomahawk—as +Dalton went down the hill, triumphantly, shielding Becky from the +elements.</p> + +<p>He watched until a curtain of rain shut them out, but he heard the roar +of the motor cutting through the clamor of the storm.</p> + +<p>"Well, they're off, sir," said Kemp cheerfully.</p> + +<p>He was packing the Canton teapot in its basket and was folding up the +chairs and tables. Randy<!-- Page 105 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> had a sense of outrage. Here he was, a +Randolph Paine of King's Crest, left behind in the rain with a man who +had his mind on—teapots—— He stood immovable in the arched opening, +his arms folded, and with the rain beating in upon him.</p> + +<p>"You'll get wet," Kemp reminded him; "it's better on this side, sir."</p> + +<p>"I don't mind the rain. I won't melt; I've had two years in France."</p> + +<p>"You have, sir?" something in Kemp's voice made Randy turn and look at +him. The little man had his arms full of biscuit boxes, and he was +gazing at Randy with a light in his eyes which had not been for Dalton.</p> + +<p>"I had three years myself. And the best of my life, sir."</p> + +<p>Randy nodded. "A lot of us feel that way."</p> + +<p>"The fighting," said Kemp, "was something awful. But it was—big—and +after it things seem a bit small, sir." He drew a long breath and came +back to his Canton teapot and his folding table and his plans for +departure.</p> + +<p>"I'll be glad to take you in the little car, Mr. Paine."</p> + +<p>"No," said Randy; "no, thank you, Kemp. I'll wait here until the storm +is over."</p> + +<p>Kemp, with a black rubber cape buttoned about his shoulders and standing +out over his load like a<!-- Page 106 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> lady's hoopskirts, bobbed down the path and +was gone.</p> + +<p>Randy was glad to be alone. He was glad to get wet, he was glad of the +roar and of the tumult which matched the tumult in his soul.</p> + +<p>Somehow he had never dreamed of this—that somebody would come into +Becky's life and take her away——</p> + +<p>Nellie Custis shivered and whined. She hated thunder-storms. Randy sat +down on the step and she crept close to him. He laid his hand on her +head and fear left her—as fear had left Becky in the presence of +Dalton.</p> + +<p>After that the boy and the dog sat like statues, looking out, and in +those tense and terrible moments a new spirit was born in Randolph +Paine. Hitherto he had let life bring him what it would. He had scarcely +dared hope that it would bring him Becky. But now he knew that if he +lost her he would face—chaos——</p> + +<p>Well, he would not lose her. Or if he did, it would not be to let her +marry a man like Dalton. Surely she wouldn't. She <i>couldn't</i>—— But +there had been that light in her eyes, that flame in her cheek—that +lack of fear—Dalton's air of assurance, the way she had turned to him.</p> + +<p>"Oh, God," he said suddenly, out loud, "don't let Dalton have her."<!-- Page 107 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p> + +<p>He was shaken by an emotion which bent his head to his knees. Nellie +Custis pressed close against him and whined.</p> + +<p>"He shan't have her, Nellie. He shan't——"</p> + +<p>He burned with the thought of Dalton's look of triumph. Dalton who had +carried Becky off, and had left him with Kemp and a Canton teapot.</p> + +<p>He recalled Kemp's words. "After it things seem a bit small, sir."</p> + +<p>Well, it shouldn't be small for him. It had seemed so big—over there. +So easy to—carry on.</p> + +<p>If he only had a fighting chance. If he had only a half of Dalton's +money. A little more time in which to get on his feet.</p> + +<p>But in the meantime here was Dalton—with his money, his motors, and his +masterfulness. And his look of triumph——</p> + +<p>In a sudden fierce reaction he sprang to his feet. He stood in the +doorway as if defying the future. "Nobody shall take her away from me," +he said, "she's mine——"</p> + +<p>His arms were folded over his chest, his wet black locks almost hid his +eyes. So might some young savage have stood in the long ago, sending his +challenge forth to those same hills.<!-- Page 108 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h3> + +<h2>LITTLE SISTER</h2> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>It is one thing, however, to fling a challenge to the hills, and another +to live up to the high moment. Looking at it afterwards in cold blood, +Randy was forced to admit that his chances of beating George Dalton in a +race for Becky were small.</p> + +<p>There seemed some slight hope, however, in the fact that Becky was a +Bannister and ought to know a gentleman when she saw one.</p> + +<p>"And Dalton's a—a bounder," said Randy to Nellie Custis.</p> + +<p>Nellie Custis, who was as blue-blooded as any Bannister, cocked a +sympathetic ear. Cocking an ear with Nellie was a weighty matter. Her +ears were big and unmanageable. When she got them up, she kept them +there for some time. It was a rather intriguing habit, as it gave her an +air of eager attention which wooed confidence.</p> + +<p>"He's a bounder," said Randy as if that settled it.</p> + +<p>But it did not settle it in the least. A man with an Apollo head may not +be a gentleman under his<!-- Page 109 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> skin, but how are you to prove it? The world, +spurning Judy O'Grady, sanctions the Colonel's lady, and their +sisterhood becomes socially negligible. Randy should have known that he +could not sweep George Dalton away with a word. Perhaps he did know it, +but he did not care to admit it.</p> + +<p>He and Nellie Custis were in the garage. It had once been a barn, but +the boarders had bought cars, so there was now the smell of gasoline +where there had once been the sweet scent of hay. And intermittently the +air was rent with puffs and snorts and shrieks which drowned the music +of that living chorus which has been sung in stables for centuries.</p> + +<p>There were three cars. Two of them have nothing to do with this story, +but the third will play its part, and merits therefore description.</p> + +<p>It was not an expensive car, but it was new and shining, and had a perky +snub-nosed air of being ready for anything. It belonged to the genial +gentleman who used it without mercy, and thus the little car wove back +and forth over the hills like a shuttle, doing its work sturdily, coming +home somewhat noisily, and even at rest, seeming to ask for something +more to do.</p> + +<p>The genial gentleman was very proud of his car. He talked a great deal +about it to Randy, and on this particular morning when he came out and<!-- Page 110 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> +found young Paine sitting on a wheelbarrow with Nellie Custis lending +him a cocked ear, he grew eloquent.</p> + +<p>"Look here, I've been thinking. There ought to be a lot of cars like +this in the county."</p> + +<p>To Randy the enthusiasms of the genial gentleman were a constant source +of amazement. He was always wanting the world to be glad about +something. Randy felt that at this moment any assumption of gladness +would be a hollow mockery.</p> + +<p>"Any man," said the genial gentleman, rubbing a cloth over the enamel of +the little car, "any man who would start selling this machine down here +would make a fortune."</p> + +<p>Randy pricked up his ears.</p> + +<p>"How could he make a fortune?"</p> + +<p>"Selling cars. Why, the babies cry for them——" he chuckled and rubbed +harder.</p> + +<p>"How much could he make?" Randy found himself saying.</p> + +<p>The genial gentleman named a sum, "Easy."</p> + +<p>Randy got up from the wheelbarrow and came over. "Is she really as good +as that?"</p> + +<p>"Is she really? Oh, say——" the genial gentleman for the next ten +minutes dealt in superlatives.</p> + +<p>Towards the end, Randy was firing questions at him.</p> + +<p>"Could I own a car while I was selling them?"<!-- Page 111 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Sure—they'd let you have it on installments to be paid for out of your +commissions——"</p> + +<p>"And I'd have an open field?"</p> + +<p>"My dear boy, in a month you could have cars like this running up and +down the hills like ants after sugar. They speak for themselves, and +they are cheap enough for anybody."</p> + +<p>"But it is a horse-riding country, especially back in the hills. They +love horse-flesh, you know."</p> + +<p>"Oh, they'll get the gasoline bug like the rest of us," said the genial +gentleman and slapped him on the back.</p> + +<p>Randy winced. He did not like to be slapped on the back. Not at a +moment—when he was selling his soul to the devil——</p> + +<p>For that was the way he looked at it.</p> + +<p>"I shall have to perjure myself," he said to Major Prime later, as they +talked it over in the Schoolhouse, "to go through the country telling +mine own people to sell their horses and get cars."</p> + +<p>"If you don't do it, somebody else will."</p> + +<p>"But a man can't be convincing if he doesn't believe in a thing."</p> + +<p>"No, of course. But you've got to look at it this way, the world moves, +and horses haven't had an easy time. Perhaps it is their moment of +emancipation. And just for the sake of a sentiment, a tradition, you +can't afford to hold back."<!-- Page 112 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I can't afford to lose this chance if there is money in it. But it +isn't what I had planned."</p> + +<p>As he sat there on the step and hugged his knees, every drop of blood in +Randy seemed to be urging "Hurry, hurry." He felt as a man might who, +running a race, finds another rider neck and neck and strains towards +the finish.</p> + +<p>To sell cars in order to win Becky seemed absurd on the face of it. But +he would at least be doing something towards solving the problem of +self-support, and towards increasing the measure of his own +self-respect.</p> + +<p>"What had you planned?" the Major was asking.</p> + +<p>"Well of course there is the law—— And I like it, but there would be a +year or two before I could earn a living—— And I've wanted to +write——"</p> + +<p>"Write what? Books?"</p> + +<p>"Anything," said Randy, explosively, "that would make the world sit up."</p> + +<p>"Ever tried it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. At school. I talked to a teacher of mine once about it. He said I +had better invent a—pill——"</p> + +<p>The Major stared, "A pill?"</p> + +<p>Randy nodded. "He didn't quite mean it, of course. But he saw the modern +trend. A poet?<!-- Page 113 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> A poor thing! But hats off to the pillmaker with his +multi-millions!"</p> + +<p>"Stop that," said the Major.</p> + +<p>"Stop what?"</p> + +<p>"Blaming the world for its sordidness. There is beauty enough if we look +for it."</p> + +<p>"None of us has time to look for it. We are too busy trying to sell cars +to people who love horses."</p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>In the end Randy got his car. And after that he, too, might have been +seen running shuttle-like back and forth over the red roads. Nellie +Custis was usually beside him on the front seat. She took her new honors +seriously. For generations back her forbears had loped with flapping +ears in the lead of a hunting pack. To be sitting thus on a leather seat +and whirled through the air with no need of legs from morning until +night required some readjustment on the part of Nellie Custis. But she +had always followed where Randy led. And in time she grew to like it, +and watched the road ahead with eager eyes, and with her ears +perpetually cocked.</p> + +<p>Now and then Becky sat beside Randy, with Nellie at her feet. The +difference between a ride with Randy and one with George Dalton was,<!-- Page 114 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> +Becky felt, the difference a not unpleasant commonplace and the stuff +that dreams are made of.</p> + +<p>"It is rather a duck of a car," she had said, the first time he took her +out in it.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is," Randy had agreed. "I am getting tremendously fond of her. +I have named her 'Little Sister.'"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Randy, you haven't."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have. She has such confiding ways. I never believed that cars +had human qualities, Becky."</p> + +<p>"They are not horses of course."</p> + +<p>"Well, they have individual characteristics. You take the three cars in +our barn. The Packard reminds one of that stallion we owned three years +ago—blooded and off like the wind. The Franklin is a grayhound—and +Little Sister is a—duck——"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Dalton's car is a—silver ship——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, does he call it that?" grimly.</p> + +<p>"No——"</p> + +<p>"Was it your own—poetic—idea?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And you called Little Sister a duck," he groaned. "And when my little +duck swims in the wake of his silver ship, and he laughs, do you laugh, +too?"</p> + +<p>There was a dead silence. Then she said, "Oh, Randy——"<!-- Page 115 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p> + +<p>He made his apology like a gentleman. "That was hateful of me, Becky. +I'm sorry——"</p> + +<p>"You know I wouldn't laugh, Randy, and neither would he."</p> + +<p>"Who?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Dalton."</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't what?"</p> + +<p>"Laugh."</p> + +<p>He hated her defense of young Apollo—but he couldn't let the subject +alone.</p> + +<p>"You never have any time for me."</p> + +<p>"Randy, are you going to scold me for the rest of our ride?"</p> + +<p>"Am I scolding?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Then I'll stop it and say nice things to you or you won't want to come +again."</p> + +<p>Yet after that when he saw her in Dalton's car, her words would return +to him, and gradually he began to think of her as sailing in a silver +ship farther and farther away in a future where he could not follow.</p> + +<p>Little Sister was a great comfort in those days. She gave him occupation +and she gave him an income. He was never to forget his first sale. He +had not found it easy to cry his wares. The Paines of King's Crest had +never asked favors of the country-folk, or if they had, they had paid +generously<!-- Page 116 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> for what they had received. To go now among them saying, "I +have something to sell," carried a sting. There had been nothing +practical in Randy's education. He had no equipment with which to meet +the sordid questions of bargain and sale.</p> + +<p>He had thought of this as he rode over the hills that morning to the +house of a young farmer who had been suggested by the genial gentleman +as a good prospect. He turned over in his mind the best method of +approach. It was a queer thing, he pondered, to visualize himself as a +salesman. He wondered how many of the other fellows who had come back +looked at it as he did. They had dreamed such dreams of valor, their +eyes had seen visions. To Randy when he had enlisted had come a singing +sense that the days of chivalry were not dead. He had gone through the +war with a laugh on his lips, but with a sense of the sacredness of the +crusade in his heart. He had returned—still dreaming—to sell +snub-nosed cars to the countryside!</p> + +<p>Why, just a year ago——! He remembered a black night of storm, when, +hooded like a falcon—he had ridden without a light on his motorcycle, +carrying dispatches from the Argonne, and even as he had ridden, he had +felt that high sense of heroic endeavor. On the success of his mission +depended other lives, the saving of nations—victory——!</p> + +<p>And now he, with a million others, was faced by<!-- Page 117 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> the problem of the +day's work. He wondered how the others looked at it—those gallant young +knights in khaki who had followed the gleam. Were they, too, grasping at +any job that would buy them bread and butter, pay their bills, keep them +from living on the bounty of others?</p> + +<p>He felt that in some way the thing was all wrong. There should have been +big things for these boys to do. There seemed something insensate in a +civilization which would permit a man who wore medals of honor to sell +ribbon over a counter, or weigh out beef at a butcher's. Yet he supposed +that many of them were doing it. Indeed he knew that some of them were. +The butcher's boy, who brought the meat over every morning to King's +Crest, wore two decorations, and when Randy had stopped for breakfast +supplies, the hero of Belleau Woods had cut off sausages as calmly as he +had once bayonetted Huns.</p> + +<p>Randy wondered what the butcher's boy was feeling under that apparently +stolid surface. Was his horizon bounded by beef and sausages, or did his +soul expand with memories of the shoulder-to-shoulder march, the +comradeship of the trenches, the laughter and songs? Did his pulses +thrill with the thought of the big things he might yet do in these days +of peace, or was he content to play safe and snip sausages?<!-- Page 118 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p> + +<p>Randy felt that he was not content. It was not that he loved war. But he +loved the visions that the war had brought him. There had seemed no +limit then to America's achievement. She had been a laggard—he thanked +God that he had not been a party to that delay. But when she had come +in, she had come in with all her might and main. And her young men had +fought and the future of the whole world had been in their hands, and +since peace had come the future of the world must still be reckoned in +the terms of their glorious youth.</p> + +<p>And now, something within Randy began to sing and soar. He felt that +here were things to be put on paper—the questions which he flung at +himself should be written for other men to read. That was what men +needed—questions. Questions which demanded answers not only in words +but in deeds. This was a moment for men of high thoughts and high +purposes.</p> + +<p>And he was selling cars——!</p> + +<p>Well, some day he would write. He was writing a little now, at night. In +his room at the top of the Schoolhouse. Yet the things that he had +written seemed trivial as he thought of them. What he wanted was to +strike a ringing note. To have the fellows say when they read it, "If it +is true for him it is true for me."</p> + +<p>Yet when one came to think of it, there were<!-- Page 119 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> really not any "fellows." +Not in the sense that it had been "over there." They were scattered to +the four winds, dispersed to the seven seas—the A. E. F. was +extinct—as extinct—as the Trumpeter Swan!</p> + +<p>And now his thoughts ran fast, and faster. Here was his theme. Where was +that glorious company of young men who had once sounded their trumpets +to the world? Gone, as the swans were gone—leaving the memory of their +whiteness—leaving the memory of their beauty—leaving the memory of +their—song——</p> + +<p>He wanted to turn back at once. To drive Little Sister at breakneck +speed towards pen and paper. But some instinct drove him doggedly +towards the matter on hand. One might write masterpieces, but there were +cars to be sold.</p> + +<p>He sold one——; quite strangely and unexpectedly he found that the +transaction was not difficult. The man whom he had come to see was on +the front porch and was glad of company. Randy explained his errand. "It +is new business for me. But I've got something to offer you that you'll +find you'll want——"</p> + +<p>He found that he could say many things truthful about the merits of +Little Sister. He had a convincing manner; the young farmer listened.</p> + +<p>"Let me take you for a ride," Randy offered, and<!-- Page 120 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> away they went along +the country roads, and through the main streets of the town in less time +that it takes to say—"Jack Robinson."</p> + +<p>When they came back, the children ran out to see, and Randy took them +down the road and back again. "You can carry the whole family," he said, +"when you go——"</p> + +<p>The man's wife came out. She refused to ride. She was afraid.</p> + +<p>But Randy talked her over. "My mother felt like that. But once you are +in it is different."</p> + +<p>She climbed in, and came back with her face shining.</p> + +<p>"I am going to buy the car," her husband said to her.</p> + +<p>Randy's heart jumped. Somehow he had felt that it would not really +happen. He had had little faith in his qualities as salesman. Yet, after +all, it had happened, and he had sold his car.</p> + +<p>Riding down the hill, he was conscious of a new sense of achievement. It +was all very well to dream of writing masterpieces. But here was +something tangible.</p> + +<p>"Nellie," he said, "things are picking up."</p> + +<p>Nellie laid her nose on his knee and looked up at him. It had been a +long ride, and she was glad they were on the homeward stretch. But she +wagged her tail. Nellie knew when things were<!-- Page 121 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> going well with her +master. And when his world went wrong, her sky darkened.</p> + + +<h3>III</h3><p>The sale of one car, however, does not make a fortune. Randy realized as +the days went on that if he sold them and sold them and sold them, +Dalton would still outdistance him financially.</p> + +<p>There remained, therefore, fame, and the story in the back of his mind. +If he could lay a thing like that at Becky's feet! He had the lover's +urge towards some heaven-kissing act which should exalt his mistress—— +A book for all the world to read—a picture painted with a flaming +brush, a statue carved with a magic instrument. It was for Becky that +Randy would work and strive hoping that by some divine chance he might +draw her to him.</p> + +<p>He worked at night until the Major finally remonstrated.</p> + +<p>"Do you ever go to bed?"</p> + +<p>Randy laughed. "Sometimes."</p> + +<p>"Are you writing?"</p> + +<p>"Trying to."</p> + +<p>"Hard work?"</p> + +<p>"I like it,"—succinctly.</p> + +<p>The Major smoked for a while in silence. Then he said, "I suppose you +don't want to talk about it."<!-- Page 122 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was a starry night and a still one. The younger boarders had gone for +a ride. The older boarders were in bed. The Major was stretched in his +long chair. Randy sat as usual on the steps.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "I'd like to talk about it. I have a big idea, and I +can't put it on paper."</p> + +<p>He hugged his knees and talked. His young voice thrilled with the +majesty of his conception. Here, he said, was the idea. Once upon a time +there had been a race of wonderful swans, with plumage so white that +when they rested in flocks on the river banks they made a blanket of +snow. Their flight was a marvellous thing—they flew so high that the +eye of man could not see them—but the sound of their trumpets could be +heard. The years passed and the swans came no more to their old haunts. +Men had hunted them and killed them—but there were those who held that +on still nights they could be heard—sounding their trumpets——</p> + +<p>"I want to link that up with the A. E. F. We were like the swans—a +white company which flew to France—— Our idealism was the song which +we sounded high up. And the world listened—and caught the sound—— And +now, as a body we are extinct, but if men will listen, they may still +hear our trumpets—sounding——!"<!-- Page 123 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p> + +<p>As he spoke the air seemed to throb with the passion of his phrases. His +face was uplifted to the sky. The Major remembered a picture in the +corridor of the Library of Congress—the Boy of Winander—— Oh, the +boys of the world—those wonderful boys who had been drawn out from +among the rest, set apart for a time, and in whose hands now rested the +fate of nations!</p> + +<p>"It is epic," he said, slowly. "Take your time for it."</p> + +<p>"It's too big," said Randy slowly, "and I am not a genius—— But it is +my idea, all right, and some day, perhaps, I shall make it go."</p> + +<p>"You must make it clear to yourself. Then you can make it clear to +others."</p> + +<p>"Yes," Randy agreed, "and now you can see why I am sitting up nights."</p> + +<p>"Yes. How did you happen to think of it, Paine?"</p> + +<p>"I've been turning a lot of things over in my mind——; what the other +fellows are doing about their jobs. There's that boy at the butcher's, +and a lot of us went over to do big things. And now we have come back to +the little things. Why, there's Dalton's valet—Kemp—taking orders from +that—cad."</p> + +<p>His scorn seemed to cut into the night. "And I am selling cars—— I +sold one to-day to an old<!-- Page 124 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> darkey, and I felt my grandsires turn in +their graves. But I like it."</p> + +<p>The Major sat up. "Your liking it is the biggest thing about you, +Paine."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"A man who can do his day's work and not whine about it, is the man that +counts. That butcher's boy may have a soul above weighing meat and +wrapping sausages, but at the moment that's his job, and he is doing it +well. There may be a divine discontent, but I respect the man who keeps +his mouth shut until he finds a remedy or a raise.</p> + +<p>"I don't often speak of myself," he went on, "but perhaps this is the +moment. I am as thirsty for California, Paine, as a man for drink. It is +the dry season out there, and the hills are brown, but I love the brown, +and the purple shadows in the hollows. I have ridden over those hills +for days at a time,—I shall never ride a horse over them again." He +stopped and went on. "Oh, I've wanted to whine. I have wanted to curse +the fate that tied me to a chair like this. I have been an active +man—out-of-doors, and oh, the out-of-doors in California. There isn't +anything like it—it is the sense of space, the clear-cut look of +things. But I won't go back. Not till I have learned to do my day's +work, and then I will let myself play a bit. I'd<!-- Page 125 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> like to take you with +me, Paine—you and a good car—and we'd go over the hills and far +away——</p> + +<p>"I haven't told you much of my life. And there's not a great deal to +tell. Fifteen years ago I married a little girl and thought I loved her. +But what I really loved was the thought of doing things for her. I had +money and she was poor. It was pleasant to see her eyes shine when I +gave her things—— But money hasn't anything to do with love, Paine, +and that is where we American men fall down. When we love a woman we +begin to tell her of our possessions and to tempt her by them. And the +thing that we should do is to show her ourselves. We should say, 'If I +were stripped of all my worldly goods what would there be in me for you +to like?' My little wife and I had not one thing in common. And one day +she left me. She found a man who gave her love for love. I had given her +cars and flowers and boxes of candy and diamonds and furs. But she +wanted more than that. She died—two years ago. I think she had been +happy in those last years. I never really loved her, but she taught me +what love is—and it is not a question of barter and sale——"</p> + +<p>He seemed to be thinking aloud. Randy spoke after a silence. "But a man +must have something to offer a woman."</p> + +<p>"He must have himself. Oh, we are all crooked<!-- Page 126 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> in our values, Paine. The +best that a man can give a woman is his courage, his hope, his +aspiration. That's enough. I learned it too late. I don't know why I am +saying all this to you, Paine."</p> + +<p>But Randy knew. It was on such nights that men showed their souls to +each other. It was on such nights that his comrades had talked to him in +France. Under the moon they had seemed self-conscious. But beneath a sky +of stars, the words had come to them.</p> + +<p>As he sat at his desk later, he thought of all that the Major had said +to him: that possessions had nothing to do with love; that the test must +be, "What would there be in me to like if I were stripped of all my +worldly goods?"</p> + +<p>Well, he had nothing. There were only his hopes, his dreams, his +aspiration—himself.</p> + +<p>Would these weigh with any woman in the balance against George Dalton's +splendid trappings?</p> + +<p>The dawn crept in and found him still sitting at his desk. He had not +written a dozen lines. But his thoughts had been the long, long thoughts +of youth.<!-- Page 127 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h3> + +<h2>GEORGIE-PORGIE</h2> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>It would never have happened if Aunt Claudia had been there. Aunt +Claudia would have built hedges about Becky. She would have warned the +Judge. She would, as a last resort, have challenged Dalton. But Fate, +which had Becky's future well in hand, had sent Aunt Claudia to meet +Truxton in New York. And she was having the time of her life.</p> + +<p>Her first letter was a revelation to her niece. "I didn't know," she +told the Judge at breakfast, "that Aunt Claudia could be like this——"</p> + +<p>"Like what?"</p> + +<p>"So young and gay——"</p> + +<p>"She is not old. And when she was young she was gayer than you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, not really, Grandfather."</p> + +<p>"Yes. And she looked like you—and had the same tricks with her hands, +and her hair was bright and brown. And she was very pretty."<!-- Page 128 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p> + +<p>"She is pretty yet," said Becky, loyally, but she was quite sure that +whatever might have been Aunt Claudia's likeness to herself in the past, +her own charms would not in the future shrink to fit Aunt Claudia's +present pattern. It was unthinkable that her pink and white should fade +to paleness, her slenderness to stiffness, her youthful radiance to a +sort of weary cheerfulness.</p> + +<p>There was nothing weary in the letter, however. "Oh, my dear, my dear, +you should see Truxton. He is so perfectly splendid that I am sure he is +a changeling and not my son. I tell him that he can't be the bundle of +cuddly sweetness that I used to carry in my arms. I wore your white +house-coat that first morning, Becky, and he sent some roses, and we had +breakfast together in my rooms at the hotel. I believe it is the first +time in years that I have looked into a mirror to really like my looks. +You were sweet, my dear, to insist on putting it in. Truxton must stay +here for two weeks more, and he wants me to stay with him. Then we shall +come down together. Can you get along without me? We are going to the +most wonderful plays, and to smart places to eat, and I danced last +night on a roof garden. Should I say 'on' or 'in' a roof garden? Truxton +says that my step is as light as a girl's. I think my head is a little +turned. I am very happy."<!-- Page 129 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p> + +<p>Becky laid the letter down. "Would anyone have believed that Aunt +Claudia <i>could</i>——"</p> + +<p>"You have said that before, my dear. Your Aunt Claudia wasn't born in +the ark——"</p> + +<p>"But, Grandfather, I didn't mean that."</p> + +<p>"It sounded like it. I shall write to her to stay as long as she can. We +can get along perfectly without her."</p> + +<p>"Of course," said Becky slowly. She had a feeling that, at all costs, +she ought to call Aunt Claudia back.</p> + +<p>For Dalton, after that first ride in the rain from Pavilion Hill, had +speeded his wooing. He had swept Becky along on a rushing tide. He had +courted the Judge, and the Judge had pressed upon him invitation after +invitation. Day and night the big motor had flashed up to Huntersfield, +bringing Dalton to some tryst with Becky, or carrying her forth to some +gay adventure. Her world was rose-colored. She had not dreamed of life +like this. She seemed to have drunk of some new wine, which lighted her +eyes and flamed in her cheeks. Her beauty shone with an almost +transcendent quality. As the dove's plumage takes on in the spring an +added luster, so did the bronze of Becky's hair seem to burn with a +brighter sheen.</p> + +<p>Yet the Judge noticed nothing.</p> + +<p>"Did you ask him to dine with us?" he had de<!-- Page 130 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span>manded, when Dalton had +called Becky up on the morning of the receipt of Aunt Claudia's letter.</p> + +<p>"No, Grandfather."</p> + +<p>"Then I'll do it," and he had gone to the telephone, and had urged his +hospitality.</p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>When Dalton came Becky met him on the front steps of the house.</p> + +<p>"Dinner is late," she said, "let's go down into the garden."</p> + +<p>The garden at Huntersfield was square with box hedges and peaked up with +yew, and there were stained marble statues of Diana and Flora and Ceres, +and a little pool with lily pads.</p> + +<p>"You are like the pretty little girls in the picture books," said +George, as they walked along. "Isn't that a new frock?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Becky, "it is. Do you like it?"</p> + +<p>"You are a rose among the roses," he said. He wondered a bit at its +apparent expensiveness. Perhaps, however, Becky was skillful with her +needle. Some women were. He did not care greatly for such skill, but he +was charmed by the effect.</p> + +<p>"You are a rose among the roses," he said again, and broke off a big +pink bud from a bush near by.<!-- Page 131 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Bend your head a little. I want to put it in your hair."</p> + +<p>His fingers caught in the bronze mesh. "It is wound around my ring." He +fumbled in his pockets with his free hand and got his knife. "It may +pull a bit."</p> + +<p>He showed her presently the lock which he had cut. "It seems alive," he +kissed it and put it in his pocket.</p> + +<p>Her protest was genuine. "Oh, please," she said, "I wish you wouldn't."</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't what?"</p> + +<p>"Keep it."</p> + +<p>"Shall I throw it away?"</p> + +<p>"You shouldn't have cut it off."</p> + +<p>"Other men have been tempted—in a garden——"</p> + +<p>It might have startled George could he have known that old Mandy, eyeing +him from the kitchen, placed him in Eden's bower not as the hero of the +world's initial tragedy, but as its Satanic villain.</p> + +<p>"He sutt'n'y have bewitched Miss Becky," she told Calvin; "she ain' +got her min' on nothin' but him."</p> + +<p>"Yo' put yo' min' on yo' roas' lamb, honey," Calvin suggested. "How-cum +you got late?"</p> + +<p>"That chile kep' me fixin' that pink dress. She<!-- Page 132 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> ain' never cyard what +she wo'. And now she stan' in front o' dat lookin'-glass an' fuss an' +fiddle. And w'en she ain' fussin' an' fiddlin', she jus' moons around, +waitin' fo' him to come ridin' up in that red car like a devil on +greased light'in'. An' I say right heah, Miss Claudia ain' gwine like +it."</p> + +<p>"Why ain' she?"</p> + +<p>"Miss Claudia know black f'um w'ite. An' dat man done got a black +heart——"</p> + +<p>"Whut you know 'bout hit, Mandy?"</p> + +<p>"Lissen. You wait. He'll suck a o'ange an' th'ow it away. He'll pull a +rose, and scattah the leaves." Mandy, stirring gravy, was none the less +dramatic. "You lissen, an' wait——"</p> + +<p>"W'en Miss Claudia comin'?"</p> + +<p>"In one week, thank the Lord," Mandy pushed the gravy to the back of the +stove and pulled forward an iron pot. "The soup's ready," she said; "you +go up and tell the Jedge, Calvin."</p> + +<p>All through dinner, Becky was conscious of that lock of hair in George's +pocket. The strand from which the lock had been cut fell down on her +cheek. She had to tuck it back. She saw George smile as she did it. She +forgave him.</p> + +<p>It was after dinner that George spoke of Becky's gown.</p> + +<p>"It is perfect," he said, "all except the pearls——?"<!-- Page 133 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p> + +<p>She gave him a startled glance. "The pearls?"</p> + +<p>"I want to see you without them."</p> + +<p>She unwound them and they dripped from her hand in milky whiteness.</p> + +<p>He made his survey. "That's better," he said, "if they were real it +would be different—I don't like to have you cheapened by anything less +than—perfect——"</p> + +<p>"Cheapened?" She smiled inscrutably, then dropped the pearls into a +small box on the table beside her. "Yes," she said, "if they were real +it would be different——"</p> + +<p>There was something in her manner which made him say hurriedly, "You +must not think that I am criticizing your taste. If I had my way you +should have everything that money can buy——"</p> + +<p>Her candid eyes came up to his. "There are a great many things that +money cannot buy."</p> + +<p>"You've got to show me," George told her; "I've never seen anything yet +that I couldn't get with money."</p> + +<p>"Could you buy—dreams——"</p> + +<p>"I'd rather buy—diamonds."</p> + +<p>"And money can't buy happiness."</p> + +<p>"It can buy a pretty good imitation."</p> + +<p>"But imitation happiness is like imitation pearls."<!-- Page 134 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span></p> + +<p>He laughed and sat down beside her. "You mustn't be too clever."</p> + +<p>"I am not clever at all."</p> + +<p>"I believe you are. And you don't have to be. There are plenty of clever +women but only one Becky Bannister."</p> + +<p>It was just an hour later that Georgie-Porgie kissed her. She was at the +piano in the music-room, and there was no light except the glimmer of +tall white candles, and the silver moonlight which fell across the +shining floor.</p> + +<p>Her grandfather was nodding in the room beyond, and through the open +window came the dry, sweet scent of summer, as if nature had opened her +pot-pourri to give the world a whiff of treasured fragrance.</p> + +<p>Becky had been singing, and she had stopped and looked up at him.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you lovely—lovely, little thing," he said, and bent his head.</p> + +<p>To Becky, that moment was supreme, sacred. She trembled with happiness. +To her that kiss meant betrothal—ultimate marriage.</p> + +<p>To George it meant, of course, nothing of the kind. It was only one of +many moments. It was a romance which might have been borrowed from the +Middle Ages. A rare tale such as one might read in a book. A pleasant +dalliance—to be con<!-- Page 135 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>tinued until he was tired of it. If he ever +married, it must be a spectacular affair—handsome woman, big fortune, +not an unsophisticated slip of a child from an impoverished Virginia +farm.</p> + + +<h3>III</h3><p>In the days that followed, Becky's gay lover came and rode away, and +came again. He sparkled and shone and worshipped, but not a word did he +say about the future. He seemed content with this idyl of old gardens, +scented twilights, starlight nights, with Beauty's eyes for him alone +radiant eyes that matched the stars.</p> + +<p>Yet as the days went on the radiance was dimmed. Becky was in a state of +bewilderment which bordered on fear. George showed himself an +incomparable lover, but always he was silent about the things which she +felt cried for utterance.</p> + +<p>So at last one day she spoke to the Judge.</p> + +<p>"Granddad, did you kiss Grandmother before you asked her to marry you?"</p> + +<p>"Asking always comes first, my dear. And you are too young to think of +such things."</p> + +<p>Grandfather was, thus obviously, no help. He sat in the Bird Room and +dreamed of the days when the stuffed mocking-bird on the wax branch sang +to a young bride, and his ideal of love had to do with<!-- Page 136 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> the courtly +etiquette of a time when men knelt and sued and were rewarded with the +touch of finger tips.</p> + +<p>As for George, he found himself liking this affair rather more than +usual. There was no denying that the child was tremendously +attractive—with her youth and beauty and the reserve which like a stone +wall seemed now and then to shut her in. He had always a feeling that he +would like to climb over the wall. It had pricked his interest to find +in this little creature a strength and delicacy which he had found in no +other woman.</p> + +<p>He had had one or two letters from Madge, and had answered them with a +line. She gave rather generously of her correspondence and her letters +were never dull. In the last one she had asked him to join her on the +North Shore.</p> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>"I am sorry," she said, "for the new little girl. I have a feeling +that she won't know how to play the game and that you'll hurt her. +You will probably think that I am jealous, but I can't help that. +Men always think that women are jealous when it comes to other +women. They never seem to understand that we are trying to keep the +world straight.</p> + +<p>"Oscar writes that Flora isn't well, that all her other guests are +gone except you—and that she wants me. But why should I come? I +<!-- Page 137 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span>wish he wouldn't ask me. Something always tugs at my heart when I +think of Flora. She has so much and yet so little. She and Oscar +would be much happier in a flat on the West Side with Flora cooking +in a kitchenette, and Oscar bringing things home from the +delicatessen. He would buy bologna and potato salad on Sunday +nights, and perhaps they would slice up a raw onion. It sounds +dreadful, doesn't it? But there are thousands of people doing just +that thing, Georgie, and being very happy over it. And it wouldn't +be dreadful for Flora and Oscar because they would be right where +they belong, and the potato salad and the bologna and the little +room where Oscar could sit with his coat off would be much more to +their liking than their present pomp and elegance. You and I are +different. You could never play any part pleasantly but that of +Prince Charming, and I should hate the kitchenette. I want wide +spaces, and old houses, and deep fireplaces—my people far back +were like that—I sometimes wonder why I stick to Flora—perhaps it +is because she clung to me in those days when Oscar was drafted and +had to go, and she cried so hard in the Red Cross rooms that I took +her under my wing—— Take it all together, Flora is rather worth +while and so is Oscar if he didn't try so hard to be what he is +not.</p> + +<p>"But then we are all trying rather hard to be what we are not. I am +really and truly middle-class. In my mind, I mean. Yet no one would +believe it to look at me, for I wear my clothes like a Frenchwoman, +and I am as unconventional as English royalty. And two generations +of us have inherited money. But back of that there were nice +<!-- Page 138 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span>middle-class New Englanders who did their own work. And the women +wore white aprons, and the men wore overalls, and they ate +doughnuts for breakfast, and baked beans on Sunday, and they milked +their own cows, and skimmed their own cream, and they read Hamlet +and the King James version of the Bible, and a lot of them wrote +things that will be remembered throughout the ages, and they had +big families and went to church, and came home to overflowing +hospitality and chicken pies—and they were the salt of the earth. +And as I think I remarked to you once before, I want to be like my +great-grandmother in my next incarnation, and live in a wide, low +farmhouse, and have horses and hogs and chickens and pop-corn on +snowy nights, and go to church on Sunday.</p> + +<p>"I don't know why I am writing like this, except that I went to +Trinity to vespers, when I stopped over in Boston. It was dim and +quiet and the boys' voices were heavenly, and over it all brooded +the spirit of the great man who once preached there—and who still +preaches——</p> + +<p>"And now it is Sunday again, and I am back at the Crossing, and I +played golf all the morning, and bridge this afternoon, and all the +women smoked and all the men, and I was in a blue haze, and I +wanted to be back in the quiet church where the boys sang, and the +lights were like stars——</p> + +<p>"I wish you and I could go there some day and that you could feel +as I do about it. But you wouldn't. You are always so sure and +smug—and you have a feeling that money will buy anything—even +<!-- Page 139 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span>Paradise. I wonder what you will be like on the next plane. You +won't fit into my farmhouse. I fancy that you'll be something +rather—devilish—like Don Juan—or perhaps you'll be just an +'ostler in a courtyard, shining boots and—kissing maids——</p> + +<p>"Of course I don't quite mean that. But I do feel that you'd be +rather worth while if you'd stop philandering and discover your +soul.</p> + +<p>"I am a bit homesick, and I haven't any home. If Dad hadn't married +a second time, I believe he would still love me a bit. But his wife +doesn't. And so here I am—and as restless as ever—seeking +something—always seeking.</p> + +<p>"And now, once more, don't break the heart of the new little girl. +I don't need to warn you not to break your own. You are the +greatest example of the truth of 'he who loves and runs away will +live to love another day.' Oh, Georgie-Porgie, will you ever love +any woman enough to rise with her to the heights?</p> + +<p>"Perhaps there aren't any heights for you or me. But I should like +to think there were. Different hilltops, of course, so that we +could wave across. We shall never climb together, Georgie. Perhaps +we are too much alike to help each other up the hills. We need +stronger props.</p> + +<p>"Tell me about Flora. Is she really ill? If she is, I'll come. But +I'd rather not.</p> + +<p>"I hope you won't read this aloud to Oscar. You might, you know, +and it wouldn't do. He would hate to believe that he'd be happier +buying things at a delicatessen, and he wouldn't believe it. But +<!-- Page 140 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span>it's true, just as it is true that you would be happy shining +boots and making love to the maids like a character in Dickens.</p> + +<p>"Come on up, and we'll motor to Boston on Sunday afternoon and +we'll go to Trinity; I want somebody to be good with me, Georgie, +and there are so many of the other kind.</p> + +<p>"Ever wistfully,<br /> +"Madge."</p></div> + +<p>George knew that he ought to go, but he was not ready yet to run away. +He was having the time of his life, and as for Becky, he would teach her +how to play the game.</p> + + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>Aunt Claudia was away for three weeks.</p> + +<p>"I wish she would come home," young Paine said one morning to his +mother.</p> + +<p>"Why?" Caroline Paine was at her desk with her mind on the dinner. "Why, +Randy?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Dalton's going there a lot."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Paine headed her list with gumbo soup. "Do you think he goes to see +Becky?"</p> + +<p>"Does a duck swim? Of course he goes there to see her, and he's turning +her head."</p> + +<p>"He is enough to turn any woman's head. He has nice eyes." Mrs. Paine +left the topic as negligible, and turned to more important things.<!-- Page 141 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Randy, would you mind picking a few pods of okra for the soup? Susie is +so busy and Bob and Jefferson are both in the field."</p> + +<p>"Certainly, Mother," his cool answer gave no hint of the emotions which +were seething within him. Becky's fate was hanging in the balance, and +his mother talked of okra! He had decided some weeks ago that boarders +were disintegrating—and that a mother was not a mother who had three +big meals a day on her mind.</p> + +<p>He went into the garden. An old-fashioned garden, so common at one time +in the South—with a picket fence, a little gate, orderly paths—a blaze +of flowers to the right, and to the left a riot of vegetables—fat +tomatoes weighing the vines to the ground, cucumbers hiding under their +sheltering leaves, cabbages burgeoning in blue-green, and giving the +promise of unlimited boiled dinners, onions enough to flavor a thousand +delectable dishes, sweet corn running in countless rows up the hill, +carrots waving their plumes, Falstaffian watermelons. It was evident +with the garden as an index that the boarders at King's Crest were fed +on more than milk and honey.</p> + +<p>Randy picked the okra and carried it to the kitchen, and returning to +the Schoolhouse found the Major opening his morning mail.</p> + +<p>Randy sat down on the step. "Once upon a<!-- Page 142 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> time," he said, "we had +niggers to work in our gardens. And now we are all niggers."</p> + +<p>The Major's keen eyes studied him. "What's the matter?"</p> + +<p>"I've been picking okra—for soup, and I'm a Paine of King's Crest."</p> + +<p>"Well, you peeled potatoes in France."</p> + +<p>"That's different."</p> + +<p>"Why should it be different? If a thing is for the moment your job you +are never too big for it."</p> + +<p>"I wish I had stayed in the Army. I wish I had never come back."</p> + +<p>The Major whistled for a moment, thoughtfully. Then he said, "Look here, +Paine, hadn't you better talk about it?"</p> + +<p>"Talk about what?"</p> + +<p>"That's for you to tell me. There's something worrying you. You are more +tragic than—Hamlet——"</p> + +<p>"Well—it's—Becky——"</p> + +<p>"And Dalton, of course. Why don't you cut him out, Paine——"</p> + +<p>"Me? Oh, look here, Major, what have I to offer her?"</p> + +<p>"Youth and energy and a fighting spirit," the Major rapped out the +words.</p> + +<p>"What is a fighting spirit worth," Randy asked<!-- Page 143 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> with a sort of weary +scorn, "when a man is poor and the woman's rich?"</p> + +<p>The Major had been whistling a silly little tune from a modern opera. It +was an air which his men would have recognized. It came to an end +abruptly.</p> + +<p>"Rich? Who is rich?"</p> + +<p>"Becky."</p> + +<p>The Major got up and limped to the porch rail. "I thought she was as +poor as——"</p> + +<p>"The rest of us? Well, she isn't."</p> + +<p>It appeared that Becky's fortune came from the Nantucket grandmother, +and that there would be more when the Admiral died. It was really a very +large fortune, well invested, and yielding an amazing income. One of the +clauses of the grandmother's will had to do with the bringing up of +Becky. Until she was of age she was to be kept as much as possible away +from the distractions and temptations of modern luxury. The Judge and +the Admiral had agreed that nothing could be better. The result, Randy +said, was that nobody ever thought of Becky Bannister as rich.</p> + +<p>"Yet those pearls that she wears are worth more than I ever expect to +earn."</p> + +<p>"It is rather like a fairy tale. The beggar-maid becomes a queen."</p> + +<p>"You can see now why I can't offer her just youth and a fighting +spirit."<!-- Page 144 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I wonder if Dalton knows."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe he does," Randy said slowly. "I give him credit for +that."</p> + +<p>"He might have heard——"</p> + +<p>"I doubt it. He hasn't mingled much, you know."</p> + +<p>"It will be rather a joke on him——"</p> + +<p>"To find that he has married—Mademoiselle Midas?"</p> + +<p>"To find that she is Mademoiselle Midas, whether he marries her or not."</p> + + +<h3>V</h3> + +<p>Of course Georgie-Porgie ran away. It was the inevitable climax. Flora's +illness hastened things a bit.</p> + +<p>"She wants to see her New York doctors," Waterman had said. "I think we +shall close the house, and join Madge later at the Crossing."</p> + +<p>George felt an unexpected sense of shock. The game must end, yet he +wanted it to go on. The cards were in his hands, and he was not quite +ready to turn the trick.</p> + +<p>"When do we go?" he asked Oscar.</p> + +<p>"In a couple of days if we can manage it. Flora is getting worried about +herself. She thinks it is her heart."</p> + +<p>George rode all of that afternoon with Becky.<!-- Page 145 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> But not a word did he say +about his departure. He never spoiled a thing like this with "Good-bye." +Back at Waterman's, Kemp was packing trunks. In forty-eight hours there +would be the folding of tents, and Hamilton Hill would be deserted. It +added a pensiveness to his manner that made him more than ever charming. +It rained on the way home, and it seemed to him significant that his +first ride and his last with Becky should have been in the rain.</p> + +<p>He stayed to dinner, and afterwards he and Becky walked together in the +fragrance of the wet garden. A new moon hung low for a while and was +then lost behind the hills.</p> + +<p>"My little girl," George said when the moment came that he must go, "My +dear little girl." He gathered her up in his arms—but did not kiss her. +For once in his life, Georgie-Porgie was too deeply moved for kisses.</p> + +<p>After he had gone, Becky went into the Bird Room, and stood on the +hearth and looked up at the Trumpeter Swan. There was no one to whom she +could speak of the ecstasy which surged through her. As a child she had +brought her joys here, and her sorrows—her Christmas presents in the +early morning—the first flowers of the spring. She had sat here often +in her little black frock and had felt the silent sympathy of the wise +old bird.<!-- Page 146 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p> + +<p>He gazed down at her now with an almost uncanny intelligence. She +laughed a little and standing on tiptoe laid her cheek against the cool +glass. "When I am married," was her wordless question, "will you sound +your trumpet high up near the moon?"<!-- Page 147 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h3> + +<h2>MADEMOISELLE MIDAS</h2> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>There came to Huntersfield the next morning at about the same moment, +Kemp in his little car with a small parcel for Becky, and Calvin with a +big box from the express office.</p> + +<p>Becky was in her room at breakfast when Calvin brought the boxes up to +her. It was a sunshiny morning, and the Judge had gone a-fishing with +Mr. Flippin. Becky, in a lace cap and a robe that was delicately blue, +sat in a big chair with a low table in front of her.</p> + +<p>There were white roses on the table in a silver bowl. The Judge had sent +them to her. The Judge had for the women of his family a feeling that +was almost youthfully romantic, and which was, unquestionably, +old-fashioned. He liked to think that they had roses for their little +noses, ribbons and laces for their pretty faces. He wanted no harsh +winds to blow on them. And in return for the softness and ease with +which he would surround them, he wanted their deference to his masculine +point of view.<!-- Page 148 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p> + +<p>With the box which George sent was a note. It was the first that Becky +had ever received from her lover. George's code did not include much +correspondence. Flaming sentiment on paper was apt to look silly when +the affair ended.</p> + +<p>To Becky, her name on the outside of the envelope seemed written in +gold. She was all blushing expectation.</p> + +<p>"There ain't no answer," Calvin said, and she waited for him to go +before she opened it.</p> + +<p>She read it and sat there drained of all feeling. She was as white as +the roses on her table. She read the note again and her hands shook.</p> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>"Flora is very ill. We are taking her up to New York. After that we +shall go to the North Shore. There isn't time for me to come and +say, 'Good-bye.' Perhaps it is better not to come. It has been a +wonderful summer, and it is you who have made it wonderful for me. +The memory will linger with me always—like a sweet dream or a rare +old tale. I am sending you a little token—for remembrance. Think +of me sometimes, Becky."</p></div> + +<p>That was all, except a scrawled "G. D." at the end. No word of coming +back. No word of writing to her again. No word of any future in which +she would have a part.</p> + +<p>She opened the box. Within on a slender chain was a pendant—a square +sapphire set in platinum,<!-- Page 149 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> and surrounded by diamonds. George had +ordered it in anticipation of this crisis. He had, hitherto, found such +things rather effective in the cure of broken hearts.</p> + +<p>Now, had George but known it, Becky had jewels in leather cases in the +vaults of her bank which put his sapphire trinket to shame. There were +the diamonds in which a Meredith great-grandmother had been presented at +the Court of St. James, and there were the pearls of which her own +string was a small part. There were emeralds and rubies, old corals and +jade—not for nothing had the Admiral sailed the seas, bringing back +from China and India lovely things for the woman he loved. And now the +jewels were Becky's, and she had not cared for them in the least. If +George had loved her she would have cherished his sapphire more than all +the rest.</p> + +<p>But he did not love her. She knew it in that moment. All of her doubts +were confirmed.</p> + +<p>The thing that had happened to her seemed incredible.</p> + +<p>She put the sapphire back in its box, wrapped it, tied the string +carefully and called Mandy.</p> + +<p>"Tell Calvin to take this to Mr. Dalton."</p> + +<p>Mandy knew at once that something was wrong. But this was not a moment +for words. The Bannisters did not talk about things that troubled<!-- Page 150 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> them. +They held their heads high. And Becky's was high at this moment, and her +eyes were blazing.</p> + +<p>As she sat there, tense, Becky wondered what Dalton could have thought +of her. If she had not had a jewel in the world, she would not have kept +his sapphire. Didn't he know that?</p> + +<p>But how could he know? To him it had been "a sweet dream—a rare old +tale," and she had thought him a Romeo ready to die for her sake, an +Aucassin—willing to brave Hell rather than give her up, a Lohengrin +sent from Heaven!</p> + +<p>She shuddered and hid her face in her hands. At last she crept into bed. +Mandy, coming in to straighten the room, was told to lower the curtains.</p> + +<p>"My—my head aches, Mandy."</p> + +<p>Mandy, wise old Mandy, knew of course that it was her heart. "You res' +an' sleep, honey," she said, and moved about quietly setting things in +order.</p> + +<p>But Becky did not sleep. She lay wide awake, and tried to get the thing +straight in her mind. How had it happened? Where had she failed? Oh, why +hadn't Sister Loretto told her that there were men like this? Why hadn't +Aunt Claudia returned in time?</p> + +<p>In the big box which Mandy had brought up were clothes—exquisite things +which Becky had ordered from New York. She had thought it a miracle +that<!-- Page 151 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> George should have fallen in love with her believing her poor. It +showed, she felt, his splendidness, his kingly indifference to—poverty. +Yet she had planned a moment when he should know. When their love was +proclaimed to the world he should see her in a splendor which matched +his own. He had loved her in spite of her faded cottons, in spite of her +shabby shoes. She had made up her list carefully, thinking of his +sparkling eyes when he beheld her.</p> + +<p>She got out of bed and opened the box. The lovely garments were wrapped +in rosy tissue paper, and tied with ribbons to match. It seemed to Becky +as if those rosy wrappings held the last faint glow of her dreams.</p> + +<p>She untied the ribbons of the top parcel, and disclosed a frock of fine +white lace—there was cloth of silver for a petticoat, and silver +slippers. She would have worn her pearls, and George and she would have +danced together at the Harvest Ball at the Merriweathers. It was an +annual and very exclusive affair in the county. It was not likely that +the Watermans and their guests would be invited, but there would have +been a welcome for Dalton as her friend—her more than friend.</p> + +<p>There was a white lace wrap with puffs of pink taffeta and knots of +silver ribbon which went with the gown. Becky with a sudden impulse put +it on.<!-- Page 152 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> She stripped the cap from her head, and wound her bronze locks +in a high knot. She surveyed herself.</p> + +<p>Well, she was Becky Bannister of Huntersfield—and the mirror showed her +beauty. And Dalton had not known or cared. He thought her poor, and had +thrown her aside like an old glove!</p> + +<p>Down-stairs the telephone rang. Old Mandy, coming up to say that Mr. +Randy was on the wire, stood in amazement at the sight of Becky in the +rosy wrap with her hair peaked up to a topknot.</p> + +<p>"Ain' you in baid?" she asked, superfluously.</p> + +<p>"No. Who wants me, Mandy?"</p> + +<p>"I tole you—Mr. Randy."</p> + +<p>Becky deliberated. "I'll go down. When I come up we'll unpack all this, +Mandy."</p> + +<p>Randy at the other end of the wire was asking Becky to go to a barbecue +the next day.</p> + +<p>"The boarders are giving it—it is Mother's birthday and they want to +celebrate. It is to be on Pavilion Hill. They want you and the +Judge——"</p> + +<p>"To-morrow? Oh, I don't know, Randy."</p> + +<p>"Why not? Have you another engagement?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Then what's the matter? Can't you tear yourself away from your shining +knight?"</p> + +<p>Silence.</p> + +<p>"Becky—oh, I didn't mean that. I'm sorry—_Becky_——"<!-- Page 153 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p> + +<p>Her answer came faintly, "I'll come."</p> + +<p>"What's the matter with the wire? I can't hear you."</p> + +<p>There was nothing the matter with the wire. The thing that was the +matter was Becky's voice. She found it suddenly unmanageable. "We'll +come," she told him finally, and hung up the receiver.</p> + +<p>She ascended the stairs as if she carried a burden on her back. Mandy +was on her knees before the hamper, untying the rosy packages.</p> + +<p>"Is you goin' to try 'em on, honey?" she asked.</p> + +<p>Becky stood in the doorway, the lace wrap hanging from her shoulders and +showing the delicate blue of the negligee beneath—her face was like +chalk but her eyes shone. "Yes," she said, "there's a pink gingham I +want to wear to the barbecue to-morrow. There ought to be a hat to match. +Did the hats come, Mandy?"</p> + +<p>"Calvin he say there's another box, but he ain' brought it up from the +deepot. He was ridin' dat Jo-mule, and this yer basket was all he could +ca'y."</p> + +<p>In the pink frock Becky looked like a lovely child.</p> + +<p>"Huc-cum you-all gettin' eve'y thing pink, Miss Becky?" Mandy asked.</p> + +<p>"For a change," said Becky.</p> + +<p>And how could she tell old Mandy that she had<!-- Page 154 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> felt that in a +rose-colored world everything should be rose-color?</p> + +<p>She tried on each frock deliberately. She tried on every pair of +slippers. She tried on the wraps, and the hats which came up finally +with Calvin staggering beneath the bulkiness of the box. She was lovely +in everything. And she was no longer the little Becky Bannister whom +Dalton had wooed. She was Mademoiselle Midas, appraising her beauty in +her lovely clothes, and wondering what Dalton would think if he could +see her.</p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>Becky did not, after all, wear the pink gingham. The Judge elected to go +on horseback, so Becky rode forth by his side correctly and smartly +attired in a gray habit, with a straight black sailor and a high stock +and boots that made her look like a charming boy.</p> + +<p>They came to Pavilion Hill to find the boarders like the chorus in light +opera very picturesque in summer dresses and summer flannels, and with +Mrs. Paine in a broad hat playing the part of leading lady. Mr. Flippin, +who was high-priest at all of the county barbecues, was superintending +the roasting of a whole pig, and Mrs. Flippin had her mind on hot +biscuits. The young mulatto, Daisy, and Mandy's John, with the negroes +from the Paine<!-- Page 155 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> household, were setting the long tables under the trees. +There was the good smell of coffee, much laughter, and a generally +festive atmosphere.</p> + +<p>The Judge, enthroned presently in the Pavilion, was the pivotal center +of the crowd. Everybody wanted to hear his stories, and with this fresh +audience to stimulate him, he dominated the scene. He wore a sack suit +and a Panama hat and his thin, fine face, the puff of curled white hair +at the back of his neck, the gayety of his glance gave an almost +theatric touch to his appearance, so that one felt he might at any +moment come down stage and sing a topical song in the best Gilbertian +manner.</p> + +<p>It was an old scene with a new setting. It was not the first time that +Pavilion Hill had been the backgrounds of a barbecue. But it was the +first time that a Paine of King's Crest had accepted hospitality on its +own land. It was the first time that it had echoed to the voices of an +alien group. It was the first time that it had seen a fighting black man +home from France. The old order had changed indeed. No more would there +be feudal lords of Albemarle acres.</p> + +<p>Yet old loyalties die hard. It was the Judge and Mrs. Paine and Becky +and Randy who stood first in the hearts of the dusky folk who served at +the long tables. The boarders were not in any sense "quality." Whatever +they might be, North, East<!-- Page 156 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> and West, their names were not known on +Virginia records. And what was any family tree worth if it was not +rooted in Virginia soil?</p> + +<p>"Effen the Jedge was a king and wo' a crown," said Mandy's John to +Daisy, "he couldn't look mo' bawn to a th'one."</p> + +<p>Daisy nodded. "Settin' at the head o' that table minds me o' whut my old +Mammy used to say, 'han'some is as han'some does.' The Bannisters <i>done</i> +han'some and they <i>is</i> han'some."</p> + +<p>"They sure is," John agreed; "that-all's whut makes you so good-lookin', +Daisy."</p> + +<p>He came close to her and she drew away. "You put yo' min' on passin' +them plates," she said with severity, "or you'll be spillin' po'k gravy +on they haids." Her smile took away the sting of her admonition. John +moved on, murmuring, "Well, yo' does han'some and yo' is han'some, +Daisy, and that's why I loves you."</p> + +<p>There were speeches after dinner. One from Randy, in which he thanked +them in the name of his mother, and found himself quite suddenly and +unexpectedly being fond of the boarders. Major Prime was not there. He +had been summoned back to Washington, but would return, he hoped, for +the week-end.</p> + +<p>It was after lunch that Randy and Becky walked in the woods. Nellie +Custis followed them. They<!-- Page 157 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> sat down at last at the foot of a hickory +tree. Becky took off her hat and the wind blew her shining hair about +her face. She was pale and wore an air of deep preoccupation.</p> + +<p>"Randy," she asked suddenly out of a long silence, "did you ever kiss a +girl?"</p> + +<p>Her question did not surprise him. He and Becky had argued many matters. +And they usually plunged in without preliminaries. He fancied that Becky +was discussing kisses in the abstract. It never occurred to him that the +problem was personal.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "I have. What about it?"</p> + +<p>"Did you—ask her to marry you?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>He pulled Nellie Custis' ears. "One of them wasn't a nice sort of +girl—not the kind that I should have cared to introduce to—you."</p> + +<p>"Yet you cared to—kiss her?"</p> + +<p>Randy flushed faintly. "I know how it looks to you. I hated it +afterwards, but I couldn't marry a girl—like that——"</p> + +<p>"Who was the other girl?"</p> + +<p>For a moment he did not reply, then he said with something of an effort, +"It was you, Becky."</p> + +<p>"Me? When?" She turned on him her startled gaze.<!-- Page 158 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Do you remember at Christmas—oh, ten years ago—and your grandfather +had a party for you. There was mistletoe in the hall, and we danced and +stopped under the mistletoe——"</p> + +<p>"I remember, Randy—how long ago it seems."</p> + +<p>"Yet ten years isn't really such a long time, is it, Becky? I was only a +little boy, but I told myself then that I would never kiss any other +girl. I thought then that—that some day I might ask you to marry me. +I—I had a wild dream that I might try to make you love me. I didn't +know then that poverty is a millstone about a man's neck." He gave a +bitter laugh.</p> + +<p>Becky's breath came quickly. "Oh, Randy," she said, "poverty wouldn't +have had anything to do with it—not if we had—cared——"</p> + +<p>"I care," said Randy, "and I think the first time I knew how much I +cared was when I kissed that other girl. Somehow you came to me that +night, a little white thing, so fine and different, and I loathed her."</p> + +<p>He was standing now—tall and lean and black-haired, but with the look +of race on his thin face, a rather princely chap in spite of his shabby +clothes. "Of course you don't care," he said; "I think if I had money I +should try to make you. But I haven't the right. I had thought that, +perhaps, if no other man came that some time I might——"<!-- Page 159 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p> + +<p>Becky picked up her riding crop, and as she talked she tapped her boot +in a sort of staccato accompaniment.</p> + +<p>"That other man has come," <i>tap-tap</i>, "he kissed me," <i>tap-tap</i>, "and +made me love him," <i>tap-tap</i>, "and he has gone away—and he hasn't asked +me to marry him."</p> + +<p>One saw the Indian in Randy now, in the lifted head, the square-set jaw, +the almost cruel keenness of the eyes.</p> + +<p>"Of course it is George Dalton," he said.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"I could kill him, Becky."</p> + +<p>She laughed, ruefully. "For what? Perhaps he thinks I'm not a nice sort +of girl—like the one you kissed——"</p> + +<p>"For God's sake, Becky."</p> + +<p>He sat down on a flat rock. He was white, and shaking a little. He +wanted more than anything else in the wide world to kill George Dalton. +Of course in these days such things were preposterous. But he had murder +in his heart.</p> + +<p>"I blame myself," Becky said, <i>tap-tap</i>, "I should have known that a man +doesn't respect," <i>tap-tap</i>, "a woman he can kiss."</p> + +<p>He took the riding crop forcibly out of her hands. "Look at me, look at +me, Becky, do you love him?"</p> + +<p>She whispered, "Yes."<!-- Page 160 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Then he's got to marry you."</p> + +<p>But her pride was up. "Do you think I want him if he doesn't want—me?"</p> + +<p>"He shall want you," said Randy Paine; "the day shall come when he shall +beg on his knees."</p> + +<p>Randy had studied law. But there are laws back of the laws of the white +man. The Indian knows no rest until his enemy is in his hands. Randy lay +awake late that night thinking it out. But he was not thinking only of +Georgie. He was thinking of Becky and her self-respect. "She will never +get it back," he said, "until that dog asks her to marry him."</p> + +<p>He had faith enough in her to believe that she would not marry Dalton +now if he asked her. But she must be given the chance.<!-- Page 161 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h3> + +<h2>ANCESTORS</h2> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>The Judge and Mr. Flippin were fishing, with grasshoppers for bait. The +fish that they caught they called "shiners." As an edible product +"shiners" were of little account. But the Judge and Mr. Flippin did not +fish for food, they fished for sport. It was mild sport compared to the +fishing of other days when the Judge had waded into mountain streams +with the water coming up close to the pocket of his flannel shirt where +he kept his cigars, or had been poled by Bob Flippin from "riffle" to +pool. Those had been the days of speckled trout and small-mouthed bass, +and Bob had been a boy and the Judge at middle age. Now Bob Flippin had +reached the middle years, and the Judge was old, but they still fished +together. They were comrades in a very close and special sense. What Bob +Flippin lacked in education and culture he made up in wisdom and +adoration of the Judge. When he talked he had something to say, but as +a<!-- Page 162 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> rule he let the Judge talk and was always an absorbed listener.</p> + +<p>There was in their relations, however, a complete adjustment to the +class distinctions which separated them. The Judge accepted as his right +the personal service with which Bob Flippin delighted to honor him. It +was always Bob who pulled the boat and carried the basket. It was Bob +who caught the grasshoppers and cooked the lunch.</p> + +<p>There was one dish dedicated to a day's fishing—fried ham and eggs. Bob +had a long-handled frying-pan, and the food was seasoned with the salt +and savor of the out-of-doors.</p> + +<p>There were always several dogs to bear their masters company. The +Judge's three were beagles—tireless hunters of rabbits, and somewhat in +disgrace as a species since Germany had gone to war with the world. +Individually, however, they were beloved by the Judge because they were +the children and grandchildren of a certain old Dinah who had slept in a +basket by his bed until she died.</p> + +<p>Bob Flippin had a couple of setters, and the five canines formed a +wistful semicircle around the lunch basket.</p> + +<p>The lunch basket was really a fishing-basket, lined with tin. In one end +was a receptacle for ice. After the lunch was eaten, the fish were put +next to the ice, and the basket thus served two purposes.<!-- Page 163 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> Among the +other edibles there were always corn-cakes for the dogs. They knew it, +and had the patience of assured expectation.</p> + +<p>"Truxton comes on Saturday," said the Judge as he watched Bob turn the +eggs expertly in the long-handled pan, "and Claudia. I told Becky to +ride over this morning and ask your wife if she could help Mandy. +Mandy's all right when there's nobody but the family, but when there's +company in prospect she moans and groans."</p> + +<p>"Mollie's up at the Watermans'; Mrs. Waterman is worse. They expected to +take her to New York, but she is too ill, and they are going to have the +doctors bring another nurse."</p> + +<p>"I had a note from Mr. Dalton," said the Judge, "saying they were going. +It was rather sudden, and he was sorry. Nice fellow. He liked to come +over and look at my birds."</p> + +<p>Bob Flippin's eyes twinkled. "I reckon he liked to look at a pretty +girl——"</p> + +<p>The Judge stared at him. "At Becky?"</p> + +<p>Flippin nodded. "Didn't you know it?"</p> + +<p>"Bless my soul." The Judge was unquestionably startled. "But I don't +know anything about him. I can't have him running after Becky."</p> + +<p>"Seems to me he's been a-runnin'."</p> + +<p>"But what would Claudia say? I don't know anything about his family. +Maybe he hasn't any<!-- Page 164 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> family. How do I know he isn't a fortune-hunter?"</p> + +<p>"Well, he isn't a bird hunter, I can tell you that. I saw him kick one +of your dogs. A man that will kick a dog isn't fit to hold a gun."</p> + +<p>"No, he isn't," said the Judge, soberly. "I'm upset by what you've said, +Flippin. Dalton's all right as far as I can see as a friend of mine. But +when anybody comes courting at Huntersfield he's got to show +credentials."</p> + +<p>He ate his lunch without much appetite. He was guiltily aware of what +Claudia would say if she knew what had happened.</p> + +<p>But perhaps nothing had happened and perhaps she need not know. He +cheered up and threw a bit of ham to the waiting dogs. Perhaps Becky +wasn't interested. Perhaps, after all, Dalton had been genuine in his +interest in the stuffed birds.</p> + +<p>"Becky's too young for things like that," he began hopefully.</p> + +<p>But Bob Flippin shook his head. "Girls are queer, Judge, and you never +can tell what they're goin' to do next. Now, there's my Mary—running +off and getting married, and coming home and not talking much about it. +She—didn't even bring her marriage certificate. Said that he had kept +it. But she's never lied to me, and I know when she says she's married, +she's—married—but it's queer.<!-- Page 165 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> He ain't written now for weeks, but she +ain't worried. She says she knows the reason, but she can't tell me. And +when I try to ask questions, she just looks me straight in the eye and +says, 'I never lied to you, Father, did I? And it's all right.'"</p> + +<p>"He has a good name," said the Judge. "Branch—it's one of our names—my +wife's family."</p> + +<p>"But I reckon there ain't never been any Truelove Branches in your +family tree. I laugh at Mary when she calls him that. '"Truelove" ain't +any name for a man, Mary,' I tell her. But she says there couldn't be a +better one. And she insisted on naming the child 'Fidelity.' But if +anybody had told me that my little Mary—would take things into her own +hands like that—why, Judge, before she went away to teach school, she +leaned on me and her mother—and now she's as stiff as a poker when we +try to ask about her affairs——"</p> + +<p>"Does he support her?" the Judge asked.</p> + +<p>"Sends her plenty of money. She always seems to have enough, even when +he doesn't write. He'll be coming one of these days—and then we'll get +the thing straight, but in the meantime there ain't any use in asking +Mary."</p> + +<p>He brought out the bag of corn-cakes and fed the dogs. They were a +well-bred crew and took their share in turn, sitting in a row and going +through the ceremony with an air of enjoying not<!-- Page 166 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> only the food but the +attention they attracted from the two men.</p> + +<p>"Of course," said Mr. Flippin as he gathered up the lunch things, "I'm +saying to you what I wouldn't say to another soul. Mary's my girl, and +she's all right. But I naturally have the feelings of a father."</p> + +<p>The Judge stretched himself on the grass, and pulled his hat over his +eyes. "Girls are queer, and if that Dalton thinks he can court my +Becky——" He stopped, and spoke again from under his hat, "Oh, what's +the use of worrying, Bob, on a day like this?"</p> + +<p>The Judge always napped after lunch, and Bob Flippin, stretched beside +him, lay awake and watched the stream slip by in a sheet of silver, he +watched a squirrel flattened on the limb above him, he watched the birds +that fluttered down to the pools to bathe, he watched the buzzards +sailing high above the hills.</p> + +<p>And presently he found himself watching his own daughter Mary, as she +came along the opposite bank of the stream.</p> + +<p>She was drawing Fiddle-dee-dee in a small red cart and was walking +slowly.</p> + +<p>She walked well. Country-born and country-bred, there was nothing about +her of plodding peasant. All her life she had danced with the +Bannis<!-- Page 167 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span>ters and the Beauforts. Yet she had never been invited to the big +balls. When the Merriweathers gave their Harvest Dance, Mary and her +mother would go over and help bake the cakes, and at night they would +sit in the gallery of the great ballroom and watch the dancers, but Mary +would not be asked out on the floor.</p> + +<p>Seeing the Judge asleep, Mary stopped and beckoned from the other side.</p> + +<p>Flippin rose and made his way across the stream, stepping from stone to +stone.</p> + +<p>"Mother wants you to come right up to the Watermans', Father. Mrs. +Waterman is to have an operation, and you are to direct the servants in +fitting up a room for the surgeons. The nurse will tell you what to do."</p> + +<p>Mr. Flippin rubbed his face with his handkerchief. "I don't like to wake +the Judge."</p> + +<p>"I'll stay here and tell him," Mary said. "And you can send Calvin down +to carry the basket."</p> + +<p>She was standing beside him, and suddenly she laid her cheek against his +arm. "I love you," she said, "you are a darling, Daddy."</p> + +<p>He patted her cheek. "That sounds like my little Mary."</p> + +<p>"Don't I always sound like your little Mary?"</p> + +<p>"Not always."</p> + +<p>"Well—I've had things on my mind." Her blue<!-- Page 168 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> eyes met his, and she +flushed a bit. "Not things that I am sorry for, but things that I am +worried about. But now—well, I am very happy in my heart, Daddy."</p> + +<p>He smiled down at her. "Have you heard from T. Branch?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, by wireless——"</p> + +<p>He looked his astonishment. "Wireless?"</p> + +<p>"Heart-wireless, Daddy. Didn't you get messages that way when you were +young—from Mother?"</p> + +<p>"How do I know? It's been twenty-five years since then, and we haven't +had to send messages. We've just held on to each other's hands, thank +God." He bent and kissed her. "You stay and tell the Judge, Mary. He'll +sleep for a half-hour yet; he's as regular as the clock."</p> + +<p>His own two dogs followed him, but the Judge's beagles lay with their +noses on their paws at their master's feet. Now and then they snapped at +flies but otherwise they were motionless.</p> + +<p>Before the half hour was up Fiddle-dee-dee fell asleep, and the Judge +waking, saw on the other side of a stream propped against the gray old +oak, the young mother cool in her white dress, her child in her arms.</p> + +<p>"Father had to go," she told him, and explained the need; "he'll send +Calvin for the basket."<!-- Page 169 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I can carry my own basket, Mary; I'm not a thousand years old."</p> + +<p>"It isn't that. But you've never carried baskets, Judge."</p> + +<p>The Judge chuckled. "You say that is if it were an accusation."</p> + +<p>"It isn't. Only some of us seem born to carry baskets and others are +born to—let us carry them." Her smile redeemed her words from +impertinence.</p> + +<p>"Are you a Bolshevik, Mary?"</p> + +<p>"No. I believe in the divine rights of kings and—Judges. I'd hate to +see you carry a basket. It would rob you of something—just as I would +hate to see a king without his crown or a queen without her scepter."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mary, Mary, your father has never said things like that to me."</p> + +<p>"He doesn't feel them. Father believes in The God of Things as They +are——"</p> + +<p>"And don't you?"</p> + +<p>"I believe in you," she rose and carrying her sleeping child, crossed +the stream on the stones as easily as if she carried no burden; "you +know I believe in you, don't you—and in all the Bannisters?"</p> + +<p>It was said so lightly that he took it lightly. No one was so touchy as +the Judge about his dignity if<!-- Page 170 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> it were disregarded. But here was little +Mary smiling up at him and telling him that he was a king with a crown +and she liked it.</p> + +<p>"Well, well. Let's sit down, Mary."</p> + +<p>"Fish, if you want to, and I'll watch."</p> + +<p>He baited his hook and cast his line into the stream. It had a bobbing +red cork which fascinated Fiddle-dee-dee. She tried to wade out and get +it, and had to be held by her very short skirts lest she drown in the +attempt.</p> + +<p>"So I'm a confounded autocrat," the Judge chuckled. "Nobody ever said +that to me before, but maybe some of them have been thinking it."</p> + +<p>"Maybe they have," said Mary gravely, "but they haven't really cared. +Having the Bannisters at Huntersfield is like the English having a +Victoria or an Edward or a George at Buckingham Palace or at Windsor; it +adds flavor to their—democracy——"</p> + +<p>"Mary—who's been saying all this to you?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"My husband."</p> + +<p>"Truelove Branch?"</p> + +<p>She nodded.</p> + +<p>"I'd like to meet him, by Jove, I'd like to meet him. He has been +teaching his wife to poke fun at her old friend——"<!-- Page 171 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p> + +<p>She faced him fearlessly. "I'm not poking fun. I—I'd hate to have the +Bannisters lose one little bit of their beautiful traditions. I—I—— +Some day I'm going to teach little Fiddle those traditions, and tell her +what it means when—when people have race back of them. You see, I +haven't it, Judge, but I know what it's worth."</p> + +<p>He was touched by her earnestness. "My dear Mary," he said, "I wish my +own grandson looked at it that way. His letters of late have been very +disturbing."</p> + +<p>A little flush crept into her cheeks. "Disturbing?"</p> + +<p>"He writes that we Americans have got to fit our practice to our +theories. He says that we shout democracy and practice autocracy. That +we don't believe that all men are free and equal, and that, well, in +your words, Mary—we let other people carry our baskets."</p> + +<p>Mary was smiling to herself. "You are glad he is coming home?"</p> + +<p>"Truxton? Yes. On Saturday."</p> + +<p>"Becky told me. She rode over to get Mother to help Mandy."</p> + +<p>"I am going to have a lot of people to dine the day he arrives," said +the Judge, "and next week there'll be the Merriweathers' ball. He will +have a chance to see his old friends."<!-- Page 172 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes," said Mary, "he will."</p> + +<p>They talked a great deal about Truxton after that.</p> + +<p>"I wish he bore the Bannister name," said the Judge. "Becky is the only +Bannister."</p> + +<p>After the death of her husband Mrs. Beaufort had come to live with the +Judge. Truxton's boyhood had been spent on the old estate. The Judge's +income was small, and Truxton had known few luxuries. Like the rest of +the boys of the Bannister family he was studying law at the University. +He and Randy had been classmates, but had gone into different branches +of the service.</p> + +<p>"When he comes back," the Judge told Mary, "he must show the stuff he is +made of. I can't have him selling cars around the county like Randy +Paine."</p> + +<p>"Well, Randy has sold a lot of them," said Mary. "Father has given him +an order——"</p> + +<p>"You don't mean to say that Bob Flippin is going to buy a car——"</p> + +<p>"He is."</p> + +<p>"He didn't dare tell me," the Judge said; "what's he going to do with +his horses?"</p> + +<p>"Keep them," said Mary serenely; "the car is for Mother—she's going to +drive it herself."</p> + +<p>The Judge, with a vision of Mollie Flippin's middle-aged plumpness upon +him, exclaimed: "You<!-- Page 173 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> don't mean that your mother is going to—drive a +car?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Mary, "she is."</p> + +<p>"I would as soon think of Claudia——"</p> + +<p>"No," said Mary, "Mrs. Beaufort will never drive her own car. She has +the coachman habit, and if she ever gets a car, there'll be a man at the +wheel."</p> + +<p>She brought the conversation back to Truxton. "Do you remember how we +had a picnic here years ago, Mother packed the lunch, and Truxton ate up +all the raspberry tarts?"</p> + +<p>"He loved tarts," said the Judge, "and chocolate cake. Well, well, I +shall be glad to see him."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps—perhaps when he gets here you'll be disappointed."</p> + +<p>"Why," sharply, "why should I?"</p> + +<p>Mary did not answer. She stood up with Fiddle in her arms. "Calvin's +coming for the basket," she said, "and I shall have to go up on the +other side—I left the cart."</p> + +<p>She said "good-bye" and crossed by the stepping-stones. The Judge wound +up his fishing tackle. The day's sport resulted in three small +"shiners." But he had enjoyed the day—there had been the stillness and +the sunlight, and the good company of Bob Flippin and his daughter +Mary.<!-- Page 174 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span></p> + +<p>The dogs followed, and Mary from the other side of the stream watched +the little procession, Calvin in the lead with the load, the Judge +straight and slim with his fluff of white hair, the three little dogs +paddling on their short legs.</p> + +<p>"Judge Bannister of Huntersfield," said Mary Flippin. Then she raised +Fiddle high in her arms. "Say <i>Granddad</i>, Fiddle," she whispered, "say +<i>Granddad</i>."</p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>The Flippin farmhouse was wide and rambling. It had none of the classic +elegance of the old Colonial mansions, but it had a hall in the middle +with the sitting-room on one side and on the other an old-fashioned +parlor with a bedroom back of it. The dining-room was back of the +sitting-room, and beyond that was the kitchen, and a succession of +detached buildings which served as dairy, granary, tool-house and +carriage house in the old fashion. There was much sunlight and +cleanliness in the farmhouse, and beauty of a kind, for the Flippins had +been content with simple things, and Mary's taste was evidenced in the +restraint with which the new had been combined with the old. She and her +mother did most of the work. It was not easy in these days to get +negroes to help. Daisy, the mulatto, had come down for the summer, but +they had<!-- Page 175 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> no assurance that when the winter came they could keep her. +Divested of her high heels and city affectations, Daisy was just a +darkey, of a rather plain, comfortable, efficient type. When Mary went +in, she was getting supper.</p> + +<p>"Has Mother come, Daisy?"</p> + +<p>"No, Miss, she ain', an' yo' Poppa ain' come. An' me makin' biscuits."</p> + +<p>"Your biscuits are always delicious, Daisy."</p> + +<p>"An' me and John wants to go to the movies, Miss Mary. An' efen the +supper is late."</p> + +<p>"You can leave the dishes until mornin', Daisy."</p> + +<p>Mary smiled and sighed as she went on with Fiddle to her own room. The +good old days of ordered service were over.</p> + +<p>She went into the parlor bedroom. It was the one which she and Fiddle +occupied. She bathed and dressed her baby, and changed her own frock. +Then she entered the long, dim parlor. There was a family Bible on the +table. It was a great volume with steel engravings. It had belonged to +her father's father. In the middle of the book were pages for births and +deaths. The records were written legibly but not elegantly. They went +back for two generations. Beyond that the Flippins had no family tree.</p> + +<p>Mary had seen the family tree at Huntersfield. It was rooted in +aristocratic soil. There were<!-- Page 176 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> Huguenot branches and Royalist +branches—D'Aubignes and Moncures, Peytons and Carys, Randolphs and +Lees. And to match every name there was more than one portrait on the +walls of Huntersfield.</p> + +<p>Mary remembered a day when she and Truxton Beaufort had stood in the +wide hall.</p> + +<p>"A great old bunch," Truxton had said.</p> + +<p>"If they were my ancestors I should be afraid of them."</p> + +<p>"Why, Mary?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, they'd expect so much of me."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that," Truxton said airily, "who cares what they expect?"</p> + +<p>Mr. and Mrs. Flippin came home in time for supper. The nurse had arrived +and the surgeons would follow in the morning. "It's dreadful, Mary," +Mrs. Flippin said, "to see her poor husband; money isn't everything. And +he loves her as much as if they were poor."</p> + +<p>Daisy washed the dishes in a perfect whirl of energy, donned her +high-heeled slippers and her Washington manner, and went off with John. +It was late that night when Mrs. Flippin went out to find Mary busy.</p> + +<p>"My dear," she said, "what are you doing?"</p> + +<p>Mary was rolling out pastry, with ice in a ginger-ale bottle. "I am +going to make some tarts. There<!-- Page 177 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> was a can of raspberries left—and—and +well—I'm just hungry for—raspberry tarts, Mother."</p> + + +<h3>III</h3><p>It was the Judge who told Becky that Dalton had not gone. "Mrs. Waterman +is very ill, and they are all staying down."</p> + +<p>Becky showed no sign of what the news meant to her, but that night pride +and love fought in the last ditch. It seemed to Becky that with Dalton +at King's Crest the agony of the situation was intensified.</p> + +<p>"Oh, why should I care?" she kept asking herself as she sat late by her +window. "He doesn't. And I have known him only three weeks. Why should +he count so much?"</p> + +<p>She knew that he counted to the measure of her own constancy. "I can't +bear it," she said over and over again pitifully, as the hours passed. +"I think I shall—die."</p> + +<p>It seemed to her that she wanted more than anything in the whole wide +world to see him for a moment—to hear the quick voice—to meet the +sparkle of his glance.</p> + +<p>Well, why not? If she called him—he would come. She was sure of that. +He was staying away because he thought that she cared. And he<!-- Page 178 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> didn't +want her to care. But he was not really—cruel—and if she called +him——</p> + +<p>She wandered around the room, stopping at a window and going on, +stopping at another to stare out into the starless night. There had been +rain, and there was that haunting wet fragrance from the garden. "I must +see him," she said, and put her hand to her throat.</p> + +<p>She went down-stairs. Everybody was in bed. There was no one to hear. +Her grandfather's room was over the library; Mandy and Calvin slept in +servants' quarters outside. To-morrow the house would be full of +ears—and it would be too late.</p> + +<p>A faint light burned in the lower hall. The stairway swept down from a +sort of upper gallery, and all around the gallery and on the stairs and +along the lower hall were the portraits of Becky's dead and gone +ancestors.</p> + +<p>They were really very worth-while ancestors, not as solid and +substantial perhaps as those whose portraits hung in the Meredith house +on Main Street in Nantucket, but none the less aristocratic, with a bit +of dare-devil about the men, and a hint of frivolity about the +women—with a pink coat here and a black patch there, with the sheen of +satin and the sparkle of jewels—a Cavalier crowd, with the greatest +ancestor of all in his curly wig and his sweeping plumes.<!-- Page 179 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p> + +<p>They stared at Becky as she went down-stairs, a little white figure in +her thin blue dressing-gown, her bronze hair twisted into a curly +topknot, her feet in small blue slippers.</p> + +<p>The telephone was on a small table under the portrait of the greatest +grandfather. He had a high nose, and a fine clear complexion, and he +looked really very much alive as he gazed down at Becky.</p> + +<p>She found the King's Crest number. It was a dreadful thing that she was +about to do. Yet she was going to do it.</p> + +<p>She reached for the receiver. Then suddenly her hand was stayed, for it +seemed to her that into the silence her greatest grandfather shouted +accusingly:</p> + +<p><i>"Where is your pride?"</i></p> + +<p>She found herself trying to explain. "But, Grandfather——"</p> + +<p>The clamour of other voices assailed her:</p> + +<p><i>"Where is your pride?"</i></p> + +<p>They were flinging the question at her from all sides, those gentlemen +in ruffles, those ladies in shining gowns.</p> + +<p>Becky stood before them like a prisoner at the bar—a slight child, yet +with the look about her of those lovely ladies, and with eyes as clear +as those of the old Governor who had accused her.</p> + +<p>"But I love him——"<!-- Page 180 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was no defense and she knew it. Not one of those lovely ladies would +have tried to call a lover back, not one of them but would have died +rather than show her hurt. Not one of those slender and sparkling +gentlemen but would have found swords or pistols the only settlement for +Dalton's withdrawal at such a moment.</p> + +<p>And she was one of them—one of that prideful group. There came to her a +sense of strength in that association. What had been done could be done +again. Other women had hidden broken hearts. Other women had held their +heads high in the face of disappointment and defeat. There were +traditions of the steadfastness of those smiling men and women. Some +day, perhaps, she would have her portrait painted, and she would +be—smiling.</p> + +<p>She had no fear now of their glances, as she passed them on the stairs, +as she met them in the upper hall. What she had to bear she must bear in +silence, and bear it like a Bannister.<!-- Page 181 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h3> + +<h2>"T. BRANCH"</h2> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>Dalton felt that Fate had played a shabby trick. He had planned a +graceful exit and the curtain had stuck; he had wanted to run away, and +he could not. Flora was very ill, and it was, of course, out of the +question to desert Oscar.</p> + +<p>Madge had been sent for. She was to arrive on the noon train. He had +promised Oscar that he would drive down for her. The house was in a +hubbub. There were two trained nurses, and a half-dozen doctors. The +verdict was unanimous, Flora could not be moved, and an operation was +imperative.</p> + +<p>And in the meantime there was the thought of Becky beating at his heart. +With miles between them, the thing would have been easy. Other interests +would have crowded her out. But here she was definitely within +reach—and he wanted her. He wanted her more than he had ever wanted +Madge, more than he had ever wanted any other woman. There had been a +sweetness about her, a dearness.<!-- Page 182 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p> + +<p>He thought it over as he lay in bed waiting for his breakfast. Since +waking, he had led Kemp a life of it.</p> + +<p>"Of all the fools," he said, when at last the tray came.</p> + +<p>"Anything the matter, sir?"</p> + +<p>George lifted a silver cover. "That's not what I ordered."</p> + +<p>"You said a kidney omelette, sir."</p> + +<p>"I wanted the kidney broiled—not in a messy sauce. Take it away."</p> + +<p>"I'll get you another."</p> + +<p>"I don't want another. Take it away." He flung his napkin on the tray +and turned his face to the wall. "I've got a headache. Tell Waterman +that if he asks for me, that I've told you to go down and meet Miss +MacVeigh."</p> + +<p>Kemp stood and looked at the figure humped up under the light silk +cover. He had long patience. He might have been a stick or stone under +his master's abuse. But he was not a stick or a stone. It seemed too +that suddenly his soul expanded. No man had ever called him a fool, and +he had worn a decoration in France. He knew what he was going to do. And +for the first time in many months he felt himself a free man.</p> + +<p>George's decision to have Kemp meet Madge had been founded on the +realization that it would be<!-- Page 183 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> unbearably awkward if he should pass Becky +on the road. She had sent back his pendant without a word, and there was +no telling how she was taking it. If the thing were ever renewed—and +his mind dwelt daringly on that possibility, explanations would be +easy—but he couldn't make explanation if she saw him first in a car +with another woman.</p> + +<p>It was thus that Madge, arriving on the noon train, found Kemp waiting +for her. Kemp was very fond of Miss MacVeigh. She was not a snob and +there were so many snobs among Dalton's friends. She talked to him as if +he were a man and not a mechanical toy. Dalton, on the other hand, +treated his valet as if he were a marionette to be pulled by strings, an +organ controlled by stops, or a typewriter operated by keys.</p> + +<p>Major Prime had come down on the same train. Randy, driving Little +Sister, was there to meet him.</p> + +<p>"It is good to get back," the Major said. "I've been homesick."</p> + +<p>"We missed you a lot. Yesterday we had a barbecue, and you should have +been here——"</p> + +<p>"I wanted to be, Randy. I hope you are not going to turn me out with the +rest of the boarders when you roll in affluence."</p> + +<p>"Affluence, nothing—but I sold two cars yesterday——"</p> + +<p>"Not bad for a poet."<!-- Page 184 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It is a funny sort of game," said Randy soberly; "all day I run around +in this funny little car, and at night I think big thoughts and try to +put them on paper."</p> + +<p>He could not tell the Major that the night before his thoughts had not +been the kind to put on paper. He had been in a white fury. He knew that +if he met Dalton nothing could keep him from knocking him down. He felt +that a stake and burning fagots would be the proper thing, but, failing +that, fists would do. Yet, there was Becky's name to be considered. +Revenge, if he took it, must be a subtle thing—his mind had worked on +it in the darkness of the night.</p> + +<p>Kemp was helping Madge into the Waterman car. "Who is she?" the Major +asked. "She came down on my train."</p> + +<p>"Miss MacVeigh. Mrs. Waterman is very ill. There is to be an operation +at once."</p> + +<p>"I watched her on the train," the Major confessed as he and Randy drove +off. "She read all the way down, and smiled over her book. I saw the +title, and it was 'Pickwick Papers.' Fancy that in these days. Most +young people don't read Dickens."</p> + +<p>"Well, she isn't young, is she?"</p> + +<p>"Not callow, if that's what you mean, you ungallant cub. But she is +young in contrast to a Methuselah like myself."<!-- Page 185 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p> + +<p>Kemp had to look after Miss MacVeigh's trunks, so Randy's little car +went on ahead. Thus again Fate pulled wires, or Providence. If the big +car had had the lead Madge would have gone straight as an arrow to +Hamilton Hill. But as it happened, Little Sister barred the way to the +open road.</p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>The two cars had to pass the Flippins. Mrs. Flippin and Mary were baking +cakes for the feast at Huntersfield. Mrs. Flippin was to go over in the +afternoon and help Mandy, and to-morrow Truxton and his mother would +arrive.</p> + +<p>"The Judge is like a boy," said Mrs. Flippin; "he's so glad to have +Truxton home."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps he won't be so glad when he gets here——"</p> + +<p>"Why not?" Mrs. Flippin turned and stared at her daughter.</p> + +<p>Mary was seeding raisins, wetting her fingers now and then in a glass of +water which stood on a table by her side. "Well, Truxton may be +changed—most of the men are, aren't they?"</p> + +<p>"Is Randy Paine changed?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mother."</p> + +<p>"How?"</p> + +<p>"He's a grown-up."<!-- Page 186 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, he needed to grow, and it wouldn't hurt Truxton either."</p> + +<p>"But if Truxton has grown up and wants his own way—the Judge won't like +it. The Judge has always ruled at Huntersfield."</p> + +<p>"Well, he supports Truxton; why shouldn't he?"</p> + +<p>A bright flush stained Mary's skin. "Truxton has his officer's pay now."</p> + +<p>"He won't have it when he gets out of the Army."</p> + +<p>Mary rose and went to the stove. She came back with a kettle and poured +boiling water over a dish of almonds to blanch them.</p> + +<p>"We ought to have made this fruit cake a week ago to have it really +good," she said, and shelved the subject of Truxton Beaufort.</p> + +<p>"It will be good enough as it is," said Mrs. Flippin; "there isn't +anybody in the county that can beat me when it comes to baking cakes."</p> + +<p>"Where's Fiddle," Mary said, suddenly; "can you see her from the window, +Mother?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Flippin could not.</p> + +<p>"Well, she's probably sailing her celluloid fish in the chickens' water +pan," said Mary; "I'll go out and look her up in a minute."</p> + +<p>But Fiddle was not sailing celluloid fish. Columbus-like she had decided +that there were wider seas than the water pan. Once upon a time<!-- Page 187 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> her +grandmother had taken her to the bottom of the hill, and at the bottom +of the hill there had been a lot of water, and Fiddle had walked in it +with her bare feet, and had splashed. She had liked it much better than +the chickens' pan.</p> + +<p>So she had picked up her three celluloid fish and had trotted down the +path. She wore her pink rompers, and as she bobbed along she was like a +mammoth rose-petal blown by the wind.</p> + +<p>At the foot of the hill she came upon a little brown stream. It was just +a thread of a stream, very shallow with a lot of big flat stones. Fiddle +walked straight into it, and the clear water swept over her toes. She +put in her little fish, and quite unexpectedly, they swam away. She +followed and came to where the stream was spanned by a rail-fence which +separated the Flippin farm from the road. The lowest rail was about as +high above the stream as her own fast-beating heart. She ducked under it +and discovered one of her fish whirling in a small eddy. It was a red +fish and she was very fond of it. She made a sudden grab, caught it, +lost her balance and sat down in the water. After the first shock, she +found that she liked it. The other fish had continued on their journey +towards the river. Perhaps some day they would come to the sea. Fiddle +forgot them. She held the little red fish fast and splashed the water +with her heels.<!-- Page 188 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p> + +<p>Now on each side of the water was a road, which went up a hill each way, +so that cars coming down, put on speed to go up, and forded the stream +which was a mere thread of water except after high rains.</p> + +<p>Randy was talking to the Major as he came down the hill. He did not see +Fiddle until he was almost upon her. He was driving at high speed, and +there was only a second in which to jam things down and pull things up +and stop the car.</p> + +<p>Kemp was behind him. He was not prepared for Randy's sudden stop. He +swerved sharply to the left, slammed into a telegraph pole—and came +back to life to find somebody bending over him. "Who is looking after +the lady, sir?" he managed to murmur.</p> + +<p>"Young Paine and Mr. Flippin are carrying her to the house. You are cut +a bit. Let me tie up your head." The Major gave efficient first aid and +after that Kemp got to his feet painfully. "Is Miss MacVeigh badly +hurt?"</p> + +<p>"She is conscious, and not in great pain. I'm not much of a prop to lean +on, but I think we can make that hill together."</p> + +<p>They climbed slowly, the man of crutches and the man with the bound-up +head.</p> + +<p>"It's like a little bit of over there, Kemp, isn't it?"<!-- Page 189 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes it is, sir—many's the time I've seen them helping each +other—master and man."</p> + +<p>When they got to the house, they found Madge on the sofa, and Mrs. +Flippin bending over her. "My husband has gone for the doctor," she told +the Major. "I think the blood comes from her hand; she must have put it +up to save her face."</p> + +<p>"I bent my head," murmured Madge, "and my hat was broad. Think what +might have happened if I had worn a little hat."</p> + +<p>She had started the sentence lightly but she stopped with a gasp of +pain. "Oh—my foot——" she said, "the pain—is—dreadful——"</p> + +<p>The Major drew up a chair, and handed his crutches to Randy. "If you'll +let us take off your shoe, it might help till the doctor comes."</p> + +<p>She fainted dead away while they did it, and came back to life to find +her foot bandaged, and her uncut hand held in the firm clasp of the man +with the crutches. He was regarding her with grave gray eyes, but his +face lighted as she looked up at him.</p> + +<p>"Drink this," he told her. "The doctor is on the way, and I think it +will help the pain until he comes."</p> + +<p>She liked his voice—it had a deep and musical quality. She was glad he +was there. Something<!-- Page 190 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> in his strength seemed to reach out to her and +give her courage.</p> + +<p>When the pain began again, he gave her another drink from the glass, and +when she drifted off, she came back to the echo of a softly-whistled +tune.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon," the Major said as she opened her eyes; "it is a bad +habit that I permit myself when I have things on my mind. My men said +they always knew by the tune I whistled the mood I was in. And that +there was only one tune they were afraid of."</p> + +<p>"What was that?"</p> + +<p>"'Good-night, Ladies——'" He threw back his head and laughed. "When I +began on that they knew it was all up with them——"</p> + +<p>She tried to laugh with him, but it was a twisted grin. "Oh," she said +and began to tremble. She saw his eyes melt to tenderness. "Oh, you poor +little thing."</p> + +<p>She was conscious after that of the firm hand which held hers. The deep +voice which soothed. Through all that blinding agony she was conscious +of his call to courage—she wondered if he had called his men like +that—over there——</p> + +<p>When the doctor came, he shook his head. "We'd better keep her here. She +is in no condition to be moved to Hamilton Hill, not over these roads. +Can you make room for her, Mrs. Flippin?"<!-- Page 191 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p> + +<p>"She can have my room," said Mary; "Fiddle and I can go up-stairs——"</p> + +<p>They moved Madge, and Mrs. Flippin and Mary got her to bed. The Major +sat in the sitting-room and talked to Randy, and as he talked he held +Madge's hat in his hand. It had a brim of straw and a crown of mauve +silk. The Major, turning it round and round on a meditative finger, +thought of the woman who had worn it. She was a pretty woman, a very +oddly pretty woman.</p> + +<p>"Is she related to Mrs. Waterman, Kemp?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"No, sir. But she's been there all summer. And then she went away, and +they sent for her because Mrs. Waterman is ill."</p> + +<p>Randy rather indiscreetly flung out, "It seems as if the trail of that +Waterman crowd is over our world. I suppose we shall have to get the +news of this up to them somehow."</p> + +<p>"I can telephone Mr. Dalton, sir."</p> + +<p>"Is Dalton still there?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. And he had a headache this morning, and stayed in bed, or he +would have been in the car, sir——"</p> + +<p>Randy wished bloodthirstily that Dalton had been in the car. Why +couldn't Dalton have been smashed instead of Madge?</p> + +<p>"I might call up Mr. Waterman instead of Mr.<!-- Page 192 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> +Dalton," Kemp suggested. "If Mr. Dalton's in bed, he'll hate to be +disturbed."</p> + +<p>"Are you afraid of him, Kemp?"</p> + +<p>Kemp's honest eyes met Randy's burning glance. "No, I am not afraid. I +am leaving his service, sir."</p> + +<p>They stared at him. "Leaving his service, why?" Randy demanded.</p> + +<p>"He called me a fool this morning. And I am not a fool, sir."</p> + +<p>"What made him say that?" Randy asked, with interest.</p> + +<p>"He ordered a kidney omelette for breakfast, and I brought it, and he +wouldn't eat it, and blamed me. I am willing to serve any man, but not +without self-respect, sir."</p> + +<p>"What are you going to do now, Kemp?" the Major asked.</p> + +<p>"Find a better man to work for."</p> + +<p>"It won't be hard," Randy interpolated.</p> + +<p>"Work for me," said the Major.</p> + +<p>Kemp was eager——! "For you, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I need somebody to be legs for me—I'm only half a man. The place +is open for you if you want it."</p> + +<p>"I shall want it in a week," said Kemp; "I shall have to give him +notice."</p> + +<p>"There will be three musketeers in the old<!-- Page 193 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> Schoolhouse, Paine. We have +all seen service."</p> + +<p>"It will be the best thing that ever happened to me, sir," said Kemp +ecstatically, "to know that I can wait on a fighting man." He swung down +the hall to the telephone as if he marched to the swirl of pipes.</p> + +<p>"Isn't Dalton a brute?" said Randy.</p> + +<p>"He that calleth his brother a fool——" mused the Major. He was still +turning the mauve hat in his hands. "It is queer," he said unexpectedly, +"how some women make you think of some flowers. Did you notice +everything Miss MacVeigh wore was lilac—and there's the perfume of it +about her things——"</p> + +<p>"Becky's a rose," said Randy, "from her own garden. She's as fresh and +sweet," his voice caught. "Oh, hang Dalton," he said, "I hate the whole +tribe of them——"</p> + +<p>Kemp came back to say that Oscar Waterman would be down at once. He +insisted that Miss MacVeigh should be brought up to Hamilton Hill.</p> + +<p>"He must talk with the doctor."</p> + +<p>"He is bringing a doctor of his own. One who came down for Mrs. +Waterman."</p> + +<p>Randy picked up his hat. "I'm going home. The same house won't hold +us——"<!-- Page 194 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span></p> + +<p>Kemp was discreet. "Can I help you with your car, sir?"</p> + +<p>"I'll come over later and look at it." Randy, escaping by the back way, +walked over the hills.</p> + +<p>The Major stayed, and was in the sitting-room with the county doctor +when the others arrived.</p> + +<p>Dr. Dabney, the county doctor, was not old. He rode to hounds and he +enjoyed life. But he was none the less a good doctor and a wise one. +Waterman's physician confirmed the diagnosis. It would be very unwise to +move Miss MacVeigh.</p> + +<p>"But she can't stay here," said Dalton.</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"She can't be made comfortable." Dalton surveyed the Flippin +sitting-room critically. He was aware that Mr. Flippin was in the +doorway, and that Mrs. Flippin and Mary could not fail to catch his +words. But he did not care who heard what he said. All was wrong with +his world. It was bad enough to have Flora ill, but to have Madge out of +commission would be to forge another chain to hold him to Hamilton Hill.</p> + +<p>"She can be made very comfortable here," said Dr. Dabney. "Mrs. Flippin +is a famous housekeeper. And anyone who has ever slept in that east room +in summer knows that there is nothing better."</p> + +<p>Dalton ignored him. "What do you think?" He<!-- Page 195 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> turned to the Washington +doctor. "What do you think?"</p> + +<p>"I think it best not to move her. We can send a nurse, and with Dr. +Dabney on the case, she will be in good hands."</p> + +<p>"The only trouble is," said Dr. Dabney, unexpectedly, "that we may +impose too much on Mrs. Flippin's hospitality."</p> + +<p>"We will pay——" said Dalton with a touch of insolence.</p> + +<p>From the doorway, Mr. Flippin answered him. "We don't want pay—— +Neighbors don't ask for money when they—help out——"</p> + +<p>There was a fine dignity about him. He was a rough farmer in overalls, +but Dalton would never match the simple grace of his fine gesture of +hospitality.</p> + +<p>The Major, who had been silent, now spoke up. "You are having more than +your share of trouble, Mr. Waterman. First your wife, and now your +guest."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I am, I am," said Oscar, brokenly. "I don't see what I've done to +deserve it."</p> + +<p>He was a pathetic figure. Whatever else he lacked, he loved his wife. If +she died—he felt that he could not bear it. For the first time in his +life Oscar faced a situation in which money did not count. He could not +buy off Death—all the money<!-- Page 196 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> in the world would not hold back for one +moment the shadow of the Dark Angel from his wife's door.</p> + + +<h3>III</h3><p>The window of the east room looked out on the old orchard. There was a +screened door which opened upon a porch and a stretch of lawn beyond +which was the dairy.</p> + +<p>Within the room there was a wide white bed, and a mahogany dresser with +a scarf with crocheted trimming, above the dresser was an old steel +engraving of Samson destroying the temple. The floor was spotless, a +soft breeze shook the curtains. Madge, relieved from pain and propped on +her pillows, watched a mother cat who with her kittens sat just outside +the door.</p> + +<p>She was a gray cat with white paws and breast, not fat at the moment but +with a comfortable well-fed look. She alternately washed herself and +washed her offspring. There were four of them, a rollicking lot not easy +to keep in order.</p> + +<p>"Aren't they—ripping?" Madge said to Mary.</p> + +<p>"They always come up on the step about this time in the afternoon; they +are waiting for the men to bring the milk to the dairy."</p> + +<p>A little later Madge saw the men coming—two of them, with the foaming +pails. The mother cat<!-- Page 197 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> rose and went to meet them. Her tail was straight +up, and the kittens danced after her.</p> + +<p>"They will get a big dish of it, and then they will go around to the +kitchen door to wait for supper and the table scraps. And after that +Bessie will coax the kittens out to the barn and go hunting for the +night."</p> + +<p>"Is that her name—Bessie?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, there has always been a Bessie-cat here. And we cling to old +customs."</p> + +<p>"I like old customs," said Madge, "and old houses."</p> + +<p>After a little she asked, "Who makes the butter?"</p> + +<p>"I do. It's great fun."</p> + +<p>"Oh, when I am well, may I help?"</p> + +<p>"You——?" Mary came over and stood looking down at her; "of course you +may help. But perhaps you wouldn't like it."</p> + +<p>"I am sure I should. And I don't think I am going to get well very +soon——"</p> + +<p>Mary was solicitous. "Why not?"</p> + +<p>"I don't want to get well. I want to stay here. I think this place +is—heavenly."</p> + +<p>Mary laughed. "It is just a plain farmhouse. If you want the show places +you should go to Huntersfield and King's Crest——"</p> + +<p>"I want just this. Do you know I am almost<!-- Page 198 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> afraid to go to sleep for +fear I shall wake up and find it a—dream——"</p> + +<p>A little later, she asked, "Are those apples in the orchard ripe?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"May I have one?"</p> + +<p>"The doctor may not want you to have it," said her anxious nurse.</p> + +<p>"Just to hold in my hand," begged Madge.</p> + +<p>So Mary picked a golden apple, and when the doctor came after dark, he +found the room in all the dimness of shaded lamplight, and the golden +girl asleep with that golden globe in her hand.</p> + +<p>Up-stairs the mulatto girl, Daisy, was putting Fiddle-dee-dee to sleep.</p> + +<p>"You be good, and Daisy gwine tell you a story."</p> + +<p>Fiddle liked songs better. "Sing 'Jack-Sam bye.'"</p> + +<p>Daisy, without her corsets and in disreputable slippers, settled herself +to an hour of ease. She had the negro's love of the white child, and a +sensuous appreciation of the pleasant twilight, the bedtime song, the +rhythm of the rocking-chair.</p> + +<p>"Well, you lissen," she said, and rocked in time to the tune.</p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bye, oh, bye, little Jack-Sam, bye.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bye, oh, bye, my baby,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When you wake, you shall have a cake—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And all the pretty little horses</span><!-- Page 199 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>Her voice was low and pleasant, with queer, quavering minor cadences. +But Fiddle-dee-dee was not sleepy.</p> + +<p>"'Tory," she begged, when the song was ended.</p> + +<p>So Daisy told the story of the three bears. Fiddle was too young to +fully comprehend, but she liked the sound of Daisy's voice at the +climaxes, "Who's been sittin' in <i>my</i> chair?" and "Who's been sleepin' +in <i>my</i> bed?" and "Who's been eatin' <i>my</i> soup?" Daisy was dramatic or +nothing, and she entered into the spirit of her tale. It was such an +exciting performance altogether that Fiddle was wider awake than ever +when the story was finished.</p> + +<p>"Ain' you evah gwine shut yo' eyes?"</p> + +<p>"Daisy, sing," said Fiddle.</p> + +<p>"I'se sung twel my th'oat's dry," said Daisy. And just then Mary came +in. "Isn't she asleep, Daisy?—I'll take her. Bannister's John is +down-stairs and wants to see you."</p> + +<p>"Well, I ain' wantin' to see him," Daisy tossed her head; "you jus' take +Miss Fiddle whilst I goes down and settles <i>him</i>. I ain' dressed and I +ain' ready, Miss Mary. You jes' look at them feet." She stuck them out +for inspection. Her shoes were out at the toes and down at the heels. +"This ain' my comp'ny night." As she went down-stairs, her voice died +away in a querulous murmur.</p> + +<p>Mary, with her child in her arms, sat by the win<!-- Page 200 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>dow and looked out upon +the quiet scene. There was faint rose in the sky, and a silver star. But +while she watched the rose faded.</p> + +<p>Fiddle, warm and heavy in her arms, slept finally. Then Mary took off +her dress and donned a thin white kimono. She let down her hair and +braided it——</p> + +<p>There was no light in the room, and her mother, coming up, asked softly, +"Are you there?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Fiddle asleep?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mother."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Flippin found her way to the window and sat down. "The nurse is +here, and a lot of clothes and things just came over for Miss MacVeigh +from Hamilton Hill. Mary, I wish you could see them."</p> + +<p>"I shall in the morning, Mother."</p> + +<p>"The nurse got her into a satin nightgown before I came up, with nothing +but straps for sleeves—but she looked like a Princess——"</p> + +<p>"Aren't you tired to death, dear?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Flippin laughed. "Me? I like it. I am sorry to have Miss MacVeigh +hurt, but having her in the house with all those pretty things and +people coming and going is better than a circus."</p> + +<p>Mary laughed a little. "You are such a darling—making the best of +things——"</p> + +<p>"Well, making the best is the easiest way," said<!-- Page 201 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> Mrs. Flippin. "I ain't +taking any credit, Mary."</p> + +<p>"You've had a hard day. You'd better go to bed."</p> + +<p>"I'll have a harder one to-morrow. Nothing would do but I must go back +to Huntersfield. Mandy's off her head, and the Judge wants the whole +house turned upside down for Truxton."</p> + +<p>"And Truxton comes—on the noon train."</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>There was a long silence. Then Mary said in a queer voice, "Mother, I've +got to tell you something—to-night——"</p> + +<p>"You ain't got anything to tell me, honey."</p> + +<p>"But I have—something—I should have told you—months ago."</p> + +<p>"There isn't anything you can tell me that I don't know."</p> + +<p><i>"Mother——"</i></p> + +<p>"Girls can't fool their mothers, Mary. Do you think that when Fiddle +grows up, she is going to fool you?"</p> + + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>The next morning Mr. Flippin was at the foot of the stairs when his +daughter came down.</p> + +<p>"So you lied to me, Mary."</p> + +<p>She shook her head, "No."<!-- Page 202 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You said his name was Truelove Branch."</p> + +<p>"He is my true love, Father. And his name is T. Branch—Truxton Branch +Beaufort."</p> + +<p>"What do you think the Judge is going to say about this?"</p> + +<p>"He is going to hate it. He is going to think that your daughter isn't +good enough for his grandson."</p> + +<p>"You are good enough for anybody, Mary. But this wasn't the right way."</p> + +<p>"It was the only way. Didn't Mother tell you that he begged me to let +him write to you and go to the Judge, and I wouldn't?"</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"I wanted to have him here, so that we might face it together."</p> + +<p>"Your mother says she guessed it long ago. But she didn't say anything. +Talking might make it worse."</p> + +<p>"Talking would have made it worse, Dad. We had done it—and I'd do it +again," there was a lift of her head, a light in her eyes, "but it +hasn't been easy—to know that you wondered—that other people wondered. +But it wouldn't have been any better if I had told. Truxton had to be +here to make it right if he could."</p> + +<p>"Why didn't he come a-runnin' to you as soon as he got on this side?"<!-- Page 203 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He couldn't. His orders kept him in New York, and he wanted me to come. +But I wouldn't. I made him ask his mother. I could spare him for three +weeks,—he will be mine for the rest of his life—and he is to tell her +before they get here."</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't have had it happen for a thousand dollars," said troubled +Bob Flippin. "I've always done everything on the square with the Judge."</p> + +<p>"I know," said Mary, with the sudden realization of how her act had +affected others, "I know. That's the only thing I am sorry about. But—I +don't believe the Judge would be so silly as to let anything I did make +any difference about you——"</p> + +<p>"Where are you going to live?"</p> + +<p>For the first time Mary's air of assurance left her. "He is hoping his +grandfather will want us at Huntersfield——"</p> + +<p>"He can keep on a-hoping," said Bob Flippin. "I know the Judge."</p> + +<p>Mary flared. "We can find a little house of our own——"</p> + +<p>Her father laid his hand on her shoulder. "Look at me, daughter," he +said, and turned her face up to him. "Our house is yours, Mary," he +said. "I don't like the way you did it, and I hate to think what will +happen when the Judge finds out. But our home is yours, and it's your +husband's. As long as you like to stay——"<!-- Page 204 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p> + +<p>And now Mary sobbed—a little slip of a thing in her father's arms. All +the long months she had kept her secret, holding it safe in her heart, +dreading yet longing for the moment when she could tell the world that +she was the wife of Truxton Beaufort, whom she had adored from babyhood.</p> + +<p>"I would have married him, Dad, if—if I had had to tramp the road."</p> + +<p>Truxton came on the noon train. He drove at once to Huntersfield with +his mother, was embraced by the Judge, kissed Becky, and suddenly +disappeared.</p> + +<p>"Where's he gone?" the Judge asked, irritably. "Where has he gone, +Claudia?"</p> + +<p>"He will be back in time for lunch," said Mrs. Beaufort. "May I speak to +you in the library, Father?"</p> + +<p>Becky, from the moment of her aunt's arrival, had known that something +was wrong. She had expected to see Mrs. Beaufort glowing with renewed +youth, radiant. Instead, she looked as if a blight had come upon her, +shrivelled—old. When she smiled it was without joy; she was dull and +flat.</p> + +<p>It was a half hour before Aunt Claudia came out from the library. "My +dear," she said, finding Becky still on the porch, "I have something to +tell you. Will you go up-stairs with me?—I—think I should like to—lie +down——"<!-- Page 205 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span></p> + +<p>Becky put a strong young arm about her and they went up together.</p> + +<p>"It's—it's about Truxton," Aunt Claudia said, prone on the couch in her +room. "Becky—he's married——"</p> + +<p><i>"Married?"</i></p> + +<p>"Married, my dear. He did not tell me until—last night. He wanted me to +be happy—as long as I could. He's a dear boy, Becky—but—he's +married——" She went on presently with an effort. "He has been married +over two years—and, Becky—he has married—Mary Flippin."</p> + +<p><i>"Aunt Claudia——"</i></p> + +<p>"He married her in Petersburg—before he went to France with the first +ambulance corps. They decided not to tell anyone. Mary took Truxton's +middle name. When the baby came, Truxton was wild to write us, but +Mary—wouldn't. She felt if he was here when it was told that we would +forgive him—— If anything—happened to him—she didn't want him to die +feeling that we had—blamed him—— I must say that Mary—was +wise—but—to think that my son has married—Mary Flippin."</p> + +<p>"Mary's a dear," said Becky stoutly.</p> + +<p>"Yes," Aunt Claudia agreed, "but not a wife for my son. I had such hopes +for him, Becky. He could have married anybody."<!-- Page 206 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span></p> + +<p>Becky knew the kind of woman that Aunt Claudia had wanted Truxton to +marry—one whose ancestors were like those whose portraits hung in the +hall at Huntersfield—a woman with a high-held head—a woman whose +family traditions paralleled those of the Bannisters and Beauforts.</p> + +<p>"Then Fiddle is Truxton's child."</p> + +<p>"And I am a grandmother, Becky. Mrs. Flippin and I are grandmothers——" +She said it with a sort of bitter mirth.</p> + +<p>"What did Grandfather say?"</p> + +<p>"I left him—raging. It was—very hard on me. I had hoped—he would make +it easy. He declares that Mary Flippin shan't step inside of his front +door. That he is going to recall all the invitations that he had sent +out for to-night. I tried to show him that now that the thing is +done—we might as well—accept it. But he wouldn't listen. If he keeps +it up like this, I don't want Truxton to come back—to lunch. I had +hoped that he might bring Mary with him—— She's his wife, Becky—and +I've got to love her——"</p> + +<p>"Aunt Claudia," Becky came over and put her arms about the pitiful black +figure, "you are the best sport—ever——"</p> + +<p>"No, I'm not," but Aunt Claudia kissed her, and for a moment they clung +together; "you mustn't make me cry, Becky."<!-- Page 207 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p> + +<p>But she did cry a little, wiping her eyes with her black-bordered +handkerchief, and saying all the time, "He's my son, Becky. I—I can't +put him away from me——"</p> + +<p>"He loved her," said Becky, with a catch of her breath. "I—I think that +counts a great deal, Aunt Claudia."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it does. And they did no wrong. They were only foolish children."</p> + +<p>"If anyone was to blame," she went on steadily, "it was Truxton. He had +been brought up a—gentleman. He knew what was expected of a man of his +birth and breeding. Secrecy is never honorable and I told him—last +night—that I was sorry to be less proud of my son than of the men who +had gone before him."</p> + +<p>"Did you tell him that?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. If pride of family means anything, Becky, it means holding on to +the finest of your traditions. If you break the rules—you are a little +less fine—a little less worthy——"</p> + +<p>What a stern little thing she was. Yet one felt the stimulus of her +strength. "Aunt Claudia," said Becky, tremulously, "if I could only be +as sure of things as you are——"</p> + +<p>"What things?"</p> + +<p>"Of right and wrong and all the rest of it."</p> + +<p>"I don't know what you mean by all the rest.<!-- Page 208 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> But right is right, and +wrong is wrong, my dear. There is no half-way, in spite of all the +sophistries with which people try to salve their consciences."</p> + +<p>She stopped, and plunged again into the discussion of her problem. "I +must telephone to Truxton—he mustn't come—not until his grandfather +asks him, Becky."</p> + +<p>"He is coming now," said Becky, who sat by the window. "Look, Aunt +Claudia."</p> + +<p>Tramping up the hill towards the second gate was a tall figure in khaki. +Resting like a rose-petal on one shoulder was a mite of a child in pink +rompers.</p> + +<p>"He is bringing Fiddle with him," Becky gasped. "Oh, Aunt Claudia, he is +bringing Fiddle."</p> + +<p>Aunt Claudia rose and looked out—— "Well," she said, "let her come. +She's his child. If Father turns them out, I'll go with them."</p> + +<p>Truxton saw them at the window and waved. "Shall we go down?" Becky +said.</p> + +<p>"No—wait a minute. Father's in the hall." Aunt Claudia stood tensely in +the middle of the room. "Becky, listen over the stair rail to what they +are saying."</p> + +<p>"But——"</p> + +<p>"Go on," Aunt Claudia insisted; "there are times when—one breaks the +rules, Becky. I've got to know what they are saying——"<!-- Page 209 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span></p> + +<p>The voices floated up. Truxton's a lilting tenor——</p> + +<p>"Are you going to forgive us, Grandfather?"</p> + +<p>"I am not the grandfather of Mary Flippin's child," the Judge spoke +evidently without heat.</p> + +<p>"You are the grandfather of Fidelity Branch Beaufort," said Truxton +coolly; "you can't get away from that——"</p> + +<p>"The neighborhood calls her Fiddle Flippin," the Judge reminded him.</p> + +<p>"What's in a name?" said Truxton, and swung his baby high in the air. +"Do you love your daddy, Fiddle-dee-dee?"</p> + +<p>"'Ess," said Fiddle, having accepted him at once on the strength of +sweet chocolate, and an adorable doll.</p> + +<p>"What are they saying?" whispered Aunt Claudia, still tense in the +middle of the room.</p> + +<p>"Hush," Becky waved a warning hand.</p> + +<p>"There is," said the Judge, in a declamatory manner, "everything in a +name. The Bannisters of Huntersfield, the Paines of King's Crest, the +Randolphs of Cloverdale, do you think these things don't count, +Truxton?"</p> + +<p>"I think there's a lot of rot in it," said young Beaufort, "when we were +fighting for democracy over there——"<!-- Page 210 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p> + +<p>The shot told. "Democracy has nothing to do with it——"</p> + +<p>"Democracy," said Truxton, "has a great deal to do with it. The days of +kings and queens are dead, they have married each other for generations +and have produced offspring like—William of Germany. Class assumptions +of superiority are withered branches on the tree of civilization. Mary +is as good as I am any day."</p> + +<p>"You wrote things like this," said the Judge, interested in spite of +himself, and loving argument.</p> + +<p>"I wrote them because I believed them. I am ready to apologize for not +telling you of my marriage before this. I have no apologies to make for +my wife——</p> + +<p>"I have no apologies to make for my wife," Truxton repeated. "I fought +for democratic ideals. I am practising them. Mary is a lady. You must +admit that, Grandfather."</p> + +<p>"I do admit it," said the Judge slowly, "in the sense that you mean it. +But in the county sense? Do you think the Merriweathers will ask her to +their ball? Do you think Bob Flippin will dine with my friends +to-night?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think he will expect to dine with you, Grandfather. I think if +you ask him, he will refuse. But if you take your friendship from him it +will break his heart——"<!-- Page 211 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Who said I would take my friendship away from Bob Flippin?"</p> + +<p>"He is afraid—you may——"</p> + +<p>"Because you married Mary?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>The Judge was breathing hard. "Whom does he think I'd go fishing with?"</p> + +<p>"Do you think he'll want to go fishing with you if you cast off Mary?"</p> + +<p>The Judge had a vision of life without Bob Flippin. On sunshiny days +there would be no one to cut bait for him, no one to laugh with him at +the dogs as they sat waiting for their corn-cakes, no one to listen with +flattering attention to his old, old tales.</p> + +<p>It had not occurred to him that Bob Flippin, too, might have his pride.</p> + +<p>He sat down heavily in a porch chair.</p> + +<p>"Go and get Mary," he exploded; "bring her here. The thing is done. The +milk is spilled. And there's no use crying over it. And if you think you +two young people can separate me and Bob Flippin——"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Beaufort and Becky came down presently, to find the old man gazing, +frowning, into space.</p> + +<p>"I have told him to bring Mary, Claudia, but I must say that I am +bitterly disappointed."<!-- Page 212 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Mary is a good little thing, Father." Aunt Claudia's voice shook.</p> + +<p>The old man looked up at her. "It is hardest for you, my dear. And I +have helped to make it hard."</p> + +<p>He reached out his hand to her. She took it. "He is my son—and I love +him——"</p> + +<p>"And I love you, Claudia."</p> + +<p>"May I get the blue room ready?"</p> + +<p>The blue room was the bridal chamber at Huntersfield; kept rather +sacredly at other times for formal purposes.</p> + +<p>"Do as you please. The house is yours, my dear."</p> + +<p>And so that night the lights of the blue room shone on Fiddle Flippin +and her new grandmother.</p> + +<p>"Do you think she would let me put her to bed?" Mrs. Beaufort had asked +Mary.</p> + +<p>"If you will sing, 'Jack-Sam Bye.'"</p> + +<p>Mary pulled the last little garment from the pink plump body, and +Fiddle, like a rosy Cupid, counted her toes gleefully in the middle of +the wide bed.</p> + +<p>"I told Truxton," Mary said suddenly, "that he might not want to call +her 'Fiddle.' The whole neighborhood says 'Fiddle Flippin.'"</p> + +<p>"It is a dear little name," Aunt Claudia was bending adoringly over the +baby, "but Fidelity is better—Fidelity Branch Beaufort——"<!-- Page 213 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I want her to be as proud of her name as I am," Mary's voice had a +thrilling note. "It is a great thing to know that my child has in her +the blood of all those wonderful people whose portraits hang in the +hall. I want her to be worthy of her name."</p> + +<p>She could have said nothing better. Aunt Claudia's face was lighted by +the warmth in her heart. "Such a lot of ancestors for one little fat +Fidelity," she said; "put on her nightgown, Mary, and I'll rock her to +sleep."<!-- Page 214 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h3> + +<h2>A GENTLEMAN'S LIE</h2> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>Becky was not well. Aunt Claudia, perceiving her listlessness, decided +that she needed a change. Letters were written to the Nantucket +grandfather, and plans made for Becky's departure. She was to spend a +month on the island, come back to Boston to the Admiral's big old house +on the water-side of Beacon Street, and return to Huntersfield for +Christmas.</p> + +<p>Becky felt that it was good of everybody to take so much trouble. She +really didn't care in the least. She occupied herself steadily with each +day's routine. She bent her head over the fine embroidery of a robe she +was making for Mary. She cut the flowers for the vases and bowls, she +recited nursery rhymes to Fiddle, entrancing that captious young person +with "Oranges and Lemons" and "Lavender's Blue." She read aloud to the +Judge, planned menus for Aunt Claudia, and was in fact such an angel in +the house that Truxton, after three days of it, protested.<!-- Page 215 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, what's the matter with Becky, Mums?"</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"She hasn't any pep."</p> + +<p>"I know."</p> + +<p>"Isn't she well?"</p> + +<p>"I have tried to have her see a doctor. But she won't. She insists that +she is all right——"</p> + +<p>"She is not. She is no more like the old Becky than champagne is +like—milk—— Becky was the kind that—went to your head—Mums. You +know that—sparkling."</p> + +<p>"I have wondered," Mrs. Beaufort said, slowly, "if anything happened +while I was away."</p> + +<p>"What could happen——"</p> + +<p>His mother sighed. "Nothing, I suppose——" She let it go at that. Her +intuitions carried her towards the truth. She had learned from Mandy and +the Judge that Dalton had spent much time at Huntersfield in her +absence. Becky never mentioned him. Her silence spoke eloquently, Mrs. +Beaufort felt, of something concealed. Becky was apt to talk of things +that interested her. And there had been no doubt of her interest in +Dalton before her aunt had gone away.</p> + +<p>Randy, coming often now to Huntersfield, had his heart torn for his +beloved. No one except himself knew what had happened, and the knowledge +stirred him profoundly. He held that burn<!-- Page 216 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span>ing torches and a stake were +none too good for Dalton. He sighed for the old days in Virginia when +gentlemen settled such matters in the woods at dawn, with pistols, +seconds, a shot or two. Farther back it would have been an affair of +knives and tomahawks—Indian chiefs in a death struggle.</p> + +<p>But neither duels nor death struggles were in the modern mode, nor would +any punishment which he might inflict on Dalton help Becky in this +moment of deep humiliation. He knew her pride and the hurt that had come +to her, he knew her love, and the deadly inertia which had followed the +loss of illusion.</p> + +<p>Randy's love was not a selfish love. In that tense moment of Becky's +confession on the day of the barbecue, his own hopes had died. The boy +in him had died, too, and he had reached the full stature of a man. He +wanted to protect and shield—he was all tenderness. He felt that he +would dare anything, do anything, if he could bring back to Becky the +dreams of which Dalton robbed her.</p> + +<p>Night after night he sat in his room up-stairs in the old Schoolhouse, +and wrote on "The Trumpeter Swan." It was an outlet for his pent-up +emotions, and something of the romance which was denied him, something +of the indignation which stirred him, something of the passions of love +and revenge<!-- Page 217 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> which fought within him, drove his pen onward, so that his +little tale took on color and life. Crude, perhaps, in form, it was yet +a song of youth and patriotism. It was Randy's call to his comrades. +There was to be no compromise. They must make men look up and listen—to +catch the sound of their clear note. The ideals which had made them +fight brutality and greed were living ideals. They were not to be doffed +with their khaki and overseas caps. Their country called, the whole +world called, for men with faith and courage. There was no place for +pessimism, no place for materialism, no place for sordidness.</p> + +<p>His hero was, specifically, a man who had come back from the fighting, +flaming with the thought of his high future. He had found the world +smiling and unconcerned. It was this world which needed to listen to the +call of trumpets—high up——</p> + +<p>The chapters in which he wrote of love—for there was a woman in the +story—were more beautiful than Randy realized. It was of a boy's love +that he told—delicately. It was his own story of love denied, yet +enriching a life.</p> + +<p>Yet—because man cannot live up always to the measure of his own vision, +there came often between Randy and the written page the image of George +Dalton, smiling and insolent. And he would lay down his pen, and lean +his head on his hand, and<!-- Page 218 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> gaze into space, and sometimes he would speak +out in the silence. "I will make him suffer."</p> + +<p>It was in one of these moments that he saw how it might be done. "He +would let fruit drop to the ground and rot if no other man wanted it," +he analyzed keenly, "but if another man tried to pick it up, he would +fight for it."</p> + +<p>Dalton was still at King's Crest. Mrs. Waterman had not responded +satisfactorily to the operation. The doctors had grave doubts as to her +recovery. Madge was convalescing at the Flippins'.</p> + +<p>Randy had been content, hitherto, to receive bulletins indirectly from +both of the invalids. But on the morning following the birth of his +great idea he rode on horseback to King's Crest. He looked well on +horseback, and in his corduroys, with a soft shirt and flowing tie, a +soft felt hat, he was at his best.</p> + +<p>He found George and Oscar on the west terrace, shaded by blue and +white-striped awnings, with a macaw, red and blue on a perch—a peacock +glimmering at the foot of the steps—and the garden blazing beyond.</p> + +<p>There were iced drinks in tall glasses—a litter of cigarettes on +smoking-stands, magazines and newspapers on the stone floors, packs of +cards on a small table. Oscar, hunched up in a high-backed Chinese<!-- Page 219 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> +chair, was white and miserable. George looked bored to extinction.</p> + +<p>Randy, coming in, gave a clear-cut impression of strength and youth.</p> + +<p>"Mother sent some wine jelly for Mrs. Waterman," he said to Oscar. "It +was made from an old recipe, and she thought it might be different. And +there were some hundred-leaved roses from our bush. I gave them to your +man."</p> + +<p>Oscar brightened. He was grateful for the kindness of these queer +neighbors of his who would have nothing to do with him and his wife when +they were well, and who had seemed to care not at all for his money. But +who, now that sickness had come and sorrow, offered themselves and their +possessions unstintedly.</p> + +<p>"I'll go and see that Flora gets them," he said. "She hasn't any +appetite. She's—it's rather discouraging——"</p> + +<p>Randy, left alone with Dalton, was debonair and delightful. George, +looking at him with speculative eyes, decided that there was more to +this boy than he would have believed. He had exceedingly good manners +and an ease that was undeniable. There was of course good blood back of +him. And in a way it counted. George knew that he could never have been +at ease in old clothes in the midst of elegance.<!-- Page 220 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was Randy who spoke first of Becky. Dalton's heart jumped when he +heard her name. Night after night he had ridden towards Huntersfield, +only to turn back before he reached the lower gate. Once he had ventured +on foot as far as the garden, and in the hush had called softly, +"Becky." But no one had answered. He wondered what he would have done if +Becky had responded to his call. "I am not going to be fool enough to +marry her," he told himself, angrily, yet knew that if he played the +game with Becky there could be no other end to it.</p> + +<p>Randy said, quite naturally, that Becky was going away. To Nantucket. He +asked if George had been there.</p> + +<p>"Once, on Waterman's yacht. It's quaint—but a bit spoiled by summer +people——"</p> + +<p>"Becky doesn't know the summer people. Her great-grandparents were among +the first settlers, and the Merediths have never sold the old home."</p> + +<p>"She is a pretty little thing," George said. "And she's buried down +here."</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't call it exactly—buried."</p> + +<p>George, with his eyes on the peacock, smiled and shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>Randy smiled and his eyes, too, were on the peacock. He was thinking +that there were certain points of resemblance between the gorgeous bird<!-- Page 221 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> +and Dalton. They glimmered in the sunlight and strutted a bit——</p> + +<p>He came back to say easily, "Has Becky told you of our happiness——"</p> + +<p>George gave him a startled glance. "Happiness?"</p> + +<p>"We are to be married when she comes back—at Christmas."</p> + +<p>"Married——"</p> + +<p>"Yes," coolly, "it was rather to be expected, you know. We played +together as children—our fathers played together—our grandfathers—our +great-grandfathers."</p> + +<p>A cold wave seemed to sweep over George. So this young cub would have +her beauty!</p> + +<p>"Aren't you rather young——?" he demanded, "and what have you to give +her?"</p> + +<p>"Love," said Randy calmly, "a man's respect for her goodness and +worth—for her innocence. She's a little saint in a shrine."</p> + +<p>"Is she?" Georgie-Porgie asked, and smiled to himself; "few women are +that."</p> + +<p>After Randy had gone George Dalton walked the floor. He knew innocence +when he saw it, and he knew that Randy had told the truth. Becky +Bannister was as white as the doves that were fluttering down to the +garden pool to drink. He had never cared particularly for innocence. +But<!-- Page 222 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> he cared for Becky. He knew now that he cared tremendously. Randy +had made him know it. It had not seemed so bad to think of Becky as +breaking her heart and waiting for a word from him. It seemed very bad, +indeed, when he thought of her as married to Randy.</p> + +<p>He felt that, of course, she did not love Randy; that he, +Georgie-Porgie, had all that she had to give—— But woman-like, she had +taken this way to get back at him. He wondered if she had sent Randy.</p> + +<p>Up and down the terrace he raged like a lion. He wanted to show that +cub—oh, if he might show him——!</p> + +<p>Randy had known that he would rage, and as he rode home he had the +serene feeling that he had stuck a splinter in George's flesh.</p> + +<p>Oscar Waterman joined George on the terrace, but noticed nothing. His +mind was full of Flora. "I am sorry young Paine went so soon. I wanted +to thank him. Flora can't eat the jelly, but it was good of them to send +it. She can't eat anything. She's worse, George. I don't know how I am +going to stand it."</p> + +<p>George was in no mood for condolence. Yet he was not quite heartless. +"Look here," he said, "you mustn't give up."</p> + +<p>"George, if she dies," Oscar said, wildly, "what<!-- Page 223 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> do you think will +happen to me? I never planned for this. I planned for a good time. I +thought maybe that when we were old—one of us might go. But it wouldn't +be fair to take her now—and leave me."</p> + +<p>"I have given her—everything——" he went on. "I—I think I've been a +good husband. I have always loved her a lot, George, you know that."</p> + +<p>He was a plain little man, but at this moment he gained something of +dignity. And there was this to say for him, that what he felt for Flora +was a deeper emotion than George had ever known.</p> + +<p>"The doctor says the crisis comes to-night. I am not going to bed. I +couldn't sleep. George—I've been wondering if I oughtn't to call +in—some kind of clergyman—to see her."</p> + +<p>"People don't, nowadays, do they?" George asked rather uncomfortably.</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't see why they shouldn't. There ought to be somebody to +pray for Flora."</p> + +<p>There was, it developed upon inquiry, a little old rector who lived not +far away. George went for him in his big car.</p> + +<p>The little man, praying beside Flora's gorgeous bed, felt that this was +the hundredth sheep who had wandered and was found. The other ninety and +nine were safely in the fold. He had looked after the spiritual +condition of the county for fifty years.<!-- Page 224 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> There had been much to +discourage him, but in the main if they strayed they came back.</p> + +<p>He prayed with fervor, the fine old prayers of his church.</p> + +<p>"Look down from heaven, we humbly beseech thee, with the eyes of mercy +upon this child now lying upon the bed of sickness: Visit her, O Lord, +with thy salvation; deliver her in thy good appointed time from bodily +pain, and save her soul for thy mercies' sake; that, if it shall be thy +pleasure to prolong her days here on earth, she may live for thee, and +be an instrument of thy glory, by serving thee faithfully, and doing +good in her generation; or else receive her into those heavenly +habitations, where the souls of those who sleep in the Lord Jesus enjoy +perpetual rest and felicity."</p> + +<p>Flora, lying inert and bloodless, opened her eyes. "Say it again," she +whispered. "Say it again."</p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>Randy rode straight from Hamilton Hill to Huntersfield. He found Becky +in the Bird Room. She had her head tied up in a white cloth, and a big +white apron enveloped her. She was as white as the whiteness in which +she was clad, and there were purple shadows under her eyes. The windows +were open and a faint breeze stirred the curtains.<!-- Page 225 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> The shade of the +great trees softened the light to a dim green. After the glare of +Oscar's terrace it was like coming from a blazing desert to the bottom +of the sea.</p> + +<p>There was a wide seat under a window which looked out towards the hills. +Becky sat down on it. "Everybody is out," she said, "except Aunt +Claudia. She is taking a nap up-stairs."</p> + +<p>"I didn't come to see everybody, Becky. I came to see you."</p> + +<p>"I am glad you came. I can rest a bit."</p> + +<p>"You work as hard as if you had to do it."</p> + +<p>She leaned back against the green linen cushions of the window seat and +looked up at him. "I do have to do it. There is nobody else. Mandy is +busy, and, anyhow, Grandfather doesn't like to have the servants in +here. And neither do I—— It is almost as if the birds were alive—and +loved me."</p> + +<p>Randy hugged his knee and meditated. "But there are lots of rich women +who wouldn't dust a room."</p> + +<p>She made a gesture of disdain. "Oh, <i>that</i> kind of rich people."</p> + +<p>"What kind?"</p> + +<p>"The kind that aren't used to their money. Who think ladies—are idle. +Sister Loretto says that is the worst kind—the awful kind. She talked<!-- Page 226 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> +to me every day about it. She said that money was a curse when people +used it only for their ease. Sister Loretto hates laziness. She had +money herself before she took her vows, but now she works every hour of +the day and she says it brings her happiness."</p> + +<p>Randy shook his head. "Most of us need to play around a bit, Becky."</p> + +<p>"Do we? I—I think most women would be better off if they were like +Sister Loretto."</p> + +<p>"They would not. Stop talking rot, Becky, and take that thing off your +head. It makes you look like a nun."</p> + +<p>"I know. I saw myself in the glass. I don't mind looking like a nun, +Randy."</p> + +<p>"Well, I mind. Turn your head and I'll take out that pin."</p> + +<p>"Don't be silly, Randy."</p> + +<p>He persisted. "Keep still while I take it out——"</p> + +<p>He found the pin and unwound the white cloth. "There," he said, drawing +a long breath, "you look like yourself again. You were so—austere, you +scared me, Becky."</p> + +<p>He was again hugging his knees. "When are you going away?"</p> + +<p>"On the twenty-ninth. I shall stay over until next week for the +Merriweathers' ball."<!-- Page 227 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I didn't know whether you would feel equal to it."</p> + +<p>"I shall go on Mary's account. It will be her introduction to Truxton's +friends, and if I am there it will be easier for her. She has a lovely +frock, jade green tulle with a girdle of gold brocade. It came down for +me with a lot of other clothes, and it needed only a few changes for her +to wear it."</p> + +<p>"You will be glad to get away?"</p> + +<p>"It will be cooler—and I need the change. But it is always more formal +up there—they remember that I have money. Here it is forgotten."</p> + +<p>"I wish I could forget it."</p> + +<p>"Why should you ever think of it?" she demanded with some heat. "I am +the same Becky with or without it."</p> + +<p>"Not quite the same," he was turning his hat in his hand. Then, raising +his eyes and looking at her squarely, he said what he had come to say, +"I have—I have just been to see Dalton, Becky."</p> + +<p>A wave of red washed over her neck, touched her chin, her cheeks. "I +don't see what that has to do with me."</p> + +<p>"It has a great deal to do with you. I told him you were going to marry +me."</p> + +<p>The wave receded. She was chalk-white.<!-- Page 228 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Randy, how dared you do such a thing?"</p> + +<p>"I dared," said Randy, with tense fierceness, "because a man like Dalton +wants what other men want. He will think about you a lot, and I want him +to think. He won't sleep to-night, and I want him to stay awake. He will +wonder whether you love me, and he will be afraid that you do—and I +want him to be afraid."</p> + +<p>"But it was a lie, Randy. I am not going to marry you."</p> + +<p>"Do you think that I meant that——? That I am expecting anything for +myself?"</p> + +<p>"No," unsteadily, her slender body trembling as if from cold, "but what +did you mean?"</p> + +<p>"I told you. Dalton's got to come back to you and beg—on his knees—and +he will come when he thinks you are mine——"</p> + +<p>"I don't want him to come. And when you talk like that it makes me +feel—smirched——"</p> + +<p>Dead silence. Then, "It was a gentleman's lie——"</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen do not lie. Go to him this minute, Randy, and tell him that +it isn't true."</p> + +<p>"Give me three days, Becky. If in that time he doesn't try to see you or +call you up, I'll go—— But give me three days."</p> + +<p>She wavered. "What good will it do?"</p> + +<p>He caught up her cold little hands in his. "You<!-- Page 229 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> will have a chance to +get back at him. And when you stick in the knife, you can turn it—until +it hurts."</p> + + +<h3>III</h3><p>It was while the family at Huntersfield were at dinner that the +telephone rang. Calvin answered, and came in to say that Miss Becky was +wanted. She went listlessly. But the first words over the wire stiffened +her.</p> + +<p>It was George's voice, quick imploring. Saying that he had something to +tell her. That he must see her——</p> + +<p>"Let me come, Becky."</p> + +<p>"Of course."</p> + +<p>"You mean that I—may——?"</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>He seemed to hesitate. "But I thought——"</p> + +<p>Her laugh was light and clear. "I must get back to my dinner. I have +only had my soup. And I am simply—<i>starving</i>——"</p> + +<p>It was not what he had expected. Not in the least. As he hung up the +receiver he was conscious too of a baffled feeling that Becky had, in a +sense, held the reins of the situation.</p> + +<p>In spite of her famished condition, Becky did not at once go to the +dining-room. She called up King's Crest, and asked for Randy.<!-- Page 230 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span></p> + +<p>She wanted to know, she said, whether he had anything on for the +evening. No? Then could he come over and bring the boarders? Oh, as many +of them as would come. And they would dance. She was bored to <i>death</i>. +Her laugh was still clear and light, and Randy wondered.</p> + +<p>Then she went back to the dinner table and ate the slice of lamb which +the Judge had carved for her. She ate mint sauce and mashed potatoes, +she ate green corn pudding, and a salad, and watermelon. Her cheeks were +red, and Aunt Claudia felt that Becky was looking much better. For how +could Aunt Claudia know that everything that Becky ate was like sawdust +to her palate. She found herself talking and laughing a great deal, and +Truxton teased her.</p> + +<p>After dinner she went up-stairs with Mary and showed her a new way to do +her hair, and found an entrancing wisp of a frock for Mary to wear.</p> + +<p>"It will be great fun having the boarders from King's Crest. There are a +lot of young people of all kinds—and not many of them our kind, Mary."</p> + +<p>Mary smiled at her. "I am not quite your kind, am I?"</p> + +<p>"Why not? And oh, Mary, you are happy, happy. And you are lovely with +your hair like that, close to your head and satin-smooth."<!-- Page 231 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mary, surveying herself in the glass, gave an excited laugh. "Do you +know when I married Truxton I never thought of this?"</p> + +<p>"Of what?" Becky asked.</p> + +<p>"Of pretty clothes—and dances—and dinners. I just knew that he—loved +me, and that he had to leave me. But I don't suppose I could make the +world believe it."</p> + +<p>"Truxton believes it, doesn't he, Mary?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And I believe it. And what do you care for the others? It is what we +know of ourselves, Mary," she drew a quick breath. "It is what we know +of ourselves——"</p> + +<p>Becky was wearing the simple frock of pale blue in which George had seen +her on that first night when he came to Huntersfield.</p> + +<p>"Aren't you going to change?" Mary asked.</p> + +<p>"No. It is too much trouble." Becky was in front of the mirror. Her +pearls caught the light of the candles. Her bronze hair was a shining +wave across her forehead. "It is too much trouble," she said, again, and +turned from the mirror.</p> + +<p>She had a dozen frocks that had come in the rosy hamper—frocks that +would have made the boarders open their eyes. Frocks that would have +made Dalton open his. But Becky had the feeling that this was not the +moment for lovely clothes. She<!-- Page 232 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> felt that she would be cheapened if she +decked herself for George.</p> + +<p>When the two girls went down-stairs Truxton was waiting for his wife. "I +thought you would never come," he said. He drew her within the circle of +his arm, and they went out into the garden. The Judge and Mrs. Beaufort +were on the porch. Becky sat on the step and leaned her head against +Aunt Claudia's knee.</p> + +<p>"What in the world made you ask all those people over, Becky?" the Judge +demanded.</p> + +<p>"Oh, they're great fun, Grandfather, and I felt like it."</p> + +<p>"Have you planned anything for them to eat, Claudia?"</p> + +<p>"Watermelons. Calvin has put a lot of them in the spring."</p> + +<p>The stars were thick overhead. Becky looked up at them and relaxed a +little. Since Dalton had spoken to her over the wire she had gone +through the motions of doing normal things. She had eaten and talked, +and now she was sitting quite still on the step while Aunt Claudia +smoothed her hair, and the Judge talked of things to eat.</p> + +<p>But shut up within her was a clock which ticked and never stopped. <i>"He +will come—when he thinks—you are mine—— He will come—when he +thinks—you are mine——"<!-- Page 233 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span></i></p> + +<p>Randy and his mother arrived in Little Sister, with two of the boarders +for good measure in the back seat. They had dropped Major Prime at +Flippins', where he was to make a call on Madge MacVeigh. He had +promised to come later, however, if Randy would drive over and get him.</p> + +<p>The rest of the boarders were packed variously into their cars and the +surrey, and as soon as they arrived they proceeded to occupy the lawn +and the porch, and to overflow the garden. They made a great deal of +pleasant noise about it, and the white gowns of the women, and the white +flannels of the men gave an impressionistic effect of faint blue against +the deeper blue of the night.</p> + +<p>Within the house, the rugs were up in the drawing-room, the library, the +dining-room, and the wide hall; there sounded, presently, the tinkling +music of the phonograph, and there was the unceasing movement of +white-clad figures which seemed to float in a golden haze.</p> + +<p>Becky danced a great deal, with Randy, with the younger boarders, and +with the genial gentleman. She laughed with an air of unaffected gayety. +And she felt that her heart stopped beating, when at last she looked up +and saw Dalton standing in the door.</p> + +<p>She at once went towards him, and gave him her hand. "I wonder if you +know everybody?"</p> + +<p>Her clear eyes met his without self-consciousness.<!-- Page 234 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> He attempted a +swagger. "I don't want to know everybody. How do they happen to be +here?"</p> + +<p>"I asked them. And they are really very nice."</p> + +<p>He did not see the niceness. He had thought to find her in the setting +which belonged to her beauty. The silent night, the fragrance of the +garden, the pale statues among the trees, and himself playing the game +with a greater sense of its seriousness than ever before.</p> + +<p>Throughout the evening George watched for a chance to see Becky alone. +Without conspicuously avoiding him, she had no time for him. He +complained constantly. "I want to talk to you. Run away with me, +Becky—and let these people go."</p> + +<p>"It isn't proper for a hostess to leave her guests."</p> + +<p>"Are you trying to—punish me?"</p> + +<p>"For what?"</p> + +<p>So—she too was playing——! She had let him come that he might see +her—indifferent.</p> + +<p>Becky had danced with George once, and with Randy three times. George +had protested, and Becky had said, "But I promised him before you +came——"</p> + +<p>"You knew I was coming?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"You might have kept a few——"</p> + +<p>She seemed to consider that. "Yes, I might. But not from Randy——"<!-- Page 235 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span></p> + +<p>At last he said to her, "I have been out in the garden. There is a star +shining in the little pool where the fishes are. I want you to see the +star."</p> + +<p>It was thus he had won her. He had always seen stars shining in little +pools, or a young moon rising from a rosy bed. But it had never meant +anything. She shook her head. "I should like to see your little star. +But I haven't time."</p> + +<p>"Are you afraid to come?"</p> + +<p>"Why should I be?"</p> + +<p>"Well, there's Love—in the garden," he was daring—his sparkling eyes +tried to hold hers and failed.</p> + +<p>She was looking straight beyond him to where Randy stood by a window, +tall and thin with his Indian profile, and his high-held head.</p> + +<p>"We are going to have watermelons in a minute," was her romantic +response to Dalton's fire. "You'd better stay and eat some."</p> + +<p>"I don't want to eat. And if you aren't afraid you'll come."</p> + +<p>Calvin and Mandy and their son, John, with Flippins' Daisy, had +assembled the watermelons on a long table out-of-doors. Above the table +on the branch of a tree was hung an old ship's lantern brought by +Admiral Meredith to his friend, the Judge. It gave a faint but steady +light, and showed the pink and green and white of the fruit,<!-- Page 236 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> the dusky +faces of the servants as they cut and sliced, and handed plates to the +eager and waiting guests.</p> + +<p>Becky, standing back in the shadows with Randy by her side, watched the +men surge towards the table, and retire with their loads of +lusciousness. Grinning boys were up to their ears in juice, girls, +bare-armed and bare-necked, reached for plates held teasingly aloft. It +was all rather innocently bacchanal—a picture which for Becky had an +absolutely impersonal quality. She had entertained her guests as she had +eaten her dinner, outwardly doing the normal and conventional thing, +while her mind was chaotic. This jumble of people on the lawn seemed +unreal and detached. The only real people in the world were herself and +Dalton.</p> + +<p>"How did you happen to ask us?" Randy was saying.</p> + +<p>"Because I wanted you——"</p> + +<p>"That doesn't explain it. It has something to do with Dalton——"</p> + +<p>"He said he was coming—and I wanted a crowd."</p> + +<p>"Were you afraid to see him alone?"</p> + +<p>"He says that I am."</p> + +<p>"When did he say it?"</p> + +<p>"Just now. He's in the garden, Randy."</p> + +<p>"Waiting for you?"<!-- Page 237 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He says that he is waiting."</p> + +<p>Randy gave a quick exclamation. "Surely you won't go."</p> + +<p>"Why not? I've got to turn—the knife——"</p> + +<p>He groaned. "So this is what I've let you in for——"</p> + +<p>"Well, I shall see it through, Randy."</p> + +<p>"Becky, don't go to him in the garden."</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"The whole thing is wrong," the boy said, slowly. "I lied to give you +your opportunity, and now, I'd rather die than think of you out +there——"</p> + +<p>"Then you don't trust me, Randy?"</p> + +<p>"My dear, I do. But I don't trust—him."</p> + + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>George had known that she would come. Yet when he saw the white blur of +her gown against the blackness of the bushes, his heart leaped. All +through the ages men have waited for women in gardens—"<i>She is coming, +my own, my sweet</i>——" and farther back, "<i>Make haste, my beloved,</i>" and +in the beginning, as Mandy could have told, a serpent waited.</p> + +<p>Dalton was not, of course, a serpent. He was merely a very selfish man, +who had always had what he wanted, and now he wanted Becky. He was +still, perhaps, playing the game, but he was<!-- Page 238 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> playing it in dead earnest +with Randy as his opponent and Becky the prize.</p> + +<p>She recognized a new note in his voice and was faintly disturbed by it.</p> + +<p>"So you are not afraid?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>She sat down on the bench. Behind them was the pale statue of Diana, the +pool was at their feet with its little star.</p> + +<p>"Why should I be afraid?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"You are trying to shut me out of your heart, Becky—and you are afraid +I may try to—open the door."</p> + +<p>"Silly," she said, clearly and lightly, but with a sense of panic. Oh, +why had she come? The darkness seemed to shut her in; his voice was +beating against her heart——</p> + +<p>He was saying that he loved her, <i>loved</i> her. Did she understand? That +he had been <i>miserable</i>? His defense was masterly. He played on her +imagination delicately, as if she were a harp, and his fingers touched +the strings. He realized what a cad he must have seemed. But she was a +saint in a shrine—it will be seen that he did not hesitate to borrow +from Randy. She was a saint in a shrine, and well, he knelt at her +feet—a sinner. "You needn't think that I don't know what I have done, +Becky. I swept you along with me without<!-- Page 239 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> a thought of anything serious +in it for either of us. It was just a game, sweetheart, and lots of +people play it, but it isn't a game now, it is the most serious thing in +life."</p> + +<p>There is no eloquence so potent as that which is backed by genuine +passion. Becky coming down through the garden had been so sure of +herself. She had felt that pride would be the rock to which she would +anchor her resistance to his enchantments. Yet here in the garden——</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>please</i>," she said, and stood up.</p> + +<p>He rose, too, and towered above her. "Becky," he said, hoarsely, "it's +the real thing—for me——"</p> + +<p>His spell was upon her. She was held by it—drawn by it against her +will. Her cry was that of a frightened and fascinated bird.</p> + +<p>He bent down. His face was a white circle in the dark, but she could see +the sparkle of his eyes. "Kiss me, Becky."</p> + +<p>"I shall never kiss you again."</p> + +<p>"I love you."</p> + +<p>"Love," she said, with a sort of tense quiet, "does not kiss and run +away."</p> + +<p>"My heart never ran away. I swear it. Marry me, Becky."</p> + +<p>He had never expected to ask her. But now that he had done it, he was +glad.</p> + +<p>She was swayed by his earnestness, by the thought<!-- Page 240 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> of all he had meant +to her in her dreams of yesterday. But to-day was not yesterday, and +George was not the man of those dreams. Yet, why not? There was the +quick laughter, with its new ring of sincerity, the sparkling eyes, the +Apollo head.</p> + +<p>"Marry me, Becky."</p> + +<p>Beyond the pool which reflected the little star was the dark outline of +the box hedge, and beyond the hedge, the rise of the hill showed dark +against the dull silver of the sky—a shadow seemed to rise suddenly in +that dim brightness, the tall thin shadow of a man with a clear-cut +profile, and a high-held head!</p> + +<p>Becky drew a sharp breath—then faced Dalton squarely. "I am going to +marry Randy."</p> + +<p>His laugh was triumphant——</p> + +<p>"Do you think I am going to let you? You are mine, Becky, and you know +it. <i>You are mine</i>——"</p> + + +<h3>V</h3> + +<p>Randy, having made a record run with Little Sister to the Flippins', had +brought back Major Prime. When he returned Becky had disappeared. He +looked for her, knowing all the time that she had gone down into the +garden to meet Dalton. And he had brought Dalton back to her, he had +given him this opportunity to plead his cause, had given him the +incentive of a man of his kind to still pursue; he had, as he had said, +let Becky in for it, and now he was raging at the thought.</p> + +<a name="ILLUS3" id="ILLUS3"></a><div class="figleft" style="width: 350px;"> +<img src="images/tsillus04.jpg" width="350" height="550" alt="BECKY DREW A SHARP BREATH—THEN FACED DALTON SQUARELY. "I AM GOING TO MARRY RANDY."" title="BECKY DREW A SHARP BREATH—THEN FACED DALTON SQUARELY. "I AM GOING TO MARRY RANDY."" /> +</div> +<p><!-- Page 241 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span></p> + +<p>Nellie Custis, padding at his heels, had known that something disturbed +him. He walked restlessly from room to room, from porch to porch, across +the lawn, skirted the garden, stopped now and then to listen, called +once when he saw a white figure alone by the big gate, "Becky!"</p> + +<p>Nellie knew who it was that he wanted. And at last she instituted a +search on her own account. She went through the garden, passed the pool, +found Becky's feet in blue slippers, and rushed back to her master with +an air of discovery.</p> + +<p>But Randy would not follow her. He must, he knew, set a curb on his +impatience. He walked beyond the gate, following the ridge of the hill +to the box hedge. He was not in the least aware that his shadow showed +up against the silver of the sky. Perhaps Fate guided him to the ridge, +who knows? At any rate, it seemed so afterwards to Becky, who felt that +the shadow of Randy against the silver sky was the thing that saved her.</p> + +<p>She gave the old Indian cry, and he answered it.</p> + +<p>His shadow wavered on the ridge. He was lost for a moment against the +blackness of the hedge, and emerged on the other side of the pool.</p> + +<p>"Randy," she was a bit breathless, "here we are.<!-- Page 242 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> Mr. Dalton and I. I +saw you on the ridge. You have no idea how tall your shadow seemed——"</p> + +<p>She was talking in that clear light voice which was not her own. Dalton +said sullenly, "Hello, Paine." And Randy's heart was singing, "She +called me."</p> + +<p>The three of them walked to the house together. Becky had insisted that +she must go back to her guests. George left them at the step. He was for +the moment beaten. As he drove his car madly back to King's Crest, he +tried to tell himself that it was all for the best. That he must let +Becky alone. He would be a fool to throw himself away on a shabby +slender slip of a thing because she had clear eyes and bronze hair.</p> + +<p>But it was not because of her slenderness and clear eyes and bronze hair +that Becky held him, it was because of the force within her which +baffled him.</p> + +<p>The guests were leaving. They had had the time of their lives. They +packed themselves into their various cars, and the surrey, and shouted +"good-bye." The Major stayed and sat on the lawn to talk to the Judge +and Mrs. Beaufort. Mary and Truxton ascended the stairs to the Blue +Room, where little Fiddle slept in the Bannister crib that had been +brought down from the attic.</p> + +<p>Becky and Randy went into the Bird Room and<!-- Page 243 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> sat under the swinging +lamp. "I have something to tell you, Randy," Becky had said, and as in +the days of their childhood the Bird Room seemed the place for +confidences.</p> + +<p>Becky curled herself up in the Judge's big chair like a tired child. +Randy on the other side of the empty fireplace said, "You ought to be in +bed, Becky."</p> + +<p>"I shan't—sleep," nervously. There were deep shadows under her troubled +eyes. "I shan't sleep when I go."</p> + +<p>Randy came over and knelt by her side. "My dear, my dear," he said, "I +am afraid I have let you in for a lot of trouble."</p> + +<p>"But the things you said were true—he came—because he thought +I—belonged to—you."</p> + +<p>She hesitated. Then she reached out her hand to him. "Randy," she said, +"I told him I was going to marry—you."</p> + +<p>His hand had gone over hers, and now he held it in his strong clasp. "Of +course it isn't true, Becky."</p> + +<p>"I am going to make it true."</p> + +<p>Dead silence. Then, "No, my dear."</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"You don't love me."</p> + +<p>"But I like you," feverishly, "I like you, tremendously, and don't you +want to marry me, Randy?"<!-- Page 244 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span></p> + +<p>"God knows that I do," said poor Randy, "but I must not. It—it would be +Heaven for me, you know that. But it wouldn't be quite—cricket—to let +you do it, Becky."</p> + +<p>"I am not doing it for your sake. I am doing it for my own. I want to +feel—safe. Do I seem awfully selfish when I say that?"</p> + +<p>A great wave of emotion swept over him. She had turned to him for +protection, for tenderness. In that moment Randy grew to the full +stature of a man. He lifted her hand and kissed it. "You are making me +very happy, Becky, dear."</p> + +<p>It was a strange betrothal. Behind them the old eagle brooded with +outstretched wings, the owl, round-eyed, looked down upon them and +withheld his wisdom, the Trumpeter, white as snow, in his glass case, +was as silent as the Sphinx.</p> + +<p>"You are making me very happy, Becky, dear," said poor Randy, knowing as +he said it that such happiness was not for him.<!-- Page 245 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h3> + +<h2>WANTED—A PEDESTAL</h2> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>The Major's call on Miss MacVeigh had been a great success. She was +sitting up, and had much to say to him. Throughout the days of her +illness and convalescence, the Major had kept in touch with her. He had +sent her quaint nosegays from the King's Crest garden, man-tied and +man-picked. He had sent her nice soldierly notes, asking her to call +upon him if there was anything he could do for her. He had sent her +books, and magazines, and now on this first visit, he brought back the +"Pickwick" which he had picked up in the road after the accident.</p> + +<p>"I have wondered," Madge said, "what became of it."</p> + +<p>They were in the Flippin sitting-room. Madge was in a winged chair with +a freshly-washed gray linen cover. The chair had belonged to Mrs. +Flippin's father, and for fifty years had held the place by the east +window in summer and by the fireplace in winter. Oscar had wanted to +bring things from<!-- Page 246 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> Hamilton Hill to make Madge comfortable. But she had +refused to spoil the simplicity of the quiet old house. "Everything that +is here belongs here, Oscar," she had told him, "and I like it."</p> + +<p>She wore a mauve negligee that was sheer and soft and flowing, and her +burnt-gold hair was braided and wound around her head in a picturesque +and becoming coiffure.</p> + +<p>As she turned the pages of the little book the Major noticed her hands. +They were white and slender, and she wore only one ring—a long amethyst +set in silver.</p> + +<p>"Do you play?" he asked abruptly.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Why?"</p> + +<p>"Your hands show it."</p> + +<p>She smiled at him. "I am afraid that my hands don't quite tell the +truth." She held them up so that the light of the lamp shone through +them. "They are really a musician's hands, aren't they? And I am only a +dabbler in that as in everything else."</p> + +<p>"You can't expect me to believe that."</p> + +<p>"But I am. I have intelligence. But I'm a 'dunce with wits.' I know what +I ought to do but I don't do it. I think that I have brains enough to +write, I am sure I have imagination enough to paint, I have strength +enough when I am well to"—she laughed,—"scrub floors. But I don't +write<!-- Page 247 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> or play or paint—or scrub floors—I don't believe that there is +one thing in the world that I can do as well as Mary Flippin makes +biscuits."</p> + +<p>Her eyes seemed to challenge him to deny her assertion. He settled +himself lazily in his chair, and asked about the book.</p> + +<p>"Tell me why you like Dickens, when nobody reads him in these days +except ourselves."</p> + +<p>"I like him because in my next incarnation I want to live in the kind of +world he writes about."</p> + +<p>He was much interested. "You do?"</p> + +<p>She nodded. "Yes. I never have. My world has always been—cut and dried, +conventional, you know the kind." The slender hand with the amethyst +ring made a little gesture of disdain. "There were three of us, my +mother and my father and myself. Everything in our lives was very +perfectly ordered. We were not very rich—not in the modern sense, and +we were not very poor, and we knew a lot of nice people. I went to +school with girls of my own kind, an exclusive school. I went away +summers to our own cottage in an exclusive North Shore colony. We took +our servants with us. After my mother died I went to boarding-school, +and to Europe in summer, and when my school days were ended, and I +acquired a stepmother, I set up an apartment of my own. It has +Florentine things in it, and Byzantine things, and things from China<!-- Page 248 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> +and Japan, and the colors shine like jewels under my lamps—you know the +effect. And my kitchen is all in white enamel, and the cook does things +by electricity, and when I go away in summer my friends have Italian +villas—like the Watermans, on the North Shore, although all of my +friends are not like the Watermans." She threw this last out casually, +not as a criticism, but that he might, it seemed, withhold judgment of +her present choice of associates. "And I have never known the world of +good cheer that Dickens writes about—wide kitchens, and teakettles +singing and crickets chirping and everybody busy with things that +interest them. Do you know that there are really no bored people in +Dickens except a few aristocrats? None of the poor people are bored. +They may be unhappy, but there's always some recompense in a steaming +drink or savory stew, or some gay little festivity;—even the vagabonds +seem to get something out of life. I realize perfectly that I've never +had the thrills from a bridge game that came to the Marchioness when she +played cards with Dick Swiveller—by stealth."</p> + +<p>She talked rapidly, charmingly. He could not be sure how much in earnest +she might be—but she made out her case and continued her argument.</p> + +<p>"When I was a child I walked on gray velvet carpets, and there were +etchings on the wall, and<!-- Page 249 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> chilly mirrors between the long windows in +the drawing-room. And the kitchen was in the basement and I never went +down. There wasn't a cozy spot anywhere. None of us were cozy, my mother +wasn't. She was very lovely and sparkling and went out a great deal and +my father sparkled too. He still does. But there was really nothing to +draw us together—like the Cratchits or even the Kenwigs. And we were +never comfortable and merry like all of these lovely people in +Pickwick."</p> + +<p>She went on wistfully, "When I was nine, I found these little books in +our library and after that I enjoyed vicariously the life I had never +lived. That's why I like it here—Mrs. Flippin's kettle sings—and the +crickets chirp—and Mr. and Mrs. Flippin are comfortable—and cozy—and +content."</p> + +<p>It was a long speech. "So now you see," she said, as she ended, "why I +like Dickens."</p> + +<p>"Yes. I see. And so—in your next incarnation you are going to be +like——"</p> + +<p>"Little Dorrit."</p> + +<p>He laughed and leaned forward. "I can't imagine—you."</p> + +<p>"She really had a heavenly time. Dickens tried to make you feel sorry +for her. But she had the best of it all through. Somebody always wanted +her."<!-- Page 250 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But she was imposed upon. And her unselfishness brought her heavy +burdens."</p> + +<p>"She got a lot out of it in the end, didn't she? And what do selfish +people get? I'm one of them. I live absolutely for myself. There isn't a +person except Flora who gets anything of service or self-sacrifice out +of me. I came down here because she wanted me, but I hated to come. The +modern theory is that unselfishness weakens. And the modern psychologist +would tell you that little Dorrit was all wrong. She gave herself for +others—and it didn't pay. But does the other thing pay?"</p> + +<p>"Selfishness?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I'm selfish, and Oscar is, and Flora, and George Dalton, and most +of the people we know. And we are all bored to death. If being unselfish +is interesting, why not let us be unselfish?" Her lively glance seemed +to challenge him, and they laughed together.</p> + +<p>"I know what you mean."</p> + +<p>"Of course you do. Everybody does who <i>thinks</i>."</p> + +<p>"And so you are going to wait for the next plane to do the things that +you want to do?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"But why—wait?"</p> + +<p>"How can I break away? I am tied into knots with the people whom I have +always known; and I shall keep on doing the things I have always<!-- Page 251 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> done, +just as I shall keep on wearing pale purples and letting my skin get +burned so that I may seem distinctive."</p> + +<p>It came to him with something of a shock that she did these things with +intention. That the charms which seemed to belong to her were carefully +planned.</p> + +<p>Yet how could he tell if what she said was true, when her eyes laughed?</p> + +<p>"I shall get all I can out of being here. Mary Flippin is going to let +me help her make butter, and Mrs. Flippin will teach me to make +corn-bread, and some day I am going fishing with the Judge and Mr. +Flippin and learn to fry eggs out-of-doors——"</p> + +<p>"So those are the things you like?"</p> + +<p>She nodded. "I think I do. George Dalton says it is only because I crave +a change. But it isn't that. And I haven't told him the way I feel about +it—the Dickens way—as I have told you."</p> + +<p>He was glad that she had not talked to Dalton as she had talked to him.</p> + +<p>"I wonder," he said slowly, "why you couldn't shake yourself free from +the life which binds you?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not strong enough. I'm like the drug-fiend, who doesn't want his +drug, but can't give it up."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you need—help. There are doctors of everything, you know, in +these days."<!-- Page 252 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span></p> + +<p>"None that can cure me of the habit of frivolity—of the claims of +custom——"</p> + +<p>"If a man takes a drug, he is cured by substituting something else for a +while until he learns to do without it."</p> + +<p>"What would you substitute for—my drug?"</p> + +<p>"I'll have to think about it. May I come again and tell you?"</p> + +<p>"Of course. I am dying to know."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Flippin entered just then with a tall pitcher of lemonade and a +plate of delicate cakes. "I think Miss MacVeigh is looking mighty fine," +she said; "don't you, Major?"</p> + +<p>He would not have dared to tell how fine she looked to him.</p> + +<p>He limped across the room with the plate of cakes, and poured lemonade +into a glass for Madge. Her eyes followed his strong soldierly figure. +What a man he must have been before the war crippled him. What a man he +was still, and his strength was not merely that of body. She felt the +strength too of mind and soul.</p> + +<p>"I think," said Mrs. Flippin that night, "that Major Prime is one of the +nicest men."</p> + +<p>Madge was in bed. The nurse had made her ready for the night, and was +out on the porch with Mr. Flippin. Mrs. Flippin had fallen into the +habit of having a little nightly talk with Madge.<!-- Page 253 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> She missed her +daughter, and Madge was pleasant and friendly.</p> + +<p>"I think that Major Prime is one of the nicest men," repeated Mrs. +Flippin as she sat down beside the bed, "but what a dreadful thing that +he is lame."</p> + +<p>"I am not sure," Madge said, "that it is dreadful."</p> + +<p>She hastened to redeem herself from any possible charge of +bloodthirstiness.</p> + +<p>"I don't mean," she said, "that it isn't awful for a man to lose his leg. +But men who go through a thing like that and come out—conquerors—are +rather wonderful, Mrs. Flippin."</p> + +<p>Madge had hold of Mrs. Flippin's hand. She often held it in this quiet +hour, and the idea rather amused her. She was not demonstrative, and it +seemed inconceivable that she should care to hold Mrs. Flippin's hand. +But there was a motherliness about Mrs. Flippin, a quality with which +Madge had never before come closely in contact. "It is like the way I +used to feel when I was a little girl and said my prayers at night," she +told herself.</p> + +<p>Madge did not say her prayers now. Nobody did, apparently. She thought +it rather a pity. It was a comfortable thing to do. And it meant a great +deal if you only believed in it.<!-- Page 254 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Do you say your prayers, Mrs. Flippin?" she asked suddenly.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Flippin was getting used to Madge's queer questions. She treated +them as a missionary might treat the questions of a beautiful and +appealing savage, who having gone with him to some strange country was +constantly interrogatory.</p> + +<p>"She don't seem to know anything about the things we do," Mrs. Flippin +told her husband. "She got the nurse to wheel her out into the kitchen +this afternoon, and watched me frost a cake and cut out biscuits. And +she says that she has never seen anything so sociable as the teakettle, +the way it rocks and sings."</p> + +<p>So now when Madge asked Mrs. Flippin if she said her prayers, Mrs. +Flippin said, "Do you mean at night?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Bob and I say them together," said Mrs. Flippin. "We started on our +wedding night, and we ain't ever stopped."</p> + +<p>It was a simple statement of a sublime fact. For thirty years this plain +man and this plain woman had kept alive the spiritual flame on the +household altar. No wonder that peace was under this roof and serenity.</p> + +<p>Madge, as she lay there holding Mrs. Flippin's<!-- Page 255 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> hand, looked very young, +almost like a little girl. Her hair was parted and the burnished braids +lay heavy on her lovely neck. Her thin fine gown left her arms bare. +"Mrs. Flippin," she said, "I wish I could live here always, and have you +come every night and sit and hold my hand."</p> + +<p>Her eyes were smiling and Mrs. Flippin smiled back. "You'd get tired."</p> + +<p>"No," said Madge, "I don't believe anybody ever gets tired of goodness. +Not real goodness. The kind that isn't hypocritical or priggish. And in +these days it is so rare, that one just loves it. I am bored to death +with near-bad people, Mrs. Flippin, and near-good ones. I'd much rather +have them real saints and real sinners."</p> + +<p>The nurse came in just then, and Mrs. Flippin went away. And after a +time the house was very still. Madge's bed was close to the window. +Outside innumerable fireflies studded the night with gold. Now and then +a screech-owl sounded his mournful note. It was a ghostly call, and +there was the patter of little feet on the porch as the old cat played +with her kittens in the warm dark. But Madge was not afraid. She had a +sense of great content as she lay there and thought of the things she +had said to Major Prime. It was not often that she revealed herself, and +when she did it was still rarer to meet understanding. But he had +un<!-- Page 256 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span>derstood. She was sure of that, and she would see him soon. He had +promised. And she would not have to go back to Oscar and Flora until she +was ready. Flora was better, but still very weak. It would be much +wiser, the doctor had said, if she saw no one but her nurses for several +days.</p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>Truxton Beaufort rode over to King's Crest the next morning, and sat on +the steps of the Schoolhouse. Randy and Major Prime were having +breakfast out-of-doors. It was ten o'clock, but they were apparently +taking their ease.</p> + +<p>"I thought you had to work," Truxton said to Randy.</p> + +<p>"I sold a car yesterday——"</p> + +<p>"And to-day you are playing around like a plutocrat. I wish I could sell +cars. I wish I could do <i>anything</i>. Look here, you two. I wonder if you +feel as I do."</p> + +<p>"About what?"</p> + +<p>"Coming back. I came home expecting a pedestal—and I give you my word +nobody seems to think much of me except my family. And they aren't +worshipful—exactly. They can't be. How can they rave over my one +decoration when that young nigger John has two, and deserved them, and +when<!-- Page 257 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> the butcher and baker and candlestick-maker are my ranking +officers? War used to be a gentleman's game. But it isn't any more."</p> + +<p>"We've got to carve our own pedestals," said the Major. "We are gods of +yesterday. The world won't stop to praise us. We did our duty, and we +would do it again. But our laurel wreaths are doffed. Our swords are +beaten into plowshares. Peace is upon us. If we want pedestals, we've +got to carve them."</p> + +<p>Truxton argued that it wasn't quite fair. The Major agreed that it might +not seem so, but the thing had been so vast, and there were so many men +involved, so many heroes.</p> + +<p>"Every little family has a hero of its own," Truxton supplemented. "Mary +thinks none of the others did <i>anything</i>—I won the <i>whole</i> war. That's +where I have it over you two," he grinned.</p> + +<p>"It is a thing," said the Major, cheerfully, "which can be remedied."</p> + +<p>"It can," Truxton told him; "which reminds me that our young John is +going to marry Flippins' Daisy, and our household is in mourning. Mandy +doesn't approve of Daisy, and neither does Calvin. Mandy took to her bed +when she heard the news, and young John cooked breakfast to the tune of +his Daddy's lamentations. But it was a good breakfast."<!-- Page 258 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Marriage," said the Major, "seems rather epidemic in these days."</p> + +<p>Randy rose restlessly and sat on the porch rail. "Why in the world does +John want to marry Daisy——"</p> + +<p>"Why not?" easily. "There's some style about Daisy——"</p> + +<p>"But there are lots of nice, comfortable, hard-working girls in this +neighborhood."</p> + +<p>"Lead me to 'em," Truxton mimicked young John, "lead me to 'em. Mary +says that Daisy is the best of the lot. She has plenty of good sense +back of her foolishness, and she is one of the best cooks in the county. +She and John are planning to go up to Washington and open an +old-fashioned oyster house. She says that people are complaining that +they can't get oysters as they did in the old days, and she is going to +show them. I wouldn't be surprised if they made a success of it. And I +tell you this—I envy John. He will have a paying business, and here I +am without a thing ahead of me, and I have married a wife and the ravens +won't feed us."</p> + +<p>Randy stuck his hands in his pockets with an air of sudden resolution.</p> + +<p>"Look here," he said, "why can't we go halves in this car business? It +will pay our expenses, and we can finish our law course at the +University."<!-- Page 259 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Law? Oh, look here, Randy, I thought you had given that up."</p> + +<p>"I haven't, and why should you? We will finish, and some day we will +open an office together."</p> + +<p>The Major, whistling softly, listened and said nothing.</p> + +<p>"I have been thinking a lot about it," Randy went on, "and I can't see +much of a future ahead of me. Not the kind of future that our families +are expecting of us. You and I have got to stand for something, Truxton, +or some day the world will be saying that all the great men died with +Thomas Jefferson."</p> + +<p>The Major went on with his lilting tune. What a pair they were, these +lads! Randy, afire with his dreams, and rather tragic in his dreaming. +Truxton, light as a feather—laughing.</p> + +<p>"Why can't we give to the world as much as the men who have gone before +us?" Randy was demanding. "Are we going to take everything from our +ancestors, and give nothing to our descendants?"</p> + +<p>Truxton chuckled. "By Jove," he said, "now that I come to think of it, I +am the head of a family—there's Fiddle-dee-dee, and I shall have to +reckon with Fiddle-dee-dee's children and grandchildren and +great-grandchildren—who will expect that my portrait will hang on the +wall at Huntersfield."<!-- Page 260 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It is all very well to laugh," said Randy hotly, "but that is the way +it looks to me; that we have got to show to the world that our ambitions +are—big. It is all very well to talk about the day's work. I am going +to do it, and pay my way, but there's got to be something beyond that to +think about—something bigger than I have ever known."</p> + +<p>He gained dignity through the sincerity of his purpose. The Major, still +whistling softly, wondered what had come over the boy. He recognized a +difference since he had last talked to him. Randy was not only roused; +he was ready to look life in the face, to wrest from it the best. "If +that is what love of the little girl is doing for him," said the Major +to himself, "then let him love her."</p> + +<p>Truxton continued to treat the situation lightly. "Look here," he said, +"do you think you are going to be the only great man in our generation?"</p> + +<p>Randy laughed; but the fire was still in his eyes. "The county will hold +the two of us."</p> + +<p>And now the Major spoke. "No man can be great by simply saying it. But I +think most of our great men have expected things of themselves. They +have dreamed dreams of greatness. I fancy that Lincoln did in his log +cabin, and Roosevelt on the plains. And it wasn't egotism—it was a +boy's wish to give himself to the world. And the wish was the urge. And +the trouble with many of our<!-- Page 261 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> men in these days is that they are content +to dream of what they can get instead of what they can do. Paine has the +right idea. There must be a day's work no matter how hard, and it must +be done well, but beyond that must be a dream of bigger things for the +future——"</p> + +<p>Truxton stood up. "I asked for bread and you have given me—caviar. +Sufficient unto the day is the greatness thereof. And in the meantime, +Randy, I will make the grand gesture—and help you sell cars." He was +grinning as he left them. "Good-bye, Major. Good-bye, T. Jefferson, Jr. +Let me know when you want me in your Cabinet."</p> + +<p>It was late that afternoon that Mary, looking for her husband, found him +in the Judge's library.</p> + +<p>"What are you doing?" she asked, with lively curiosity.</p> + +<p>Truxton was sitting on the floor with a pile of calf-bound books beside +him.</p> + +<p>"What are you doing, lover?"</p> + +<p>"Come here and I'll tell you." He made a seat for her of four of the big +books. His arm went around her and he laid his head against her +shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Mary," he said, "I am carving a pedestal."</p> + +<p>"You are what?"</p> + +<p>He explained. He laughed a great deal as he<!-- Page 262 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> gave her an account of his +conversation with the Major and Randy that morning.</p> + +<p>"You see before you," with a final flourish, "a potential great man. A +Thomas Jefferson, up-to-date; a John Randolph of the present day; the +Lincoln of my own time; the ancestor of Fiddle's great-grandchildren."</p> + +<p>She rumpled his hair. "I like you as you are."</p> + +<p>He caught her hand and held it. "But you'd like me on—a pedestal?"</p> + +<p>"If you'll let me help you carve it."</p> + +<p>He kissed the hand that he held. "If I am ever anything more than I am," +he said, and now he was not laughing, "it will be because of you—my +dearest darling."<!-- Page 263 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h3> + +<h2>INDIAN—INDIAN</h2> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>The Merriweather fortunes had not been affected by the fall of the +Confederacy. There had been money invested in European ventures, and +when peace had come in sixty-five, the old grey stone house had again +flung wide its doors to the distinguished guests who had always honored +it, and had resumed its ancient custom of an annual harvest ball.</p> + +<p>The ballroom, built at the back of the main house, was connected with it +by wide curving corridors, which contained the family portraits, and +which had long windows which opened out on little balconies. On the +night of the ball these balconies were lighted by round yellow lanterns, +so that the effect from the outside was that of a succession of full +moons.</p> + +<p>The ballroom was octagonal, and canopied with a blue ceiling studded +with silver stars. There were cupids with garlands on the side walls, +and faded<!-- Page 264 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> blue brocade hangings. Across one end of the ballroom was the +long gallery reserved for those whom the Merriweathers still called "the +tenantry," and it was here that Mary and Mrs. Flippin always sat after +baking cakes.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Flippin had not baked the cakes to-day, nor was she in the gallery, +for her daughter, Mary, was among the guests on the ballroom floor, and +her mother's own good sense had kept her at home.</p> + +<p>"I shall look after Miss MacVeigh," she had said. "I want Truxton to +bring you over and show you in your pretty new dress."</p> + +<p>When they came, Madge, who was sitting up, insisted that she, too, must +see Mary. "My dear, my dear," she said, "what a wonderful frock."</p> + +<p>"Yes," Mary said, "it is. It is one of Becky's, and she gave it to me. +And the turquoises are Mrs. Beaufort's."</p> + +<p>Madge, who knew the whole alphabet of smart costumers, was aware of the +sophisticated perfection of that fluff of jade green tulle. The touch of +gold at the girdle, the flash of gold for the petticoat. She guessed the +price, a stiff one, and wondered that Mary should speak of it casually +as "one of Becky's."</p> + +<p>"The turquoises are the perfect touch."</p> + +<p>"That was Becky's idea. It seemed queer to me<!-- Page 265 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> at first, blue with the +green. But she said if I just wore this band around my hair, and the +ring. And it does seem right, doesn't it?"</p> + +<p>"It is perfect. What is Miss Bannister wearing?"</p> + +<p>"Silver and white—lace, you know. The new kind, like a cobweb—with +silver underneath—and a rose-colored fan—and pearls. You should see +her pearls, Miss MacVeigh. Tell her about them, Truxton."</p> + +<p>"Well, once upon a time they belonged to a queen. Becky's +great-grandfather on the Meredith side was a diplomat in Paris, and he +bought them, or so the story runs. Becky only wears a part of them. The +rest are in the family vaults."</p> + +<p>Madge listened, and showed no surprise. But that account of lace and +silver, and priceless pearls did not sound in the least like the new +little girl about whom George had, in the few times that she had seen +him of late, been so silent.</p> + +<p>"If only Flora would get well, and let me leave this beastly hole," had +been the burden of his complaint.</p> + +<p>"I thought you liked it."</p> + +<p>"It is well enough for a time."</p> + +<p>"What about the new little girl?"</p> + +<p>He was plainly embarrassed, but bluffed it out. "I wish you wouldn't ask +questions."<!-- Page 266 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I wish you wouldn't be—rude—Georgie-Porgie."</p> + +<p>"I hate that name, Madge. Any man has a right to be rude when a woman +calls him 'Georgie-Porgie.'"</p> + +<p>"So that's it? Well, now run along. And please don't come again until +you are nice—and smiling."</p> + +<p>"Oh, look here, Madge."</p> + +<p>"Run along——"</p> + +<p>"But there isn't any place to run."</p> + +<p>Laughter lurked in her eyes. "Oh, Georgie-Porgie—for once in your life +can't you run away?"</p> + +<p>"Do you think you are funny?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not. Smile a little, Georgie."</p> + +<p>"How can anybody smile, with everybody sick?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, we're not. We are better. I am so glad that Flora is +improving."</p> + +<p>"Oscar thinks it is because that little old man prayed for her. Fancy +Oscar——"</p> + +<p>Madge meditated. "Yet it might be, you know, George. There are things in +that old man's petition that transcend all our philosophy."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you're as bad as Oscar," said George. He rose and stood frowning on +the threshold. "Well, good-bye, Madge."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, Georgie, and smile when you come again."</p> + +<p>She had guessed then that something had gone<!-- Page 267 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> wrong in the game with the +new little girl. She had a consuming curiosity to know the details. But +she could never force things with Georgie. Some day, perhaps, he would +tell her.</p> + +<p>And now here was news indeed! She waited until young Beaufort and his +wife had driven away, and until Mrs. Flippin had time for that quiet +hour by her bedside.</p> + +<p>"Mary looked lovely," said Madge.</p> + +<p>"Didn't she?" Mrs. Flippin rocked and talked. "You would never have +known that dress was made for anybody but for Mary. Becky gave Mary +another dress out of a lot she had down from New York. It is yellow +organdie, made by hand and with little embroidered scallops."</p> + +<p>Madge knew the house which made a specialty of those organdie gowns with +embroidered scallops, and she knew the price.</p> + +<p>"But how does—Becky manage to have such lovely things?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, she's rich," Mrs. Flippin was rocking comfortably. "You would never +know it, and nobody thinks of it much. But she's got money. From her +grandmother. And there was something in the will about having her live +out of the world as long as she could. That's why they sent her to a +convent and kept her down here as much as possible. She ain't ever +seemed to care for clothes. She<!-- Page 268 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> could always have had anything she +wanted, but she ain't cared. She told Mary that she had a sudden notion +to have some pretty things, and she sent for them, and it was lucky for +Mary that she did. She couldn't have gone to this ball, for there wasn't +any time to get anything made. Mr. Flippin and I are going to buy her +some nice things when she goes to Richmond. But they won't be like the +things that Becky gets, of course."</p> + +<p>Madge, listening to further details of the Meredith fortunes, wondered +how much of this Georgie knew. "Becky's mother died when she was five, +and her father two years later," Mrs. Flippin was saying. "She might +have been spoiled to death if she had been brought up as some children +are. But she has spent her winters at the convent with Sister Loretto, +and she's never worn much of anything but the uniform of the school. You +wouldn't think that she had any money to see her, would you, Miss +MacVeigh?"</p> + +<p>"No, you wouldn't," said Madge, truthfully.</p> + +<p>It was after nine o'clock—a warm night—with no sound but the ticking +of the clock and the insistent hum of locusts.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Flippin," said Madge, "I wish you'd call up Hamilton Hill and ask +for Mr. Dalton, and tell him that Miss MacVeigh would like to have him +come and see her if he has nothing else on hand."<!-- Page 269 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mrs. Flippin looked her astonishment. "To-night?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I am not going to receive him this way," Madge reassured her. "If +he can come, I'll get nurse to dress me and make me comfy in the +sitting-room."</p> + +<p>Having ascertained that Dalton would be over at once, the nurse was +called, and Madge was made ready. It was a rather high-handed +proceeding, and both Mrs. Flippin and the nurse stood aghast.</p> + +<p>The nurse protested. "You really ought not, Miss MacVeigh."</p> + +<p>"I love to do things that I ought not to do."</p> + +<p>"But you'll tire yourself."</p> + +<p>"If you were my Mary," said Mrs. Flippin severely, "I wouldn't let you +have your way——"</p> + +<p>"I love to have my own way, Mrs. Flippin. And—I am not your Mary"—then +fearing that she had hurt the kind heart, she caught Mrs. Flippin's hand +in her own and kissed it,—"but I wish I were. You're such a lovely +mother."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Flippin smiled at her. "I'm as near like your mother as a hen is +mother to a bluebird."</p> + +<p>Madge, robed in the mauve gown, refused to have her hair touched. "I +like it in braids," and so when George came there she sat in the +sitting-room, all gold and mauve—a charming picture for his sulky +eyes.<!-- Page 270 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh," she said, as he came in, in a gray sack suit, with a gray cap in +his hand, "why, you aren't even dressed for dinner!"</p> + +<p>"Why should I be?" he demanded. "Kemp has left me."</p> + +<p>She had expected something different. "Kemp?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"He didn't give any reason. Just said he was going—and went. He said he +had intended to go before, and had only stayed until Mrs. Waterman was +better. Offered to stay on a little longer if it would embarrass me any +to have him leave. I told him that if he wanted to go, he could get out +now. And he is packing his bags."</p> + +<p>"But what will you do without him?"</p> + +<p>"I have wired to New York for a Jap."</p> + +<p>"Where will Kemp go?"</p> + +<p>"To King's Crest. To work for that lame officer—Prime."</p> + +<p>"Oh—Major Prime? How did it happen?"</p> + +<p>"Heaven only knows. I call it a mean trick."</p> + +<p>"Well, of course, Kemp had a right to go if he wanted to. And perhaps +you will like a Jap better. You always said Kemp was too independent."</p> + +<p>"He is," shortly, "but I hate to be upset. It seems as if everything +goes wrong these days. What did you want with me, Madge?"<!-- Page 271 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span></p> + +<p>Her eyelashes flickered as she surveyed him. "I wanted to see +you—smile, Georgie."</p> + +<p>"You didn't bring me down here to tell me that——" But in spite of +himself the corners of his lips curled. "Oh, what's the answer, Madge?" +he said, and laughed in spite of himself.</p> + +<p>"I wanted to talk a little about—your Becky."</p> + +<p>His laughter died at once. "Well, I'm not going to talk about her."</p> + +<p>"Please—I am dying of curiosity—I hear that she is very—rich, +Georgie."</p> + +<p>"Rich?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. She has oodles of money——"</p> + +<p>"I don't believe it."</p> + +<p>"But it is true, Georgie."</p> + +<p>"Who told you?"</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Flippin."</p> + +<p>"It is all—rot——"</p> + +<p>"It isn't rot, Georgie. Mrs. Flippin knows about it. Becky inherits from +her Meredith grandmother. And her grandfather is Admiral Meredith of +Nantucket, with a big house on Beacon Street in Boston. And they all +belong to the inner circle."</p> + +<p>He stared at her. "But Becky doesn't look it. She doesn't wear rings and +things."</p> + +<p>"'Rings on her fingers and bells on her toes'? Oh, George, did you think +it had to be like that<!-- Page 272 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> when people had money? Why, her pearls belonged +to a queen." She told him their history.</p> + +<p>It came back to him with a shock that he had said to Becky that the +pearls cheapened her. "If they were <i>real</i>," he had said.</p> + +<p>"It was rather strange the way I found it out," Madge was saying. "Mary +Flippin had on the most perfect gown—with all the marks on it of +exclusive Fifth Avenue. She was going to the Merriweather ball, and +Becky is to be there."</p> + +<p>She saw him gather himself together. "It is rather a Cinderella story, +isn't it?" he asked, with assumed lightness.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, "but I thought you'd like to know."</p> + +<p>"What if I knew already?"</p> + +<p>She laughed and let it go at that. "I'm lonesome, Georgie, talk to me," +she said. But he was not in a mood to talk. And at last she sent him +away. And when he had gone she sat there a long time and thought about +him. There had been a look in his eyes which made her almost sorry. It +seemed incredible as she came to think of it that anybody should ever be +sorry for Georgie.</p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>Since that night with Becky in the garden at Huntersfield George had +been torn by conflicting<!-- Page 273 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> emotions. He knew himself at last in love. He +knew himself beaten at the game by a little shabby girl, and a lanky +youth who had been her champion.</p> + +<p>He would not acknowledge that the thing was ended, and in the end he had +written her a letter. He cried to Heaven that a marriage between her and +young Paine would be a crime. "How can you love him, Becky—you are +mine."</p> + +<p>The letter had been returned unopened. His burning phrases might have +been dead ashes for all the good they had done. She had not read them.</p> + +<p>And now Madge had told him the unbelievable thing—that Becky Bannister, +the shabby Becky of the simple cottons and the stubbed shoes, was rich, +not as Waterman was rich, flamboyantly, vulgarly, with an eye to letting +all the world know. But rich in a thoroughbred fashion, scorning +display—he knew the kind, secure in a knowledge of the unassailable +assets of birth and breeding and solid financial standing.</p> + +<p>No wonder young Paine wanted to marry her. George, driving through the +night, set his teeth. He was seeing Randy, poor as Job's turkey, with +Becky's money for a background.</p> + +<p>Well, he should not have it. He should not have Becky.</p> + +<p>George headed his car for the Merriweathers'. Becky was there, and he +was going to see Becky.<!-- Page 274 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> How he was to see her he left to the +inspiration of the moment.</p> + +<p>He parked his car by the road, and walked through the great stone gates. +The palatial residence was illumined from top to bottom, its windows +great squares of gold against the night. The door stood open, but except +for a servant or two there was no one in the wide hall. The guests were +dancing in the ballroom at the back, and George caught the lilt of the +music as he skirted the house, then the sound of voices, the light +laughter of the women, the deeper voices of the men.</p> + +<p>The little balconies, lighted by the yellow lanterns, were empty. As +soon as the music stopped they would be filled with dancers seeking the +coolness of the outer air. He stood looking up, and suddenly, as if the +stage had been set, Becky stepped out on the balcony straight in front +of him, and stood under the yellow lantern. The light was dim, but it +gave to her white skin, to her lace frock, to the pink fan, a faint +golden glow. She might have been transmuted from flesh into some fine +metal. George had not heard the Major's name for her, "Mademoiselle +Midas," but he had a feeling that the little golden figure was +symbolic—here was the real Golden Girl for him—not Madge or any other +woman.</p> + +<p>Randy was with her, back in the shadow, but<!-- Page 275 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> unmistakable, his lean +height, the lift of his head.</p> + +<p>George moved forward until, hidden by a bush, he was almost under the +balcony. He could catch the murmur of their voices. But not a word that +they said was intelligible.</p> + +<p>They were talking of Mary. Her introduction to her husband's friends had +been an ordeal for Bob Flippin's daughter. But she had gone through it +simply, quietly, unaffectedly, with the Judge by her side standing +sponsor for his son's wife in chivalrous and stately fashion, with Mrs. +Beaufort at her elbow helping her over the initial small talk of her +presentation. With Truxton beaming, and with Becky drawing her into that +charmed circle of the younger set which might so easily have shut her +out. More than one of those younger folk had had it in mind that at last +year's ball Mary Flippin had sat in the gallery. But not even the most +snobbish of them would have dared to brave Becky Bannister's +displeasure. Back of her clear-eyed serenity was a spirit which flamed +and a strength which accomplished. Becky was an amiable young person who +could flash fire at unfairness or injustice or undue assumption of +superiority.</p> + +<p>The music had stopped and the balconies were filled. George, in the +darkness, was aware of the beauty of the scene—the lantern making +yellow<!-- Page 276 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> moons—the golden groups beneath them. Mary and Truxton with a +friend or two were in the balcony adjoining the one where Becky sat with +young Paine.</p> + +<p>"Isn't she a dear and a darling, Randy?" Becky was saying; "and how well +she carries it off. Truxton is so proud of her, and she is so pretty."</p> + +<p>"She can't hold a candle to you, Becky."</p> + +<p>"It is nice of you to say it." She leaned on the stone balustrade and +swung her fan idly.</p> + +<p>"I am not saying it to be nice."</p> + +<p>"Aren't you—oh——!" She gave a quick exclamation.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?"</p> + +<p>"I dropped my fan."</p> + +<p>"I'll go and get it," he said, and just then the music started.</p> + +<p>"No," said Becky, "never mind now. This is your dance with Mary—and she +mustn't be kept waiting."</p> + +<p>"Aren't you dancing this?"</p> + +<p>"It is Truxton's, and I begged off. Run along, dear boy."</p> + +<p>When he was gone she leaned over the rail. Below was a tangle of bushes, +and the white gleam of a stone bench. Beyond the bushes was a path, and +farther on a fountain. It was a rather imposing fountain, with a Neptune +in bronze riding a sea<!-- Page 277 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span>horse, with nymphs on dolphins in attendance. +Neptune poured water from a shell which he held in his hand, and the +dolphins spouted great streams. The splash of the water was a grateful +sound in the stillness of the hot night, and the mist which the slight +breeze blew towards a bed of tuberoses seemed to bring out their heavy +fragrance. Always afterwards when Becky thought of that night, there +would come to her again that heavy scent and the splash of streaming +water.</p> + +<p>"Becky," a voice came up from below, "I have your fan."</p> + +<p>She peered down into the darkness, but did not speak.</p> + +<p>"Becky, I am punished enough, and I am—starved for you——"</p> + +<p>"Give me my fan——"</p> + +<p>"I want to talk to you—I must—talk to you——"</p> + +<p>"Give me my fan——"</p> + +<p>"I can't reach——"</p> + +<p>"You can stand on that bench."</p> + +<p>He stood on it, and she could see his figure faintly defined.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid I am still too far away. Lean over a bit, Becky—and I'll +hand it to you."</p> + +<p>She stretched her white arm down into the darkness. Her hand was caught +in a strong clasp. "Becky, give me just five minutes by the fountain."<!-- Page 278 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Let me go."</p> + +<p>"Not until you promise that you'll come."</p> + +<p>"I shall never promise."</p> + +<p>"Then I shall keep your fan——"</p> + +<p>"Keep it—I have others."</p> + +<p>"But you will think about this one, because I have it." There was a note +of triumph in his soft laugh.</p> + +<p>He kissed her finger-tips and reluctantly released her hand. "The fan is +mine, then, until you ask for it."</p> + +<p>"I shall never ask."</p> + +<p>"Who knows? Some day you may—who knows?" and he was gone.</p> + +<p>He could not have chosen a better way in which to fire her imagination. +His voice in the dark, his laughing triumph, the daring theft of her +fan. Her heart followed him, seeing him a Conqueror even in this, seeing +him a robber with his rose-colored booty, a Robin Hood of the Garden, a +Dick Turpin among the tuberoses.</p> + +<p>The spirit of Romance went with him. The things that Pride had done for +her looked gray and dull. She had promised to marry Randy, and felt that +she faced a somewhat sober future. Set against it was all that George +had given her, the sparkle and dash and color of his ardent pursuit.</p> + +<p>He was not worth a thought, yet she thought of<!-- Page 279 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> him. She was still +thinking of him when Randy came back.</p> + +<p>"Did you get your fan?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"No. Never mind, Randy. I will have one of the servants look for it."</p> + +<p>"But I do mind."</p> + +<p>She hesitated. "Well, don't look for it now. Let's go in and join the +others. Are they going down to supper?"</p> + +<p>Supper was served in the great Hunt Room, which was below the ballroom. +It was a historic and picturesque place, and had been the scene for over +a century of merry-making before and after the fox-hunts for which the +county was famous. There were two great fireplaces, almost hidden +to-night by the heaped-up fruits of the harvest, orange and red and +green, with cornstalks and goldenrod from the fields for decorations.</p> + +<p>Becky found Mary alone at a small table in a corner. Truxton had left +her to forage for refreshments and Randy followed him.</p> + +<p>"Are you having a good time, Mary?"</p> + +<p>Mary did not answer at once. Then she said, bravely, "I don't quite fit +in, Becky. I am still an—outsider."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mary!"</p> + +<p>"I am not—unhappy, and Truxton is such a dear. But I shall be glad to +get home, Becky."<!-- Page 280 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But you look so lovely, Mary, and everybody seems so kind."</p> + +<p>"They are, but underneath I am just plain—Mary Flippin. They know that, +and so do I, and it will take them some time to forget it."</p> + +<p>There was an anxious look in Becky's eyes. "It seems to me that you are +feeling it more than the others."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps. And I shouldn't have said anything. Don't let Truxton know."</p> + +<p>"Has anyone said anything to hurt you, Mary?"</p> + +<p>"No, but when I dance with the men, I can't speak their language. I +haven't been to the places—I don't know the people. I am on the +outside."</p> + +<p>Becky had a sudden forlorn sense that things were wrong with the whole +world. But she didn't want Mary to be unhappy.</p> + +<p>"Truxton loves you," she said, "and you love him. Don't let anything +make you miserable when you have—that. Nothing else counts, Mary."</p> + +<p>There was a note of passion in her voice which brought a pulsing +response from Mary.</p> + +<p>"It <i>is</i> the only thing that counts, Becky. How silly I am to worry."</p> + +<p>Her young husband was coming towards her—flushed and eager, a prince +among men, and he was hers!<!-- Page 281 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span></p> + +<p>As he sat down beside her, her hand sought his under the table.</p> + +<p>He looked down at her. "Happy, little girl?"</p> + +<p>"Very happy, lover."</p> + + +<h3>III</h3><p>Caroline Paine was having the time of her life. She wore a new dress of +thin midnight blue which Randy had bought for her and which was very +becoming; her hair was waved and dressed, and she had Major Prime as an +attentive listener while she talked of the past and linked it with the +present.</p> + +<p>"Of course there was a time when the men drank themselves under the +tables. Everybody calls them the 'good old times,' but I reckon they +were bad old times in some ways, weren't they? There was hot blood, and +there were duels. There's no denying it was picturesque, Major, but it +was foolish for all that. Men don't settle things now by shooting each +other, except in a big way like the war. The last duel was fought by the +old fountain out there—one of the Merriweathers met one of the Paines. +Merriweather was killed, and the girl died of a broken heart."</p> + +<p>"Then it was Merriweather that she loved?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. And young Paine went abroad, and joined the British army and was +killed in India. So nobody was happy, and all because there was,<!-- Page 282 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> +probably, a flowing bowl at the harvest ball. I am glad they don't do it +that way now. Just think of my Randy stripped to his shirt and with +pistols for two. We are more civilized in these days and I'm glad of +it."</p> + +<p>"Are we?" said the Major; "I'm not sure. But I hope so."</p> + +<p>Randy came by just then and spoke to them. "Are you getting everything +you want, Mother?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed. The Major looked after me. I've had salad twice, and +everything else——"</p> + +<p>"That sounds greedy, but it isn't, not when you think of the groaning +boards of other days. Has she been telling you about them, Major?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, she has peopled the room with ghosts——"</p> + +<p>"Now, Major!"</p> + +<p>"Pleasant ghosts—in lace ruffles and velvet coats, smoking long pipes +around a punch bowl; beautiful ghosts in patches and powder," he made an +expressive gesture; "they have mingled with the rest of +you—shadow-shapes of youth and loveliness."</p> + +<p>"Well, if anybody can tell about it, Mother can," said Randy, "but I +don't believe there were ever any prettier girls than are here +to-night."</p> + +<p>"Becky looks like an angel," Mrs. Paine stated, "but she's pale, Randy."</p> + +<p>"She is tired, Mother. I think she ought to go<!-- Page 283 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> home. I shall try to +make her when I come back. She dropped her fan and I am going to get +it."</p> + +<p>He had not told Becky where he was going. He had slipped away—his mind +intent on regaining her property. But when he reached the bushes and +flashed his pocket-light on the ground beneath, there was no fan. It +must have fallen here. He was sure he had made no mistake.</p> + +<p>He decided finally that someone else had found it. It seemed unlikely, +however, for the spot was remote, and the thickness of the bushes +offered a barrier to anyone strolling casually through the grounds.</p> + +<p>He went slowly back to the house. Ever since that night when Becky had +said she would marry him he had lived in a dream. They were pledged to +each other, yet she did not love him. How could he take her? And again, +how could he give her up? She had offered herself freely, and he wanted +her in his future. And there was a fighting chance. He had youth and +courage and a love for her he challenged any man to match. Why not? Was +it beyond the bounds of reason that some day he could make Becky love +him?</p> + +<p>They had agreed that no one was to be told. "Not until I come back from +Nantucket," Becky had stipulated.<!-- Page 284 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span></p> + +<p>"By that time you won't want me, my dear."</p> + +<p>"Well, I shan't if you talk like that," Becky had said with some spirit.</p> + +<p>"Like what?"</p> + +<p>"As if I were a queen and you were a slave. When you were a little boy +you bossed me, Randy."</p> + +<p>There had been a gleam in his eye. "I may again."</p> + +<p>He wondered if, after all, that would be the way to win her. Yet he +shrank from playing a game. When she came to him, if she ever came, it +must be because she found something in him that was love-worthy. At +least he could make himself worthy of love, whether she ever came to him +or not.</p> + +<p>He stopped by the fountain; just beyond it the long windows of the Hunt +Room opened out upon the lawn. The light lay in golden squares upon the +grass. Randy, still in the shadow, stood for a moment looking in. There +were long tables and little ones, kaleidoscopic color, movement and +light, and Becky back in her corner in the midst of a gay group.</p> + +<p>He was aware, suddenly, that he was not the only one who watched. Half +hidden by the shadows of one of the great pillars of the lower porch was +a man in light flannels and a gray cap.</p> + +<p>He was not skulking, and indeed he seemed to<!-- Page 285 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> have a splendid +indifference to discovery. He was staring at Becky and in his hand, a +blaze of lovely color against his coat, was Becky's fan!</p> + +<p>Randy took a step forward. George turned and saw him.</p> + +<p>"I was looking for that," Randy said, and held out his hand for the fan.</p> + +<p>But Dalton did not give it to him. "She knows I have it."</p> + +<p>"How could she know?" Randy demanded; "she dropped it from the balcony."</p> + +<p>"And I was under the balcony"—George's laugh was tantalizing,—"a +patient Romeo."</p> + +<p>"You picked it up."</p> + +<p>"I picked it up. And she knew that I did. Didn't she tell you?"</p> + +<p>She had not told him. He remembered now her unwillingness to have him +search for it.</p> + +<p>He had no answer for George. But again he held out his hand.</p> + +<p>"She will be glad to get it. Will you give it to me?"</p> + +<p>"She told me I might—keep it."</p> + +<p>"Keep it——?"</p> + +<p>"For remembrance."</p> + +<p>There was a tense pause. "If that is true," said Randy, "there is, of +course, nothing else for me to say."<!-- Page 286 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span></p> + +<p>He turned to go, but George stopped him. "Wait a minute. You are going +to marry her?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And she is very—rich."</p> + +<p>"Her money does not enter into the matter."</p> + +<p>"Some people might think it did. There are those who might be unkind +enough to call you a—fortune-hunter."</p> + +<p>"I shall be called nothing of the kind by those who know me."</p> + +<p>"But there are so many who don't know you."</p> + +<p>"I wonder," said Randy, fiercely, "why I am staying here and letting you +say such things to me. There is nothing you can say which can hurt me. +Becky knows—God knows, that I wish she were as poor as poverty. Perhaps +money doesn't mean as much to us as it does to you. I wish I had it, +yes—so that I could give it to her. But love for us means a tent in the +desert—a hut on a mountain—it can never mean what we could buy with +money."</p> + +<p>"Does love mean to her," George's tone was incisive, "a tent in the +desert, a hut on a mountain?"</p> + +<p>Randy's anger flamed. "I think," he said, "that I should beg Becky's +pardon for bringing her name into this at all—— And now, will you give +me her fan?"<!-- Page 287 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span></p> + +<p>"When she asks for it—yes."</p> + +<p>Randy was breathing heavily. "Will you give me her—fan——"</p> + +<p>The mist from the fountain blew cool against his hot cheeks. The water +which old Neptune poured from his shell flashed white under the stars.</p> + +<p>"Let her ask for it——" George's laugh was light.</p> + +<p>It was that laugh which made Randy see red. He caught George's wrists +suddenly in his hands. "Drop it."</p> + +<p>George stopped laughing. "Let her ask for it," he said again.</p> + +<p>Randy twisted the wrists. It was a cruel trick. But his Indian blood was +uppermost.</p> + +<p>"Drop it," he said, with another twist, and the fan fell.</p> + +<p>But Randy was not satisfied. "Do you think," he said, "that I am through +with you? What you need is tar and feathers, but failing that——" he +did not finish his sentence. He caught George around the body and began +to push him back towards the fountain.</p> + +<p>George fought doggedly—but Randy was strong with the muscular strength +of youth and months of military training.</p> + +<p>"I'll kill you for this," George kept saying.<!-- Page 288 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No," said Randy, conserving his breath, "they don't—do +it—in—these—days——"</p> + +<p>He had Dalton now at the rim and with a final effort of strength he +lifted him—there was a splash, and into the deeps of the great basin +went George, while the bronze Neptune, and the bronze dolphins, and the +nymphs with flowing hair, splashed and spouted a welcoming chorus that +drowned his cry!</p> + +<p>Randy, head up, eyes shining, marched into the house and had a servant +brush him off and powder a scratch on his chin; then he went down-stairs +to the Hunt Room and strode across the room until he came to where Becky +sat in her corner.</p> + +<p>"I found your fan," he told her, and laid it, a blaze of lovely color, +on the table in front of her.<!-- Page 289 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h3> + +<h2>THE WHISTLING SALLY</h2> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>Becky, as she journeyed towards the north, had carried with her a vision +of a new and rather disturbing Randy—a Randy who, striding across the +Hunt Room with high-held head, had delivered her fan, and had, later, +asked for an explanation.</p> + +<p>"How did he get it, Becky?"</p> + +<p>She had told him.</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you tell me when I came back and said I would go for it?"</p> + +<p>"I was afraid he might still be there."</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"And that something might happen."</p> + +<p>Something had happened later by the fountain. But Randy did not speak of +it. "I saw the fan in his hand and asked for it," grimly, "and he gave +it to me——"</p> + +<p>On the night before she went away, Randy had said, "I can't tell you all +that you mean to me, Becky, and I am not going to try. But I am yours +always—remember that——" He had kissed her<!-- Page 290 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> hand and held it for a +moment against his heart. Then he had left her, and Becky had wanted to +call him back and say something that she felt had been left unsaid, but +had found that she could not.</p> + +<p>Admiral Meredith met his granddaughter in New York, and the rest of the +trip was made with him.</p> + +<p>Admiral Meredith was as different from Judge Bannister in his mental +equipment as he was in physical appearance. He was a short little man, +who walked with a sailor's swing, and who laughed like a fog-horn. He +had ruddy cheeks, and the manners of a Chesterfield. If he lacked the +air of aristocratic calm which gave distinction to Judge Bannister, he +supplied in its place a sophistication due to his contact with a world +which moved faster than the Judge's world in Virginia.</p> + +<p>He adored Becky, and resented her long sojourn in the South. "I believe +you love the Judge better than you do me," he told her, as he turned to +her in the taxi which took them from the train to the boat.</p> + +<p>"I don't love anybody better than I do you," she said, and tucked her +hand in his.</p> + +<p>"What have they been doing to you?" he demanded; "you are as white as +paper."</p> + +<p>"Well, it has been hot."</p> + +<p>"Of all the fool things to keep you down there in summer. I am going to +take you straight to 'Scon<!-- Page 291 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span>set to the Whistling Sally and keep you there +for a month."</p> + +<p>"The Whistling Sally" was the Admiral's refuge when he was tired of the +world. It was a gray little house set among other gray little houses +across the island from Nantucket town. It stood on top of the bluff and +overlooked a sea which stretched straight to Spain. It was called "The +Whistling Sally" because a ship's figure-head graced its front yard, the +buxom half of a young woman who blew out her cheeks in a perpetual +piping, and whose faded colors spoke eloquently of the storms which had +buffeted her.</p> + +<p>The Admiral, as has been indicated, had an imposing mansion in Nantucket +town. For two months in the summer he entertained his friends in all the +glory of a Colonial background—white pillars, spiral stairway, polished +floors, Chinese Chippendale, lacquered cabinets, old china and oil +portraits. He gave dinners and played golf, he had a yacht and a motor +boat, he danced when the spirit moved him, and was light on his feet in +spite of his years. He was adored by the ladies, lionized by everybody, +and liked it.</p> + +<p>But when the summer was over and September came, he went to Siasconset +and reverted to the type of his ancestors. He hobnobbed with the men and +women who had been the friends and neighbors<!-- Page 292 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> of his forbears. He doffed +his sophistication as he doffed his formal clothes. He wore a slicker on +wet days, and the rain dripped from his rubber hat. He sat knee to knee +with certain cronies around the town pump. He made chowder after a +famous recipe, and dug clams when the spirit moved him.</p> + +<p>His housekeeper, Jane, adjourned from the town house to "The Whistling +Sally" when Becky was there; at other times the Admiral did for himself, +keeping the little cottage as neat as a pin, and cooking as if he were +born to it.</p> + +<p>It seemed to Becky that as the long low island rose from the sea, the +burdens which she had carried for so long dropped from her. There were +the houses on the cliff, the glint of a gilded dome, and then, gray and +blue and green the old town showed against the skyline, resolving itself +presently into roofs, and church towers, and patches of trees, with long +piers stretching out through shallow waters, boat-houses, fishing +smacks, and at last a thin line of people waiting on the wharf.</p> + +<p>The air was like wine. The sky was blue with the deep sapphire which +follows a wind-swept night. There was not a hint of mist or fog. Flocks +of gulls rose and dipped and rose again, or rested unafraid on the +wooden posts of the pier.</p> + +<p>The 'Sconset 'bus was waiting and they took it.<!-- Page 293 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> Until two years ago no +automobiles had been allowed on the island, but there had been the +triumph of utility over the picturesque and quaint, and now one motored +across the moor on smooth asphalt, in one-half the time that the trip +had been made in the old days.</p> + +<p>The Admiral did not like it. He admitted that it was quicker. "But we +used to see the pheasants fly up from the bushes, and the ducks from the +pools, and now they are gone before we can get our eyes on them."</p> + +<p>Becky was not in a captious mood. The moor was before her, rising and +falling in low unwooded hills, amber with dwarf goldenrod, red with the +turning huckleberry, purple with drying grasses, green with a thousand +lovely growing things still unpainted by the brush of autumn. The color +was almost unbelievably gorgeous. Even the pools by the roadside were +almost unbelievably blue, as if the water had been dyed with indigo, and +above all was that incredible blue sky——!</p> + +<p>Then out of the distance clear cut like cardboard the houses lifted +themselves above the horizon, with the sea a wall to the right, and to +the left, across the moor, the Sankaty lighthouse, white and red with +the sun's rays striking across it.</p> + +<p>They entered the village between rows of pleasant informal residences, +many of them closed until an<!-- Page 294 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span>other season; they passed the tennis +courts, and came to the post-office, with its flag flying. The 'bus +stopped, and they found Tristram waiting for them.</p> + +<p>"Tristram" is an old name in Nantucket. There was a Tristram among the +nine men who had purchased the island from Thomas Mayhew in 1659 for "30 +pounds current pay and two beaver hats." The present Tristram wore the +name appropriately. Fair-haired and tall, not young but towards the +middle-years, strong with the strength of one who lives out-of-doors in +all weathers, browned with the wind and sun, blue-eyed, he called no man +master, and was the owner of his own small acres.</p> + +<p>Like the Admiral, he gave himself up for two months of the year to the +summer people. If his association with them was a business rather than a +social affair, it was, none the less, interesting. The occupation of +Nantucket by "off-islanders" was a matter of infinite speculation and +amusement. Into the serenity of his life came restless men and women who +golfed and swam and rode and danced, who chafed when it rained, and +complained of the fog, who seemed endlessly trying to get something out +of life and who were endlessly bored, who wondered how Tristram could +stand the solitudes and who pitied him.</p> + +<p>Tristram knew that he did not need their pity.<!-- Page 295 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> He had a thousand things +that they did not have. He was never bored, and he was too busy to +manufacture amusements. There were always things happening on the +island—each day brought something different.</p> + +<p>To-day, it was the winter gulls. "They are coming down—lots of them +from the north," he told the Admiral as they drove through the quaint +settlement with its gray little houses, "the big ones——"</p> + +<p>There was also the <i>gerardia</i>, pale pink and shading into mauve. He had +brought a great bunch to "The Whistling Sally," and had put it in a bowl +of gray pottery.</p> + +<p>When Becky saw the flowers, she knew whom to thank. "Oh, Tristram," she +said, "you found them on the moor."</p> + +<p>Tristram, standing in the little front room of the Admiral's cottage, +seemed to tower to the ceiling. "The Whistling Sally" from the outside +had the look of a doll's house, too small for human habitation. Within +it was unexpectedly commodious. It had the shipshape air of belonging to +a seafaring man. The rooms were all on one floor. There was the big +front room, which served as a sitting-room and dining-room. It had a +table built out from the wall with high-backed benches on each side of +it, and a rack for glasses overhead. There was a window above the table +which looked out towards the<!-- Page 296 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> sea. The walls were painted blue, and +there was an old brick fireplace. A model of a vessel from which the +figure-head in the front yard had been taken was over the mantel, +flanked by an old print or two of Nantucket in the past. There were +Windsor chairs and a winged chair; some pot-bellied silver twinkled in a +corner cupboard.</p> + +<p>The windows throughout were low and square and small-paned and +white-curtained. The day was cool, and there was a fire on the hearth. +The blaze and the pink flowers, and the white curtains gave to the +little room an effect of brightness, although outside the early twilight +was closing in.</p> + +<p>Jane came in with her white apron and added another high light. She +kissed Becky. "Did your grandfather tell you that Mr. Cope is coming +over to have chowder?" she asked.</p> + +<p>It would be impossible to describe Jane's way of saying "chowder." It +had no "r," and she clipped it off at the end. But it is the only way in +the world, and the people who so pronounce it are usually the only +people in the world who can make it.</p> + +<p>"Who is Mr. Cope?" Becky asked.</p> + +<p>Mr. Cope, it seemed, had a cottage across the road from the Admiral's. +He leased it, and it was his first season at 'Sconset. His sister had +been<!-- Page 297 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> with him only a week ago. She had gone "off-shore," but she was +coming back.</p> + +<p>"Is he young?" Becky asked.</p> + +<p>"Well, he isn't old," said Jane, "and he's an artist."</p> + +<p>Becky was not in the least interested in Mr. Cope, so she talked to +Tristram until he had to go back to his farm and the cows that waited to +be milked. Then Becky went into her room, and took off her hat and coat +and ran a comb through the bronze waves of her hair. She did not change +the straight serge frock in which she had travelled. She went back into +the front room and found that Mr. Cope had come.</p> + +<p>He was not old. That was at once apparent. And he was not young. He did +not look in the least like an artist. He seemed, rather, like a +prosperous business man. He wore a Norfolk suit, and his reddish hair +was brushed straight back from his forehead. He had rather humorous gray +eyes, and Becky thought there was a look of delicacy about his white +skin. Later he spoke of having come for his health, and she learned that +he had a weak heart.</p> + +<p>He had a pleasant laughing voice. He belonged to Boston, but had lived +abroad for years.</p> + +<p>"With nothing to show for it," he told her with a shrug, "but one +portrait. I painted my sister,<!-- Page 298 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> and she kept that. But before we left +Paris we burned the rest——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, how dreadful," Becky cried.</p> + +<p>"No, it wasn't dreadful. They were not worth keeping. You see, I played +a lot and made sketches and things, and then there was the war—and I +wasn't very well."</p> + +<p>He had had two years of aviation, and after that a desk in the War +Department.</p> + +<p>"And now I am painting again."</p> + +<p>"Gardens?" Becky asked, "or the sea?"</p> + +<p>"Neither. I am trying to paint the moor. I'll show you in the morning."</p> + +<p>The Admiral was in the kitchen, superintending the chowder. Jane knew +how to make it, and he knew that she knew. But he always went into the +kitchen at the psychological moment, tied on an apron, and put in the +pilot crackers. Then he brought the chowder in, in a big porcelain +tureen which was shaped like a goose. Becky loved him in his white +apron, with his round red face, and the porcelain goose held high.</p> + +<p>"If you could paint him like that," she suggested to Archibald Cope.</p> + +<p>"Do you think he would let me?" eagerly.</p> + +<p>After supper the two men smoked by the fire, and Becky sat between them +and watched the blaze. She heard very little of the conversation. Her<!-- Page 299 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> +mind was in Albemarle. How far away it seemed! Just three nights ago she +had danced at the Merriweathers' ball, and George had held her hand as +she leaned over the balcony.</p> + +<p>"If you can bring yourself back for a moment, Becky, to present +company," her grandfather was saying, "you can tell Mr. Cope whether you +will walk with us to-morrow to Tom Never's."</p> + +<p>"I'd love it."</p> + +<p>"Really?" Cope asked. "You are sure you won't be too tired?"</p> + +<p>"Not in this air. I feel as if I could walk forever."</p> + +<p>"How about a bit of a walk to-night—up to the bluff? Is it too late, +Admiral?"</p> + +<p>"Not for you two. I'll finish my pipe, and read my papers."</p> + +<p>The young people followed the line of the bluff until they came to an +open space which looked towards the east. To the left of them was the +ridge with a young moon hanging low above it, and straight ahead, +brighter than the moon, whitening the heavens, stretching out and out +until it reached the sailors in their ships, was the Sankaty light.</p> + +<p>"I always come out to look at it before I go to bed," said Cope; "it is +such a <i>living</i> thing, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>The wind was rising and they could hear the<!-- Page 300 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> sound of the sea. Becky +caught her breath. "On dark nights I like to think how it must look to +the ships beyond the shoals——"</p> + +<p>"The sea is cruel," said Cope; "that's why I don't paint it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, it isn't always cruel."</p> + +<p>"When isn't it? Last year, with the submarines, it was—a monster. I saw +a picture once in a gallery, 'The Eternal Siren,' just the sea. And a +woman asked, 'Where's the Siren?'"</p> + +<p>Becky laughed. "If you had sailor blood in you, you wouldn't feel that +way. Ask Grandfather."</p> + +<p>"The Admiral is prejudiced. He loves—the siren——"</p> + +<p>"He would tell you that the sea isn't a siren. It's a bold, blustering +lass like the Whistling Sally out there in the front yard. Man has tamed +her even if he hasn't quite mastered her."</p> + +<p>"He will never master her. She will go on and on, after we are dead, +through the ages, wooing men to—destruction——"</p> + +<p>Becky shivered. "I hate to think of things—after we are dead."</p> + +<p>"Do you? I don't. I like to think way beyond the ages to the time when +there shall be no more sea——"</p> + +<p>He pulled himself up abruptly. "I am talking rather dismally, I am +afraid, about death and<!-- Page 301 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span> destruction. You won't want to walk with me +again."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I shall. And I want to see your pictures."</p> + +<p>"You may not care for them. Lots of people don't. But I have to work in +my own way——"</p> + +<p>As they walked back, he told her what he was trying to do. As she +listened, Becky seemed to have two minds, one that caught his words, and +answered them, and another which went back and back to the things which +had happened since she had last walked this bluff with the wind in her +face and the sound of the sea in her ears.</p> + +<p>It seemed to her as if a lifetime had elapsed since last she had looked +at the Sankaty light.</p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>When Becky wrote to Randy, she had a great deal to say about Archibald +Cope.</p> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>"He is trying to paint the moor. He wants to get its meaning, and +then make other people see what it means. He doesn't look in the +least like that, Randy—as if he were finding the spirit of things. +He has red hair and wears correct clothes, and says the right +things, and you feel as if he ought to be in Wall Street buying +bonds. But here he is, refusing to believe that anything he has +<!-- Page 302 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span>done is worth while until he does it to his own satisfaction.</p> + +<p>"We walked to Tom Never's Head yesterday. It was one of those clear +silver days, a little cloudy and without much color. The +cranberries are ripe, and the moor was carpeted with them. When we +got to Tom Never's we sat on the edge of the bluff, and Mr. Cope +told me what he meant about the moor. It has its moods, he said. On +a quiet, cloudy morning, it is a Quaker lady. With the fog in, it +is a White Spirit. There are purple twilights when it +is—Cleopatra, and windy nights with the sun going down blood-red, +when it is—Medusa—— He says that the trouble with the average +picture is that it is just—paint. I am not sure that I understand +it all, but it is terribly interesting. And when he had talked a +lot about that, he talked of the history of the island. He said +that he should never be satisfied until somebody put a bronze +statue of an Indian right where we stood, with his back to the sea. +And when I said, 'Why with his back to it?' he said, 'Wasn't the +sea cruel to the red man? It brought a conquering race in ships.'</p> + +<p>"I told him then about our Indians in Virginia, and that some of us +had a bit of red blood in our veins, and I told him that you and I +always used the old Indian war cry when we called to each other, +and he asked, 'Who is Randy?' and I said that you were an old +friend, and that we had spent much of our childhood together."</p></div> + +<p>As a matter of fact, Cope had been much interested in her account of +young Paine. "Do you mean to say that he is still living on all that +land?"<!-- Page 303 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Master of his own domain. I can't see it. The way I like to live is +with a paint box, and a bag, and nothing to keep me from moving on."</p> + +<p>"We aren't like that in the South."</p> + +<p>"Do you like to stay in one place?"</p> + +<p>"I never have. I have always been handed around."</p> + +<p>"Would you like a home of your own?"</p> + +<p>"Of course—after I am married."</p> + +<p>"North, south, east or west?"</p> + +<p>She put the question to him seriously. "Do you think it would make any +difference if you loved a man, where you lived?"</p> + +<p>"Well, of course, there might be difficulties—on a desert island."</p> + +<p>"Not if you loved him."</p> + +<p>"My sister wouldn't agree with you."</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"She is very modern. She says that love has nothing to do with it. Not +romantic love. She says that when she marries she shall choose a man who +lives in New York, who likes to go to Europe, and who hates the tropics. +He must fancy pale gray walls and willow-green draperies, and he must +loathe Florentine furniture. He must like music and painting, and not +care much for books. He must adore French cooking, and have a prejudice<!-- Page 304 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span> +against heavy roasts. He must be a Republican and High Church. She is +sure that with such a man she would be happy. The dove of peace would +hover over the household, because she and her husband would have nothing +to quarrel about."</p> + +<p>"Of course she doesn't mean it."</p> + +<p>"She thinks she does."</p> + +<p>"She won't if she is ever really in love."</p> + +<p>He glanced at her. "Then you believe in the desert island?"</p> + +<p>"I think I do——"</p> + +<p>She stood up. "Did you feel a drop of rain? And Grandfather is waving."</p> + +<p>The Admiral on the porch of the closed Lodge was calling to them to come +under shelter.</p> + +<p>It was a gentle rain, and they decided to walk home in it. They went at +a smart pace, which they moderated as Cope showed signs of fatigue. +"It's a beastly nuisance," he said, "to give out. I wish you would go on +ahead, and let me rest here——"</p> + +<p>They rested with him. The two men talked, and Becky was rather silent. +When they started on again, Cope said to her, "Are you tired? It is a +long walk."</p> + +<p>"No," she said, "I am not tired. And I have been thinking a lot about +the things you said to me."</p> + +<p>He was not a conceited man, and he was aware<!-- Page 305 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span> that it was the things +which he had said to her which had set her mind to work, not any +personal fascination. She was quaint and charming, and he was glad that +she had come. He had been lonely since his sister left. And his +loneliness had fear back of it.</p> + +<p>It was because of this conversation with Cope that Becky ended her +letter to Randy with the following paragraph:</p> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>"Mr. Cope has a sister, Louise. She thinks that people ought to +marry because they like the same things. She thinks that if two +people care for the same furniture and the same religion and the +same things to eat, that life will be lovely. She couldn't love a +man enough to live on a desert island with him, because she adores +New York. Of course, there is something in that, and if it is so, +you and I ought to be very happy, Randy. We like old houses and the +Virginia hills, and lots of books, and fireplaces—and dogs and +horses and hot biscuits and fried chicken. It sounds awfully funny +to put it that way, doesn't it, and practical? But perhaps Louise +Cope is right, and one isn't likely, of course, to have the desert +island test. Do you <i>really</i> think that anybody could be happy on a +desert island, Randy?"</p></div> + +<p>Randy replied promptly.</p> + +<div class='blockquot'><p><!-- Page 306 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span></p>"If you were in love with me, Becky, you wouldn't be asking +questions. You would believe that we could be blissful on a desert +island. I believe it. It may not be true, yet I feel that a hut on +a mountain top would be heaven for me if you were in it, Becky. In +a way Cope's sister is right. The chances for happiness are +greatest with those who have similar tastes, but not fried chicken +tastes or identical religious opinions. These do not mean so much, +but it would mean a great deal that we think alike about honesty +and uprightness and truth and courage—— + +<p>"And now, Becky, I might as well say it straight from the shoulder. +I haven't the least right in the world to let you feel that you are +engaged to me. I shall never marry you unless you love me—unless +you love me so much that you would have the illusion of happiness +with me on a desert island.</p> + +<p>"I have no right to let you tie yourself to me. The whole thing is +artificial and false. You are strong enough to stand alone. I want +you to stand alone, Becky, for your own sake. I want you to tell +yourself that Dalton isn't worth one single thought of yours. Tell +yourself the truth, Becky, about him. It is the only way to own +your soul.</p> + +<p>"You may be interested to know that the Watermans left Hamilton +Hill yesterday. Dalton went with them. I haven't seen him since the +night of the Merriweathers' ball. I didn't tell you, did I, that +after I took the fan away from him, I dropped him into the +fountain? I had much rather have tied him to a stake, and have +built a fire under him, but that isn't civilized, and of course, I +<!-- Page 307 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span>couldn't. But I am glad I dropped him in the fountain——"</p></div> + +<p>Becky read Randy's letter as she sat alone on the beach. It was cool and +sunshiny and she was wrapped in a red cape. The winter gulls were +beating strong wings above the breakers, and their sharp cries cut +across the roar of the waters.</p> + +<p>There had been a storm the night before—wind booming out of the +northeast and the sea still sang the song of it.</p> + +<p>Becky felt, suddenly, that she was very angry with Randy. It was as if +he had broken a lovely thing that she had worshipped. She hated to think +of that struggle in the dark—— She hated to think of Randy as—the +Conqueror. She hated to think of George as dank and dripping. She wanted +to think of him as shining and splendid, and Randy had spoiled that.</p> + +<p>But she wanted to be fair. Hadn't George, after all, spoiled his own +splendidness? He had wooed her and had run away. And he had not run back +until he thought another man wanted her.</p> + +<p>"Of course," said somebody behind her, "you won't tell me what you are +thinking about. But if you will just let me sit here and think, by your +side, it will be a great privilege."</p> + +<p>It was Mr. Cope, and she was not sure that she wanted him at this +moment. Perhaps something of her thought showed in her eyes, for when +she said, "Oh, yes," he stood looking down at her.<!-- Page 308 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Would you rather be alone with your letters? Don't hedge and be polite. +Tell me."</p> + +<p>"Well," she admitted, "my letters are a bit on my mind. But if you don't +care if I am stupid, you can stay——"</p> + +<p>He sat down. He had known her for ten days, and dreaded to think that in +ten days more she might be gone. "I won't talk if you don't wish it."</p> + +<p>Becky's eyes were on the sea. "I think I should like to talk. I have +been thinking—about that Indian that you want commemorated in bronze up +there on the bluff. Do you think he was cruel?"</p> + +<p>"Who knows? He was, perhaps, a savage. Yet he may have been +tender-hearted. I hope so, if he is going to be fixed in bronze for the +ages to stare at."</p> + +<p>"Did you," Becky asked, deliberately, "ever want to tie a man to a stake +and build a fire under him?"</p> + +<p>He turned and stared at her. "My dear child, what ever put such an idea +in your head?"</p> + +<p>"Well, did you?"</p> + +<p>He considered it. "There was a time in France when I wanted to do worse +than that."</p> + +<p>"But that was war."</p> + +<p>"No, it was a brute in my own company. He broke the heart of a little +girl that he met in Brittany. He—he—well he murdered her—dreams."<!-- Page 309 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Perhaps he didn't know what he was doing."</p> + +<p>"He knew. Every man knows."</p> + +<p>"And you wanted to make him—suffer——"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>She shivered. "Are all men like that?"</p> + +<p>"Like what?"</p> + +<p>"Cruel."</p> + +<p>"It can't be cruelty. It's a sense of justice."</p> + +<p>"I hope it is." She kept thinking about George rising dank and dripping +from the fountain. She hated to think about it.</p> + +<p>So she changed the subject. "I thought you were painting."</p> + +<p>"I was. But the moor is fickle. Yesterday she billowed towards the +south, all gray and blue. And last night the storm spoiled it; she is +gorgeous and gay to-day, and I don't like her."</p> + +<p>"Oh, why not?"</p> + +<p>"She is too obvious. Anybody can paint a Persian carpet, but one can't +put soul into a—carpet——"</p> + +<p>He was petulant. "I shall never paint the pictures I want to paint. Life +is too short."</p> + +<p>"Life isn't short. Look at Grandfather. You will have forty years yet in +which to paint."</p> + +<p>And now it was he who changed the subject, quickly, as if he were afraid +of it.<!-- Page 310 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span></p> + +<p>"My sister is coming to-morrow. I rather think you will like her."</p> + +<p>"Will she like me, that's more important."</p> + +<p>"She will love you, as I do, as everybody does, Becky."</p> + +<p>They had reached that point in ten days that he could say such things to +her and win her smile. She did not believe in the least that he loved +her. He always laughed when he said it.</p> + +<p>She liked him very much. She felt that the Admiral and Tristram and +Archibald Cope were all of them the best of comrades. Except for Jane, +she had had practically no feminine society since she came. And Jane was +not especially inspiring, not like Tristram, who seemed to carry one's +imagination back to Viking days.</p> + +<p>Cope was immensely enthusiastic about Tristram. "If I could paint +figures as I want to," he said, "I'd do Tristram as 'The Islander.' One +feels that he belongs here as inevitably as the moors or the sands or +the sea. Perhaps it is he who ought to be in bronze on the bluff, +instead of the Indian."</p> + +<p>"But he'd have to face the sea," said Becky.</p> + +<p>"Yes," Cope agreed, "he would. He loves it and his ancestors lived by +it. I'll stick to my Indian and the moor."</p> + +<p>Becky gathered up her letters. "It is time for lunch, and Jane doesn't +like to be kept waiting.<!-- Page 311 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span> Won't you lunch with us? Grandfather will be +delighted."</p> + +<p>"I shall get to be a perpetual guest. I feel as if I were taking +advantage of your hospitality."</p> + +<p>"We shouldn't ask you if we didn't want you."</p> + +<p>"Then I'll come."</p> + +<p>They walked up the beach together. Becky was muffled in her red cape, +Cope had a sweater under his coat. The air was sharp and clear as +crystal.</p> + +<p>"How anybody can go in bathing in this weather," Becky shivered, as a +woman ran down the sands towards the sea. She cast off her bathing cloak +and stood revealed, slim and rather startling, in yellow.</p> + +<p>"She goes in every day," said Cope, "even when it storms."</p> + +<p>"Who is she?"</p> + +<p>"A dancer—from New York. Haven't you seen her before?"</p> + +<p>"No. Where is she staying?"</p> + +<p>"At the hotel."</p> + +<p>"I thought the hotel was closed."</p> + +<p>"Not for three weeks. There aren't many guests. This one came up a month +ago. She dances on the moor—practising for some play which opens in +October."</p> + +<p>"What's her name?"<!-- Page 312 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I don't know. They call her 'The Yellow Daffodil' because of that +bathing suit."</p> + +<p>The girl was swimming now beyond the breakers.</p> + +<p>Becky was envious. "I wish I could swim like that."</p> + +<p>"You can do other things—that she can't do."</p> + +<p>"What things?"</p> + +<p>"Well, be a lady, for example. That's not exactly cricket, is it, to +draw a deadly parallel? But I don't want people like that dancing on my +moor."<!-- Page 313 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h3> + +<h2>THE DANCER ON THE MOOR</h2> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>Randy's letter had set Becky adrift. She was not in love with him. She +was sure of that. And he had said he would not marry her without love. +He had said that if she owned her soul she would think of Dalton as a +cad and as a coward.</p> + +<p>It seemed queer that Randy should be demanding things of her. He had +always been so glad to take anything she would give, and now she had +offered him herself, and he wouldn't have her. Not till she owned her +soul.</p> + +<p>She knew what he meant. The thought of George was always with her. She +kept seeing him as she had first seen him at the station; as he had been +that wonderful day when they had had tea in the Pavilion; the night in +the music room when he had kissed her; the old garden with its pale +statues and box hedges; and always there was his sparkling glance, his +quick voice.</p> + +<p>She would never own her soul until she forgot George. Until she put him +out of her life; until the<!-- Page 314 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span> thought of him would not make her burn hot +with humiliation; until the thought of him would not thrill to her +finger-tips.</p> + +<p>She found Cope's easy and humorous companionship a balance for her +hidden emotions. And when Louise Cope came, she proved to be a rather +highly emphasized counterpart of her brother. Her red-gold hair was +thick and she wore it bobbed. Her skin was white but lacked the look of +delicacy which seemed to contradict constantly Cope's vivid personality. +She seemed to laugh at the world as he did. She called Becky "quaint," +but took to her at once.</p> + +<p>"Archie has been writing to me of you," she told Becky; "he says you +came up like a bird from the south."</p> + +<p>"Birds don't fly north in the fall——"</p> + +<p>"Well, you were the—miracle," Cope asserted.</p> + +<p>Louise Cope's shrewd glance studied him. "He has fallen in love with +you, Becky Bannister," was her blunt assurance, "but you needn't let it +worry you. As yet it is only an æsthetic passion. But there is no +telling what may come of it——"</p> + +<p>"Does he fall in love—like that?" Becky demanded.</p> + +<p>"He has never been in love," Louise declared, "not really. Except with +me."</p> + +<p>Becky felt that the Copes were a charming pair.<!-- Page 315 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span> When she answered +Randy's letter she spoke of them.</p> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>"Louise adores her brother, and she thinks he would be a great +artist if he would take himself seriously. But neither of them +seems to take anything seriously. They always seem to be laughing +at the world in a quiet way. Louise is not pretty, but she gives an +effect of beauty—— She wears a big gray cape and a black velvet +tam, and I am not sure that the color in her cheeks is real. She is +different from other people, but it doesn't seem to be a pose. It +is just because she has lived in so many places and has seen so +many people and has thought for herself. I have always let other +people think for me, haven't I, Randy?</p> + +<p>"And now that I have done with the Copes, I am going to talk about +the things that you said to me in your letter, and which are really +the important things.</p> + +<p>"I hated to think that you dropped Mr. Dalton in the fountain. I +hated to think that you wanted to burn him at the stake—there was +something—cruel—and—dreadful in it all. I have kept thinking of +that struggle between you—in the dark—— I have hated to think +that a few years ago if you had felt as you do about him—that you +might have—killed him. But perhaps men are like that. They care +more for justice than for—mercy.</p> + +<p>"I am trying to take your advice and tell myself the truth about +Mr. Dalton. That he isn't worth a thought of mine. Yet I think of +him a great deal. I am being very frank with you, Randy, because we +<!-- Page 316 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span>have always talked things out. I think of him, and wonder which is +the real man—the one I thought he was—and I thought him very fine +and splendid. Or is he just trifling and commonplace? Perhaps he is +just between, not as wonderful as I thought him, nor as +contemptible as I seem forced to believe.</p> + +<p>"Yet I gave him something that it is hard to take back. I gave a +great deal. You see I had always been shut up in a glass case like +the bob-whites and the sandpipers in the Bird Room, and I knew +nothing of the world. And the first time I tried my wings, I +thought I was flying towards the sun, and it was just a blaze +that—burned me.</p> + +<p>"Of course you are right when you say that you won't marry me +unless I love you. I had a queer feeling at first about it—as if +you were very far away and I couldn't reach you. But I know that +you are right, and that you are thinking of the thing that is best +for me. But I know I shall always have you as a friend. I don't +think that I shall ever love anybody. And after this we won't talk +about it. There are so many other things that we have to say to +each other that don't hurt——"</p></div> + +<p>Becky could not, of course, know the effect of her letter on Randy. The +night after its receipt, he roamed the woods. She had thought him +cruel—and dreadful. Well, let her think it. He was glad that he had +dropped George in the fountain. He should always be glad. But women were +not like<!-- Page 317 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span> that—they were tender—and hated—hardness. Perhaps that was +because they were—mothers——</p> + +<p>And men were—hard. He had been hard, perhaps, in the things he had said +in his letter. Her words rang in his ears. "I had a queer feeling at +first that you were very far away, and that I could not reach you." And +she had said that, when his soul ached to have her near.</p> + +<p>Yet he had tried to do the best that he could for Becky. He had felt +that she must not be bound by a tie that was no longer needed to protect +her from Dalton. She was safe at 'Sconset, with the Admiral and her new +friends the Copes. He envied them, their hours with her. He was +desperately lonely, with a loneliness which had no hope.</p> + +<p>He worked intensively. The boarders had gone from King's Crest, and he +and the Major had moved into the big house. Randy spent a good deal of +time in the Judge's library at Huntersfield. He and Truxton had great +plans for their future. They read law, sold cars, and talked of their +partnership. The firm was to be "Bannister, Paine and Beaufort"; it was +to have brains, conscience, and business acumen.</p> + +<p>"In the order named," Truxton told the Major. "The Judge has brains, +Randy has a conscience. There's nothing left for me but to put pep into +the business end of it."<!-- Page 318 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span></p> + +<p>Randy worked, too, on his little story. He did not know in the least +what he was going to do with it, but it was an outlet for the questions +which he kept asking himself. The war was over and the men who had +fought had ceased to be important. He and the Major and Truxton talked a +great deal about it. The Major took the high stand of each man's +satisfaction in the thing he had done. Truxton was light-heartedly +indifferent. He had his Mary, and his future was before him. But Randy +argued that the world ought not to forget. "It was a rather wonderful +thing for America. I want her to keep on being wonderful."</p> + +<p>The Major in his heart knew that the boy was right. America must keep on +being wonderful. Her young men must go high-hearted to the tasks of +peace. It was the high-heartedness of people which had won the war. It +would be the high-heartedness of men and women which would bring sanity +and serenity to a troubled world.</p> + +<p>"The difficulty lies in the fact that we are always trying to make laws +to right the world, when what we need is to form individual ideals. The +boy who says in his heart, 'I want to be like Lincoln,' and who stands +in front of a statue of Lincoln, and learns from that rugged countenance +the lesson of simple courage and honesty, has a better chance of a +future than the boy who is told, 'There<!-- Page 319 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span> is evil in the world, and the +law punishes those who transgress.' Half of our Bolsheviks would be +tamed if they had the knowledge and love of some simple hero in their +hearts, and felt that there was a chance for them to be heroic. The war +gave them a chance. We have now to show them that there is beauty and +heroism in orderly living——"</p> + +<p>He was talking to Madge. She was still with the Flippins. The injury to +her foot had been more serious than it had seemed. She might have gone +with Oscar and Flora when they left Hamilton Hill. But she preferred to +stay. Flora was to go to a hospital; Madge would not be needed.</p> + +<p>"I am going to stay here as long as you will let me," she said to Mrs. +Flippin; "you will tell me if I am in the way——"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Flippin adored Madge. "It is like having a Princess in the house," +she said, "only she don't act like a Princess."</p> + +<p>The Major came over every afternoon. Kemp drove him, as a rule, in the +King's Crest surrey. If the little man missed Dalton's cars, he said no +word. He made the Major very comfortable. He lived a life of ease if not +of elegance, and he loved the wooded hills, the golden air, the fine old +houses, the serene autumn glory of this southern world.</p> + +<p>On the afternoon when the Major talked to<!-- Page 320 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span> Madge of the world at peace, +they were together under the apple tree which Madge had first seen from +the window of the east room. There were other apple trees in the old +orchard, but it was this tree that Madge liked because of its golden +globes. "The red ones are wonderful," she said, "but red isn't my color. +With my gold skin, they make me look like a gypsy. If I am to be a +golden girl, I must stay away from red——"</p> + +<p>"Is that what you are—a golden girl?"</p> + +<p>"That was always George Dalton's name for me."</p> + +<p>"I am sorry."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"Because I should like it to be mine for you. I should like to link my +golden West with the thought of you."</p> + +<p>"And you won't now, because it was somebody else's name for me?"</p> + +<p>Kemp, before he went away, had made her comfortable with cushions in a +chair-like crotch of the old tree. The Major was at her feet. He +meditated a moment. "I shall make it my name for you. What do I care +what other men have called you."</p> + +<p>"Do you know what you called me—once?" she was smiling down at him.</p> + +<p>"No."<!-- Page 321 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span></p> + +<p>"A little lame duck. It was when I first tried to use my foot. And you +laughed, and said that it—linked us—together. And now you are trying +to link me with your West——"</p> + +<p>"You know why, of course."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do."</p> + +<p>He drew a long breath. "Most women would have said, 'No, I don't know.' +But you told the truth. I want to link you with my life in every way I +can because I love you. And you know that I care—very much—that I want +you for my wife—my golden girl in my golden West——?"</p> + +<p>"You have never told me before that—you cared."</p> + +<p>"There was no need to tell it. You knew."</p> + +<p>"Yes. I was afraid it was true——"</p> + +<p>He was startled. "Afraid? Why?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I oughtn't to let you care," she said. "You don't know what a +slacker I've been. And I don't want you to find out——"</p> + +<p>"The only thing that I want to find out is whether you care for me."</p> + +<p>She flushed a little under his steady gaze, then quite unexpectedly she +reached her hand down to him. He took it in his firm clasp. "I do +care—an awful lot," she said, "but I've tried not to. And I shouldn't +let you care for me."</p> + +<p>"Why—shouldn't?"<!-- Page 322 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'm not—half good enough. My life has always been lived at loose ends. +Nothing bad, but a thousand things that you wouldn't—like to hear—I'm +not a golden girl—I'm a gilded one——"</p> + +<p>"Why should you tell me things like that? I don't believe it."</p> + +<p>"Please believe it," she said earnestly, "don't whitewash things. Just +let me begin again—loving you——"</p> + +<p>Her voice broke. He drew himself up, and took her in his arms. "My dear +girl," he said, "my dear girl——"</p> + +<p>"I never met a man like you, I never believed there were—such men——" +He felt her tears against his hand.</p> + +<p>"Listen," he said quietly; "let me tell you something of my life." He +told her the things he had told Randy. Of the little wife he had not +loved. "Perhaps if it had not been for her, I should not have had the +courage to offer to you my—maimed—self. When I married her I was +strong and young and had wealth to give her. Yet I did not give her +love. And love is more than all the rest. I have that to give you—you +know it."</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"I have some money. I don't think it is going to count much with either +of us. What will count is the way we plan our future. I have a big old +ranch,<!-- Page 323 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span> and we'll live in it—with the dairy and the wide kitchen that +you've talked about—and you won't have to wait for another world, +dearest, to get your heart's desire——"</p> + +<p>"I have my heart's desire," she whispered; "you are—my world."</p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>Madge wrote to George Dalton that she was going to marry Major Prime.</p> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>"There is no reason why we should put it off, Georgie. The +clergyman who prayed for Flora will perform the ceremony, and the +wedding will be at the Flippins' farm.</p> + +<p>"It seems, of course, too good to be true. Not many women have such +luck. Not my kind of women anyway. We meet men as a rule who want +us to be gilded girls, and not golden ones. But Mark wants me to be +gold all through. And I shall try to be—— We are to live on his +ranch, a place that passes in California for a farm—a sort of +glorified country place. Mrs. Flippin is teaching me to make +butter, so that I can superintend my own dairy, and I have learned +a great deal about chickens and eggs.</p> + +<p>"I am going to be a housewife in what I call a reincarnated +sense—loving my house and the things which belong to it, and +living as a part of it, not above it, and looking down upon it. +<!-- Page 324 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span>Perhaps all American women will come to that some day and I shall +simply be blazing the way for them. I shall probably grow rosy and +round, and if you ever ride up to my door-step, you will find me a +buxom and blooming matron instead of a golden girl. And you won't +like it in the least. But my husband will like it, because he +thinks a bit as I do about it, and he doesn't care for the woman +who lives for her looks.</p> + +<p>"I shall come and see Flora before I go West. But I am going to be +married first. We both have a feeling that it must be now—that +something might happen if we put it off, and nothing must happen. I +love him too much. Of course you won't believe that. I can hardly +believe it myself. But I have someone to climb the heights with me, +Georgie, and we shall ascend to the peak—together."</p></div> + +<p>For a wedding present George sent Madge the pendant he had bought for +Becky. To connect it up with Madge's favorite color scheme, he had an +amethyst put in place of the sapphire. He was glad to give it away. +Every time he had come upon it, it had reminded him of things that he +wished to forget.</p> + +<p>Yet he could not forget. Even as Becky had thought of him, he had +thought of her; of her radiant youth on the morning that Randy had +arrived; at the Horse Show in her shabby shoes and sailor hat; in the +Bird Room in pale blue under the swinging lamp; in the music room +between tall<!-- Page 325 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span> candles; in the garden, with a star shining into the still +pool; that last night, on the balcony, leaning over, with a yellow +lantern like a halo behind her.</p> + +<p>There were other things that he thought of—of Randy, in khaki on the +station platform; Randy, lean and tall among the boarders; Randy, left +behind with Kemp in the rain; Randy, debonair and insolent, announcing +his engagement on the terrace at Hamilton Hill; Randy, a shadow against +a silver sky, answering Becky's call; Randy, in the dark by the +fountain, with muscles like iron, forcing him inevitably back, lifting +him above the basin, letting him drop——; Randy, the Conqueror, +marching away with Becky's fan as his trophy——!</p> + +<p>New York was, of course, at this season of the year, a pageant of +sparkling crowds, and of brilliant window displays, of new productions +at the theaters. People were coming back to town. Even the fashionable +folk were running down to taste the elixir of the early days in the +metropolis.</p> + +<p>But George found everything flat and stale. He did the things he had +always done, hunted up the friends he had always known. He spent +week-ends at various country places, and came always back to town with +an undiminished sense of his need of Becky, and his need of revenge on +Randy.<!-- Page 326 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span></p> + +<p>He had heard before he left Virginia that Becky was at Nantucket. He had +found some consolation in the fact that she was not at Huntersfield. To +have thought of her with Randy in the old garden, on Pavilion Hill, in +the Bird Room, would have been unbearable.</p> + +<p>He had a feeling that, in a sense, Madge's marriage was a desertion. He +did not in the least want to marry her, but there were moments when he +needed her friendship very much. He needed it now. And she was going to +marry Major Prime, and go out to some God-forsaken place, and get fat +and lose her beauty. He wished that she would not talk about such +things—it made him feel old, and worried about his waist-line.</p> + +<p>Even Oscar was failing him. "When Flora gets well," the little man kept +telling him, "we are going to do some good with our money. We have done +nothing but think of ourselves——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, for Heaven's sake, don't preach," George exploded. It seemed to him +that the world had gone mad on the subject of reforms. Man was no longer +master of his fate. The time would come when the world would be a dry +desert, without a cocktail or a highball for a thirsty soul, and all +because a lot of people had been feeling for some time as Flora and +Oscar felt at this moment.</p> + +<p>"I shall take Flora up to the Crossing in a few<!-- Page 327 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span> days," Oscar was +saying; "the doctor thinks the sea air will do her good. I wish you +would come with us."</p> + +<p>George had no idea of going with Oscar and Flora. He had been marooned +long enough with a sick woman and her depressed spouse. When Flora was +better and she and Oscar got over their mood of piety and repentance, he +would be glad to join them. In the meantime he searched his mind for +some reasonable excuse.</p> + +<p>"Look here," he said, "I'll join you later, Oscar. I've promised some +friends at Nantucket that I'll come down for the hunting."</p> + +<p>"I didn't know that you had friends in Nantucket," Oscar told him +moodily.</p> + +<p>"The Merediths," George remembered in the nick of time the name of +Becky's grandfather. Oscar would not know the difference.</p> + +<p>Having committed himself, his spirits soared. It had, he felt, been an +inspiration to put it over on Oscar like that. Subconsciously he had +known that some day he would follow Becky, and when the moment came, he +had spoken out of his thoughts.</p> + +<p>In the two or three days that elapsed between his decision and the date +that he had set for his departure, he found himself enjoying the +city—its clear skies, its hurrying crowds, its color and glow,<!-- Page 328 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span> the +tingle of its rush and hurry, its light-hearted acceptance of the +pleasure of the moment.</p> + +<p>He telegraphed for a room at a hotel in Nantucket. Once there, he was +confident that he could find Becky. Everybody would know Admiral +Meredith.</p> + +<p>He went by boat from New York to New Bedford, and enjoyed the trip. +Later on the little steamer, <i>Sankaty</i>, plying between New Bedford and +Nantucket, he was so shining and splendid that he was much observed by +the other passengers. His Jap servant, trotting after him, was perhaps +less martial in bearing than the ubiquitous Kemp, but he was none the +less an ornament.</p> + +<p>Thus George came, at last, to Nantucket, and to his hotel. Having dined, +he asked the way to the Admiral's house. He did not of course plan to +storm the citadel after dark, but a walk would not hurt him, and he +could view from the outside the cage which held his white dove. For he +had come to that, sentimentally, that Becky was the white dove that he +would shelter against his heart.</p> + +<p>The clerk at the hotel desk, directing him, thought that the Admiral was +not in his house on Main Street. He was apt at this season to spend his +time in Siasconset.</p> + +<p>"'Sconset? Where's 'Sconset?"</p> + +<p>"Across the island."<!-- Page 329 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span></p> + +<p>"How can I get there?"</p> + +<p>"You can motor over. There's a 'bus, or you can get a car."</p> + +<p>So the next morning, George took the 'bus. He saw little beauty in the +moor. He thought it low and flat. His heart leaped with the thought that +every mile brought him nearer Becky—his white dove—whom he had—hurt!</p> + +<p>He was set down by the 'bus at the post-office. He asked his way, and +was directed to a low huddle of gray houses on a grassy street. "It is +the 'Whistling Sally,'" the driver of the 'bus had told him.</p> + +<p>When George reached "The Whistling Sally," he felt that there must be +some mistake. Here was no proper home for an Admiral or an heiress. His +eyes were blind to the charms of the wooden young woman with the +puffed-out cheeks, to the beauty of silver-gray shingles, of late +flowers blooming bravely in the little garden.</p> + +<p>He kept well on the other side of the street. It might perhaps be +embarrassing if he met Becky while she was with her grandfather. He +wanted to see her alone. With no one to interfere, he would be, he was +sure, master of the situation.</p> + +<p>He passed the house. The windows were open, and the white curtains blew +out. But there was no one in sight. At the next corner, he accosted<!-- Page 330 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span> a +tall man in work clothes, with bronzed skin and fair hair.</p> + +<p>"Can you tell me," George asked, "whether Admiral Meredith lives in that +cottage—'The Whistling Sally'?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. But he isn't there. He's gone to Boston."</p> + +<p>George was conscious of a sense of shock.</p> + +<p>"Boston?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. He wasn't very well and he wanted to see his doctor."</p> + +<p>"Has his—granddaughter gone with him?"</p> + +<p>"Miss Becky? Yes."</p> + +<p>"But—the windows of the house are open——"</p> + +<p>"I open them every morning. The housekeeper is in Nantucket. But they +are all coming back at the end of the week."</p> + +<p>"Coming back?" eagerly; "the Admiral, and Miss Bannister?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>George drew a long breath. He walked back with Tristram to the low gray +house. "Queer little place," he said.</p> + +<p>Tristram eyed him with easy tolerance. "Of course it seems queer if you +aren't used to it——"</p> + +<p>"I thought the Admiral had money."</p> + +<p>"Well, he has. But he forgets it out here——"</p> + +<p>"Is there a good hotel?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. It is usually closed by now. But they<!-- Page 331 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span> are keeping it open for +some guests who are up for the hunting."</p> + +<p>The hotel was a pleasant rambling structure, and overlooked the sea. +George engaged a room for Saturday—and said that his man would bring +his bags. He would have his lunch and take the afternoon 'bus back to +Nantucket.</p> + +<p>As he waited for the dining-room doors to open, a girl wrapped in a +yellow cape crossed the porch and descended the steps which led to the +beach. She wore a yellow bathing cap and yellow shoes. George walked to +the top of the bluff and watched her. She threw off the cape, and stood +slim and striking for a moment before she dived into the sea. She swam +splendidly. It was very cold, and George wondered how she endured it. +When she came running back up the steps and across the porch, she was +wrapped in the cape. She was rather handsome in a queer dark way. "It +was cold," she said, as she passed George.</p> + +<p>He took a step forward. "You were brave——"</p> + +<p>She stopped and shrugged her shoulders. "One gets warm," she said, "in a +moment."</p> + +<p>She left him, and he went in to lunch. He stopped at the desk on the way +out. "I have changed my mind. My man will bring my bags to-morrow."</p> + +<p>It was still too early for the 'bus, so George<!-- Page 332 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span> walked back up the +bluff, turning at last towards the left. Crossing a grassy space, there +was ahead of him a ridge which marked the edge of the moor. A little fog +was blowing in, and mistily through the fog he saw a figure which moved +as light as smoke above the eminence. It was a woman dancing.</p> + +<p>As he came nearer, he saw that she wore gray with a yellow sash. Her +yellow cape lay on the ground. "I am not sure," George said, as he +stopped beside her, "whether you are a pixie or a mermaid."</p> + +<p>"Look," she said, smiling, "I'll show you what I am——"</p> + +<p>She began with a light swaying motion, like a leaf stirred by a breeze. +Then, whipped into action, she ran before the pursuing elements. She +cowered, and registered defiance. Her loosened hair hung heavy about her +shoulders, then wound itself about her, as she whirled in a cyclone of +movement. Beaten to the ground, she rose languidly, swayed again to that +light step and stopped.</p> + +<p>Then she came close to George. "You see," she said, "I am not a pixie or +a mermaid. I am the spirit of the storm."<!-- Page 333 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h3> + +<h2>THE TRUMPETER SWAN</h2> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>The Admiral's rheumatism had taken Becky to Boston. "There'll be +treatments every morning," he said, "and we'll invite the Copes to visit +us, and they will look after you while I am away."</p> + +<p>The Copes were delighted. "Only it seems like an imposition——"</p> + +<p>"The house is big enough for an army," the Admiral told them; "that's +what we built houses for in the old days. To have our friends. Charles, +my butler, and his wife, Miriam, who cooks, stay in the house the year +round, so it is always open and ready."</p> + +<p>"And you and I shall see Boston together," Archibald told Becky, +triumphantly. "I wonder if you have ever seen Boston as I shall show it +to you."</p> + +<p>"Well, I've been to all the historic places."</p> + +<p>"Bunker Hill and the embattled farmers, of course," said Archibald; "but +have you seen them since the war?"</p> + +<p>"No. Are they different?"<!-- Page 334 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span></p> + +<p>"They aren't, but you are. All of us are."</p> + +<p>Louise was not quite sure that her brother ought to leave the island. +"You are down here for the air, Arch, and the quiet."</p> + +<p>He was impatient. "Do you think I am going to miss this?"</p> + +<p>She frowned and shook her head. "I don't want you to miss it. But it +will be going against the doctor's orders."</p> + +<p>"Oh, hang the doctor, Louise. Being in Boston with Becky will be +like—wine——"</p> + +<p>But she was not satisfied. "You always throw yourself into things +so—desperately——"</p> + +<p>"Well, when I lose my enthusiasm I want to—die."</p> + +<p>"No, you don't, Arch. Don't say things like that." Her voice was sharp.</p> + +<p>He patted her hand. "I won't. But don't curb me too much, old girl. Let +me play—while I can——"</p> + +<p>They arrived in Boston to find a city under martial law, a city whose +streets were patrolled by khaki-clad figures with guns, whose traffic +was regulated by soldierly semaphores, who linked intelligence with +military training, and picturesqueness with both.</p> + +<p>For a short season Boston had been in the hands of the mob. All of her +traditions of law and order<!-- Page 335 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span> had not saved her. It had been her +punishment perhaps for leaving law and order in the hands of those who +cared nothing for them. People with consciences had preferred to keep +out of politics. So for a time demagogues had gotten the ear of the +people, and chaos had resulted until a quiet governor had proved himself +as firm as steel, and soldiers had replaced the policemen who had for a +moment followed false gods.</p> + +<p>"It all proves what I brought you here to see," Cope told Becky eagerly.</p> + +<p>Coffee was being served in the library of the Meredith mansion on Beacon +Street. The Admiral's library was as ruddy and twinkling as the little +man himself. He had furnished it to suit his own taste. A great +davenport of puffy red velvet was set squarely in front of a fireplace +with shining brasses. The couch was balanced by a heavy gilt chair also +in puffy red. The mantel was in white marble, and over the mantel was an +oil portrait of the Admiral's wife painted in '76. She wore red velvet +with a train, and with the pearls which had come down to Becky. The room +had been keyed up to her portrait, and had then been toned down with +certain heavy pieces of ebony, a cabinet of black lacquer, the dark +books which lined the wall to the ceiling. The room was distinctly +nineteenth-century. If it lacked the eighteenth-century exquisite<!-- Page 336 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span>ness +of the house at Nantucket, with its reminder of austere Quaker +prejudices, it was none the less appropriate as a glowing background for +the gay old Admiral.</p> + +<p>Becky and Cope sat on the red davenport. It was so wide that Becky was +almost lost in a corner of it. The old butler, Charles, served the +coffee. The coffee service was of repoussé silver. The Admiral would +have no other. It had been given him by a body of seamen when he had +retired from active duty.</p> + +<p>"It all proves what I brought you here to see," Archibald emphasized, +"how the gods of yesterday are going to balance the gods of to-day."</p> + +<p>The Admiral chuckled. "There aren't any gods of to-day."</p> + +<p>"The gods of to-day are our young men," Cope flung out, glowingly; "the +war has left them with their dreams, and they have got to find a way to +make their dreams come true. And that's where the old gods will help. +Those fine old men who dreamed, backed their dreams with deeds. Then for +a time we were so busy making money that we forgot their dreams. And +when foreigners came crowding to our shores, we didn't care whether they +were good Americans or not. All we cared was to have them work in our +mills and factories and in our kitchens, and let us alone in our pride +of an<!-- Page 337 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span>cestry and pomp of circumstance. We forgot to show them Bunker +Hill and to tell them about the old North Church and Paul Revere and the +shot heard 'round the world, and what liberty meant and democracy, and +now we've got to show them. I am going to take you around to-morrow, +Becky, and pretend you are Olga from Petrograd, and that you are seeing +America for the first time."</p> + +<p>Archibald Cope was kindled by fires which gave color to his pale cheeks. +"Will you be—Olga from Petrograd?"</p> + +<p>"I'd love it."</p> + +<p>But the next morning it rained. "And you can't, of course, be Olga of +Petrograd in the rain. Bunker Hill must have the sun on it, and the +waves of the harbor must be sparkling when I tell you about the tea."</p> + +<p>They decided, therefore, to read aloud "The Autocrat of the Breakfast +Table."</p> + +<p>"Then if it stops raining," said Archibald, "we'll step straight out +from its pages into the Boston that I want to show you."</p> + +<p>He read well. Louise sat at a little table sewing a pattern of beads on +a green bag. Becky had some rose-colored knitting. The Admiral was in +his big chair by the fire with his hands folded across his waistcoat and +his eyes shut. The colorful work of the two women, the light of the +fire, the glow of the<!-- Page 338 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span> little lamp at Cope's elbow, the warmth of the +red furniture saved the room from dreariness in spite of the rain +outside.</p> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>"'It was on the Common,'" read Cope, "'that we were walking. The +mall, or boulevard of our Common, you know, has various branches +leading from it in different directions. One of these runs down +from opposite Joy Street southward across the whole length of the +Common to Boylston Street. We called it the long path, and were +fond of it.</p> + +<p>"'I felt very weak indeed (though of a tolerably robust habit) as +we came opposite the head of this path on that morning. I think I +tried to speak twice without making myself distinctly audible. At +last I got out the question, "Will you take the long path with me?" +"Certainly," said the schoolmistress, "with much pleasure." +"Think," I said, "before you answer: if you take the long path with +me now, I shall interpret it that we are to part no more!" The +schoolmistress stepped back with a sudden movement, as if an arrow +had struck her.</p> + +<p>"'One of the long granite blocks used as seats was hard by—the one +you may still see close by the Gingko-tree. "Pray sit down," I +said. "No, no," she answered, softly, "I will walk the <i>long path</i> +with you!"</p> + +<p>"'—The old gentleman who sits opposite met us walking arm in arm +about the middle of the long path, and said, very +charmingly,—"Good-morning, my dears!"'"</p></div> + +<p>The reading stopped at luncheon time, and it<!-- Page 339 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span> was still raining. On the +table were letters for Becky forwarded from Siasconset. An interesting +account from Aunt Claudia of the wedding of Major Prime and Madge MacVeigh.</p> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>"They were married in the old orchard at the Flippins', and it was +beautiful. The bride wore simple clothes like the rest of us. It +was cool and we kept on our wraps, and she was in white linen with +a loose little coat of mauve wool, and a hat to match. The only +bride-y thing about her was a great bunch of lilacs that the Major +ordered from a Fifth Avenue florist. They are to stay in New York +for a day or two, and then visit the Watermans on the North Shore. +After that they will go at once to the West, where they are to live +on the Major's ranch. He has been relieved from duty at Washington, +and will have all of his time to give to his own affairs.</p> + +<p>"There has been an epidemic of weddings. Flippins' Daisy waited +just long enough to help Mrs. Flippin get Miss MacVeigh married; +then she and young John had an imposing ceremony in their church, +with Daisy in a train and white veil, and four bridesmaids, and +Mandy and Calvin in front seats, and Calvin giving the bride away. +I think the elaborateness of it all really reconciled Mandy to her +daughter-in-law."</p></div> + +<p>There was also, from Randy, a long envelope enclosing a thick manuscript +and very short note.</p> + +<div class='blockquot'><p><!-- Page 340 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span>"I want you to read this, Becky. It belongs in a way to you. I +don't know what I think about it. Sometimes it seems as if I had +done a rather big thing, and as if it had been done without me at +all. I wonder if you understand what I mean—as if I had held the +pen, and it had—come—— I have sent it to the editor of one of +the big magazines. Perhaps he will send it back, and it may not +seem as good to me as it does at this moment. Let me know what you +think."</p></div> + +<p>Becky, finishing the letter, felt a bit forlorn. Randy, as a rule, wrote +at length about herself and her affairs. But, of course, he had other +things now to think of. She must not expect too much.</p> + +<p>There was no time, however, in which to read the manuscript, for Cope +was saying, wistfully, "Do you think you'd mind a walk in the rain?"</p> + +<p>"No." She gathered up her letters.</p> + +<p>"Then we'll walk across the Common."</p> + +<p>They shared one umbrella. And they played that it was over fifty years +ago when the Autocrat had walked with the young Schoolmistress. They +even walked arm in arm under the umbrella. They took the long path to +Boylston Street. And Cope said, "Will you take the long path with me?"</p> + +<p>And Becky said, "Certainly."</p> + +<p>And they both laughed. But there was no laughter in Cope's heart.</p> + +<p>"Becky," he said, "I wish that you and I had lived a century ago in +Louisberg Square."<!-- Page 341 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span></p> + +<p>"If we had lived then, we shouldn't be living now."</p> + +<p>"But we should have had our—happiness——"</p> + +<p>"And I should have worn lovely flowing silk skirts. Not short things +like this, and little bonnets with flowers inside, and velvet +mantles——"</p> + +<p>"And you would have walked on my arm to church. And we would have owned +one of those old big houses—and your smile would have greeted me across +the candles every day at dinner——" He was making it rather personal, +but she humored his fancy.</p> + +<p>"And you would have worn a blue coat, and a bunch of big seals, and a +furry high hat——"</p> + +<p>"You are thinking all the time about what we would wear," he complained; +"you haven't any sense of romance, Becky——"</p> + +<p>"Well, of course, it is all make-believe."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is all—make-believe," he said, and walked in silence after +that.</p> + +<p>The wind blew cold and they stopped in a pastry shop on Boylston Street +and had a cup of tea.</p> + +<p>Becky ate little cream cakes with fluted crusts, and drank Orange Pekoe.</p> + +<p>"I am glad you don't wear flowing silks and velvet mantles," said +Archibald, suddenly; "I shall always remember you like this, Becky, in +your rough brown coat and your close little hat, and<!-- Page 342 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span> that your hand was +on my arm when we walked across the Common. Do you like me as a +playmate, Becky?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Do you—love me—as a playmate?" He leaned forward.</p> + +<p>"Please—don't."</p> + +<p>"I beg your—pardon——" he flushed. "I am not going to say such things +to you, Becky, and spoil things for both of us—I know you don't want to +hear them——"</p> + +<p>"Make-believe is much nicer," she reminded him steadily.</p> + +<p>"But I am not a make-believe friend, am I? Our friendship—that at least +is—real?"</p> + +<p>Her clear eyes met his. "Yes. We shall always be friends—forever——"</p> + +<p>"How long is forever, Becky?"</p> + +<p>She could not answer that. But she was sure that friendship was like +love and lived beyond the grave. They were very serious about it, these +two young people drinking tea.</p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>It was when the four of them were gathered together that night in the +library that Becky asked Archibald Cope to read "The Trumpeter Swan."<!-- Page 343 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Randy wrote it," she said, "and he sent the manuscript to me this +morning."</p> + +<p>The Admiral was at once interested. "He got the name from the swan in +the Judge's Bird Room?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Has he ever written anything before?" Louise asked.</p> + +<p>"Lots of little things. Lovely things——"</p> + +<p>"Have they been published?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think he has tried."</p> + +<p>Becky had the manuscript in her work-bag. She brought it out and handed +it to Archibald. "You are sure you aren't too tired?"</p> + +<p>Louise glanced up from her beaded bag. "You've had a hard day, Arch. You +mustn't do too much."</p> + +<p>"I won't, Louise," impatiently.</p> + +<p>She went back to her work. "It will be on your own head if you don't +sleep to-night, not on mine."</p> + +<p>"The Trumpeter Swan" was a story of many pages. Randy had confined +himself to no conventional limits. He had a story to tell, and he did +not bring it to an end until the end came naturally. In it he had asked +all of the questions which had torn his soul. What of the men who had +fought? What of their futures? What of their high courage? Their high +vision? Was it all now to be wasted? All of that aroused emotion? All of +that<!-- Page 344 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span> disciplined endeavor? Would they still "carry on" in the spirit of +that crusade, or would they sink back, and forget?</p> + +<p>His hero was a simple lad. He had fought for his country. He had found +when he came back that other men had made money while he fought for +them. He loved a girl. And in his absence she had loved someone else. +For a time he was overthrown.</p> + +<p>Yet he had been one of a glorious company. One of that great flock which +had winged its exalted flight to France. Throughout the story Randy wove +the theme of the big white bird in the glass case. His hero felt himself +likewise on the shelf, shut-in, stuffed, dead—his trumpet silent.</p> + +<p>"Am I, too, in a glass case?" he asked himself; "will my trumpet never +sound again?"</p> + +<p>The first part of the story ended there. "Jove," Cope said, as he looked +up, "that boy can write——"</p> + +<p>Louise had stopped working. "It is rather—tremendous, don't you think?"</p> + +<p>Archibald nodded. "In a quiet way it thrills. He hasn't used a word too +much. But he carries one with him to a sort of—upper sky——"</p> + +<p>Becky, flushing and paling with the thought of such praise as this for +Randy, said, "I always thought he could do it."<!-- Page 345 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span></p> + +<p>But even she had not known that Randy could do what he did in the second +part of the story.</p> + +<p>For in it Randy answered his own questions. There was no limit to a +man's powers, no limits to his patriotism, if only he believed in +himself. He must strive, of course, to achieve. But striving made him +strong. His task might be simple, but its very simplicity demanded that +he put his best into it. He must not measure himself by the rule of +little men. If other men had made money while he fought, then let them +be weighed down by their bags of gold. He would not for one moment set +against their greed those sacred months of self-sacrifice.</p> + +<p>And as for the woman he loved. If his love meant anything it must burn +with a pure flame. What he might have been for her, he would be because +of her. He would not be less a man because he had loved her.</p> + +<p>And so the boy came in the end of the story to the knowledge that it was +the brave souls who sounded their trumpets—— One did not strive for +happiness. One strove for—victory. One strove, at least, for one clear +note of courage, amid the clamor of the world.</p> + +<p>Louise, listening, forgot her beads. The Admiral blew his nose and wiped +his eyes. Becky felt herself engulfed by a wave of surging memories.<!-- Page 346 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That's corking stuff, do you know it?" Archibald was asking.</p> + +<p>Louise asked, "How old is he?"</p> + +<p>"Twenty-three."</p> + +<p>"He is young to have learned all that——"</p> + +<p>"All what, Louise?" Archibald asked.</p> + +<p>"Renunciation," said Louise, slowly, "that's what it is in the final +analysis," she went back to her beads and her green bag.</p> + +<p>"Randy ought to do great things," said Becky; "the men of his family +have all done great things, haven't they, Grandfather?"</p> + +<p>"Randolph blood is Randolph blood," said the Admiral; "fine old +Southerners; proud old stock."</p> + +<p>"If I could write like that," said Archibald, and stopped and looked +into the fire.</p> + +<p>Louise rose and came and stood back of him. "You can paint," she said, +"why should you want to write?"</p> + +<p>"I can't paint," he reached up and caught her hand in his; "you think I +can, but I can't. And I am not wonderful—— Yet here I must sit and +listen while you and Becky sing young Paine's praises."</p> + +<p>He flung out his complaint with his air of not being in earnest.</p> + +<p>The Admiral got up stiffly. "I've a letter to<!-- Page 347 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span> write before I go to bed. +Don't let me hurry the rest of you."</p> + +<p>"Please take Louise with you," Archibald begged; "I want to talk to +Becky."</p> + +<p>His sister rumpled his hair. "So you want to get rid of me. Becky, he is +going to ask questions about that boy who wrote the story."</p> + +<p>"Are you?" Becky demanded.</p> + +<p>"Louise is a mind reader. That's why I want her out of the way——"</p> + +<p>"You can stay until the Admiral finishes his letter." Louise bent and +kissed him, picked up her beaded bag, and left them together.</p> + +<p>When she reached the threshold, she stopped and looked back. Archibald +had piled up two red cushions and was sitting at Becky's feet.</p> + +<p>"Tell me about him."</p> + +<p>"Randy?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. He's in love with you, of course."</p> + +<p>"What makes you think that?"</p> + +<p>"He sent you the story."</p> + +<p>"Well, he is," she admitted, "but I am not sure that we ought to talk +about it."</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"Is it quite fair, to him?"</p> + +<p>"Then we'll talk about his story. It gripped me—— Oh, let's have it +out, Becky. He loves you and you don't love him. Why don't you?"<!-- Page 348 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I can't—tell you——"</p> + +<p>There was silence for a moment, then Archibald Cope said gently, "Look +here, girl dear, you aren't happy. Don't I know it? There's something +that's awfully on your mind and heart. Can't you think of me as a sort +of—father confessor—and let me—help——?"</p> + +<p>She clasped her hands tensely on her knees; the knuckles showed white. +"Nobody can help."</p> + +<p>"Is it as bad as that?"</p> + +<p>"Yes." She looked away from him. "There is somebody else—not Randy. +Somebody that I shouldn't think about. But I—do——"</p> + +<p>She was dry-eyed. But he felt that here was something too deep for +tears.</p> + +<p>"Does Randy know?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I told him. We have always talked about things——"</p> + +<p>"I see," he sat staring into the fire, "and of course it is Randy that +you ought to marry——"</p> + +<p>"I don't want to marry anyone. I shall never marry——"</p> + +<p>"Tut-tut, my dear." He laid his hand over hers. "Do you know what I was +thinking, Becky, to-day, as we walked the Boston streets? I was thinking +of why those big houses were built, rows upon rows of them, and of the +people who lived in them. Those old houses speak of homes, Becky, of +people who<!-- Page 349 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span> wanted household gods, and neighborly gatherings, and +community interests. They weren't the kind of people who ran around +Europe with a paint box, as I have been doing. They had home-keeping +hearts and they built for the future."</p> + +<p>He was very much in earnest. She had, indeed, never seen him so much in +earnest.</p> + +<p>"It is all very well," he went on, "to talk of a tent in a desert or a +hut on a mountain top, but when we walked across the Common this +morning, it seemed to me that if I could really have lived the game we +played—that life could have held nothing better in the world for me +than that, my dear."</p> + +<p>She tried to withdraw her hand, but he held it. "Let me speak to-night, +Becky—and then forever, we'll forget it. I love you—very much. You +don't love me, and I should thank the stars for that, although I am not +sure that I do. I am not a man to deal in—futures. I'll tell you why +some day." He drew a long breath and went on in a lighter tone: "But +you, Becky—you've got to find a man whose face you will want to see at +the other end of the table—for life. It sounds like a prisoner's +sentence, doesn't it?"</p> + +<p>But he couldn't carry it off like that, and presently he hid his face +against her hands. "Oh, Becky, Becky," she heard him whisper.</p> + +<p>Then there was the Admiral's step in the hall<!-- Page 350 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span> and Archibald was on his +feet, staring in the fire when the little man came in.</p> + +<p>"Any letters for Charles to mail?"</p> + +<p>"No, Grandfather."</p> + +<p>The Admiral limped away. Becky stood up. Cope turned from the fire.</p> + +<p>"If it doesn't rain to-morrow, I'll show America to Olga of Petrograd."</p> + +<p>They smiled at each other, and Becky held out her hand. He bent and +kissed it. "I shall sleep well to-night because of—to-morrow."</p> + + +<h3>III</h3><p>But when to-morrow came there was a telephone message for Becky that +Major Prime and his wife were in town. They had messages for her from +Huntersfield, and from King's Crest.</p> + +<p>"And so our day is spoiled," said Archibald.</p> + +<p>"We can come again," said the Admiral, "but we must be getting back to +Siasconset to-morrow. I wrote to Tristram. We'll have Prime and his wife +here for dinner to-night, and drive them out somewhere this afternoon. I +remember Mark Prime well. I played golf with him one season at Del +Monte. How did you happen to know him, Becky?"</p> + +<p>Becky told of the Major's sojourn to King's Crest.<!-- Page 351 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Copes made separate plans for the afternoon. "If I can't have you to +myself, Becky," Cope complained, "I won't have you at all——"</p> + +<p>Madge, sitting later next to Becky in the Admiral's big car, was lovely +in a great cape of pale wisteria, with a turban of the same color set +low on her burnt-gold hair.</p> + +<p>"I have brought you wonderful news of Randy Paine," she said to Becky. +"He has sold his story, 'The Trumpeter Swan.' To one of the big +magazines. And they have asked for more. He is by way of being +rather—famous. He came on to New York the day after we arrived. They +had telegraphed for him. We wanted him to come up here with us, but he +wouldn't."</p> + +<p>"Why wouldn't he?"</p> + +<p>"He had some engagements, and after that——"</p> + +<p>"He will never write another story like 'The Trumpeter Swan,'" said +Becky.</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"It—it doesn't seem as if he could—— It is—wonderful, Mrs. +Prime——"</p> + +<p>"Well, Randy—is wonderful," said Madge.</p> + +<p>A silence fell between them, and when Madge spoke again it was of the +Watermans. "We go to the Crossing to-morrow. I must see Flora before I +go West."</p> + +<p>The blood ran up into Becky's heart. She won<!-- Page 352 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span>dered if George Dalton was +with the Watermans. But she did not dare ask.</p> + +<p>So she asked about California instead. "You will live out there?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, on a ranch. There will be chickens and cows and hogs. It sounds +unromantic, doesn't it? But it is really frightfully interesting. It is +what I have always dreamed about. Mark says this is to be +my—reincarnation."</p> + +<p>She laughed a little as she explained what she meant. "And when I was in +New York, I bought the duckiest lilac linens and ginghams, and white +aprons, frilly ones. Mark says I shall look like a dairy maid in 'Robin +Hood.'"</p> + +<p>The Major, who was in front of them with the Admiral, turned and spoke.</p> + +<p>"Tell her about Kemp."</p> + +<p>"Oh, he is going with us. It develops that there is a girl in Scotland +who is waiting for him. And he is going to send for her—and they are to +have a cottage on the ranch, and come into the house to help us, and +there is an old Chinese cook that Mark has had for years."</p> + +<p>Becky spoke sharply. "You don't mean Mr.—Dalton's Kemp?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. He came to Mark. Didn't you know?"</p> + +<p>Becky had not known.</p> + +<p>"Why did he leave Mr.—Dalton?"<!-- Page 353 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He and Georgie had a falling out about an omelette. I fancy it was a +sort of comic opera climax. So Mark got a treasure and Georgie-Porgie +lost one——"</p> + +<p>"Georgie-Porgie?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I always call him that, and he hates it," Madge laughed at the +memory.</p> + +<p>"You did it to—tease him?" slowly.</p> + +<p>"I did it because it was—true. You know the old nursery rhyme? Well, +George is like that. There were always so many girls to be—kissed, and +it was so easy to—run away——"</p> + +<p>She said it lightly, with shrugged shoulders, but she did not look at +Becky.</p> + +<p>And that night when she was dressing for dinner, Madge said to her +husband, "It sounded—catty—Mark. But I had to do it. There's that +darling boy down there eating his heart out. And she is nursing a +dream——"</p> + +<p>The Major was standing by his wife's door, and she was in front of her +mirror. It reflected her gold brocade, her amethysts linked with +diamonds in a long chain that ended in a jeweled locket. Her jewel case +was open and she brought out the pendant that George had sent her and +held it against her throat. "It matches the others," she said.</p> + +<p>He arched his eyebrows in inquiry.<!-- Page 354 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I wouldn't wear it," she said with a sudden quick force, "if there was +not another jewel in the world. I wish he hadn't sent it. Oh, Mark, I +wish I hadn't known him before I found—you," she came up to him +swiftly; "such men as you," she said, "if women could only meet +them—_first_——"</p> + +<p>His arm went around her. "It is enough that we—met——"</p> + +<p>Becky was also at her mirror at that moment. She had dressed carefully +in silver and white with her pearls and silver slippers. Louise came in +and looked at her. "I haven't any grand and gorgeous things, you know. +And I fancy your Mrs. Prime will be rather gorgeous."</p> + +<p>"It suits her," said Becky, "but after this she is going to be +different." She told Louise about the ranch and the linen frocks and the +frilled aprons. "She is going to make herself over. I wonder if it will +be a success."</p> + +<p>"It doesn't fit in with my theories," said Louise. "I think it is much +better if people marry each other ready-made."</p> + +<p>Becky turned from her mirror. "Louise," she said, "does anything ever +fit in with a woman's theories when she falls in love?"</p> + +<p>"One shouldn't fall in love," Louise said, serenely, "they should walk +squarely into it. That's what I shall do, when I get ready to<!-- Page 355 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span> marry—— +But I shall love Archibald as long as the good Lord will let me——"</p> + +<p>She was trying to say it lightly, but a quiver of her voice betrayed +her.</p> + +<p>"Louise," Becky said, "what's the matter with Archibald? Is anything +really the matter?"</p> + +<p>Louise began to cry. "Archie saw the doctor to-day, and he won't promise +anything—I made Arch tell me——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Louise." Becky's lips were white.</p> + +<p>"Of course if he takes good care of himself, it may not be for years. +You mustn't let him know that I told you, Becky. But I had to tell +somebody. I've kept it all bottled up as if I were a stone image. And +I'm not a stone image, and he's all I have."</p> + +<p>She dabbed her eyes with a futile handkerchief. The tears dripped. "I +must stop," she kept saying, "I shall look like a fright for dinner——"</p> + +<p>But at dinner she showed no signs of her agitation. She had used powder +and rouge with deft touches. She had followed Becky's example and wore +white, a crisp organdie, with a high blue sash. With her bobbed hair and +pink cheeks she was not unlike a painted doll. She carried a little blue +fan with lacquered sticks, and she tapped the table as she talked to +Major Prime. The tapping was the only sign of her inner agitation.</p> + +<p>The Admiral's table that night seemed to Becky<!-- Page 356 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span> a circle of sinister +meaning. There was Archibald, condemned to die—while youth still beat +in his veins—— There was Louise, who must go on without him. There was +the Admiral—the last of a vanished company; there was the Major, whose +life for four years had held—horrors. There was Madge, radiant to-night +in the love of her husband, as she had perhaps once been radiant for +Dalton.</p> + +<p><i>Georgie-Porgie!</i></p> + +<p>It was a horrid name. "<i>There were always so many girls to be +kissed—and it was so easy to run away</i>——"</p> + +<p>She had always hated the nursery rhyme. But now it seemed to sing itself +in her brain.</p> + +<p><i><span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Georgie-Porgie,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Pudding and pie,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Kissed the girls,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And made them cry——"</span></i></p> + +<p>Cope was at Becky's right. "Aren't you going to talk to me? You haven't +said a word since the soup."</p> + +<p>"Well, everybody else is talking."</p> + +<p>"What do I care for anybody else?"</p> + +<p>Becky wondered how Archibald did it. How he kept that light manner for a +world which he was not long to know. And there was Louise with rouge<!-- Page 357 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span> +and powder on her cheeks to cover her tears—— That was courage—— She +thought suddenly of "The Trumpeter Swan."</p> + +<p>She spoke out of her thoughts. "Randy has sold his story."</p> + +<p>He wanted to know all about it, and she repeated what Madge had said. +Yet even as she talked that hateful rhyme persisted,</p> + +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>"When the girls</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Came out to play,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Georgie-Porgie</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Ran away——"</i></span><br /> + +<p>After dinner they went into the drawing-room so that Louise could play +for them. A great mirror which hung at the end of the room reflected +Louise on the piano bench in her baby frock. It reflected Madge, slim +and gold, with a huge fan of lilac feathers. It reflected Becky—in a +rose-colored damask chair, it reflected the three men in black. Years +ago there had been other men and women—the Admiral's wife in red velvet +and the same pearls that were now on Becky's neck—— She shuddered.</p> + +<p>As they drove home that night, the Major spoke to his wife of Becky. +"The child looks unhappy."</p> + +<p>"She will be unhappy until some day her heart<!-- Page 358 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</a></span> rests in her husband, as +mine does in you. Shall I spoil you, Mark, if I talk like this?"</p> + +<p>When they reached their hotel there were letters. One was from Flora: +"You asked about George. He is not with us. He has gone to Nantucket to +visit some friends of his—the Merediths. He will be back next week."</p> + +<p>"The Merediths?" Madge said. "George doesn't know any—Merediths. +Mark—he is following Becky."</p> + +<p>"Well, she's safe in Boston."</p> + +<p>"She is going back. On Wednesday. And he'll be there." Her eyes were +troubled.</p> + +<p>"Mark," she said, abruptly, "I wonder if Randy has left New York. Call +him up, please, long distance. I want to talk to him."</p> + +<p>"My darling girl, do you know what time it is?"</p> + +<p>"Nearly midnight. But that's nothing in New York. And, anyhow, if he is +asleep, we will wake him up. I am going to tell him that George is at +Siasconset."</p> + +<p>"But, my dear, what good will it do?"</p> + +<p>"He's got to save Becky. I know Dalton's tricks and his manners. He can +cast a glamour over anything. And Randy's the man for her. Oh, Mark, +just think of her money and his genius——"</p> + +<p>"What have money and genius to do with it?"<!-- Page 359 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Nothing, unless they love each other. But—she cares—— You should +have seen her eyes when I said he had sold his story. But she doesn't +know that she cares, and he's got to make her know."</p> + +<p>"How can he make her know?"</p> + +<p>"Let her see him—now. She has never seen him as he was in New York with +us, sure of himself, knowing that he has found the thing that he can do. +He was beautiful with that radiant boy-look. You know he was, Mark, +wasn't he?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, my darling, yes."</p> + +<p>"And I want him to be happy, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Of course, dear heart."</p> + +<p>"Then get him on the 'phone. I'll do the rest."</p> + + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>Randy, in New York, acclaimed by a crowd of enthusiasts who had read his +story as a gold nugget picked up from a desert of literary mediocrity. +Randy, not knowing himself. Randy, modest beyond belief. Randy, in his +hotel at midnight, walking the floor with his head held high, and saying +to himself, "I've done it."</p> + +<p>It seemed to him that, of course, it could not be true. The young editor +who had eyed him through shell-rimmed glasses had said, "There's going +to be a lot of hard work ahead—to keep up to this——"<!-- Page 360 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span></p> + +<p>Randy, in his room, laughed at the thought of work. What did hardness +matter? The thing that really mattered was that he had treasure to lay +at the feet of Becky.</p> + +<p>He sat down at the desk to write to her, cheeks flushed, eyes bright, a +hand that shook with excitement.</p> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>"I am to meet a lot of big fellows to-morrow—I shall feel like an +ugly duckling among the swans—oh, the <i>swans</i>, Becky, did we ever +think that the Trumpeter in his old glass case——"</p></div> + +<p>The telephone rang. Randy, answering it, found Madge at the other end. +There was an exchange of eager question and eager answer.</p> + +<p>Then Randy hung up the receiver, tore up his note to Becky, asked the +office about trains, packed his bag, and went swift in a taxi to the +station.</p> + +<p>It was not until he was safe in his sleeper, and racketing through the +night, that he remembered the meeting with the literary swans and the +editor with the shell-rimmed glasses. A telegram would convey his +regrets. He was sorry that he could not meet them, but he had on hand a +more important matter.<!-- Page 361 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h3> + +<h2>THE CONQUEROR</h2> + + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p>If Randy's train had not missed a connection, he would have caught the +same boat that took the Admiral and his party back to the island. They +motored down to Wood's Hole, and boarded the <i>Sankaty</i>, while Randy, +stranded at New Bedford, was told there would not be another steamer out +until the next day.</p> + +<p>The Admiral was the only gay and apparently care-free member of his +quartette. Becky felt unaccountably depressed. Louise sat in the cabin +and worked on her green bag. There was a heavy sky and signs of a storm. +It was not pleasant outside.</p> + +<p>Archibald was nursing a grievance. "If your grandfather had only stayed +over another day."</p> + +<p>"He had written Tristram that we would come. He is very exact in his +engagements."</p> + +<p>"And he feels that fifty years in 'Sconset is better than a cycle +anywhere else."<!-- Page 362 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes. It will be nice to get back to our little gray house, and the +moor, don't you think?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. But I wanted to show you Boston as if you had never seen it, and +now I shall never show it."</p> + +<p>They were on deck, wrapped up to their chins. "Tell me what you would +have shown me," Becky said; "play that I am Olga and that you are +telling me about it."</p> + +<p>He looked down at her. "Well, you've just arrived. You aren't dressed in +a silver-toned cloak with gray furs and a blue turban with a silver +edge. That's a heavenly outfit, Becky. But what made you wear it on a +day like this?"</p> + +<p>"It is the silver lining to my—cloud," demurely; "dull clothes are +dreadful when the sky is dark."</p> + +<p>"I am not sure but I liked you better in your brown—in the rain with +your hand on my arm—— That is—unforgettable——"</p> + +<p>She brought him back to Olga. "I have just arrived——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and you have a shawl over your head, and a queer old coat and +funny shoes. I should have to speak to you through an interpreter, and +you would look at me with eager eyes or perhaps frightened ones."</p> + +<p>"And first we should have gone to Bunker Hill, and I should have said, +'Here we fought. Not of<!-- Page 363 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</a></span> hatred of our enemy, but for love of liberty. +The thing had to be done, and we did it. We had a just cause.' And then +I should have taken you to Concord and Lexington, and I would have said, +'These farmers were clean-hearted men. They believed in law and order, +they hated anarchy, and upon that belief and upon that hatred they built +up a great nation.' And thus ends the first lesson."</p> + +<p>He paused. "Lesson the second would have to do with the old churches."</p> + +<p>They had stopped by the rail; the wind buffeted them, but they did not +heed it. "It was in the churches that the ideals of the new nation were +crystallized. No country prospers which forgets its God."</p> + +<p>"Lesson number three," he went on, "would have had to do with the +bookshops."</p> + +<p>"The bookshops?"</p> + +<p>He nodded. "The old bookshops and the new of Boston. I would have taken +you to them, and I would have said, 'Here, Olga, is the voice of the +nation speaking to you through the printed page. Learn to read in the +language of your new country.' Oh, Becky," he broke off, "I wanted to +show you the bookshops. It's a perfect pilgrimage——"</p> + +<p>The Admiral, swaying to the wind, came up to them. "Hadn't you better go +inside?" he shouted. "Becky will freeze out here."<!-- Page 364 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span></p> + +<p>They followed him. The cabin was comparatively quiet after the tumult. +Louise was still working on the green bag. "What have you two been +doing?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Playing Olga of Petrograd," said Archibald, moodily, "but Becky was +cold and came in."</p> + +<p>"Grandfather brought me in," said Becky.</p> + +<p>"If you had cared to stay, you would have stayed," he told her, rather +unreasonably. "Perhaps, after all, Boston to Olga simply means baked +beans which she doesn't like, and codfish which she prefers—raw——"</p> + +<p>"Now you have spoiled it all," said Becky. "I loved the things that you +said about the churches and the bookshops and Bunker Hill."</p> + +<p>"Did you? Well, it is all true, Becky, the part they have played in +making us a nation. And it is all going to be true again. We Americans +aren't going to sell our birthright for a mess of pottage!"</p> + +<p>And now the island once more rose out of the sea. The little steamer had +some difficulty in making a landing. But at last they were on shore, and +the 'bus was waiting, and it was after dark when they reached "The +Whistling Sally."</p> + +<p>The storm was by that time upon them—the wind blew a wild gale, but the +little gray cottage was snug and warm. Jane in her white apron went +unruffled about her pleasant tasks—storms might<!-- Page 365 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</a></span> come and storms might +go—she had no fear of them now, since none of her men went down to the +sea in ships.</p> + +<p>Tristram in shining oilskins brought up their bags. He stood in the hall +and talked to them, and before he went away, he said casually over his +shoulder, "There's a gentleman at the hotel that has asked for you once +or twice."</p> + +<p>"For me?" the Admiral questioned.</p> + +<p>"You and Miss Becky."</p> + +<p>"Do you know his name?"</p> + +<p>"It's Dalton. George Dalton——"</p> + +<p>"I don't know any Daltons. Do you, Becky?"</p> + +<p>Becky stood by the table with her back to them. She did not turn. "Yes," +she said in a steady voice. "There was a George Dalton whom I met this +summer—in Virginia."</p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>There was little sleep for Becky that night. The storm tore around the +tiny house, but its foundations were firm, and it did not shake. The +wind whistled as if the wooden figure in the front yard had suddenly +come to life and was madly making up for the silence of a half-century.</p> + +<p>So George had followed her. He had found her out, and there was no way +of escape. She would<!-- Page 366 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</a></span> have to see him, hear him. She would have to set +herself against the charm of that quick voice, those sparkling eyes. +There would be no one to save her now. Randy was far away. She must make +her fight alone.</p> + +<p>She turned restlessly. Why should she fight? What, after all, did George +mean to her? A chain of broken dreams? A husk of golden armor? +_Georgie-Porgie_—who had kissed and run away.</p> + +<p>She was listless at breakfast. The storm was over, and the Admiral was +making plans for a picnic the next day to Altar Rock. "Hot coffee and +lobster sandwiches, and a view of the sea on a day like this."</p> + +<p>Becky smiled. "Grandfather," she said, "I believe you are happy because +you keep your head in the stars and your feet on the ground."</p> + +<p>"What's the connection, my dear?"</p> + +<p>"Well, lobster sandwiches and a view of the sea. So many people can't +enjoy both. They are either lobster-sandwich people, or view-of-the-sea +people."</p> + +<p>"Which shows their limitations," said the Admiral, promptly; "the people +of Pepys' time were eloquent over a pigeon pie or a poem. The good Lord +gave us both of them. Why not?"</p> + +<p>It was after breakfast that a note was brought to Becky. The boy would +wait.<!-- Page 367 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</a></span></p> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>"I am here," George wrote, "and I shall stay until I see you. Don't +put me off. Don't shut your heart against me. I am very unhappy. +May I come?"</p></div> + +<p>She wrote an immediate answer. She would see him in the afternoon. The +Admiral would be riding over to Nantucket. He had some business affairs +to attend to—a meeting at the bank. Jane would be busy in her kitchen +with the baking. The coast would be clear. There would be no need, if +George came in the afternoon, to explain his presence.</p> + +<p>Having dispatched her note, and with the morning before her, she was +assailed by restlessness. She welcomed Archibald Cope's invitation from +the adjoining porch. He sang it in the words of the old song,</p> + +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Madam, will you walk!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Madam, will you talk?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Madam, will you walk and talk</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With me——"</span><br /> + +<p>"Where shall we go?"</p> + +<p>"To Sankaty——"</p> + +<p>She loved the walk to the lighthouse. In the spring there was Scotch +broom on the bluffs—yellow as gold, with the blue beyond. In summer<!-- Page 368 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</a></span> +wild roses, deep pink, scenting the air with their fresh fragrance. But, +perhaps, she loved it best on a day like this, with the breakers on the +beach below, racing in like white horses, and with the winter gulls, +dark against the brightness of the morning.</p> + +<p>"Why aren't you painting?" she asked Archibald.</p> + +<p>"Because," he said, "I am not going to paint the moor any more. It gets +away from me—it is too vast—— It has a primal human quality, and yet +it is not alive."</p> + +<p>"It sometimes seems alive to me," she said, "when I look off over it—it +seems to rise and fall as if it—breathed."</p> + +<p>"That's the uncanny part of it," Archibald agreed, "and I am going to +give it up. I am not going to paint it—— I want to paint you, Becky."</p> + +<p>"Me? Why do you want to do that?"</p> + +<p>He flashed a glance at her. "Because you are nice to look at."</p> + +<p>"That isn't the reason."</p> + +<p>"Why should you question my motives?" he demanded. "But since you must +have the truth—it is because of a fancy of mine that I might do it +well——"</p> + +<p>"I should like it very much," she said, simply.<!-- Page 369 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Would you?" eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>She had on her red cape, and a black velvet tam pulled over her shining +hair.</p> + +<p>"I shall not paint you like this," he said, "although the color +is—superlative—— Ever since you read to me that story of Randy +Paine's, I have had a feeling that the real story ought to have a happy +ending, and that I should like to make the illustration."</p> + +<p>"I don't know what you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Why shouldn't the girl care for the boy after he came back? Why +shouldn't she, Becky Bannister?"</p> + +<p>Her startled gaze met his. "Let's sit down here," he said, "and have it +out."</p> + +<p>There was a bench on the edge of the bluff, set so that one might have a +wider view of the sea.</p> + +<p>"There ought to be a happy ending, Becky."</p> + +<p>"How could there be?"</p> + +<p>"Why not you—and Randy Paine? I haven't met him, but somehow that story +tells me that he is the right sort. And think of it, Becky, you and that +boy—in that big house down there, going to church, smiling across the +table at each other," his breath came quickly, "your love for him, his +for you, making a background for his—genius."<!-- Page 370 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</a></span></p> + +<p>She tried to stop him. "Why should you say such things?"</p> + +<p>"Because I have thought them. Last night in the storm—I couldn't sleep. +I—I wanted to be a dog in the manger. I couldn't have you, and I'd be +darned if I'd help anyone else to get you. You—you see, I'm a sort of +broken reed, Becky. It—it isn't a sure thing that I am going to get +well. And if what I feel for you is worth anything, it ought to mean +that I must put your happiness—first. And that's why I want to make the +picture for the—happy ending."</p> + +<p>Her hand went out to him. "It is a beautiful thing for you to do. But I +am not sure that there will be a—happy ending."</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>She could not tell him. She could not tell—that between her and her +thought of Randy was the barrier of all that George Dalton had meant to +her.</p> + +<p>"If you paint the picture," she evaded, "you must finish it at +Huntersfield. Why can't you and Louise come down this winter? It would +be heavenly."</p> + +<p>"It would be Heaven for me. Do you mean it, Becky?"</p> + +<p>She did mean it, and she told him so.</p> + +<p>"I shall paint you," he planned, "as a little white slip of a girl, with +pearls about your neck,<!-- Page 371 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</a></span> and dreams in your eyes, and back of you a +flight of shadowy swans——"</p> + +<p>They rose and walked on. "I thought you were to be with the Admiral in +Boston this winter."</p> + +<p>"I stay until Thanksgiving. I always go back to Huntersfield for +Christmas."</p> + +<p>After that it was decided that she should sit for him each morning. They +did not speak again of Randy. There had been something in Becky's manner +which kept Archibald from saying more.</p> + +<p>When they reached the lighthouse, the wind was blowing strongly. Before +them was the sweep of the Nantucket Shoals—not a ship in sight, not a +line of smoke, the vast emptiness of heaving waters.</p> + +<p>Becky stood at the edge of the bluff, her red cape billowing out into a +scarlet banner, her hair streaming back from her face, the velvet tam +flattened by the force of the wind.</p> + +<p>Archibald glanced at her. "Are you cold?"</p> + +<p>"No, I love it."</p> + +<p>He was chilled to the bone, yet there she stood, warm with life, bright +with beating blood——</p> + +<p>"What a beastly lot of tumbling water," he said with sudden +overmastering irritation. "Let's get away from it, Becky. Let's get +away."</p> + +<p>Going back they took the road which led across the moor. The clear day +gave to the low hills the Persian carpet coloring which Cope had +despaired<!-- Page 372 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</a></span> of painting. Becky, in her red cape, was almost lost against +the brilliant background.</p> + +<p>But she was not the only one who challenged nature. For as she and +Archibald approached the outskirts of the town, they discerned, at some +distance, at the top of a slight eminence, two figures—a man and a +woman. The woman was dancing, with waving arms and flying feet.</p> + +<p>"She calls that dance 'Morning on the Moor,'" Cope told Becky; "she has +a lot of them—'The Spirit of the Storm, 'The Wraith of the Fog.'"</p> + +<p>"Do you know her?"</p> + +<p>"No. But Tristram says she dances every morning. She is getting ready +for an act in one of the big musical shows."</p> + +<p>The man sat on the ground and watched the woman dance. Her primrose cape +was across his knee. He was a big man and wore a cap. Becky, surveying +him from afar, saw nothing to command closer scrutiny. Yet had she +known, she might have found him worthy of another look. For the man with +the primrose cape was Dalton!</p> + + +<h3>III</h3><p>George Dalton, entering the little sitting-room of "The Whistling +Sally," had to bend his head. He was so shining and splendid that he +seemed to fill<!-- Page 373 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[Pg 373]</a></span> the empty spaces. It seemed, indeed, to Becky, as if he +were too shining and splendid, as if he bulked too big, like a giant, +top-heavy.</p> + +<p>But she was not unmoved. He had been the radiant knight of her girlish +dreams—some of the glamour still remained. Her cheeks were touched with +pink as she greeted him.</p> + +<p>He took both of her hands in his. "Oh, you lovely, lovely little thing," +he said, and stood looking down at her.</p> + +<p>They were the words he had said to her in the music-room. They revived +memories. Flushing a deeper pink, she drew away from him. "Why did you +come?"</p> + +<p>"I could not stay away."</p> + +<p>"How long have you been here?"</p> + +<p>"Five days——"</p> + +<p>"Please—sit down"—she indicated a chair on the other side of the +hearth. She had seated herself in the Admiral's winged chair. It came up +over her head, and she looked very slight and childish.</p> + +<p>George, surveying the room, said, "This is some contrast to +Huntersfield."</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Do you like it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes. I have spent months here, you know, and Sally, who whistles +out there in the yard, is an<!-- Page 374 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</a></span> old friend of mine. I played with her as a +child."</p> + +<p>"I should think the Admiral would rather have one of those big houses on +the bluff."</p> + +<p>"Would you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"But he has so many big houses. And this is his play-house. It belonged +to his grandfather, and that ship up there is one on which our Sally was +the figure-head."</p> + +<p>He forced himself to listen while she told him something of the history +of the old ship. He knew that she was making conversation, that there +were things more important to speak of, and that she knew it. Yet she +was putting off the moment when they must speak.</p> + +<p>There came a pause, however. "And now," he said, leaning forward, "let's +talk about ourselves, I have been here five days, Becky—waiting——"</p> + +<p>"Waiting? For what?"</p> + +<p>"To ask you to—forgive me."</p> + +<p>Her steady glance met his. "If I say that I forgive you, will that +be—enough?"</p> + +<p>"You know it will not," his sparkling eyes challenged her. "Not if you +say it coldly——"</p> + +<p>"How else can I say it?"</p> + +<p>"As if—oh, Becky, don't keep me at long distance—like this. Don't tell +me that you are en<!-- Page 375 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</a></span>gaged to Randy Paine. Don't——. Let this be our +day——" He seemed to shine and sparkle in a perfect blaze of gallantry.</p> + +<p>"I am not engaged to Randy."</p> + +<p>He gave an exclamation of triumph. "You broke it off?"</p> + +<p>"No," she said, "he broke it."</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>She folded her hands in her lap. "You see," she said, "he felt that I +did not love him. And he would not take me that way—unloving."</p> + +<p>"He seemed to want to take you any way, the day he talked to me. I asked +him what he had to offer you——" He gave a light laugh—seemed to brush +Randy away with a gesture.</p> + +<p>Her cheeks flamed. "He has a great deal to offer."</p> + +<p>"For example?" lazily, with a lift of the eyebrows.</p> + +<p>"He is a gentleman—and a genius——"</p> + +<p>His face darkened. "I'll pass over the first part of that until later. +But why call him a 'genius'?"</p> + +<p>"He has written a story," breathlessly, "oh, all the world will know it +soon. The people who have read it, in New York, are crazy about it——"</p> + +<p>"Is that all? A story? So many people write nowadays."<!-- Page 376 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well," she asked quietly, "what more have you to offer?"</p> + +<p>"Love, Becky. You intimated a moment ago that I was not—a +gentleman—because I failed—once. Is that fair? How do you know that +Paine has not failed—how do you know——? And love hasn't anything to +do with genius, Becky, it has to do with that night in the music-room, +when you sang and when I—kissed you. It has to do with nights like +those in the old garden, with the new moon and the stars, and the old +goddesses."</p> + +<p>"And with words which meant—nothing——"</p> + +<p>"_Becky_," he protested.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, "you know it is true—they meant nothing. Perhaps you +have changed since then. I don't know. But I know this, that I have +changed."</p> + +<p>He felt back of her words the force which had always baffled him.</p> + +<p>"You mean that you don't love me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"I—I don't believe it——"</p> + +<p>"You must——"</p> + +<p>"But——" he rose and went towards her.</p> + +<p>"Please—we won't argue it. And—Jane is going to give us some tea." She +left him for a moment and came back to sit behind the little table. Jane +brought tea and fresh little cakes.<!-- Page 377 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</a></span></p> + +<p>"For Heaven's sake, Becky," George complained, when the old woman had +returned to her kitchen, "can you eat at a moment like this?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, "I can eat and the cakes are very nice."</p> + +<p>She did not let him see that her hand trembled as she poured the tea.</p> + +<p>George had had five days in the company of the dancer in yellow. He had +found her amusing. She played the game at which he had proved himself so +expert rather better than the average woman. She served for the moment, +but no sane man would ever think of spending his life with her. But here +was the real thing—this slip of a child in a blue velvet smock, with +bows on her slippers, and a wave of bronze hair across her forehead. He +felt that Becky's charms would last for a lifetime. When she was old, +and sat like that on the other side of the hearth, with silver hair and +bent figure, she would still retain her loveliness of spirit, the +steadfast gaze, the vivid warmth of word and gesture.</p> + +<p>For the first time in his life George knew the kind of love that +projects itself forward into the future, that sees a woman as friend and +as companion. And this woman whom he loved had just said that she did +not love him.</p> + +<p>"I won't give you up," he said doggedly.</p> + +<p>"How can you keep me?" she asked quietly, and<!-- Page 378 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</a></span> suddenly the structure of +hope which he had built for himself tumbled.</p> + +<p>"Then this is the—end?"</p> + +<p>"I am afraid it is," and she offered him a cup.</p> + +<p>His face grew suddenly gray. "I don't want any tea. I want you," his +hands went over his face. "I want you, Becky."</p> + +<p>"Don't," she said, shakily, "I am sorry."</p> + +<p>She was sorry to see him no longer shining, no longer splendid, but she +was glad that the spell was broken—the charm of sparkling eyes and +quick voice gone—forever.</p> + +<p>She said again, as she gave him her hand at parting, "I'm sorry."</p> + +<p>His laugh was not pleasant. "You'll be sorrier if you marry Paine."</p> + +<p>"No," she said, and he carried away with him the look which came into +her eyes as she said it, "No, if I marry Randy I shall not be sorry."</p> + + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>Randy, arriving on the evening boat, caught the 'bus, and found the +Admiral in it.</p> + +<p>"It's Randy Paine," he said, as he climbed in and sat beside the old +gentleman.</p> + +<p>"My dear boy, God bless you. Becky will be delighted."<!-- Page 379 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I was in New York," was Randy's easy explanation, "and I couldn't +resist coming up."</p> + +<p>"We read your story, and Mrs. Prime told us how the editor received it. +You are by way of being famous, my boy."</p> + +<p>"Well, it's mighty interesting, sir," said young Randy.</p> + +<p>It was late when they reached the little town, but the west was +blood-red above the ridge, with the moor all darkling purple.</p> + +<p>Becky was not in the house. "I saw her go down to the beach," Jane told +them.</p> + +<p>"In what direction?" Randy asked; "I'll go after her."</p> + +<p>"She sometimes sits back of the blue boat," said Jane, "when there's a +wind. But if you don't find her, Mr. Paine, she'll be back in time for +supper. I told her not to be late. I am having raised rolls and broiled +fish, and Mr. and Miss Cope are coming."</p> + +<p>"I'll find her," said Randy, and was off.</p> + +<p>The moon was making a path of gold across the purple waters, and casting +sharp shadows on the sand. The blue boat, high on the beach, had lost +its color in the pale light. But there was no other boat, so Randy went +towards it. And as he went, he gave the old Indian cry.</p> + +<p>Becky, wrapped in her red cape, deep in thoughts<!-- Page 380 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</a></span> of the thing that had +happened in the afternoon, heard the cry and doubted her ears.</p> + +<p>It came again.</p> + +<p>"Randy," she breathed, and stood up and saw him coming. She ran towards +him. "Oh, Randy, Randy."</p> + +<p>She came into his arms as if she belonged there. And he, amazed but +rapturous, received her, held her close.</p> + +<p>"Oh, oh," she whispered, "you don't know how I have wanted you, Randy."</p> + +<p>"It is nothing to the way that I have wanted you, my dear."</p> + +<p>"Really, Randy?"</p> + +<p>"Really, my sweet."</p> + +<p>The moon was very big and bright. It showed her face white as a +rose-leaf against his coat. He scarcely dared to breathe, lest he should +frighten her. They stood for a moment in silence, then she said, simply, +"You see, it was you, after all, Randy."</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "I see. But when did you find it out?"</p> + +<p>"This afternoon. Let's sit down here out of the wind behind the boat, +and I'll tell you about it——"</p> + +<p>But he was not ready yet to let her go. "To have you here—like this."</p> + +<a name="ILLUS4" id="ILLUS4"></a><div class="figleft" style="width: 350px;"> +<img src="images/tsillus05.jpg" width="350" height="550" alt=""OH, OH," SHE WHISPERED, "YOU DON'T KNOW HOW I HAVE WANTED YOU, RANDY."" title=""OH, OH," SHE WHISPERED, "YOU DON'T KNOW HOW I HAVE WANTED YOU, RANDY."" /> +</div> + +<p>He stopped. He could not go on. He lifted her<!-- Page 381 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[Pg 381]</a></span> up to him, and their +lips met. Years ago he had kissed her under the mistletoe; the kiss that +he gave her now was a pledge for all the years to come.</p> + +<p>They were late for supper. Jane relieved her mind to the Admiral and his +guests. "She had a gentleman here this afternoon for tea, and neither of +them ate anything. And now there's another gentleman, and the rolls are +spoiling."</p> + +<p>"You can serve supper, Jane," the Admiral told her; "they can eat when +they come."</p> + +<p>When they came, Becky's cheeks were as red as her cape. As she swept +within the radius of the candle-light, Archibald Cope, who had risen at +her entrance, knew what had happened. Her eyes were like stars. "Did +Jane scold about us?" she asked, with a quick catch of her breath; "it +was so lovely—with the moon."</p> + +<p>Back of her was young Randy—Randy of the black locks, of the high-held +head and Indian profile, Randy, with his air of Conqueror.</p> + +<p>"I've told them all about you," Becky said, "and they have read your +story. Will you please present him properly, Grandfather, while I go and +fix my hair?"</p> + +<p>She came back very soon, slim and childish in her blue velvet smock, her +hair in that bronze wave across her forehead, her eyes still lighted.</p> + +<p>She sat between her grandfather and Archibald.<!-- Page 382 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[Pg 382]</a></span></p> + +<p>"So," said Cope softly, under cover of the conversation, "it has +happened?"</p> + +<p>"What has happened?"</p> + +<p>"The happy ending."</p> + +<p>"Oh—how did you know?"</p> + +<p>"As if the whole world wouldn't know just to look at you."</p> + +<p>The Randy of the supper table at "The Whistling Sally" was a Randy that +Becky had never seen. Success had come to him and love. There was the +ring of it in his young voice, the flush of it on his cheeks. He was a +man, with a man's future.</p> + +<p>He talked of his work. "If I am a bore, please tell me," he said, "but +it is rather a fairy-tale, you know, when you've made up your mind to a +hum-drum law career to find a thing like this opening out."</p> + +<p>Becky sat and listened. Her eyes were all for her lover. Already she +thought of him at King's Crest, writing for the world, with her money +making things easy for him, but not spoiling the simplicity of their +tastes. If she thought at all of George Dalton, it was to find the +sparkle and shine of his splendid presence dimmed by Randy's radiance.</p> + +<p>"I hate to say that he is—charming," Cope complained.</p> + +<p>He was a good sport, and he wanted Becky to be<!-- Page 383 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[Pg 383]</a></span> happy. But it was not +easy to sit there and see those two—with the pendulum swinging between +them of joy and dreams, and the knowledge of a long life together.</p> + +<p>"Why should it be?" he asked Louise, as he stood beside her, later, on +their own little porch which overlooked the sea; "those two—did you see +them? While I——"</p> + +<p>Louise laid her hand on his shoulder. "Yes. I think it is something like +this, Arch. They've got to live it out, and life isn't always going to +be just to-night for them. And perhaps in the years together they may +lose some of their dreams. They've got to grow old, and you, you'll go +out—with all—your dreams——"</p> + +<p>He reached up and took the kind hand.</p> + +<p>"'They all go out like this—into the night—but what a fleet +of—stars.' Is that it, Louise?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>The clearness of the moonlight was broken by long fingers of fog +stretched up from the horizon.</p> + +<p>"I'll wrap up and sit here, Louise," Archibald said; "I shan't sleep if +I go in."</p> + +<p>"Don't stay too long. Good-night, my dear, good-night."</p> + +<p>Archibald, watching the fog shut out the moonlight, had still upon him +that sense of revolt. Fame had never come to him, and love had come too +late.<!-- Page 384 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[Pg 384]</a></span></p> + +<p>Yet for Randy there was to be fulfillment—the wife of his heart, the +applause of the world. What did it all mean? Why should one man have +all, and the other—nothing?</p> + +<p>Yet he had had his dreams. And the dreams of men lived. That which died +was the least of them. The great old gods of democracy—Washington, +Jefferson, Adams—had seen visions, and the visions had endured. Only +yesterday Roosevelt had proclaimed his gallant doctrines. He had died +proclaiming them, and the world held its head higher, because of his +belief in its essential rightness.</p> + +<p>The mists enveloped Archibald in a sort of woolly dampness. He saw for a +moment a dim and distant moon. If he could have painted a moon like +that—with fingers of fog reaching up to it——!</p> + +<p>His own dreams of beauty? What of them? His pictures would not live. He +knew that now. But he had given more than pictures to the world. He had +given himself in a crusade which had been born of high idealism and a +sense of brotherhood. Day after day, night after night, his plane had +hung, poised like an eagle, above the enemy. He had been one of the +young gods who had set their strength and courage against the greed and +grossness of gray-coated hordes.</p> + +<p>And these dreams must live—the dreams of the<!-- Page 385 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[Pg 385]</a></span> young gods—as the dreams +of the old gods had endured. Because men had died to make others free, +freedom must be the song on the lips of all men.</p> + +<p>He thought of Randy's story. The Trumpeter Swan was only a stuffed bird +in a glass case. But once he had spread his wings—flown high in the +upper air. There had been strength in his pinions—joy in his +heart—thrilling life in every feather of him. Some lovely lines drifted +through Archibald's consciousness—</p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Upon the brimming water, among the stones</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Are nine and fifty swans.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Unwearied still, lover by lover,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">They paddle in the cold</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Companionable streams or climb the air;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Their hearts have not grown old;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Passion and conquest, wander where they will.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Attend upon them still——"</span></p> + +<p>From the frozen north the swan had come to the sheltered bay and some +one had shot him. He had not been asked if he wanted to live; they had +taken his life, and had set him up there on the shelf—and that had been +the end of him.</p> + +<p>But was it the end? Stuffed and quiet in his glass case, he had looked +down on a little boy. And the little boy had seen him not dead, but +sounding<!-- Page 386 --><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[Pg 386]</a></span> his trumpet. And now the whole world would hear of him. In +Randy's story, the Trumpeter would live again in the hearts of men.</p> + +<p>The wind was rising—the fog blown back before it showed the golden +track of the sea—light stretching to infinity!</p> + +<p>He rose and stood by the rail. Then suddenly he felt a hand upon his, +and looking down, he saw Becky.</p> + +<p>"I ran away from Randy," she said, breathlessly, "just for a moment. I +was afraid you might be alone, and unhappy."</p> + +<p>His hand held hers. "Just for this moment you are mine?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Then let me tell you this—that I shall never be alone as long as I may +have your friendship—I shall always be happy because I have—loved +you."</p> + +<p>He kissed her hand. "Run back to your Randy. Good-night, my dear, +good-night."</p> + +<p>Her lover received her rapturously at the door of the little house. They +went in together. And Archibald looked out, smiling, over a golden sea.</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Trumpeter Swan, by Temple Bailey + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRUMPETER SWAN *** + +***** This file should be named 17697-h.htm or 17697-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/7/6/9/17697/ + +Produced by Sjaani, Beginners Projects and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Trumpeter Swan + +Author: Temple Bailey + +Illustrator: Alice Barber Stephens + +Release Date: February 7, 2006 [EBook #17697] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRUMPETER SWAN *** + + + + +Produced by Sjaani, Beginners Projects and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +[Illustration: "WHEN I AM MARRIED WILL YOU SOUND YOUR TRUMPET HIGH UP +NEAR THE MOON?"] + + +The +Trumpeter Swan + +By + +TEMPLE BAILEY + +_Author of "The Tin Soldier" "Contrary Mary" +"Mistress Anne" "Glory of Youth"_ + +_Sonus ex nubibus te revocabit a mundo_ +A sound from the clouds shall call thee from this earth + + +Illustrated by +ALICE BARBER STEPHENS + + +THE PENN PUBLISHING +COMPANY PHILADELPHIA +1920 + +COPYRIGHT +1920 BY +THE PENN +PUBLISHING +COMPANY + + + + +CONTENTS + +CHAPTER PAGE + +I. A Major and Two Minors 7 +II. Stuffed Birds 33 +III. A Wolf in the Forest 61 +IV. Rain and Randy's Soul 88 +V. Little Sister 108 +VI. Georgie-Porgie 127 +VII. Mademoiselle Midas 147 +VIII. Ancestors 161 +IX. "T. Branch" 181 +X. A Gentleman's Lie 214 +XI. Wanted--a Pedestal 245 +XII. Indian--Indian 263 +XIII. The Whistling Sally 289 +XIV. The Dancer on the Moor 313 +XV. The Trumpeter Swan 333 +XVI. The Conqueror 361 + + +ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE + +"When I am Married Will You Sound Your +Trumpet High Up Near the Moon?" _Frontispiece_ + +"It's So Heavenly to Have You Home" 9 + +Becky Drew A Sharp Breath--Then Faced +Dalton Squarely--"I Am Going to Marry Randy" 143 + +"Oh, Oh," She Whispered, "You Don't Know +How I Have Wanted You" 257 + + +THE TRUMPETER SWAN + + + + +CHAPTER I + +A MAJOR AND TWO MINORS + + +I + +It had rained all night, one of the summer rains that, beginning in a +thunder-storm in Washington, had continued in a steaming drizzle until +morning. + +There were only four passengers in the sleeper, men all of them--two in +adjoining sections in the middle of the car, a third in the +drawing-room, a fourth an intermittent occupant of a berth at the end. +They had gone to bed unaware of the estate or circumstance of their +fellow-travellers, and had waked to find the train delayed by washouts, +and side-tracked until more could be learned of the condition of the +road. + +The man in the drawing-room shone, in the few glimpses that the others +had of him, with an effulgence which was dazzling. His valet, the +intermittent sleeper in the end berth, was a smug little soul, with a +small nose which pointed to the stars. When the door of the compartment +opened to admit breakfast there was the radiance of a brocade +dressing-gown, the shine of a sleek head, the staccato of an imperious +voice. + +Randy Paine, long and lank, in faded khaki, rose, leaned over the seat +of the section in front of him and drawled, "'It is not raining rain to +me--it's raining roses--down----'" + +A pleasant laugh, and a deep voice, "Come around here and talk to me. +You're a Virginian, aren't you?" + +"By the grace of God and the discrimination of my ancestors," young +Randolph, as he dropped into the seat opposite the man with the deep +voice, saluted the dead and gone Paines. + +"Then you know this part of it?" + +"I was born here. In this county. It is bone of my bone and flesh of my +flesh," there was a break in the boy's voice which robbed the words of +grandiloquence. + +"Hum--you love it? Yes? And I am greedy to get away. I want wider +spaces----" + +"California?" + +"Yes. Haven't seen it for three years. I thought when the war was over I +might. But I've got to be near Washington, it seems. The heat drove me +out, and somebody told me it would be cool in these hills----" + +"It is, at night. By day we're not strenuous." + +"I like to be strenuous. I hate inaction." + +He moved restlessly. There was a crutch by his side. Young Paine noticed +it for the first time. "I hate it." + +He had a strong frame, broad shoulders and thin hips. One placed him +immediately as a man of great physical force. Yet there was the crutch. +Randy had seen other men, broad-shouldered, thin-hipped, who had come to +worse than crutches. He did not want to think of them. He had escaped +without a scratch. He did not believe that he had lacked courage, and +there was a decoration to prove that he had not. But when he thought of +those other men, he had no sense of his own valor. He had given so +little and they had given so much. + +Yet it was not a thing to speak of. He struck, therefore, a note to +which he knew the other might respond. + +"If you haven't been here before, you'll like the old places." + +"I am going to one of them." + +"Which?" + +"King's Crest." + +A moment's silence. Then, "That's my home. I have lived there all my +life." + +The lame man gave him a sharp glance. "I heard of it in +Washington--delightful atmosphere--and all that----" + +"You are going as a--paying guest?" + +"Yes." + +A deep flush stained the younger man's face. Suddenly he broke out. "If +you knew how rotten it seems to me to have my mother keeping--boarders----" + +"My dear fellow, I hope you don't think it is going to be rotten to have +me?" + +"No. But there are other people. And I didn't know until I came back +from France---- She had to tell me when she knew I was coming." + +"She had been doing it all the time you were away?" + +"Yes. Before I went we had mortgaged things to help me through the +University. I should have finished in a year if I hadn't enlisted. And +Mother insisted there was enough for her. But there wasn't with the +interest and everything--and she wouldn't sell an acre. I shan't let her +keep on----" + +"Are you going to turn me out?" + +His smile was irresistible. Randy smiled back. "I suppose you think I'm +a fool----?" + +"Yes. For being ashamed of it." + +Randy's head went up. "I'm not ashamed of the boarding-house. I am +ashamed to have my mother work." + +"So," said the lame man, softly, "that's it? And your name is Paine?" + +"Randolph Paine of King's Crest. There have been a lot of us--and not a +piker in the lot." + +"I am Mark Prime." + +"Major Prime of the 135th?" + +The other nodded. "The wonderful 135th--God, what men they were----" his +eyes shone. + +Randy made his little gesture of salute. "They were that. I don't wonder +you are proud of them." + +"It was worth all the rest," the Major said, "to have known my men." + +He looked out of the window at the drizzle of rain. "How quiet the world +seems after it all----" + +Then like the snap of bullets came the staccato voice through the open +door of the compartment. + +"Find out why we are stopping in this beastly hole, Kemp, and get me +something cold to drink." + +Kemp, sailing down the aisle, like a Lilliputian drum major, tripped +over Randy's foot. + +"Beg pardon, sir," he said, and sailed on. + +Randy looked after him. "'His Master's voice----'" + +"And to think," Prime remarked, "that the coldest thing he can get on +this train is ginger ale." + +Kemp, coming back with a golden bottle, with cracked ice in a tall +glass, with a crisp curl of lemon peel, ready for an innocuous +libation, brought his nose down from the heights to look for the foot, +found that it no longer barred the way, and marched on to hidden music. + +"Leave the door open, leave it open," snapped the voice, "isn't there an +electric fan? Well, put it on, put it on----" + +"He drinks nectar and complains to the gods," said the Major softly, +"why can't we, too, drink?" + +They had theirs on a table which the porter set between them. The train +moved on before they had finished. "We'll be in Charlottesville in less +than an hour," the conductor announced. + +"Is that where we get off, Paine?" + +"One mile beyond. Are they going to meet you?" + +"I'll get a station wagon." + +Young Paine grinned. "There aren't any. But if Mother knows you're +coming she'll send down. And anyhow she expects me." + +"After a year in France--it will be a warm welcome----" + +"A wet one, but I love the rain, and the red mud, every blooming inch of +it." + +"Of course you do. Just as I love the dust of the desert." + +They spoke, each of them, with a sort of tense calmness. One doesn't +confess to a lump in one's throat. + +The little man, Kemp, was brushing things in the aisle. He was hot but +unconquered. Having laid out the belongings of the man he served, he +took a sudden recess, and came back with a fresh collar, a wet but +faultless pompadour, and a suspicion of powder on his small nose. + +"All right, sir, we'll be there in fifteen minutes, sir," they heard him +say, as he was swallowed up by the yawning door. + + +II + +Fifteen minutes later when the train slowed up, there emerged from the +drawing-room a man some years older than Randolph Paine, and many years +younger than Major Prime. He was good-looking, well-dressed, but +apparently in a very bad temper. Kemp, in an excited, Skye-terrier +manner, had gotten the bags together, had a raincoat over his arm, had +an umbrella handy, had apparently foreseen every contingency but one. + +"Great guns, Kemp, why are we getting off here?" + +"The conductor said it was nearer, sir." + +Randolph Paine was already hanging on the step, ready to drop the moment +the train stopped. He had given the porter an extra tip to look after +Major Prime. "He isn't used to that crutch, yet. He'd hate it if I tried +to help him." + +The rain having drizzled for hours, condensed suddenly in a downpour. +When the train moved on, the men found themselves in a small and stuffy +waiting-room. Around the station platform was a sea of red mud. Misty +hills shot up in a circle to the horizon. There was not a house in +sight. There was not a soul in sight except the agent who knew young +Paine. No one having come to meet them, he suggested the use of the +telephone. + +In the meantime Kemp was having a hard time of it. "Why in the name of +Heaven didn't we get off at Charlottesville," his master was demanding. + +"The conductor said this was nearer, sir," Kemp repeated. His response +had the bounding quality of a rubber ball. "If you'll sit here and make +yourself comfortable, Mr. Dalton, I'll see what I can do." + +"Oh, it's a beastly hole, Kemp. How can I be comfortable?" + +Randy, who had come back from the telephone with a look on his face +which clutched at Major Prime's throat, caught Dalton's complaint. + +"It isn't a beastly hole," he said in a ringing voice, "it's God's +country---- I got my mother on the 'phone, Major. She has sent for us +and the horses are on the way." + +Dalton looked him over. What a lank and shabby youth he was to carry in +his voice that ring of authority. "What's the answer to our getting off +here?" he asked. + +"Depends upon where you are going." + +"To Oscar Waterman's----" + +"Never heard of him." + +"Hamilton Hill," said the station agent. + +Randy's neck stiffened. "Then the Hamiltons have sold it?" + +"Yes. A Mr. Waterman of New York bought it." + +Kemp had come back. "Mr. Waterman says he'll send the car at once. He is +delighted to know that you have come, sir." + +"How long must I wait?" + +"Not more than ten minutes, he said, sir," Kemp's optimism seemed to +ricochet against his master's hardness and come back unhurt. "He will +send a closed car and will have your rooms ready for you." + +"Serves me right for not wiring," said Dalton, "but who would believe +there is a place in the world where a man can't get a taxi?" + +Young Paine was at the door, listening for the sound of hoofs, watching +with impatience. Suddenly he gave a shout, and the others looked to see +a small object which came whirling like a bomb through the mist. + +"Nellie, little old lady, little old lady," the boy was on his knees, +the dog in his arms--an ecstatic, panting creature, the first to welcome +her master home! + +Before he let her go, the little dog's coat was wet with more than rain, +but Randy was not ashamed of the tears in his eyes as he faced the +others. + +"I've had her from a pup--she's a faithful beast. Hello, there they +come. Gee, Jefferson, but you've grown! You are almost as big as your +name." + +Jefferson was the negro boy who drove the horses. There was a great +splashing of red mud as he drew up. The flaps of the surrey closed it +in. + +Jefferson's eyes were twinkling beads as he greeted his master. "I sure +is glad to see you, Mr. Randy. Miss Caroline, she say there was another +gemp'mun?" + +"He's here--Major Prime. You run in there and look after his bags." + +Randy unbuttoned the flaps and gave a gasp of astonishment: + +"_Becky_--Becky Bannister!" + +In another moment she was out on the platform, and he was holding her +hands, protesting in the meantime, "You'll get wet, my dear----" + +"Oh, I want to be rained on, Randy. It's so heavenly to have you home. I +caught Jefferson on the way down. I didn't even wait to get my hat." + +[Illustration: "IT'S SO HEAVENLY TO HAVE YOU HOME"] + +She did not need a hat. It would have hidden her hair. George Dalton, +watching her from the door, decided that he had never seen such hair, +bronze, parted on the side, with a thick wave across the forehead, it +shaded eyes which were clear wells of light. + +She was a little thing with a quality in her youth which made one think +of the year at the spring, of the day at morn, of Botticelli's +Simonetta, of Shelley's lark, of Wordsworth's daffodils, of Keats' Eve +of St. Agnes--of all the lovely radiant things of which the poets of the +world have sung---- + +Of course Dalton did not think of her in quite that way. He knew +something of Browning and little of Keats, but he had at least the wit +to discern the rareness of her type. + +As for the rest, she wore faded blue, which melted into the blue of the +mists, stubbed and shabby russet shoes and an air of absorption in her +returned soldier. This absorption Dalton found himself subconsciously +resenting. Following an instinctive urge, he emerged, therefore, from +his chrysalis of ill-temper, and smiled upon a transformed universe. + +"My raincoat, Kemp," he said, and strode forth across the platform, a +creature as shining and splendid as ever trod its boards. + +Becky, beholding him, asked, "Is that Major Prime?" + +"No, thank Heaven." + +Jefferson, steering the Major expertly, came up at this moment. Then, +splashing down the red road whirled the gorgeous limousine. There were +two men on the box. Kemp, who had been fluttering around Dalton with an +umbrella, darted into the waiting-room for the bags. The door of the +limousine was opened by the footman, who also had an umbrella ready. +Dalton hesitated, his eyes on that shabby group by the mud-stained +surrey. He made up his mind suddenly and approached young Paine. + +"We can take one of you in here. You'll be crowded with all of those +bags." + +"Not a bit. We'll manage perfectly, thank you," Randy's voice dismissed +him. + +He went, with a lingering glance backward. Becky, catching that glance, +waked suddenly to the fact that he was very good-looking. "It was kind +of him to offer, Randy." + +"Was it?" + +Nothing more was said, but Becky wondered a bit as they drove on. She +liked Major Prime. He was an old dear. But why had Randy thanked Heaven +that the other man was not the Major? + + +III + +The Waterman motor passed the surrey, and Dalton, straining his eyes for +a glimpse of the pretty girl, was rewarded only by a view of Randy on +the front seat with his back turned on the world, while he talked with +someone hidden by the curtains. + +Perhaps the fact that she was hidden by the curtains kept Dalton's +thoughts upon her. He felt that her beauty must shine even among the +shadows--he envied Major Prime, who sat next to her. + +The Major was aware that his position was enviable. It was worth much to +watch these two young people, eager in their reunion. "Becky Bannister, +whom I have known all my life," had been Randy's presentation of the +little lady with the shining hair. + +"Grandfather doesn't know that I came, or Aunt Claudia. They felt that +your mother ought to see you first and so did I. Until the last minute. +Then I saw Jefferson driving by--I was down at the gate to wave to you, +Randy--and I just came----" her gay laugh was infectious--the men +laughed with her. + +"You must let me out when we get to Huntersfield, and you mustn't +tell--either of you. We are all to dine together to-night at your house, +Randy, and when you meet me, you are to say--'_Becky_'--just as you did +to-day, as if I had fallen from the skies." + +"Well, you did fall--straight," Randy told her. "Becky, you are too good +to be true; oh, you're too pretty to be true. Isn't she, Major?" + +"It is just because I am--American. Are you glad to get back to us, +Randy?" + +"Glad," he drew a long breath. Nellie, who had wedged herself in tightly +between her master and Jefferson, wriggled and licked his hand. He +looked down at her, tried to say something, broke a little on it, and +ended abruptly, "It's Heaven." + +"And you weren't hurt?" + +"Not a scratch, worse luck." + +She turned to Major Prime and did the wise thing and the thing he liked. +"You were," she said, simply, "but I am not going to be sorry for you, +shall I?" + +"No," he said, "I am not sorry for--myself----" + +For a moment there was silence, then Becky carried the conversation into +lighter currents. "Everybody is here for the Horse Show next week. Your +mother's house is full, and those awful Waterman people have guests." + +"One of them came down with us." + +"The good-looking man who offered us a ride?" + +"Oh, of course if you like that kind of looks, he's the kind of man +you'd like," said Randy, "but coming down he seemed rather out of tune +with the universe." + +"How out of tune?" + +"Well, it was hot and he was hot----" + +"It _is_ hot, Randy, and perhaps he isn't used to it." + +"Are you making excuses for him?" + +"I don't even know him." + +Major Prime interposed. "His man was a corking little chap, never turned +a hair, as cool as a cucumber, with everybody else sizzling." + +They were ascending a hill, and the horse went slowly. Ahead of them was +a buggy without a top. In the buggy were a man and a woman. The woman +had an umbrella over her, and a child in her arms. + +"It's Mary Flippin and her father. See if you can't overtake them, +Jefferson. I want you to see Fiddle Flippin, Randy." + +"Who is Fiddle Flippin?" + +"Mary's little girl. Mary is a war bride. She was in Petersburg teaching +school when the war broke out, and she married a man named Branch. Then +she came home--and she called the baby Fidelity." + +"I hope he was a good husband." + +"Nobody has seen him, he was ordered away at once. But she is very +proud of him. And the baby is a darling. Just beginning to walk and +talk." + +"Stop a minute, Jefferson, while I speak to them." + +Mr. Flippin pulled up his fat horse. He was black-haired, ruddy, and +wide of girth. "Well, well," he said, with a big laugh, "it is cert'n'y +good to see you." + +Mary Flippin was slender and delicate and her eyes were blue. Her hair +was thick and dark. There was Scotch-Irish blood in the Flippins, and +Mary's charm was in that of duskiness of hair and blueness of eye. "Oh, +Randy Paine," she said, with her cheeks flaming, "when did you get +back?" + +"Ten minutes ago. Mary, if you'll hand me that corking kid, I'll kiss +her." + +Fiddle was handed over. She was rosy and round with her mother's blue +eyes. She wore a little buttoned hat of white pique, with strings tied +under her chin. + +"So," said Randy, after a moist kiss, "you are Fiddle-dee-dee?" + +"Ess----" + +"Who gave you that name?" + +"It is her own way of saying Fidelity," Mary explained. + +"Isn't she rather young to say anything?" + +"Oh, Randy, she's a year and a half," Becky protested. "Your mother says +that you talked in your cradle." + +Randy laughed, "Oh, if you listen to Mother----" + +"I'm glad you're in time for the Horse Show," Mr. Flippin interposed, +"I've got a couple of prize hawgs--an' when you see them, you'll say +they ain't anything like them on the other side." + +"Oh, Father----" + +"Well, they ain't. I reckon Virginia's good enough for you to come back +to, ain't it, Mr. Randy----?" + +"It is good enough for me to stay in now that I'm here." + +"So you're back for good?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, we're mighty glad to have you." + +Fiddle Flippin, dancing and doubling up on Randy's knee like a very soft +doll, suddenly held out her arms to her mother. + +As Mary leaned forward to take her, Randy was aware of the change in +her. In the old days Mary had been a gay little thing, with an +impertinent tongue. She was not gay now. She was a Madonna, tender-eyed, +brooding over her child. + +"She has changed a lot," Randy said, as they drove on. + +"Why shouldn't she change?" Becky demanded. + +"Wouldn't any woman change if she had loved a man and had let him go to +France?" + + +IV + +It was still raining hard when the surrey stopped at a high and rusty +iron gate flanked by brick pillars overgrown with Virginia creeper. + +"Becky," said young Paine, "you can't walk up to the house. It's +pouring." + +"I don't see any house," said Major Prime. + +"Well, you never do from the road in this part of the country. We put +our houses on the tops of hills, and have acres to the right of us, and +acres to the left, and acres in front, and acres behind, and you can +never visit your neighbors without going miles, and nobody ever walks +except little Becky Bannister when she runs away." + +"And I am going to run now," said Becky. "Randy, there's a raincoat +under that seat. I'll put it on if you will hand it out to me." + +"You are going to ride up, my dear child. Drive on, Jefferson." + +"Randy, _please_, your mother is waiting. She didn't come down to the +station because she said that if she wept on your shoulder, she would +not do it before the whole world. But she is _waiting_---- And it isn't +fair for me to hold you back a minute." + +He yielded at last reluctantly. "Remember, you are to act as if you had +never met me," she said to Major Prime as she gave him her hand at +parting, "when you see me to-night." + +"Becky," Randy asked, in a sudden panic, "are the boarders to be drawn +up in ranks to welcome me?" + +"No, your mother has given you and Major Prime each two rooms in the +Schoolhouse, and we are to dine out there, in your sitting-room--our +families and the Major. And there won't be a soul to see you until +morning, and then you can show yourself off by inches." + +"Until to-night then," said Randy, and opened the gate for her. + +"Until to-night," she watched them and waved her hand as they drove off. + +"A beautiful child," the Major remarked from the shadow of the back +seat. + +"She's more than beautiful," said Randy, glowing, "oh, you wait till you +really know her, Major." + + +V + +The Schoolhouse at King's Crest had been built years before by one of +the Paines for two sons and their tutor. It was separated from the old +brick mansion by a wide expanse of unmowed lawn, thick now in midsummer +with fluttering poppies. There was a flagged stone walk, and an orchard +at the left, beyond the orchard were rolling fields, and in the distance +one caught a glimpse of the shining river. + +On the lower floor of the Schoolhouse were two ample sitting-rooms with +bedrooms above, one of which was reached by outside stairs, and the +other by an enclosed stairway. Baths had been added when Mrs. Paine had +come as a widow to King's Crest with her small son, and had chosen the +Schoolhouse as a quiet haven. Later, on the death of his grandparents, +Randy had inherited the estate, and he and his mother had moved into the +mansion. But he had kept his rooms in the Schoolhouse, and was glad to +know that he could go back to them. + +Major Prime had the west sitting-room. It was lined with low bookcases, +full of old, old books. There was a fireplace, a winged chair, a broad +couch, a big desk of dark seasoned mahogany, and over the mantel a steel +engraving of Robert E. Lee. The low windows at the back looked out upon +the wooded green of the ascending hill; at the front was a porch which +gave a view of the valley. + +Randolph's arrival had had something of the effect of a triumphal entry. +Jefferson had driven him straight to the Schoolhouse, but on the way +they had encountered old Susie, Jefferson's mother, who cooked, and old +Bob, who acted as butler, and the new maid who waited on the table. +These had followed the surrey as a sort of ecstatic convoy. Not a +boarder was in sight but behind the windows of the big house one was +aware of watching eyes. + +"They are all crazy to meet you," Randy's mother had told him, as they +came into the Major's sitting-room after those first sacred moments when +the doors had been shut against the world, "they are all crazy to meet +you, but you needn't come over to lunch unless you really care to do it. +Jefferson can serve you here." + +"What do you want me to do?" + +"My dear, I'm so proud of you, I'd like to show you to the whole world." + +"But there are so many of us, Mother." + +"There's only one of you----" + +"And we haven't come back to be put on pedestals." + +"You were put on pedestals before you went away." + +"I'll be spoiled if you talk to me like that." + +"I shall talk as I please, Randy. Major Prime, isn't he as handsome as +a--rose?" + +"_Mother_----" + +"Well, you are----" + +"Mother, if you talk like this to the boarders, I'll go back and get +shot up----" + +She clung to him. "Randy, don't say such a thing. He mustn't talk like +that, must he, Major?" + +"He doesn't mean it. Paine, this looks to me like the Promised Land----" + +"I'm glad you like it," said Mrs. Paine, "and now if you don't mind, +I'll run along and kill the fatted calf----" + +She kissed her son, and under a huge umbrella made her way through the +poppies that starred the grass---- + +"_On Flanders field--where poppies blow_"--the Major drew a sudden quick +breath---- He wished there were no poppies at King's Crest. + +"I hate this hero stuff," Randy was saying, "don't you?" + +"I am not so sure that I do. Down deep we'd resent it if we were not +applauded, shouldn't we?" + +Randy laughed. "I believe we should." + +"I fancy that when we've been home for a time, we may feel somewhat +bitter if we find that our pedestals are knocked from under us. Our +people don't worship long. They have too much to think of. They'll put +up some arches, and a few statues and build tribute houses in a lot of +towns, and then they'll go on about their business, and we who have +fought will feel a bit blank." + +Randy laughed, "You haven't any illusions about it, have you?" + +"No, but you and I know that it's all right however it goes." + +Randy, standing very straight, looked out over the valley where the +river showed through the rain like a silver thread. "Well, we didn't do +it for praise, did we?" + +"No, thank God." + +Their eyes were seeing other things than these quiet hills. Things they +wanted to forget. But they did not want to forget the high exaltation +which had sent them over, or the quiet conviction of right which had +helped them to carry on. What the people at home might do or think did +not matter. What mattered was their own adjustment to the things which +were to follow. + +Randy went up-stairs, took off his uniform, bathed and came down in the +garments of peace. + +"Glad to get out of your uniform?" the Major asked. + +"I believe I am. Perhaps if I'd been an officer, I shouldn't." + +"Everybody couldn't be. I've no doubt you deserved it." + +"I could have pulled wires, of course, before I went over, but I +wouldn't." + +From somewhere within the big house came the reverberation of a Japanese +gong. + +Randy rose. "I'm going over to lunch. I'd rather face guns, but Mother +will like it. You can have yours here." + +"Not if I know it," the Major rose, "I'm going to share the fatted +calf." + + +VI + +It was late that night when the Major went to bed. The feast in Randy's +honor had lasted until ten. There had been the shine of candles, and the +laughter of the women, the old Judge's genial humor. Through the windows +had come the fragrance of honeysuckle and of late roses. Becky had sung +for them, standing between two straight white candles. + + "In the beauty of the lilies, Christ was born across the sea, + With the glory in his bosom which transfigures you and me. + As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free + While God is marching on----" + +The last time the Major had heard a woman sing that song had been in a +little French town just after the United States had gone into the war. +She was of his own country, red-haired and in uniform. She had stood on +the steps of a stone house and weary men had clustered about +her--French, English, Scotch, a few Americans. Tired and spent, they had +gazed up at her as if they drank her in. To them she was more than a +singing woman. She was the daughter of a nation of dreamers, _the +daughter of a nation which made its dreams come true_! Behind her stood +a steadfast people, and--God was marching on----! + +He had had his leg then, and after that there had been dreadful +fighting, and sometimes in the midst of it the voice of the singing +woman had come back to him, stiffening him to his task. + +And here, miles away from that war-swept land, another woman sang. And +there was honeysuckle outside, and late roses--and poppies, and there +was Peace. And the world which had not fought would forget. But the men +who had fought would remember. + +He heard Randy's voice, sharp with nerves. "Sing something else, Becky. +We've had enough of war----" + +The Major leaned across the table. "When did you last hear that song, +Paine?" + +"On the other side, a red-haired woman--whose lover had been killed. I +never want to hear it again----" + +"Nor I----" + +It was as if they were alone at the table, seeing the things which they +had left behind. What did these people know who had stayed at home? The +words were sacred--not to be sung; to be whispered--over the graves +of--France. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +STUFFED BIRDS + + +I + +The Country Club was, as Judge Bannister had been the first to declare, +"an excrescence." + +Under the old regime, there had been no need for country clubs. The +houses on the great estates had been thrown open for the county families +and their friends. There had been meat and drink for man and beast. + +The servant problem had, however, in these latter days, put a curb on +generous impulse. There were no more niggers underfoot, and hospitality +was necessarily curtailed. The people who at the time of the August +Horse Show had once packed great hampers with delicious foods, and who +had feasted under the trees amid all the loveliness of mellow-tinted +hills, now ordered by telephone a luncheon of cut-and-dried courses, and +motored down to eat it. After that, they looked at the horses, and with +the feeling upon them of the futility of such shows yawned a bit. In due +season, they held, the horse would be as extinct as the Dodo, and as +mythical as the Centaur. + +The Judge argued hotly for the things which had been. Love of the horse +was bred in the bone of Old Dominion men. He swore by all the gods that +when he had to part with his bays and ride behind gasoline, he would be +ready to die. + +Becky agreed with her grandfather. She adored the old traditions, and +she adored the Judge. She spent two months of every year with him in his +square brick house in Albemarle surrounded by unprofitable acres. The +remaining two months of her vacation were given to her mother's father, +Admiral Meredith, whose fortune had come down to him from whale-hunting +ancestors. The Admiral lived also in a square brick house, but it had no +acres, for it was on the Main Street of Nantucket town, with a Captain's +walk on top, and a spiral staircase piercing its middle. + +The other eight months of the year Becky had spent at school in an old +convent in Georgetown. She was a Protestant and a Presbyterian; the +Nantucket grandfather was a Unitarian of Quaker stock, Judge Bannister +was High Church, and it was his wife's Presbyterianism which had been +handed down to Becky. Religion had therefore nothing to do with her +residence at the school. A great many of the Bannister girls had been +educated at convents, and when a Bannister had done a thing once it was +apt to be done again. + +Becky was nineteen, and her school days were just over. She knew nothing +of men, she knew nothing indeed of life. The world was to her an open +sea, to sail its trackless wastes she had only a cockle-shell of dreams. + +"If anybody," said Judge Bannister, on the first day of the Horse Show, +"thinks I am going to eat dabs of things at the club when I can have +Mandy to cook for me, they think wrong." + +He gave orders, therefore, which belonged to more opulent days, when his +father's estate had swarmed with blacks. There was now in the Judge's +household only Mandy, the cook, and Calvin, her husband. Mandy sat up +half the night to bake a cake, and Calvin killed chickens at dawn, and +dressed them, and pounded the dough for biscuits on a marble slab, and +helped his wife with the mayonnaise. + +When at last the luncheon was packed there was coffee in the thermos +bottle. Prohibition was an assured fact, and the Judge would not break +the laws. The flowing glass must go into the discard with other +picturesque customs of the South. His own estate that had once been sold +by John Randolph to Thomas Jefferson for a bowl of arrack punch----! Old +times, old manners! The Judge drank his coffee with the air of one who +accepts a good thing regretfully. He stood staunchly by the +Administration. If the President had asked the sacrifice of his head, he +would have offered it on the platter of political allegiance. + +So on this August morning, an aristocrat by inheritance, and a democrat +by assumption, he drove his bays proudly. Calvin, in a worn blue coat, +sat beside him with his arms folded. + +Becky was on the back seat with Aunt Claudia. Aunt Claudia was a widow +and wore black. She was small and slight, and the black was made smart +by touches of white crepe. Aunt Claudia had not forgotten that she had +been a belle in Richmond. She was a stately little woman with a firm +conviction of the necessity of maintaining dignified standards of +living. She was in no sense a snob. But she held that women of birth and +breeding must preserve the fastidiousness of their ideals, lest there be +social chaos. + +"There would be no ladies left in the world," she often told Becky, "if +we older women went at the modern pace." + +Becky, in contrast to Aunt Claudia's smartness, showed up rather +ingloriously. She wore the stubbed russet shoes, a not too fresh cotton +frock of pale yellow, and a brown straw sailor. + +"You might at least have stopped to change your shoes," Aunt Claudia +told her, as they left the house behind. + +"I was out with Randy and the dogs. It was heavenly, Aunt Claudia." + +"My dear, if a walk with Randy is heavenly, what will you call Heaven +when you get to it?" + +They drove through the first gate, and Calvin climbed down to open it. +Beyond the gate the road descended gradually through an open pasture, +where sheep grazed on the hillside or lay at rest in the shade. The +bells of the leaders tinkled faintly, the ewes and the lambs were +calling. Beyond the big gate, the highroad was washed with the recent +rains. From the gate to the club was a matter of five miles, and the +bays ate up the distance easily. + +The people on the porch of the Country Club were very gay and gorgeous, +so that Becky in her careless frock and shabby shoes would have been a +pitiful contrast if she had cared in the least what the people on the +porch thought of her. But she did not care. She nodded and smiled to a +friend or two as the Judge stopped for a moment in the crush of motors. + +George Dalton was on the porch. When he saw Becky he leaned forward for +a good look at her. + +"Some girl," he said to Waterman, as the surrey moved on, "the one in +the sailor hat. Who is she?" + +Oscar Waterman was a newcomer in Albemarle. He had bought a thousand +acres, with an idea of grafting on to Southern environment his own +ideas of luxurious living. The county families had not called, but he +was not yet aware of his social isolation. He was rich, and most of the +county families were poor--from his point of view the odds were in his +favor--and it was never hard to get guests. He could always motor up to +Washington and New York, and bring a crowd back with him. His cellars +were well stocked, and his hospitality undiscriminating. + +"I don't know the girl," he told Dalton, "but the old man is Judge +Bannister. He's one of the natives--no money and oodles of pride." + +In calling Judge Bannister a "native," Oscar showed a lack of +proportion. A native, in the sense that he used the word, is a South Sea +Islander, indigenous but negligible. Oscar was fooled, you see, by the +Judge's old-fashioned clothes, and the high surrey, and the horses with +the flowing tails. His ideas of life had to do with motor cars and +mansions, and with everybody very much dressed up. He felt that the only +thing in the world that really counted was money. If you had enough of +it the world was yours! + + +II + +Year after year the Bannisters of Huntersfield had eaten their Horse +Show luncheon under a clump of old oaks beneath which the horses now +stopped. The big trees were dropping golden leaves in the dryness. From +the rise of the hill one looked down on the grandstand and the crowd as +from the seats of an amphitheater. + +Judge Bannister remembered when the women of the crowd had worn hoops +and waterfalls. Aunt Claudia's memory went back to bustles and bonnets. +There were deeper memories, too, than of clothes--of old friends and +young faces--there was always a moment of pensive retrospect when the +Bannisters stopped under the old oak on the hill. + +Randolph Paine, his mother and Major Prime were to join them at +luncheon. Separate plans had been made by the boarders who had packed +themselves into various cars and carriages, and had their own boxes and +baskets. + +"Caroline Paine is always late," the Judge said with some impatience; +"if we don't eat on time, we shall have to hurry. I have never hurried +in my life and I don't want to begin now." + +Claudia Beaufort was accustomed to impatience in men, and she was +inflexible as a hostess. "Well, of course, we couldn't begin without +them, could we?" she asked. "There they come now, Father. William, you'd +better help Major Prime." + +Randy was driving the fat mare, Rosalind. Nellie Custis, Randolph's wiry +hound, loped along with flapping ears in the rear of the low-seated +carriage. Major Prime was on the back seat with Mrs. Paine. + +"My dear Judge," he said, as the old gentleman came to the side of the +carriage, "I can't tell you how honored I am to be included in your +party. This is about the best thing that has happened to me in a long +time." + +"I wanted you to get the old atmosphere. You can't get it at the Country +Club. We Bannisters have lunched up here for sixty years--older than you +are, eh?" + +"Twenty years----" + +"We used to call it the races, but now they tack on the Horse Show. It +was different, of course, when all the old places were owned by the old +families. But they can't change the oaks and the sweep of the hills, and +the mettle of the horses, thank God." + +"I am sorry I was late," said Caroline Paine, as they settled themselves +under the trees, "but I went to town to have my hair waved." + +"I wish you wouldn't, Caroline," Mrs. Beaufort told her, "your hair is +nice enough without it." + +Caroline Paine took off her hat, "I couldn't get it up to look like +this, could I?" + +The Judge surveyed the undulations critically. "Caroline," he said, "you +are too pretty to need it." + +"I want to keep young for Randolph's sake," Mrs. Paine told him, "then +he'll like me better than any other girl." + +"You needn't think you have to get your hair curled to make me love +you," said her tall son; "you are ducky enough as you are." + +Major Prime, delighting in their lack of self-consciousness, made a +diplomatic contribution. "Why quarrel with such a charming coiffure?" + +Mrs. Paine smiled at him, comfortably. "I feel much better," she said; +"they are always trying to hold me back." + +She was a woman of ample proportions and of leisurely habit. Life had of +late hurried her a bit, but she still gave the effect of restful calm. +She was of the same generation as Aunt Claudia, and a widow. But she +wore her widowhood with a difference. She had on to-day a purple hat. +Her hair was white, her dress was white, and her shoes. She was prettier +than Aunt Claudia but she lacked her distinction of manner and of +carriage. + +"They always want to hold me back when I try to be up-to-date," she +repeated. + +Randy threw an acorn at her. "Nobody can hold you back, Mother," he +said, "when you get your mind on a thing. Aunt Claudia, what do you +hear from Truxton?" + +"A letter came this morning," said Mrs. Beaufort, lighting up with the +thought of it. "I hadn't heard for days before that. And I was worried." + +"Truxton hasn't killed himself writing letters since he went over," the +Judge asserted. "Claudia, can't we have lunch?" + +"William is unpacking the hamper now, Father. And I think Truxton has +done very well. It isn't easy for the boys to find time." + +"Randy wrote to me every week." + +"Now, Mother----" + +"Well, you did." + +"But I'm that kind. I have to get things off my mind. Truxton isn't. And +I'll bet when Aunt Claudia does get his letters that they are worth +reading." + +Mrs. Beaufort nodded. "They are lovely letters. I have the last one with +me; would you like to hear it?" + +"Not before lunch, Claudia," the Judge urged. + +"I will read it while the rest of you eat." There were red spots in Mrs. +Beaufort's cheeks. She adored her son. She could not understand her +father's critical attitude. Had she searched for motives, however, she +might have found them in the Judge's jealousy. + +It was while she was reading Truxton's letter that the Flippins came +by--Mr. Flippin and his wife, Mary, and little Fidelity. A slender +mulatto woman followed with a basket. + +The Flippins were one of the "second families." Between them and the +Paines of King's Crest and the Bannisters of Huntersfield stretched a +deep chasm of social prejudice. Three generations of Flippins had been +small farmers on rented lands. They had no coats-of-arms or family +trees. They were never asked to dine with the Paines or Bannisters, but +there had been always an interchange of small hospitalities, and much +neighborliness, and as children Mary Flippin, Randy and Becky and +Truxton had played together and had been great friends. + +So it was now as they stopped to speak to the Judge's party that Mrs. +Beaufort said graciously, "I am reading a letter from Truxton. Would you +like to hear it?" + +Mary, speaking with a sort of tense eagerness, said, "Yes." + +So the Flippins sat down, and Mrs. Beaufort read in her pleasant voice +the letter from France. + +Randy, lying on his back under the old oak, listened. Truxton gave a +joyous diary of the days--little details of the towns through which he +passed, of the houses where he was billeted, jokes of the men, of the +food they ate, of his hope of coming home. + +"He seems very happy," said Mrs. Beaufort, as she finished. + +"He is and he isn't----" + +"You might make yourself a little clearer, Randolph," said the Judge. + +"He is happy because France in summer is a pleasant sort of +Paradise--with the cabbages stuck up on the brown hillsides like +rosettes--and the minnows flashing in the little brooks and the old +mills turning--and he isn't happy--because he is homesick." + +Randy raised himself on his elbow and smiled at his listening +audience--and as he smiled he was aware of a change in Mary Flippin. The +brooding look was gone. She was leaning forward, lips parted--"Then you +think that he is--homesick?" + +"I don't _think_. I know. Why, over there, my bones actually ached for +Virginia." + +The Judge raised his coffee cup. "Virginia, God bless her," he murmured, +and drank it down! + +The Flippins moved on presently--the slender mulatto trailing after +them. + +"If the Flippins don't send that Daisy back to Washington," Mrs. Paine +remarked, "she'll spoil all the negroes on the place." + +Mrs. Beaufort agreed, "I don't know what we are coming to. Did you see +her high heels and tight skirt?" + +"Once upon a time," the Judge declaimed, "black wenches like that wore +red handkerchiefs on their heads and went barefoot. But the world moves, +and some day when we have white servants wished on us, we'll pray to God +to send our black ones back." + +Calvin was passing things expertly. Randy smiled at Becky as he filled +her plate. + +"Hungry?" + +"Ravenous." + +"You don't look it." + +"Don't I?" + +"No. You're not a bread and butter sort of person." + +"What kind am I?" + +"Sugar and spice and everything nice." + +"Did you learn to say such things in France?" + +"Haven't I always said them?" + +"Not in quite the same way. You've grown up, Randy. You seem _years_ +older." + +"Do you like me--older?" + +"Of course." There was warmth in her voice but no coquetry. "What a +silly thing to ask, Randy." + +Calvin, having served the lunch, ate his own particular feast of chicken +backs and necks under the surrey from a pasteboard box cover. Having +thus separated himself as it were from those he served, he was at his +ease. He knew his place and was happy in it. + +Mary Flippin also knew her place. But she was not happy. She sat higher +up on the hill with her child asleep in her arms, and looked down on the +Judge's party. Except for an accident of birth, she might be sitting now +among them. Would she ever sit among them? Would her little daughter, +Fidelity? + + +III + +"We are the only one of the old families who are eating lunch out of a +basket," said Caroline Paine; "next year we shall have to go to the +Country Club with the rest of them." + +"I shall never go to the Country Club," said Judge Bannister, "as long +as there is a nigger to fry chicken for me." + +"We may have to swim with the tide." + +"Don't tell me that you'd rather be up there than here, Caroline." + +"I'd like it for some things," Mrs. Paine admitted frankly; "you should +see the clothes that those Waterman women are wearing." + +"What do you care what they wear. You don't want to be like them, do +you?" + +"I may not care to be like them, but I want to look like them. I got the +pattern of this sweater I am knitting from one of my boarders. Do you +want it, Claudia?" + +Mrs. Beaufort winced at the word "boarders." She hated to think that +Caroline must---- "I never wear sweaters, Caroline. They are not my +style. But I am knitting one for Becky." + +"Is it blue?" Randy asked. "Becky ought always to wear blue, except when +she wears pale yellow. That was a heavenly thing you had on at dinner +the night we arrived, wasn't it, Major?" + +"Everything was heavenly. I felt like one who expecting a barren plain +sees--Paradise." + +It was not flattery and they knew it. They were hospitable souls, and in +a week he had become, as it were, one of them. + +Randy, returning to the subject in hand, asked, "Will you wear the blue +if I come up to-night, Becky?" + +"I will not." Becky was making herself a chaplet of yellow leaves, and +her bronze hair caught the light. "I will not. I shall probably put on +my old white if I dress for dinner." + +"Of course you'll dress," said Mrs. Beaufort; "there are certain things +which we must always demand of ourselves----" + +Caroline Paine agreed. "That's what I tell Randy when he says he +doesn't want to finish his law course. His father was a lawyer and his +grandfather. He owes it to them to live up to their standards." + +Randy was again flat on his back with his hands under his head. "If I +stay at the University, it means no money for either of us except what +you earn, Mother." + +The war had taken its toll of Caroline Paine. Things had not been easy +since her son had left her. They would not be easy now. "I know," she +said, "but you wouldn't want your father to be ashamed of you." + +Randy sat up. "It isn't that--but I ought to make some money----" + +The word was a challenge to the Judge. "Don't run with the mob, my boy. +The world is money-mad." + +"I'm not money-mad," said Randy; "I know what I should like to do if my +life was my own. But it isn't. And I'm not going to have Mother twist +and turn as she has twisted and turned for the last fifteen years in +order to get me educated up to the family standard." + +"If you don't mind I shouldn't." Caroline Paine was setting her feet to +a rocky path, but she did not falter. "You shouldn't mind if I don't." + +Becky laid down the chaplet of leaves. She knew some of the things +Caroline Paine had sacrificed and she was thrilled by them. "Randy," she +admonished, with youthful severity, "it would be a shame to disappoint +your mother." + +Randolph flushed beneath his dark skin. The Paines had an Indian strain +in them--Pocahontas was responsible for it, or some of the other +princesses who had mixed red blood with blue in the days when Virginia +belonged to the King. Randy showed signs of it in his square-set jaw, +the high lift of his head, his long easy stride, the straightness of his +black hair. He showed it, too, in a certain stoical impassiveness which +might have been taken for indifference. His world was, for the moment, +against him; he would attempt no argument. + +"I am afraid this doesn't interest Major Prime," he said. + +"It interests me very much," said the Major. "It is only another case of +the fighting man's adjustment to life after his return. We all have to +face it in one way or another." His eyes went out over the hills. They +were gray eyes, deep set, and, at this moment, kindly. They could blaze, +however, in stress of fighting, like bits of steel. "We all have to face +it in one way or another. And the future of America depends largely on +our seeing things straight." + +"Well, there's only one way for Randy to face it," said Caroline Paine, +firmly, "and that is to do as his fathers did before him." + +"If I do," Randy flared, "it will be three years before I can make a +living, and I'll be twenty-five." + +Becky put on the chaplet of leaves. It fitted like a cap. She might have +been a dryad, escaped for a moment from the old oak. "Three years isn't +long." + +"Suppose I should want to marry----" + +"Oh, you--Randy----" + +"But why shouldn't I?" + +"I don't want you to get married," she told him; "when I come down we +couldn't have our nice times together. You'd always be thinking about +your wife." + + +IV + +From the porch of the Country Club, George Dalton had seen the Judge's +party at luncheon. According to George's lexicon no one who could afford +to go to the club would eat out of a basket. He rather blushed for Becky +that she must sit there in the sight of everybody and share a feast with +a shabby old Judge, a lean and lank stripling with straight hair, a lame +duck of an officer, and two middle-aged women, who made spots of black +and purple on the landscape. Like Oscar, George's ideas of life had to +do largely with motor cars and yachts, and estates on Long Island, +palaces at Newport and Len ox and Palm Beach. During the war he had +served rather comfortably in a becoming uniform in the Quartermaster's +Department in Washington. Now that the war was over, he regretted the +becomings of the uniform. He felt to-day, however, that there were +compensations in his hunting pink. He was slightly bronzed and had blue +eyes. He was extremely popular with the women of the Waterman set, but +was held to be the especial property of Madge MacVeigh. + +Madge had observed his interest in the party on the hill. + +"George," she said, "what are you looking at?" + +"I am looking at those people who are picnicking. They probably have +ants in the salad and spiders in their coffee." + +"They are getting more out of it than you and I," said Madge. + +"How getting more?" + +"We are tired of things, Georgie-Porgie." + +"Speak for yourself, Madge." + +"I am speaking for both of us. You are tired of me, for example." + +"My dear girl, I am not." + +"You are. And I am tired of you. It's not your fault, and it's not mine. +It is the fault of any house-party. People see too much of each other. +I am glad I am going away to-morrow, and you'll be glad. And when we +have been separated a month, you will rush up to see me, and say you +couldn't live without me." + +She dissected him coolly. Madge had a modern way of looking at things. +She was not in the least sentimental. But she had big moments of +feeling. It was because of this deep current which swept her away now +and then from the shallows that she held Dalton's interest. He never +knew in what mood he should find her, and it added spice to their +friendship. + +"I didn't know you were going to-morrow." + +"Neither did I till this morning, but I am bored to death, Georgie." + +She did not look it. She was long-limbed, slender, with heavy +burned-gold hair, a skin which was pale gold after a July by the sea. +The mauve of her dress and hat emphasized the gold of hair and skin. +Some one had said that Madge MacVeigh at the end of a summer gave the +effect of a statue cast in new bronze. Dalton in the early days of their +friendship had called her his "Golden Girl." The name had stuck to her. +She had laughed at it but had liked it. "I should hate it," she had +said, "if I were rich. Perhaps some day some millionaire will turn me +into gold and make it true." + +"Just because you are bored to death," Dalton told her, "is no reason +why you should accuse me of it." + +"It isn't accusation. It's condolence. I am sorry for both of us, +George, that we can't sit there under the trees and eat out of a basket +and have spiders and ants in things and not mind it. Here we are in the +land of Smithfield hams and spoon-bread and we ate canned lobster for +lunch, and alligator pear salad." + +"Baked ham and spoon-bread--for our sins?" + +"It is because you and I have missed the baked ham and spoon-bread +atmosphere, that we are bored to death, Georgie. Everything in our lives +is the same wherever we go. When we are in Virginia we ought to do as +the Virginians do, and instead Oscar Waterman brings a little old New +York with him. It's Rome for the Romans, Georgie, lobsters in New +England, avocados in Los Angeles, hog and hominy here." + +There were others listening now, and she was aware of her amused +audience. + +"If you don't like my little old New York," Waterman said, "I'll change +it." + +"No, I am going back to the real thing, Oscar. To my sky-scrapers and +subways. You can't give us those down here--not yet. Perhaps some day +there will be a system of camouflage by which no matter where we are--in +desert or mountain, we can open our windows to the Woolworth Building +on the skyline or the Metropolitan Tower, or to Diana shooting at the +stars,--and have some little cars in tunnels to run us around your +estate." + +"By Jove, Jefferson nearly did it," said Waterman; "you should see the +subterranean passages at Monticello for the servants, so that the guests +could look over the grounds without a woolly head in sight." + +"Great old boob, Jefferson," said Waterman's wife, Flora. + +"No," Madge's eyes went out over the hills to where Monticello brooded +over great memories, "he was not a boob. He was so big that little +people like us can't focus him, Flora." + +She came down from her perch. "I adore great men," she said; "when I go +back, I shall make a pilgrimage to Oyster Bay. I wonder how many of us +who weep over Great heart's grave would have voted for him if he had +lived. In a sense we crucified him." + +"Madge is serious," said Flora Waterman, "now what do you think of +that?" + +"I have to be serious sometimes, Flora, to balance the rest of you. You +can be as gay as you please when I am gone, and if you perish, you +perish." + +George walked beside her as the party moved towards the grandstand. +"I've half a mind to go to New York with you, Madge. I came down on your +account." + +"It's because you followed me that I'm tired of you, Georgie. If you go, +I'll stay." + +She was smiling as she said it. But he did not smile. "Just as you wish, +of course. But you mustn't expect me to come running when you crook your +finger." + +"I never expect things, but you'll come." + +Perhaps she would not have been so sure if she could have looked into +his mind. The day that Becky had ridden away, hidden by the flaps of the +old surrey, the spark of his somewhat fickle interest had been lighted, +and the glimpse that he had had of her this morning had fanned the spark +into a flame. + +"Did you say the old man's name is Bannister?" he asked Oscar as the +Judge's party passed them later on their way to their seats. + +"Yes. Judge Bannister. I tried to buy his place before I decided on +Hamilton Hill. But he wouldn't sell. He said he wouldn't have any place +for his stuffed birds." + +"Stuffed birds?" + +"His hobby is the game birds of Virginia. He has a whole room of them. I +offered him a good price, but I suppose he'd rather starve than take +it." + +The Judge's box was just above Oscar Waterman's. Becky, looking up, saw +Dalton's eyes upon her. + +"It's the man who came with you on the train," she told Randy. + +"What's he wearing a pink coat for?" Randy demanded. "He isn't riding." + +"He probably knows that he looks well in it." + +"That isn't a reason." + +Becky took another look. "He has a head like the bust of Apollo in our +study hall." + +"I'd hate to have a head like that." + +"Well, you haven't," she told him; "you may hug that thought to yourself +if it is any consolation, Randy." + + +V + +Caroline Paine's boarders sat high up on the grandstand. If the boarders +seem in this book to be spoken of collectively, like the Chorus in a +Greek play, or the sisters and aunts and cousins in "Pinafore," it is +not because they are not individually interesting. It is because, _en +Massey_ only, have they any meaning in this history. + +Now as they sat on the grandstand, they discerned Mrs. Paine in the +Judge's box. They waved at her, and they waved at Randy, they waved also +at Major Prime. They demanded recognition--some of the more enthusiastic +detached themselves finally from the main group and came down to visit +Caroline. The overflow straggled along the steps to the edge of the +Waterman box. One genial gentleman was forced finally to sit on the +rail, so that his elbow stuck straight into the middle of the back of +George's huntsman's pink. + +George moved impatiently. "Can't you find any other place to sit?" + +The genial gentleman beamed on him. "I have a seat over there. But we +came down to see Mrs. Paine. She is in Judge Bannister's box and we +board with her--at King's Crest. And say, she's a corker!" + +George, surveying Becky with increasing interest, decided that she was a +bit above her surroundings. She sat as it were with--Publicans. George +may not have used the Scriptural phrase, but he had the feeling. He was +Pharisaic ally thankful that he was not as that conglomerate group in +the Bannister box. A cheap crowd was his estimate. It would be rather +nice to give the little girl a good time! + +Filled, therefore, with a high sense of his philanthropic purpose, he +planned a meeting. With his blue eyes on the flying horses, with his +staccato voice making quick comments, he had Becky in the back of his +mind. He found a moment, when the crowd went mad as the county favorite +came in, to write a line on the back of an envelope, and hand it to +Kemp, who hovered in the background, giving him quiet instructions. + +"Yes, sir," said Kemp guardedly, and stood at attention until the races +were over, and the crowd began to move, and then he handed the note to +Judge Bannister. + +The Judge put on his glasses and read it. "Where is he?" he asked Kemp. + +"In the other box, sir. The one above." + +"Tell him to come down." + +"Yes, sir, thank you, sir." + +The Judge was as pleased as Punch. "That man up there in Waterman's box +has heard of my collection," he explained to his party. "He wants me to +settle a point about the Virginia partridge." + +"Which man?" Randy's tone was ominous. + +Dalton's arrival saved the Judge an answer. In his hunting pink, with +his Apollo head, Dalton was upon them. The Judge, passing him around to +the members of his party, came at last to Becky. + +"My granddaughter, Becky Bannister." + +With George's sparkling gaze bent full upon her, Becky blushed. + +Randy saw the blush. "Oh, Lord," he said, under his breath, and stuck +his hands in his pockets. + +"I've always called it a quail," Dalton was saying. + +"You would if you come from the North. To be exact, it isn't either, +it's an American Bob-white. I'd be glad to have you come up and look at +my collection. There is every kind of bird that has been shot in +Virginia fields or Virginia waters. I've got a Trumpeter Swan. The last +one was seen in the Chesapeake in sixty-nine. Mine was killed and +stuffed in the forties. He is in a perfect state of preservation, and in +the original glass case." + +"I'd like to come," George told him. "Could I--to-night? I don't know +just how long I shall be staying down." + +"Any time--any time. To-night, of course. There's nothing I like better +than to talk about my birds, unless it is to eat them. Isn't that so, +Claudia?" + +"Yes, Father." Mrs. Beaufort was studying Dalton closely. His manner was +perfect. It was, indeed, she decided, too perfect. "He is thinking too +much of the way he does it." The one sin in Aunt Claudia's mind was +social self-consciousness. People who thought all of the time about +manners hadn't been brought up to them. They must have them without +thinking. George was not, she decided, a gentleman in the Old Dominion +sense. Dalton would have been amazed could he have looked into Aunt +Claudia's mind and have seen himself a--Publican. + +"Father," she said, after Dalton had left them, "did I hear you invite +him to dinner?" + +"Yes, my dear, but he could not come----" + +"I'm glad he couldn't." + +"Why?" + +"I'm not sure that he's--our kind----" + +"Nonsense, he's a very fine fellow." + +"How do you know?" + +"Well, I know this," testily, "that I am not to be instructed as to the +sort of person I can ask to my house." + +"Oh, Father, I didn't mean that. Of course you can do as you please." + +"Of course I shall, Claudia." + +"I think he is charming," said Mrs. Paine. "He has lovely eyes." + +"Hasn't he?" said little Becky. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE WOLF IN THE FOREST + + +I + +The Bird Room at Judge Bannister's was back of the library. It was a big +room lined with glass cases. There hung about it always the faint odor +of preservatives. The Trumpeter Swan had a case to himself over the +mantel. He had been rather stiffly posed on a bed of artificial moss, +but nothing could spoil the beauty of him--the white of his plumage, the +elegance of his lines. He was one of a dying race--the descendants of +the men who had once killed for food had killed later to gratify the +vanity of women who must have swans down to set off their beauty, puffs +to powder their noses. No more did great flocks wing an exalted flight, +high in the heavens, or rest like a blanket of snow on river banks. The +old kings were dead--the glassy eyes of the Trumpeter looked out upon a +world which knew his kind no more. + +In the other cases were the little birds and big ones--ducks, swimming +on crystal pools, canvas-backs and redheads, mallards and teal; +Bob-whites, single and in coveys; sandpipers, tip-ups and peeps, those +little ghosts of the seashore, shadows on the sand; there were soar and +other rails, robins and blackbirds, larks and sparrows, wild turkeys and +wild geese, all the toll which the hunter takes from field and stream +and forest. + +It was in a sense a tragic room, but it had never seemed that to Becky. +She came of a race of men who had hunted from instinct but with a sense +of honor. The Judge and those of his kind hated wanton killing. Their +guns would never have swept away the feathered tribes of tree and sky. +It was the trappers and the pot-hunters who had done that. There had +motored once to the Judge's mansion a man and his wife who had raged at +the brutes who hunted for sport. They had worn fur coats and there had +been a bird's breast on the woman's hat. + +The Judge, holding on to his temper, had exploded finally. "If you were +consistent," he had flung at them, "you would not be decked in the +bodies of birds and beasts." + +Becky loved the birds in the glass cases, the peeps and the tip-ups, the +old owl who did not belong among the game birds, but who, with the great +eagle with the outstretched wings, had been admitted because they had +been shot within the environs of the estate. She loved the little nests +of tinted eggs, the ducks on the crystal pools. + +But most of all she loved the Trumpeter. Years ago the Judge had told +her of the wild swans who flew so high that no eye could see them. Yet +the sound of their trumpets might be heard. It was like the fairy tale +of "The Seven Brothers," who were princes, and who were turned into +swans and wore gold crowns on their heads. She was prepared to believe +anything of the Trumpeter. She had often tiptoed down in the night, +expecting to see his case empty, and to hear his trumpet sounding high +up near the moon. + +There was a moon to-night. Dinner was always late at Huntersfield. In +the old days three o'clock had been the fashionable hour for dining in +the county, with a hot supper at eight. Aunt Claudia, keeping up with +the times, had decided that instead of dining and supping, they must +lunch and dine. The Judge had agreed, stipulating that there should be +no change in the evening hour. "Serve it in courses, if you like, and +call it dinner. But don't have it before candle-light." + +So the moon was up when Becky came down in her blue dress. She had not +expected to wear the blue. In spite of the fact that Randy and his +mother and Major Prime had come back with them for dinner, she had +planned to wear her old white, which had been washed and laid out on the +bed by Mandy. But the blue was more becoming, and the man with the +Apollo head had eyes to see. + +She came into the Bird Room with a candle in her hand. There was a lamp +high up, but she could not reach it, so she always carried a candle. She +set it down on the case where the Bob-whites were cuddled in brown +groups. She whistled a note, and listened to catch the answer. It had +been a trick of hers as a child, and she had heard them whistle in +response. She had been so sure that she heard them--a far-off silvery +call---- + +Well, why not? Might not their little souls be fluttering close? "You +darlings," she said aloud. + +Randy, arriving at that moment on the threshold, heard her. "You are +playing the old game," he said. + +"Oh, yes," she caught her breath, "do you remember?" + +He came into the room. "I remembered a thousand times when I was in +France. I thought of this room and of the Trumpeter Swan, and of how you +and I used to listen on still nights and think we heard him. There was +one night after an awful day--with a moon like this over the +battlefield, and across the moon came a black, thin streak--and a bugle +sounded--far away. I was half asleep, and I said, 'Becky, there's the +swan,' and the fellow next to me poked his elbow in my ribs, and said, +'You're dreaming.' But I wasn't--quite, for the thin black streak was a +Zeppelin----" + +She came up close to him and laid her hand on his arm. He towered above +her. "Randy," she asked, "was the war very dreadful?" + +"Yes," he said, "it was. More dreadful than you people at home can ever +grasp. But I want you to know this, Becky, that there isn't one of us +who wouldn't go through it again in the same cause." + +There was no swagger in his statement, just simple earnestness. The room +was very still for a moment. + +Then Becky said, "Well, it's awfully nice to have you home again," and +Randy, looking down at the little hand on his arm, had to hold on to +himself not to put his own over it. + +But she was too dear and precious----! So he just said, gently, "And I'm +glad to be at home, my dear," and they walked to the window together, +and stood looking out at the moon. Behind them the old eagle watched +with outstretched wings, the great free bird which we stamp on American +silver, backed with "In God We Trust." It is not a bad combination, and +things in this country might, perhaps, have been less chaotic if we had +taught newcomers to link love of God with love of liberty. + +"Mr. Dalton is coming to see the birds," said Becky, and in a moment she +had spoiled everything for Randy. + +"Is that why you put on your blue dress?" + +She was honest. "I am not sure. Perhaps." + +"Yet you thought the old white one was good enough for me." + +"Well, don't you like me just as well in my old white as in this?" + +"Yes, of course." + +"Well, then," Becky was triumphant, "why should I bother to change for +you, Randy, when you like me just as well in anything?" + +The argument was unanswerable, but Randy was not satisfied. "It is a +mistake," he said, "not to be as nice to old friends as new ones." + +"But I am nice. You said so yourself this afternoon. That I was sugar +and spice and everything--nice----" + +He laughed. "You are, of course. And I didn't come all the way from +France to quarrel with you----" + +"We've always quarreled, Randy." + +"I wonder why?" + +"Sister Loretta says that people only argue when they like each other. +Otherwise they wouldn't want to convince." + +"Do you quarrel with Sister Loretta?" + +"Of course not. Nuns don't. But she writes notes when she doesn't agree +with me--little sermons--and pins them on my pillow. She's a great +dear. She hates to have me leave the school. She has the feeling that +the world is a dark forest, and that I am Red Riding Hood, and that the +Wolf will get me." + + +II + +Dalton found them all at dinner when he reached Huntersfield. He was not +in the least prepared for the scene which met his eyes--shining +mahogany, old silver and Sheffield, tall white candles, Calvin in a +snowy jacket, Mrs. Beaufort and Mrs. Paine in low-necked gowns, the +Judge and Randy in dinner coats somewhat the worse for wear, Becky in +thin, delicate blue, with a string of pearls which seemed to George an +excellent imitation of the real thing. + +He had thought that the trail of Mrs. Paine's boarding-house might be +over it all. He had known boarding-houses as a boy, before his father +made his money. There had been basement dining-rooms, catsup bottles, +and people passing everything to everybody else! + +"I'm afraid I'm early," he said in his quick voice. + +"Not a bit. Calvin, place a chair for Mr. Dalton." + +There were fruit and nuts and raisins in a great silver Pegeen, with fat +cupids making love among garlands. There was coffee in Severus cups. + +Back among the shadows twinkled a priceless mirror; shutting off +Calvin's serving table was a painted screen worth its weight in gold. It +was a far cry from the catsup bottles and squalid service of George's +early days. The Bannisters of Huntersfield wore their poverty like a +plume! + +The Judge carried Dalton off presently to the Bird Boom. George went +with reluctance. This was not what he had come for. Becky, slim and +small, with her hair peaked up to a topknot, Becky in pale blue, Becky +as fair as her string of imitation pearls, Becky in the golden haze of +the softly illumined room, Becky, Becky Bannister--the name chimed in +his ears. + +Dalton had had some difficulty in getting away from Hamilton Hill. + +"It's my last night," Madge had said; "shall we go out in the garden and +watch the moon rise?" + +"Sorry," George had told her, "but I've promised Flora to take a fourth +hand at bridge." + +"And after that?" asked Madge softly. + +"What do you mean?" + +"Who is the new--little girl?" + +It was useless to pretend. "She's a beauty, rather, isn't she?" + +"Oh, Georgie-Porgie, I wish you wouldn't." + +"Wouldn't what?" + +"Kiss the girls--and make them--cry----" + +"You've never cried----" + +She laughed at that. "If I haven't it is because I know that afterwards +you always--run away." + +He admitted it. "One can't marry them all." + +"I wonder if you are ever serious," she told him, her chin in her hand. + +"I am always serious. That's what makes it--interesting----" + +"But the poor little--hearts?" + +"Some one has to teach, them," said George, "that it's a pretty +game----" + +"Will it be always a game--to you--Georgie?" + +"Who knows?" he said. "So far I've held trumps----" + +"Your conceit is colossal, but somehow you seem to get away with it." +She smiled and stood up. "I'm going to bed early. I have been losing my +beauty sleep lately, Georgie." + +He chose to be gallant. "You are not losing your beauty, if that's what +you mean." + +Her dinner gown was of the same shade of mauve that she had worn in the +afternoon. But it was of a material so sheer that the gold of her skin +seemed to shine through. + +"Good-night, Golden Girl," said Dalton, and kissed the tips of her +fingers as she stood on the stairs. Then he went off to join the others. + +Madge did not go to bed. She went out alone and watched the moon rise. +Oscar Waterman's house was on a hill which gave a view of the whole +valley. Gradually under the moon the houses of Charlottesville showed +the outlines of the University, and far beyond the shadowy sweep of the +Blue Ridge. What a world it had been in the old days--great men had +ridden over these red roads in swaying carriages, Jefferson, Lafayette, +Washington himself. + +If she could only meet men like that. Men to whom life was more than a +game--a carnival. From the stone bench where she sat she had a view +through the long French windows of the three tables of bridge--there +were slender, restless girls, eager, elegant youths. "Perhaps they are +no worse than those who lived here before them," Madge's sense of +justice told her. "But isn't there something better?" + +From her window later, she saw Dalton's car flash out into the road. The +light wound down and down, and appeared at last upon the highway. It was +not the first time that George had played the game with another girl. +But he had always come back to her. She had often wondered why she let +him come. "Why do I let him?" she asked the moon. + + +III + +It really was a great moon. It shone through the windows of the Bird +Room at Huntersfield, wooing George out into the fragrant night. He +could hear voices on the lawn--young Paine's laugh--Becky's. Once when +he looked he saw them on the ridge, silhouetted against the golden sky. +They were dancing, and Randy's clear whistle, piping a modern tune, came +up to him, tantalizing him. + +But the Judge held him. It took him nearly an hour to get through with +the Bob-whites and the sandpipers, the wild turkeys, the ducks and the +wild geese. And long before that time George was bored to extinction. He +had little imagination. To him the Trumpeter was just a stuffed old +bird. He could not picture him as blowing his trumpet beside the moon, +or wearing a golden crown as in "The Seven Brothers." He had never heard +of "The Seven Brothers," and nobody in the world wore crowns except +kings. As for the old eagle, it is doubtful whether George had ever felt +the symbolism of his presence on a silver coin, or that he had ever +linked him in his heart with God. + +Then, suddenly, the whole world changed. Becky appeared on the +threshold. + +"Grandfather," she said, "Aunt Claudia says there is lemonade on the +lawn." + +"In a moment, my dear." + +George rose hastily. "Don't let me keep you, Judge----" + +Becky advanced into the room. "Aren't the birds wonderful?" + +"They are," said George, seeing them wonderful for the first time. + +"I always feel," she said, "as if some time they will flap their wings +and fly away--on a night like this--the swans going first, and then the +ducks and geese, and last of all the little birds, trailing across the +moon----" Her hands fluttered to show them trailing. Becky used her +hands a great deal when she talked. Aunt Claudia deplored it as +indicating too little repose. The nuns, she felt, should have corrected +the habit. But the nuns had loved Becky's descriptive hands, poking, +emphasizing, and had let her alone. + +The three of them, the Judge and Becky and Dalton, went out together. +The little group which sat in the wide moonlighted space in front of the +house was dwarfed by the great trees which hung in masses of black +against the brilliant night. The white dresses of the women seemed +touched with silver. + +The lemonade was delicious, and Aunt Claudia forced herself to be +gracious. Caroline Paine was gracious without an effort. She liked +Dalton. Not in the same way, perhaps, that she liked Major Prime, but +he was undoubtedly handsome, and of a world which wore lovely clothes +and did not have to count its pennies. + +Major Prime had little to say. He was content to sit there in the +fragrant night and listen to the rest. A year ago he had been jolted +over rough roads in an ambulance. There had been a moon and men +groaning. There had seemed to him something sinister about that white +night with its spectral shadows, and with the trenches of the enemy +wriggling like great serpents underground. The trail of the serpent was +still over the world. He had been caught but not killed. There was still +poison in his fangs! + +He spoke sharply, therefore, when Dalton said, "It was a great adventure +for a lot of fellows who went over----" + +"Don't," said the Major, and sat up. "Does it matter what took them? +_The thing that matters is how they came back_----" + +"What do you mean?" + +"A thousand reasons took them over. Some of them went because they had +to, some of them because they wanted to. Some of them dramatized +themselves as heroes and hoped for an opportunity to demonstrate their +courage. Some of them were scared stiff, but went because of their +consciences, some of them wanted to fight and some of them didn't, but +whatever the reason, _they went_. And now they are back, and it is much +more important to know what they think now about war than what they +thought about it when they were enlisted or drafted. If their baptism of +fire has made them hate cruelty and injustice, if it has opened their +eyes to the dangers of a dreaming idealism which refuses to see evil +until evil has had its way, if it has made them swear to purge America +of the things which has made Germany the slimy crawling enemy of the +universe, if they have come back feeling that God is in His Heaven but +that things can't be right with the world until we come to think in +terms of personal as well as of national righteousness--if they have +come back thus illumined, then we can concede to them their great +adventure. But if they have come back to forget that democracy is on +trial, that we have talked of it to other nations and do not know it +ourselves, if they have come back to let injustice or ignorance +rule--then they had better have died on the fields of France----" + +He stopped suddenly amid a startled silence. Not a sound from any of +them. + +"I beg your pardon," he laughed a bit awkwardly, "I didn't mean to +preach a sermon." + +"Don't spoil it, _please_," Aunt Claudia begged brokenly; "I wish more +men would speak out." + +"May I say this, then, before I stop? The future of our country is in +the hands of the men who fought in France. On them must descend the +mantles of our great men, Washington, Lincoln, Roosevelt--we must walk +with these spirits if we love America----" + +"Do you wonder," Randy said, under his breath to Becky, "that his men +fought, and that they died for him?" + +She found her little handkerchief and wiped her eyes. "He's +a--perfect--darling," she whispered, and could say no more. + +Dalton was for the time eclipsed. He knew it and was not at ease. He was +glad when Mrs. Paine stood up. "I am sorry to tear myself away. But I +must. I can't be sure that Susie has made up the morning rolls. There's +a camp-meeting at Jessica, and she's lost the little mind that she +usually puts on her cooking." + +Randy and the Major went with her in the low carriage, with Rosalind +making good time towards the home stable, and with Nellie Custis +following with flapping ears. + +Dalton stayed on. The Judge urged him. "It's too lovely to go in," he +said; "what's your hurry?" + +Aunt Claudia, who was inexpressibly weary, felt that her father was +exceeding the bounds of necessary hospitality. She felt, too, that the +length of Dalton's first call was inexcusable. But she did not go to +bed. As long as Becky was there, she should stay to chaperon her. With a +sense of martyrdom upon her, Mrs. Beaufort sat stiffly in her chair. + +The Judge was talkative and brilliant, glad of a new and apparently +attentive listener. Becky had little to say. She sat with her small feet +set primly on the ground. Her hands were folded in her lap. Dalton was +used to girls who lounged or who hung fatuously on his words, as if they +had set themselves to please him. + +But Becky had no arts. She was frank and unaffected, and apparently not +unconscious of Dalton's charms. The whole thing was, he felt, going to +be rather stimulating. + +When at last he left them, he asked the Judge if he might come again. +"I'd like to look at those birds by daylight." + +Becky, giving him her hand, hoped that he might come. She had been all +the evening in a sort of waking dream. Even when Dalton had been silent, +she had been intensely aware of his presence, and when he had talked, he +had seemed to speak to her alone, although his words were for others. + +"I saw you dancing," he said, before he dropped her hand. + +"Oh, did you?" + +"Yes." + +Back of the house the dogs barked. + +"Will you dance some time with me?" + +"Oh, could I?" + +"Why not?" + +A moment later he was gone. The light of his motor flashed down the +hills like a falling star. + +"I wonder what made the dogs bark," the Judge said as they went in. + +"They probably thought it was morning," was Mrs. Beaufort's retort, as +she preceded Becky up the stairs. + + +IV + +The dogs had barked because Randy after a quick drive home had walked +back to Huntersfield. + +"Look here," he burst out as he and the Major had stood on the steps of +the Schoolhouse, "do you like him?" + +"Who? Dalton?" + +"Yes." + +"He's not a man's man," the Major said, "and he doesn't care in the +least what you and I think of him." + +"Doesn't he?" + +"No, and he doesn't care for--stuffed birds--and he doesn't care for the +Judge, and he doesn't care for Mrs. Beaufort----" + +"Oh, you needn't rub it in. I know what he's after." + +"Do you?" + +"Yes----" + +The Major whistled softly a lilting tune. He had been called "The +Whistling Major" by his men and they had liked his clear piping. + +He stopped abruptly. "Well, you can't build fences around lovely little +ladies----" + +"I wish I could. I'd like to shut her up in a tower----" + +They left it there. It was really not a thing to be talked about. They +both knew it, and stopped in time. + +Randy, climbing the outside stairs, presently, to his bedroom, turned at +the upper landing to survey the scene spread out before him. The hills +were steeped in silence. The world was black and gold--the fragrance of +the honeysuckle came up from the hedge below. On such a night as this +one could not sleep. He felt himself restless, emotionally keyed up. He +descended the stairs. Then, suddenly, he found himself taking the trail +back towards Huntersfield. + +He walked easily, following the path which led across the hills. The +distance was not great, and he had often walked it. He loved a night +like this. As he came to a stretch of woodland, he went under the trees +with the thrill of one who enters an enchanted forest. + +An owl hooted overhead. A whip-poor-will in a distant swamp sounded his +plaintive call. + +Randy could not have analyzed the instinct which sent him back to Becky. +It was not in the least to spy upon her, nor upon Dalton. He only knew +that he could not sleep, that something drew him on and on, as Romeo was +drawn perchance to Capulet's orchard. + +He came out from under the trees to other hills. He was still on his own +land. These acres had belonged to his father, his grandfather, his +great-grandfather, and back of that to a certain gallant gentleman who +had come to Virginia with grants from the King. There had been, too, a +great chief, whose blood was in his veins, and who had roamed through +this land before Europe knew it. Powhatan was a rare old name to link +with one's own, and Randy had a Virginian's pride in his savage strain. + +So, as he went along, he saw canoes upon the shining river. He saw tall +forms with feathers blowing. He saw fires on the heights. + +The hill in front of him dipped to a little stream. He and Becky had +once waded in that stream together. How white her feet had been on the +brown stones. His life, as he thought of it, was bound up in memories of +Becky. She had come down from school for blissful week-ends and +holidays, and she and Randy had tramped over the hills and through the +pine woods, finding wild-flowers in the spring, arbutus, flushing to +beauty in its hidden bed, blood-root, hepatica, wind-flowers, violets in +a purple glory; finding in the summer wild roses, dewberries, +blackberries, bees and butterflies, the cool shade of the little groves, +the shine and shimmer of the streams; finding in the fall a golden +stillness and the redness of Virginia Creeper. They had ridden on +horseback over the clay roads, they had roamed the stubble with a pack +of wiry hounds at their heels, they had gathered Christmas greens, they +had sung carols, they had watched the Old Year out and the New Year in, +and their souls had been knit in a comradeship which had been a very +fine thing indeed for a boy like Randy and a girl like Becky. + +There had been, too, about their friendship a rather engaging +seriousness. They had talked a great deal of futures. They had dreamed +together very great dreams. Their dreams had, of course, changed from +time to time. There had been that dream of Becky's when she first went +to the convent, that she wanted some day to be a nun like Sister +Loretto. The fact that it would involve a change of faith was thrashed +over flamingly by Randy. "It is all very well for an old woman, Becky. +But you'd hate it." + +Becky had been sure that she would not hate it. "You don't know how +lovely she looks in the chapel." + +"Well, there are other ways to look lovely." + +"But it would be nice to be--good." + +"You are good enough." + +"I am not really, Randy. Sister Loretto says her prayers all day----" + +"How often do you say yours?" + +"Oh, at night. And in the mornings--sometimes----" + +"That's enough for anybody. If you say them hard enough once, what more +can the Lord ask?" + +He had been a rather fierce figure as he had flung his questions, but he +had not swerved her in the least from her thought of herself as a novice +in a white veil, and later as a full-fledged sister, with beads and a +black head-dress. + +This dream had, in time, been supplanted by one imposed upon her by the +ambitions of a much-admired classmate. + +"Maude and I are going to be doctors," Becky had announced as she and +Randy had walked over the fields with the hounds at their heels. "It's a +great opportunity for women, Randy, and we shall study in Philadelphia." + +"Shall you like cutting people up?" he had demanded brutally. + +She had shuddered. "I shan't have to cut them up very much, shall I?" + +"You'll have to cut them up a lot. All doctors do, and sometimes they +are dead." + +She had argued a bit shakily after that, and that night she had slept +badly. The next morning they had gone over it again. "You fainted when +the kitten's paw was crushed in the door." + +"It was dreadful----" + +"And you cried when I cut my foot with the hatchet and we were out in +the woods. And if you are going to be a doctor you'll have to look at +people who are crushed and cut----" + +"Oh, please, Randy----" + +Three days of such intensive argument had settled it. Becky decided that +it was, after all, better to be an authoress. "There was Louisa Alcott, +you know, Randy." + +He was scornful. "Women weren't made for that--to sit in an attic and +write. Why do you keep talking about doing things, Becky? You'll get +married when you grow up and that will be the end of it." + +"I am not going to get married, Randy." + +"Well, of course you will, and I shall marry and be a lawyer like my +father, and perhaps I'll go to Congress." + +Later he had a leaning towards the ministry. "If I preached I could make +the world better, Becky." + +That was the time when she had come down for Hallowe'en, and it was on +Sunday evening that they had talked it over in the Bird Room at +Huntersfield. There had been a smouldering fire on the wide hearth, and +the Trumpeter Swan had stared down at them with shining eyes. They had +been to church that morning and the text had been, "The harvest is past, +the summer is ended, and we are not saved." + +"I want to make the world better, Becky," Randy had said in the still +twilight, and Becky had answered in an awed tone, "It would be so +splendid to see you in the pulpit, Randy, wearing a gown like Dr. +Hodge." + +But the pulpit to Randy had meant more than that. And the next day when +they walked through the deserted mill town, he had said, "Everybody is +dead who lived here, and once they were alive like us." + +She had shivered, "I don't like to think of it." + +"It's a thing we've all got to think of. I like to remember that Thomas +Jefferson came riding through and stopped at the mill and talked to the +miller." + +"How dreadful to know that they are--dead." + +"Mother says that men like Jefferson never die. Their souls go marching +on." + +The stream which ground the county's corn was at their feet. "But what +about the miller?" Becky had asked; "does his soul march, too?" + +Randy, with the burden of yesterday's sermon upon him, hoped that the +miller was saved. + +He smiled now as he thought of the rigidness of his boyish theology. To +him in those days Heaven was Heaven and Hell was Hell. + +The years at school had brought doubt--apostasy. Then on the fields of +France, Randy's God had come back to him--the Christ who bound up +wounds, who gave a cup of cold water, who fought with flaming sword +against the battalions of brutality, who led up and up that white +company who gave their lives for a glorious Cause. Here, indeed, was a +God of righteousness and of justice, of tenderness and purity. To other +men than Randy, Christ had in a very personal and specific sense been +born across the sea. + +It was in France, too, that the dream had come to him of a future of +creative purpose. He had always wanted to write. Looking back over his +University days, he was aware of a formative process which had led +towards this end. It was there he had communed with the spirit of a +tragic muse. There had been all the traditions of Poe and his +tempestuous youth--and Randy, passing the door which had once opened and +closed on that dark figure, had felt the thrill of a living +personality--of one who spoke still in lines of ineffable +beauty--"_Banners yellow, glorious, golden, On its roof did float and +flow_----" and again "_A dirge for her the doubly dead, in that she died +so young_----" with the gayety and gloom and grandeur of those chiming, +rhyming, tolling bells--"_Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic +rhyme_----" and that "_grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly +shore_----" + +"Do you think I could write?" Randy had asked one of his teachers, +coming verse-saturated to the question. + +The man had looked at him with somber eyes. "You have an ear for it--and +an eye---- But genius pays a price." + +"What do you mean?" + +"It shows its heart to the world, dissects its sacred thoughts, has no +secrets----" + +"But think of leaving a thing behind you like--'To Helen----'" + +"Do you think the knowledge that he had written a few bits of +incomparable verse helped Poe to live? If he had invented a pill or a +headache powder, he would have slept on down and have dined from gold +dishes." + +"I'd rather write 'Ulalume' than dine from gold dishes." + +"You think that now. But in twenty years you will sigh for a--feather +bed----" + +"You don't believe that." + +There had come a lighting of the somber eyes. "My dear fellow, if you, +by the grace of God, have it in you to write, what I believe won't have +anything to do with it. You will crucify yourself for the sake of a +line--starve for the love of a rhythm." + +Randy had not yet starved for love of a rhythm, but he had lost sleep +during those nights in France, trying to put into words the things that +gripped his soul. There had been beauty as well as horror in those days. +What a world it had been, a world of men--a striving, eager group, +raised for the moment above sordidness, above self---- + +He had not found verse his medium, although he had drunk eagerly of the +golden cups which others had to offer him. But his prose had gained +because of his belief in beauty of structure and of singing lovely +words. As yet he had nothing to show for his pains, but practice had +given strength to his pen--he felt that some day with the right theme he +might do--wonders---- + +The trees had again closed in about him. A shadow flitted by--a fox, +unafraid and in search of a belated meal. Randy remembered the days +when he and Becky had thought that there might be wolves in the forest. +He laughed a little, recalling Becky's words. "Sister Loretto has the +feeling that the world is a dark forest, and that I am Red Riding Hood." +Was it that which had brought him back? Was there, indeed, a Wolf? + +When he reached Huntersfield, and the dogs barked, he had feared for the +moment discovery. He was saved, however, by the friendly silence which +followed that first note of alarm. The dogs knew him and followed him +with wagging tails as he skirted the lawn and came at last to the gate +which had closed a few minutes before on Dalton's car. He saw the Judge +go in, Aunt Claudia, Becky--shadowy figures between the white pillars. + +Then, after a moment, a room on the second floor was illumined. The +shade was up and he saw the interior as one sees the scene of a play. +There was the outline of a rose-colored canopy, the gleam of a mirror, +the shine of polished wood, and in the center, Becky in pale blue, with +a candle in her hand. + +And as he saw her there, Randolph knew why he had come. To worship at a +shrine. That was where Becky belonged--high above him. The flame of the +candle was a sacred fire. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +RAIN AND RANDY'S SOUL + + +I + +Madge came down the next morning dressed for her journey. "Oscar and +Flora are going to take me as far as Washington in their car. They want +you to make a fourth, Georgie." + +Dalton was eating alone. Breakfast was served at small tables on the +west terrace. There was a flagged stone space with wide awnings +overhead. Except that it overlooked a formal garden instead of streets, +one might have been in a Parisian cafe. The idea was Oscar's. Dalton had +laughed at him. "You'll be a _boulevardier_, Oscar, until you die." + +Oscar had been sulky. "Well, how do you want me to do it?" + +"Breakfast in bed--or in a breakfast room with things hot on the +sideboard, luncheon, out here on the terrace when the weather permits, +tea in the garden, dinner in great state in the big dining-room." + +"I suppose you think you know all about it. But the thing that I am +always asking myself is, were you born to it, Dalton?" + +"I've been around a lot," Dalton evaded. "Of course if you don't want me +to be perfectly frank with you, I won't." + +"Be as frank as you please," Oscar had said, "but it's your air of +knowing everything that gets me." + +Dalton's breakfast was a hearty one--bacon and two eggs, and a pile of +buttered toast. There had been a melon to begin with, and there was a +pot of coffee. He was eating with an appetite when Madge came down. + +"I had mine in bed," Madge said, as George rose and pulled out a chair +for her. "Isn't this the beastliest fashion, having little tables?" + +"That's what I told Oscar." + +"Oscar and Flora will never have too much of restaurants. They belong to +the class which finds all that it wants in a jazz band and scrambled +eggs at Jack's at one o'clock in the morning. Georgie, in my next +incarnation, I hope there won't be any dansants or night frolics. I'd +like a May-pole in the sunshine and a lot of plump and rosy women and +bluff and hearty men for my friends--with a fine old farmhouse and +myself in the dairy making butter----" + +George smiled at her. "I should have fancied you an Egyptian princess, +with twin serpents above your forehead instead of that turban." + +"Heavens, no. I want no ardours and no Anthonys. Tell me about the new +little girl, Georgie." + +"How do you know there is a--new little girl?" + +"I know your tricks and your manners, and the way you managed to meet +her at the Horse Show. And you saw her last night." + +"How do you know?" + +"By the light in your eyes." + +"Do I show it like that? Well, she's rather--not to be talked about, +Madge----" + +She was not in the least affronted. "So that's it? You always begin that +way--putting them on a pedestal---- If you'd only keep one of us there +it might do you good." + +"Which one--you?" he leaned a little forward. + +"No." Indignation stirred within her. How easy it was for him to play +the game. And last night she had lain long awake, listening for the +sound of his motor. She had seen the moon set, and spectral dawn steal +into the garden. "No, I'm running away. I am tired of drifting always on +the tides of other people's inclination. We have stayed down here where +it is hot because Oscar and Flora like it, yet there's all the coolness +of the North Shore waiting for us----" + +She rose and walked to the edge of the terrace. The garden was splashed +now with clear color, purple and rose and gold. The air was oppressive, +with a gathering haze back of the hills. + +"I'm tired of it. Some day I'm going to flap my wings and fly away where +you won't be able to find me, Georgie. I'd rather be a wild gull to the +wind-swept sky, than a tame pigeon--to eat from your hand----" She said +it lightly; this was not a moment for plaintiveness. + +There was a dancing light in his eyes. "You're a golden pheasant--and +you'll never fly so far that I shan't find you." + +Oscar arriving at this moment saved a retort. "Flora's not well. We +can't motor up, Madge." + +"I am sorry but I can take a train." + +"There's one at three. I don't see why you are going," irritably; "Flora +won't stay here long after you leave." + +"I am not as necessary as you think, Oscar. There are plenty of others, +and I must go----" + +"Oh, very well. Andrews will drive you down." + +"I'll drive her myself," said Dalton. + + +II + +Aunt Claudia was going to Washington also on the three o'clock train. +She had had a wireless from Truxton who had sailed from Brest and would +arrive at New York within the week. + +"Of course you'll go and meet him, Aunt Claudia," Becky had said; "I'll +help you to get your things ready." + +Aunt Claudia, quite white and inwardly shaken by the thought of the +happiness which was on its way to her, murmured her thanks. + +Becky, divining something of the tumult which was beneath that outward +show of serenity, patted the cushions of the couch in Mrs. Beaufort's +bedroom. "Lie down here, you darling dear. It was such a surprise, +wasn't it?" + +"Well, my knees are weak," Mrs. Beaufort admitted. + +The nuns had taught Becky nice ways and useful arts, so she folded and +packed under Aunt Claudia's eye and was much applauded. + +"Most girls in these days," said Mrs. Beaufort, "throw things in. Last +summer I stayed at a house where the girls sat on their trunks to shut +them, and sent parcel-post packages after them of the things they had +left out." + +"Sister Loretto says that I am not naturally tidy, so she keeps me at +it. I used to weep my eyes out when she'd send me back to my room---- +But crying doesn't do any good with Sister Loretto." + +"Crying is never any good," said Aunt Claudia. She was of Spartan mold. +"Crying only weakens. When things are so bad that you must cry, then do +it where the world can't see." + +Becky found herself thrilled by the thought of Aunt Claudia crying in +secret. She was a martial little soul in spite of her distinctly +feminine type of mind. + +Aunt Claudia's lingerie, chastely French-embroidered in little scallops, +with fresh white ribbons run in, was laid out on the bed in neat piles. +There was also a gray corduroy dressing-gown, lined with silk. + +"This will be too warm," Becky said; "please let me put in my white +crepe house-coat. It will look so pretty, Aunt Claudia, when Truxton +comes in the morning to kiss you----" + +Aunt Claudia had been holding on to her emotions tightly. The thought of +that morning kiss which for three dreadful years had been denied +her--for three dreadful years she had not known whether Truxton would +ever breeze into her room before breakfast with his "Mornin' Mums." She +felt that if she allowed herself any softness or yielding at this moment +she would spoil her spotless record of self-control and weep in maudlin +fashion in Becky's arms. + +So in self-defense, she spoke with coldness. "I never wear borrowed +clothes, my dear." + +Becky, somewhat dishevelled and warm from her exertions, sat down to +argue it. "I haven't had it on. And I'd love to give it to you----" + +"My dear, of course not. It's very generous of you--very----" Aunt +Claudia buried her face suddenly in the pillows and sobbed stormily. + +Becky stood up. "Oh, Aunt Claudia," she gasped. Then with the +instinctive knowledge that silence was best, she gave her aunt a little +pat on the shoulder and crept from the room. + +She crept back presently and packed the crepe house-coat with the other +things. Then, since Aunt Claudia made no sign, she went down-stairs to +the kitchen. + +Mandy, the cook, who had a complexion like an old copper cent, and who +wore a white Dutch cap in place of the traditional bandana, was cutting +corn from the cob for fritters. + +"If you'll make a cup of tea," Becky said, "I'll take it up to Aunt +Claudia. She's lying down." + +"Is you goin' wid her?" Mandy asked. + +"To New York? No. She'll want Truxton all to herself, Mandy." + +"Well, I hopes she has him," Mandy husked an ear of corn viciously. "I +ain' got my boy. He hol's his haid so high, he ain' got no time fo' his +ol' Mammy." + +"You know you are proud of him, Mandy." + +"I ain' sayin' I is, and I ain' sayin' I isn't. But dat Daisy down the +road, she ac' like she own him." + +"Oh, Daisy? Is he in love with her?" + +"Love," with withering scorn, "_love_? Ain' he got somefin' bettah to do +than lovin' when he's jes' fit and fought fo' Uncle Sam?" She beat the +eggs for her batter as if she had Daisy's head under the whip. "He fit +and fought fo' Uncle Sam," she repeated, "and now he comes home and +camps hisse'f on Daisy's do'-step." + +Against the breeze of such high indignation, any argument would be blown +away. Becky changed the subject hastily. "Mandy," she asked, "are you +making corn fritters?" + +"I is----" + +"What else for lunch?" + +"An omlec----" + +"Mandy, I'm so hungry I could eat a house----" + +"You look it," Mandy told her; "effen I was you, I'd eat and git fat." + +"It isn't fashionable to be fat, Mandy." + +"Skeletums may be in style," said Mandy, breaking eggs for the omelette, +"but I ain' ever found good looks in bones." + +"Don't you like _my_ bones, Mandy?" + +"You ain't got none, honey." + +"You called me a skeleton." + +The kettle boiled. "Effen I called you a skeletum," Mandy said as she +placed a cup and saucer on a small napkined tray, "my min' was on dat-ar +Daisy. You ain' got no bones, Miss Becky. But Daisy, she's got a neck +like a picked tukkey, and her shoulder-blades stan' out like wings." + + +III + +Becky went to the train with her aunt. George Dalton drove Madge down +and passed the old surrey on the way. + +Later Madge met Mrs. Beaufort and Becky on the station platform, and it +was when Dalton settled her in her chair in the train that she said, +"She's a darling. Keep her on a pedestal, Georgie----" + +"You're a good sport," he told her; "you know you'd hate it if I did." + +"I shouldn't. I'd like to think of you on your knees----" + +It was time for him to leave her. She gave him her hand. "Until we meet +again, Georgie." + +Her eyes were cool and smiling. Yet later as she looked out on the +flying hills, there was trouble in them. There had been a time when +Dalton had seemed to square with her girlish dreams. + +And now, there was no one to warn this other girl with dreams in her +eyes. George was not a vulture, he was simply a marauding bee----! + +Becky was already in the surrey when George came back, and Calvin was +gathering up his reins. + +"Oh, look here, I wish you'd let me drive you up, Miss Bannister," +George said, sparkling; "there's no reason, is there, why you must ride +alone?" + +"Oh, no." + +"Then you will?" + +Her hesitation was slight. "I should like it." + +"And can't we drive about a bit? You'll show me the old places? It is +such a perfect day. I hope you haven't anything else to do." + +She had not. "I'll go with Mr. Dalton, Calvin." + +Calvin, who had watched over more than one generation of Bannister +girls, and knew what was expected of them, made a worried protest. + +"Hit's gwine rain, Miss Becky." + +Dalton dismissed him with a wave of the hand. "I won't let her get wet," +he lifted Becky from the surrey and walked with her to his car. + +Kemp, who had come down in the house truck with Madge's trunks, stood +stiff and straight by the door. Being off with Miss MacVeigh he was on +with Miss Bannister. Girls might come and girls might go in his master's +life, but Kemp had an air of going on forever. + +When he had seated Becky, Dalton stepped back and gave hurried +instructions. + +"At four, Kemp," he said, "or if you are later, wait until we come." + +"Very well, sir." Kemp stood statuesquely at attention until the car +whirled on. Then he sat down on the station platform, and talked to the +agent. He was no longer a servant but a man. + +As the big car whirled up the hill, Becky, looking out upon the familiar +landscape, saw it with new eyes. There was a light upon it which had +never been for her on sea or land. She had not believed that in all the +world there could be such singing, blossoming radiance. + +They drove through the old mill town and the stream was bright under the +willows. They stopped on the bridge for a moment to view the shining +bend. + +"There are old chimneys under the vines," Becky said; "doesn't it seem +dreadful to think of all those dead houses----" + +George gave a quick turn. "Why think of them? You were not made to think +of dead houses, you were made to live." + +On and on they went, up the hills and down into the valleys, between +rail fences which were a riot of honeysuckle, and with the roads in +places rough under their wheels, with the fields gold with stubble, the +sky a faint blue, with that thick look on the horizon. + +George talked a great deal about himself. Perhaps if he had listened +instead to Becky he might have learned things which would have surprised +him. But he really had very interesting things to tell, and Becky was +content to sit in silence and watch his hands on the wheel. They were +small hands, and for some tastes a bit too plump and well-kept, but +Becky found no fault with them. She felt that she could sit there +forever, and watch his hands and listen to his clear quick voice. + +At last George glanced at the little clock which hung in front of him. +"Look here," he said, "I told Kemp to have tea for us at a place which I +found once when I walked in the woods. A sort of summer house which +looks towards Monticello. Do you know it?" + +"Yes. Pavilion Hill. It's on Randy Paine's plantation--King's Crest." + +"Then you've been there?" + +"A thousand times with Randy." + +"I thought it was Waterman's. We shan't be jailed as trespassers, shall +we?" + +"No. But how could you tell your man to have tea for us when you didn't +know that I'd be--willing?" + +"But I did--know----" + +A little silence, then "How?" + +"Because when I put my mind on a thing I usually get my way." + +She sat very still. He bent down to her. "You're not angry?" + +"No." Her cheeks were flaming. She was thrilled by his masterfulness. No +man had ever spoken to her like that. She was, indeed, having her first +experience of ardent, impassioned pursuit. So might young Juliet have +given ear to Romeo. And if Romeo had been a Georgie-Porgie, then alas, +poor Juliet! + +The Pavilion had been built a hundred and fifty years before of cedar +logs. There had been a time when Thomas Jefferson had walked over to +drink not tea, but something stronger with dead and gone Paines. Its +four sides were open, but the vines formed a curtain which gave within a +soft gloom. They approached it from the east side, getting out of their +car and climbing the hill from the roadside. They found Kemp with +everything ready. The kettle was boiling, and the tea measured into the +Canton teapot which stood in its basket---- + +"Aren't you glad you came?" Dalton asked. "Kemp, when you've poured the +tea, you can look after the car." + +The wind, rising, tore the dry leaves from the trees. Kemp, exiled, as +it were, from the Pavilion, sat in the big car and watched the +gathering blackness. Finally he got out and put up the curtains. +Everything would be ready when Dalton came. He knew better, however, +than to warn his master. George was apt to be sharp when his plans were +spoiled. + +And now throughout the wooded slope there was the restless movement of +nature disturbed in the midst of peaceful dreaming. The trees bent and +whispered. The birds, flying low, called sharp warnings. A small dog, +spurning the leaves, as she followed a path up the west side of the +hill, stopped suddenly and looked back at the man who followed her. + +"We'll make the Pavilion if we can, old girl," he told her, and as if +she understood, she went up and up in a straight line, disregarding the +temptation of side tours into bush and bramble. + +George and Becky had finished their tea. There had been some rather +delectable sweet biscuit which Kemp kept on hand for such occasions, and +there was a small round box of glace nuts, which George had insisted +that Becky must keep. The box was of blue silk set off by gold lace and +small pink roses. + +"Blue is your color," George had said as he presented it. + +"That's what Randy says." + +"You are always talking of Randy." + +She looked her surprise. "I've always known him." + +"Is he in love with you?" + +She set down the box and looked at him. "Randy is only a boy. I am very +fond of him. But we aren't either of us--silly." + +She brought the last sentence out with such scorn that George had a +moment of startled amaze. + +Then, recovering, he said with a smile, "Is being in love silly?" + +"I think it's rather sacred----" + +The word threw him back upon himself. Love was, you understand, to +George, a game. And here was Becky acting as if it were a ritual. + +Yet the novelty of her point of view made her seem more than ever +adorable. In his heart he found himself saying, "Oh, you lovely, lovely +little thing." + +But he did not say it aloud. Indeed he, quite unaccountably, found +himself unable to say anything, and while he hesitated, there charged up +the west hill a panting dog with flapping ears. At the arched opening of +the Pavilion she paused and wagged a tentative question. + +"It's Nellie Custis----" Becky rose and ran towards her. "Where's your +master, darling? _Randy_----" + +In response to her call came an eerie cry--the old war cry of the Indian +chiefs. Then young Paine came running up. "Becky! Here? There's going to +be a storm. You better get home----" + +He stopped short. Dalton was standing by the folding table. + +"Hello, Paine," he said, with ease. "We're playing 'Babes in the Wood.'" + +"You seem very comfortable," Randy was as stiff as a wooden tobacco +sign. + +"We are," Becky said. "Mr. Dalton waved his wand like the Arabian +nights----" + +"My man did it," said Dalton; "he's down there in the car." + +Randy felt a sense of surging rage. The Pavilion was his. It was old and +vine-covered, and hallowed by a thousand memories. And here was Dalton +trespassing with his tables and chairs and his Canton teapot. What right +had George Dalton to bring a Canton teapot on another man's acres? + +Becky was pouring tea for him. "Two lumps, Randy?" + +"I don't want any tea," he said ungraciously. His eyes were appraising +the flame of her cheeks, the light in her eyes. What had Dalton been +saying? "I don't want any tea. And there's a storm coming." + +All her life Becky had been terrified in a storm. She had cowered and +shivered at the first flash of lightning, at the first rush of wind, at +the first roll of thunder. And now she sat serene, while the trees waved +despairing arms to a furious sky, while blackness settled over the +earth, while her ears were assailed by the noise of a thousand guns. + +What had come over her? More than anything else, the thing that struck +against Randy's heart was this lack of fear in Becky! + + +IV + +Of course it was Dalton who took Becky home. There had been a sharp +summons to Kemp, who came running up with raincoats, a rush for the car, +a hurried "Won't you come with us, Randy?" from Becky, and Randy's curt +refusal, and then the final insult from Dalton. + +"Kemp will get you home, Paine, when he takes the tea things." + +Randy wanted to throw something after him--preferably a tomahawk--as +Dalton went down the hill, triumphantly, shielding Becky from the +elements. + +He watched until a curtain of rain shut them out, but he heard the roar +of the motor cutting through the clamor of the storm. + +"Well, they're off, sir," said Kemp cheerfully. + +He was packing the Canton teapot in its basket and was folding up the +chairs and tables. Randy had a sense of outrage. Here he was, a +Randolph Paine of King's Crest, left behind in the rain with a man who +had his mind on--teapots---- He stood immovable in the arched opening, +his arms folded, and with the rain beating in upon him. + +"You'll get wet," Kemp reminded him; "it's better on this side, sir." + +"I don't mind the rain. I won't melt; I've had two years in France." + +"You have, sir?" something in Kemp's voice made Randy turn and look at +him. The little man had his arms full of biscuit boxes, and he was +gazing at Randy with a light in his eyes which had not been for Dalton. + +"I had three years myself. And the best of my life, sir." + +Randy nodded. "A lot of us feel that way." + +"The fighting," said Kemp, "was something awful. But it was--big--and +after it things seem a bit small, sir." He drew a long breath and came +back to his Canton teapot and his folding table and his plans for +departure. + +"I'll be glad to take you in the little car, Mr. Paine." + +"No," said Randy; "no, thank you, Kemp. I'll wait here until the storm +is over." + +Kemp, with a black rubber cape buttoned about his shoulders and standing +out over his load like a lady's hoopskirts, bobbed down the path and +was gone. + +Randy was glad to be alone. He was glad to get wet, he was glad of the +roar and of the tumult which matched the tumult in his soul. + +Somehow he had never dreamed of this--that somebody would come into +Becky's life and take her away---- + +Nellie Custis shivered and whined. She hated thunder-storms. Randy sat +down on the step and she crept close to him. He laid his hand on her +head and fear left her--as fear had left Becky in the presence of +Dalton. + +After that the boy and the dog sat like statues, looking out, and in +those tense and terrible moments a new spirit was born in Randolph +Paine. Hitherto he had let life bring him what it would. He had scarcely +dared hope that it would bring him Becky. But now he knew that if he +lost her he would face--chaos---- + +Well, he would not lose her. Or if he did, it would not be to let her +marry a man like Dalton. Surely she wouldn't. She _couldn't_---- But +there had been that light in her eyes, that flame in her cheek--that +lack of fear--Dalton's air of assurance, the way she had turned to him. + +"Oh, God," he said suddenly, out loud, "don't let Dalton have her." + +He was shaken by an emotion which bent his head to his knees. Nellie +Custis pressed close against him and whined. + +"He shan't have her, Nellie. He shan't----" + +He burned with the thought of Dalton's look of triumph. Dalton who had +carried Becky off, and had left him with Kemp and a Canton teapot. + +He recalled Kemp's words. "After it things seem a bit small, sir." + +Well, it shouldn't be small for him. It had seemed so big--over there. +So easy to--carry on. + +If he only had a fighting chance. If he had only a half of Dalton's +money. A little more time in which to get on his feet. + +But in the meantime here was Dalton--with his money, his motors, and his +masterfulness. And his look of triumph---- + +In a sudden fierce reaction he sprang to his feet. He stood in the +doorway as if defying the future. "Nobody shall take her away from me," +he said, "she's mine----" + +His arms were folded over his chest, his wet black locks almost hid his +eyes. So might some young savage have stood in the long ago, sending his +challenge forth to those same hills. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +LITTLE SISTER + + +I + +It is one thing, however, to fling a challenge to the hills, and another +to live up to the high moment. Looking at it afterwards in cold blood, +Randy was forced to admit that his chances of beating George Dalton in a +race for Becky were small. + +There seemed some slight hope, however, in the fact that Becky was a +Bannister and ought to know a gentleman when she saw one. + +"And Dalton's a--a bounder," said Randy to Nellie Custis. + +Nellie Custis, who was as blue-blooded as any Bannister, cocked a +sympathetic ear. Cocking an ear with Nellie was a weighty matter. Her +ears were big and unmanageable. When she got them up, she kept them +there for some time. It was a rather intriguing habit, as it gave her an +air of eager attention which wooed confidence. + +"He's a bounder," said Randy as if that settled it. + +But it did not settle it in the least. A man with an Apollo head may not +be a gentleman under his skin, but how are you to prove it? The world, +spurning Judy O'Grady, sanctions the Colonel's lady, and their +sisterhood becomes socially negligible. Randy should have known that he +could not sweep George Dalton away with a word. Perhaps he did know it, +but he did not care to admit it. + +He and Nellie Custis were in the garage. It had once been a barn, but +the boarders had bought cars, so there was now the smell of gasoline +where there had once been the sweet scent of hay. And intermittently the +air was rent with puffs and snorts and shrieks which drowned the music +of that living chorus which has been sung in stables for centuries. + +There were three cars. Two of them have nothing to do with this story, +but the third will play its part, and merits therefore description. + +It was not an expensive car, but it was new and shining, and had a perky +snub-nosed air of being ready for anything. It belonged to the genial +gentleman who used it without mercy, and thus the little car wove back +and forth over the hills like a shuttle, doing its work sturdily, coming +home somewhat noisily, and even at rest, seeming to ask for something +more to do. + +The genial gentleman was very proud of his car. He talked a great deal +about it to Randy, and on this particular morning when he came out and +found young Paine sitting on a wheelbarrow with Nellie Custis lending +him a cocked ear, he grew eloquent. + +"Look here, I've been thinking. There ought to be a lot of cars like +this in the county." + +To Randy the enthusiasms of the genial gentleman were a constant source +of amazement. He was always wanting the world to be glad about +something. Randy felt that at this moment any assumption of gladness +would be a hollow mockery. + +"Any man," said the genial gentleman, rubbing a cloth over the enamel of +the little car, "any man who would start selling this machine down here +would make a fortune." + +Randy pricked up his ears. + +"How could he make a fortune?" + +"Selling cars. Why, the babies cry for them----" he chuckled and rubbed +harder. + +"How much could he make?" Randy found himself saying. + +The genial gentleman named a sum, "Easy." + +Randy got up from the wheelbarrow and came over. "Is she really as good +as that?" + +"Is she really? Oh, say----" the genial gentleman for the next ten +minutes dealt in superlatives. + +Towards the end, Randy was firing questions at him. + +"Could I own a car while I was selling them?" + +"Sure--they'd let you have it on installments to be paid for out of your +commissions----" + +"And I'd have an open field?" + +"My dear boy, in a month you could have cars like this running up and +down the hills like ants after sugar. They speak for themselves, and +they are cheap enough for anybody." + +"But it is a horse-riding country, especially back in the hills. They +love horse-flesh, you know." + +"Oh, they'll get the gasoline bug like the rest of us," said the genial +gentleman and slapped him on the back. + +Randy winced. He did not like to be slapped on the back. Not at a +moment--when he was selling his soul to the devil---- + +For that was the way he looked at it. + +"I shall have to perjure myself," he said to Major Prime later, as they +talked it over in the Schoolhouse, "to go through the country telling +mine own people to sell their horses and get cars." + +"If you don't do it, somebody else will." + +"But a man can't be convincing if he doesn't believe in a thing." + +"No, of course. But you've got to look at it this way, the world moves, +and horses haven't had an easy time. Perhaps it is their moment of +emancipation. And just for the sake of a sentiment, a tradition, you +can't afford to hold back." + +"I can't afford to lose this chance if there is money in it. But it +isn't what I had planned." + +As he sat there on the step and hugged his knees, every drop of blood in +Randy seemed to be urging "Hurry, hurry." He felt as a man might who, +running a race, finds another rider neck and neck and strains towards +the finish. + +To sell cars in order to win Becky seemed absurd on the face of it. But +he would at least be doing something towards solving the problem of +self-support, and towards increasing the measure of his own +self-respect. + +"What had you planned?" the Major was asking. + +"Well of course there is the law---- And I like it, but there would be a +year or two before I could earn a living---- And I've wanted to +write----" + +"Write what? Books?" + +"Anything," said Randy, explosively, "that would make the world sit up." + +"Ever tried it?" + +"Yes. At school. I talked to a teacher of mine once about it. He said I +had better invent a--pill----" + +The Major stared, "A pill?" + +Randy nodded. "He didn't quite mean it, of course. But he saw the modern +trend. A poet? A poor thing! But hats off to the pillmaker with his +multi-millions!" + +"Stop that," said the Major. + +"Stop what?" + +"Blaming the world for its sordidness. There is beauty enough if we look +for it." + +"None of us has time to look for it. We are too busy trying to sell cars +to people who love horses." + + +II + +In the end Randy got his car. And after that he, too, might have been +seen running shuttle-like back and forth over the red roads. Nellie +Custis was usually beside him on the front seat. She took her new honors +seriously. For generations back her forbears had loped with flapping +ears in the lead of a hunting pack. To be sitting thus on a leather seat +and whirled through the air with no need of legs from morning until +night required some readjustment on the part of Nellie Custis. But she +had always followed where Randy led. And in time she grew to like it, +and watched the road ahead with eager eyes, and with her ears +perpetually cocked. + +Now and then Becky sat beside Randy, with Nellie at her feet. The +difference between a ride with Randy and one with George Dalton was, +Becky felt, the difference a not unpleasant commonplace and the stuff +that dreams are made of. + +"It is rather a duck of a car," she had said, the first time he took her +out in it. + +"Yes, it is," Randy had agreed. "I am getting tremendously fond of her. +I have named her 'Little Sister.'" + +"Oh, Randy, you haven't." + +"Yes, I have. She has such confiding ways. I never believed that cars +had human qualities, Becky." + +"They are not horses of course." + +"Well, they have individual characteristics. You take the three cars in +our barn. The Packard reminds one of that stallion we owned three years +ago--blooded and off like the wind. The Franklin is a grayhound--and +Little Sister is a--duck----" + +"Mr. Dalton's car is a--silver ship----" + +"Oh, does he call it that?" grimly. + +"No----" + +"Was it your own--poetic--idea?" + +"Yes." + +"And you called Little Sister a duck," he groaned. "And when my little +duck swims in the wake of his silver ship, and he laughs, do you laugh, +too?" + +There was a dead silence. Then she said, "Oh, Randy----" + +He made his apology like a gentleman. "That was hateful of me, Becky. +I'm sorry----" + +"You know I wouldn't laugh, Randy, and neither would he." + +"Who?" + +"Mr. Dalton." + +"Wouldn't what?" + +"Laugh." + +He hated her defense of young Apollo--but he couldn't let the subject +alone. + +"You never have any time for me." + +"Randy, are you going to scold me for the rest of our ride?" + +"Am I scolding?" + +"Yes." + +"Then I'll stop it and say nice things to you or you won't want to come +again." + +Yet after that when he saw her in Dalton's car, her words would return +to him, and gradually he began to think of her as sailing in a silver +ship farther and farther away in a future where he could not follow. + +Little Sister was a great comfort in those days. She gave him occupation +and she gave him an income. He was never to forget his first sale. He +had not found it easy to cry his wares. The Paines of King's Crest had +never asked favors of the country-folk, or if they had, they had paid +generously for what they had received. To go now among them saying, "I +have something to sell," carried a sting. There had been nothing +practical in Randy's education. He had no equipment with which to meet +the sordid questions of bargain and sale. + +He had thought of this as he rode over the hills that morning to the +house of a young farmer who had been suggested by the genial gentleman +as a good prospect. He turned over in his mind the best method of +approach. It was a queer thing, he pondered, to visualize himself as a +salesman. He wondered how many of the other fellows who had come back +looked at it as he did. They had dreamed such dreams of valor, their +eyes had seen visions. To Randy when he had enlisted had come a singing +sense that the days of chivalry were not dead. He had gone through the +war with a laugh on his lips, but with a sense of the sacredness of the +crusade in his heart. He had returned--still dreaming--to sell +snub-nosed cars to the countryside! + +Why, just a year ago----! He remembered a black night of storm, when, +hooded like a falcon--he had ridden without a light on his motorcycle, +carrying dispatches from the Argonne, and even as he had ridden, he had +felt that high sense of heroic endeavor. On the success of his mission +depended other lives, the saving of nations--victory----! + +And now he, with a million others, was faced by the problem of the +day's work. He wondered how the others looked at it--those gallant young +knights in khaki who had followed the gleam. Were they, too, grasping at +any job that would buy them bread and butter, pay their bills, keep them +from living on the bounty of others? + +He felt that in some way the thing was all wrong. There should have been +big things for these boys to do. There seemed something insensate in a +civilization which would permit a man who wore medals of honor to sell +ribbon over a counter, or weigh out beef at a butcher's. Yet he supposed +that many of them were doing it. Indeed he knew that some of them were. +The butcher's boy, who brought the meat over every morning to King's +Crest, wore two decorations, and when Randy had stopped for breakfast +supplies, the hero of Belleau Woods had cut off sausages as calmly as he +had once bayonetted Huns. + +Randy wondered what the butcher's boy was feeling under that apparently +stolid surface. Was his horizon bounded by beef and sausages, or did his +soul expand with memories of the shoulder-to-shoulder march, the +comradeship of the trenches, the laughter and songs? Did his pulses +thrill with the thought of the big things he might yet do in these days +of peace, or was he content to play safe and snip sausages? + +Randy felt that he was not content. It was not that he loved war. But he +loved the visions that the war had brought him. There had seemed no +limit then to America's achievement. She had been a laggard--he thanked +God that he had not been a party to that delay. But when she had come +in, she had come in with all her might and main. And her young men had +fought and the future of the whole world had been in their hands, and +since peace had come the future of the world must still be reckoned in +the terms of their glorious youth. + +And now, something within Randy began to sing and soar. He felt that +here were things to be put on paper--the questions which he flung at +himself should be written for other men to read. That was what men +needed--questions. Questions which demanded answers not only in words +but in deeds. This was a moment for men of high thoughts and high +purposes. + +And he was selling cars----! + +Well, some day he would write. He was writing a little now, at night. In +his room at the top of the Schoolhouse. Yet the things that he had +written seemed trivial as he thought of them. What he wanted was to +strike a ringing note. To have the fellows say when they read it, "If it +is true for him it is true for me." + +Yet when one came to think of it, there were really not any "fellows." +Not in the sense that it had been "over there." They were scattered to +the four winds, dispersed to the seven seas--the A. E. F. was +extinct--as extinct--as the Trumpeter Swan! + +And now his thoughts ran fast, and faster. Here was his theme. Where was +that glorious company of young men who had once sounded their trumpets +to the world? Gone, as the swans were gone--leaving the memory of their +whiteness--leaving the memory of their beauty--leaving the memory of +their--song---- + +He wanted to turn back at once. To drive Little Sister at breakneck +speed towards pen and paper. But some instinct drove him doggedly +towards the matter on hand. One might write masterpieces, but there were +cars to be sold. + +He sold one----; quite strangely and unexpectedly he found that the +transaction was not difficult. The man whom he had come to see was on +the front porch and was glad of company. Randy explained his errand. "It +is new business for me. But I've got something to offer you that you'll +find you'll want----" + +He found that he could say many things truthful about the merits of +Little Sister. He had a convincing manner; the young farmer listened. + +"Let me take you for a ride," Randy offered, and away they went along +the country roads, and through the main streets of the town in less time +that it takes to say--"Jack Robinson." + +When they came back, the children ran out to see, and Randy took them +down the road and back again. "You can carry the whole family," he said, +"when you go----" + +The man's wife came out. She refused to ride. She was afraid. + +But Randy talked her over. "My mother felt like that. But once you are +in it is different." + +She climbed in, and came back with her face shining. + +"I am going to buy the car," her husband said to her. + +Randy's heart jumped. Somehow he had felt that it would not really +happen. He had had little faith in his qualities as salesman. Yet, after +all, it had happened, and he had sold his car. + +Riding down the hill, he was conscious of a new sense of achievement. It +was all very well to dream of writing masterpieces. But here was +something tangible. + +"Nellie," he said, "things are picking up." + +Nellie laid her nose on his knee and looked up at him. It had been a +long ride, and she was glad they were on the homeward stretch. But she +wagged her tail. Nellie knew when things were going well with her +master. And when his world went wrong, her sky darkened. + + +III + +The sale of one car, however, does not make a fortune. Randy realized as +the days went on that if he sold them and sold them and sold them, +Dalton would still outdistance him financially. + +There remained, therefore, fame, and the story in the back of his mind. +If he could lay a thing like that at Becky's feet! He had the lover's +urge towards some heaven-kissing act which should exalt his mistress---- +A book for all the world to read--a picture painted with a flaming +brush, a statue carved with a magic instrument. It was for Becky that +Randy would work and strive hoping that by some divine chance he might +draw her to him. + +He worked at night until the Major finally remonstrated. + +"Do you ever go to bed?" + +Randy laughed. "Sometimes." + +"Are you writing?" + +"Trying to." + +"Hard work?" + +"I like it,"--succinctly. + +The Major smoked for a while in silence. Then he said, "I suppose you +don't want to talk about it." + +It was a starry night and a still one. The younger boarders had gone for +a ride. The older boarders were in bed. The Major was stretched in his +long chair. Randy sat as usual on the steps. + +"Yes," he said, "I'd like to talk about it. I have a big idea, and I +can't put it on paper." + +He hugged his knees and talked. His young voice thrilled with the +majesty of his conception. Here, he said, was the idea. Once upon a time +there had been a race of wonderful swans, with plumage so white that +when they rested in flocks on the river banks they made a blanket of +snow. Their flight was a marvellous thing--they flew so high that the +eye of man could not see them--but the sound of their trumpets could be +heard. The years passed and the swans came no more to their old haunts. +Men had hunted them and killed them--but there were those who held that +on still nights they could be heard--sounding their trumpets---- + +"I want to link that up with the A. E. F. We were like the swans--a +white company which flew to France---- Our idealism was the song which +we sounded high up. And the world listened--and caught the sound---- And +now, as a body we are extinct, but if men will listen, they may still +hear our trumpets--sounding----!" + +As he spoke the air seemed to throb with the passion of his phrases. His +face was uplifted to the sky. The Major remembered a picture in the +corridor of the Library of Congress--the Boy of Winander---- Oh, the +boys of the world--those wonderful boys who had been drawn out from +among the rest, set apart for a time, and in whose hands now rested the +fate of nations! + +"It is epic," he said, slowly. "Take your time for it." + +"It's too big," said Randy slowly, "and I am not a genius---- But it is +my idea, all right, and some day, perhaps, I shall make it go." + +"You must make it clear to yourself. Then you can make it clear to +others." + +"Yes," Randy agreed, "and now you can see why I am sitting up nights." + +"Yes. How did you happen to think of it, Paine?" + +"I've been turning a lot of things over in my mind----; what the other +fellows are doing about their jobs. There's that boy at the butcher's, +and a lot of us went over to do big things. And now we have come back to +the little things. Why, there's Dalton's valet--Kemp--taking orders from +that--cad." + +His scorn seemed to cut into the night. "And I am selling cars---- I +sold one to-day to an old darkey, and I felt my grandsires turn in +their graves. But I like it." + +The Major sat up. "Your liking it is the biggest thing about you, +Paine." + +"What do you mean?" + +"A man who can do his day's work and not whine about it, is the man that +counts. That butcher's boy may have a soul above weighing meat and +wrapping sausages, but at the moment that's his job, and he is doing it +well. There may be a divine discontent, but I respect the man who keeps +his mouth shut until he finds a remedy or a raise. + +"I don't often speak of myself," he went on, "but perhaps this is the +moment. I am as thirsty for California, Paine, as a man for drink. It is +the dry season out there, and the hills are brown, but I love the brown, +and the purple shadows in the hollows. I have ridden over those hills +for days at a time,--I shall never ride a horse over them again." He +stopped and went on. "Oh, I've wanted to whine. I have wanted to curse +the fate that tied me to a chair like this. I have been an active +man--out-of-doors, and oh, the out-of-doors in California. There isn't +anything like it--it is the sense of space, the clear-cut look of +things. But I won't go back. Not till I have learned to do my day's +work, and then I will let myself play a bit. I'd like to take you with +me, Paine--you and a good car--and we'd go over the hills and far +away---- + +"I haven't told you much of my life. And there's not a great deal to +tell. Fifteen years ago I married a little girl and thought I loved her. +But what I really loved was the thought of doing things for her. I had +money and she was poor. It was pleasant to see her eyes shine when I +gave her things---- But money hasn't anything to do with love, Paine, +and that is where we American men fall down. When we love a woman we +begin to tell her of our possessions and to tempt her by them. And the +thing that we should do is to show her ourselves. We should say, 'If I +were stripped of all my worldly goods what would there be in me for you +to like?' My little wife and I had not one thing in common. And one day +she left me. She found a man who gave her love for love. I had given her +cars and flowers and boxes of candy and diamonds and furs. But she +wanted more than that. She died--two years ago. I think she had been +happy in those last years. I never really loved her, but she taught me +what love is--and it is not a question of barter and sale----" + +He seemed to be thinking aloud. Randy spoke after a silence. "But a man +must have something to offer a woman." + +"He must have himself. Oh, we are all crooked in our values, Paine. The +best that a man can give a woman is his courage, his hope, his +aspiration. That's enough. I learned it too late. I don't know why I am +saying all this to you, Paine." + +But Randy knew. It was on such nights that men showed their souls to +each other. It was on such nights that his comrades had talked to him in +France. Under the moon they had seemed self-conscious. But beneath a sky +of stars, the words had come to them. + +As he sat at his desk later, he thought of all that the Major had said +to him: that possessions had nothing to do with love; that the test must +be, "What would there be in me to like if I were stripped of all my +worldly goods?" + +Well, he had nothing. There were only his hopes, his dreams, his +aspiration--himself. + +Would these weigh with any woman in the balance against George Dalton's +splendid trappings? + +The dawn crept in and found him still sitting at his desk. He had not +written a dozen lines. But his thoughts had been the long, long thoughts +of youth. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +GEORGIE-PORGIE + + +I + +It would never have happened if Aunt Claudia had been there. Aunt +Claudia would have built hedges about Becky. She would have warned the +Judge. She would, as a last resort, have challenged Dalton. But Fate, +which had Becky's future well in hand, had sent Aunt Claudia to meet +Truxton in New York. And she was having the time of her life. + +Her first letter was a revelation to her niece. "I didn't know," she +told the Judge at breakfast, "that Aunt Claudia could be like this----" + +"Like what?" + +"So young and gay----" + +"She is not old. And when she was young she was gayer than you." + +"Oh, not really, Grandfather." + +"Yes. And she looked like you--and had the same tricks with her hands, +and her hair was bright and brown. And she was very pretty." + +"She is pretty yet," said Becky, loyally, but she was quite sure that +whatever might have been Aunt Claudia's likeness to herself in the past, +her own charms would not in the future shrink to fit Aunt Claudia's +present pattern. It was unthinkable that her pink and white should fade +to paleness, her slenderness to stiffness, her youthful radiance to a +sort of weary cheerfulness. + +There was nothing weary in the letter, however. "Oh, my dear, my dear, +you should see Truxton. He is so perfectly splendid that I am sure he is +a changeling and not my son. I tell him that he can't be the bundle of +cuddly sweetness that I used to carry in my arms. I wore your white +house-coat that first morning, Becky, and he sent some roses, and we had +breakfast together in my rooms at the hotel. I believe it is the first +time in years that I have looked into a mirror to really like my looks. +You were sweet, my dear, to insist on putting it in. Truxton must stay +here for two weeks more, and he wants me to stay with him. Then we shall +come down together. Can you get along without me? We are going to the +most wonderful plays, and to smart places to eat, and I danced last +night on a roof garden. Should I say 'on' or 'in' a roof garden? Truxton +says that my step is as light as a girl's. I think my head is a little +turned. I am very happy." + +Becky laid the letter down. "Would anyone have believed that Aunt +Claudia _could_----" + +"You have said that before, my dear. Your Aunt Claudia wasn't born in +the ark----" + +"But, Grandfather, I didn't mean that." + +"It sounded like it. I shall write to her to stay as long as she can. We +can get along perfectly without her." + +"Of course," said Becky slowly. She had a feeling that, at all costs, +she ought to call Aunt Claudia back. + +For Dalton, after that first ride in the rain from Pavilion Hill, had +speeded his wooing. He had swept Becky along on a rushing tide. He had +courted the Judge, and the Judge had pressed upon him invitation after +invitation. Day and night the big motor had flashed up to Huntersfield, +bringing Dalton to some tryst with Becky, or carrying her forth to some +gay adventure. Her world was rose-colored. She had not dreamed of life +like this. She seemed to have drunk of some new wine, which lighted her +eyes and flamed in her cheeks. Her beauty shone with an almost +transcendent quality. As the dove's plumage takes on in the spring an +added luster, so did the bronze of Becky's hair seem to burn with a +brighter sheen. + +Yet the Judge noticed nothing. + +"Did you ask him to dine with us?" he had demanded, when Dalton had +called Becky up on the morning of the receipt of Aunt Claudia's letter. + +"No, Grandfather." + +"Then I'll do it," and he had gone to the telephone, and had urged his +hospitality. + + +II + +When Dalton came Becky met him on the front steps of the house. + +"Dinner is late," she said, "let's go down into the garden." + +The garden at Huntersfield was square with box hedges and peaked up with +yew, and there were stained marble statues of Diana and Flora and Ceres, +and a little pool with lily pads. + +"You are like the pretty little girls in the picture books," said +George, as they walked along. "Isn't that a new frock?" + +"Yes," said Becky, "it is. Do you like it?" + +"You are a rose among the roses," he said. He wondered a bit at its +apparent expensiveness. Perhaps, however, Becky was skillful with her +needle. Some women were. He did not care greatly for such skill, but he +was charmed by the effect. + +"You are a rose among the roses," he said again, and broke off a big +pink bud from a bush near by. + +"Bend your head a little. I want to put it in your hair." + +His fingers caught in the bronze mesh. "It is wound around my ring." He +fumbled in his pockets with his free hand and got his knife. "It may +pull a bit." + +He showed her presently the lock which he had cut. "It seems alive," he +kissed it and put it in his pocket. + +Her protest was genuine. "Oh, please," she said, "I wish you wouldn't." + +"Wouldn't what?" + +"Keep it." + +"Shall I throw it away?" + +"You shouldn't have cut it off." + +"Other men have been tempted--in a garden----" + +It might have startled George could he have known that old Mandy, eyeing +him from the kitchen, placed him in Eden's bower not as the hero of the +world's initial tragedy, but as its Satanic villain. + +"He sutt'n'y have bewitched Miss Becky," she told Calvin; "she ain' +got her min' on nothin' but him." + +"Yo' put yo' min' on yo' roas' lamb, honey," Calvin suggested. "How-cum +you got late?" + +"That chile kep' me fixin' that pink dress. She ain' never cyard what +she wo'. And now she stan' in front o' dat lookin'-glass an' fuss an' +fiddle. And w'en she ain' fussin' an' fiddlin', she jus' moons around, +waitin' fo' him to come ridin' up in that red car like a devil on +greased light'in'. An' I say right heah, Miss Claudia ain' gwine like +it." + +"Why ain' she?" + +"Miss Claudia know black f'um w'ite. An' dat man done got a black +heart----" + +"Whut you know 'bout hit, Mandy?" + +"Lissen. You wait. He'll suck a o'ange an' th'ow it away. He'll pull a +rose, and scattah the leaves." Mandy, stirring gravy, was none the less +dramatic. "You lissen, an' wait----" + +"W'en Miss Claudia comin'?" + +"In one week, thank the Lord," Mandy pushed the gravy to the back of the +stove and pulled forward an iron pot. "The soup's ready," she said; "you +go up and tell the Jedge, Calvin." + +All through dinner, Becky was conscious of that lock of hair in George's +pocket. The strand from which the lock had been cut fell down on her +cheek. She had to tuck it back. She saw George smile as she did it. She +forgave him. + +It was after dinner that George spoke of Becky's gown. + +"It is perfect," he said, "all except the pearls----?" + +She gave him a startled glance. "The pearls?" + +"I want to see you without them." + +She unwound them and they dripped from her hand in milky whiteness. + +He made his survey. "That's better," he said, "if they were real it +would be different--I don't like to have you cheapened by anything less +than--perfect----" + +"Cheapened?" She smiled inscrutably, then dropped the pearls into a +small box on the table beside her. "Yes," she said, "if they were real +it would be different----" + +There was something in her manner which made him say hurriedly, "You +must not think that I am criticizing your taste. If I had my way you +should have everything that money can buy----" + +Her candid eyes came up to his. "There are a great many things that +money cannot buy." + +"You've got to show me," George told her; "I've never seen anything yet +that I couldn't get with money." + +"Could you buy--dreams----" + +"I'd rather buy--diamonds." + +"And money can't buy happiness." + +"It can buy a pretty good imitation." + +"But imitation happiness is like imitation pearls." + +He laughed and sat down beside her. "You mustn't be too clever." + +"I am not clever at all." + +"I believe you are. And you don't have to be. There are plenty of clever +women but only one Becky Bannister." + +It was just an hour later that Georgie-Porgie kissed her. She was at the +piano in the music-room, and there was no light except the glimmer of +tall white candles, and the silver moonlight which fell across the +shining floor. + +Her grandfather was nodding in the room beyond, and through the open +window came the dry, sweet scent of summer, as if nature had opened her +pot-pourri to give the world a whiff of treasured fragrance. + +Becky had been singing, and she had stopped and looked up at him. + +"Oh, you lovely--lovely, little thing," he said, and bent his head. + +To Becky, that moment was supreme, sacred. She trembled with happiness. +To her that kiss meant betrothal--ultimate marriage. + +To George it meant, of course, nothing of the kind. It was only one of +many moments. It was a romance which might have been borrowed from the +Middle Ages. A rare tale such as one might read in a book. A pleasant +dalliance--to be continued until he was tired of it. If he ever +married, it must be a spectacular affair--handsome woman, big fortune, +not an unsophisticated slip of a child from an impoverished Virginia +farm. + + +III + +In the days that followed, Becky's gay lover came and rode away, and +came again. He sparkled and shone and worshipped, but not a word did he +say about the future. He seemed content with this idyl of old gardens, +scented twilights, starlight nights, with Beauty's eyes for him alone +radiant eyes that matched the stars. + +Yet as the days went on the radiance was dimmed. Becky was in a state of +bewilderment which bordered on fear. George showed himself an +incomparable lover, but always he was silent about the things which she +felt cried for utterance. + +So at last one day she spoke to the Judge. + +"Granddad, did you kiss Grandmother before you asked her to marry you?" + +"Asking always comes first, my dear. And you are too young to think of +such things." + +Grandfather was, thus obviously, no help. He sat in the Bird Room and +dreamed of the days when the stuffed mocking-bird on the wax branch sang +to a young bride, and his ideal of love had to do with the courtly +etiquette of a time when men knelt and sued and were rewarded with the +touch of finger tips. + +As for George, he found himself liking this affair rather more than +usual. There was no denying that the child was tremendously +attractive--with her youth and beauty and the reserve which like a stone +wall seemed now and then to shut her in. He had always a feeling that he +would like to climb over the wall. It had pricked his interest to find +in this little creature a strength and delicacy which he had found in no +other woman. + +He had had one or two letters from Madge, and had answered them with a +line. She gave rather generously of her correspondence and her letters +were never dull. In the last one she had asked him to join her on the +North Shore. + + "I am sorry," she said, "for the new little girl. I have a feeling + that she won't know how to play the game and that you'll hurt her. + You will probably think that I am jealous, but I can't help that. + Men always think that women are jealous when it comes to other + women. They never seem to understand that we are trying to keep the + world straight. + + "Oscar writes that Flora isn't well, that all her other guests are + gone except you--and that she wants me. But why should I come? I + wish he wouldn't ask me. Something always tugs at my heart when I + think of Flora. She has so much and yet so little. She and Oscar + would be much happier in a flat on the West Side with Flora cooking + in a kitchenette, and Oscar bringing things home from the + delicatessen. He would buy bologna and potato salad on Sunday + nights, and perhaps they would slice up a raw onion. It sounds + dreadful, doesn't it? But there are thousands of people doing just + that thing, Georgie, and being very happy over it. And it wouldn't + be dreadful for Flora and Oscar because they would be right where + they belong, and the potato salad and the bologna and the little + room where Oscar could sit with his coat off would be much more to + their liking than their present pomp and elegance. You and I are + different. You could never play any part pleasantly but that of + Prince Charming, and I should hate the kitchenette. I want wide + spaces, and old houses, and deep fireplaces--my people far back + were like that--I sometimes wonder why I stick to Flora--perhaps it + is because she clung to me in those days when Oscar was drafted and + had to go, and she cried so hard in the Red Cross rooms that I took + her under my wing---- Take it all together, Flora is rather worth + while and so is Oscar if he didn't try so hard to be what he is + not. + + "But then we are all trying rather hard to be what we are not. I am + really and truly middle-class. In my mind, I mean. Yet no one would + believe it to look at me, for I wear my clothes like a Frenchwoman, + and I am as unconventional as English royalty. And two generations + of us have inherited money. But back of that there were nice + middle-class New Englanders who did their own work. And the women + wore white aprons, and the men wore overalls, and they ate + doughnuts for breakfast, and baked beans on Sunday, and they milked + their own cows, and skimmed their own cream, and they read Hamlet + and the King James version of the Bible, and a lot of them wrote + things that will be remembered throughout the ages, and they had + big families and went to church, and came home to overflowing + hospitality and chicken pies--and they were the salt of the earth. + And as I think I remarked to you once before, I want to be like my + great-grandmother in my next incarnation, and live in a wide, low + farmhouse, and have horses and hogs and chickens and pop-corn on + snowy nights, and go to church on Sunday. + + "I don't know why I am writing like this, except that I went to + Trinity to vespers, when I stopped over in Boston. It was dim and + quiet and the boys' voices were heavenly, and over it all brooded + the spirit of the great man who once preached there--and who still + preaches---- + + "And now it is Sunday again, and I am back at the Crossing, and I + played golf all the morning, and bridge this afternoon, and all the + women smoked and all the men, and I was in a blue haze, and I + wanted to be back in the quiet church where the boys sang, and the + lights were like stars---- + + "I wish you and I could go there some day and that you could feel + as I do about it. But you wouldn't. You are always so sure and + smug--and you have a feeling that money will buy anything--even + Paradise. I wonder what you will be like on the next plane. You + won't fit into my farmhouse. I fancy that you'll be something + rather--devilish--like Don Juan--or perhaps you'll be just an + 'ostler in a courtyard, shining boots and--kissing maids---- + + "Of course I don't quite mean that. But I do feel that you'd be + rather worth while if you'd stop philandering and discover your + soul. + + "I am a bit homesick, and I haven't any home. If Dad hadn't married + a second time, I believe he would still love me a bit. But his wife + doesn't. And so here I am--and as restless as ever--seeking + something--always seeking. + + "And now, once more, don't break the heart of the new little girl. + I don't need to warn you not to break your own. You are the + greatest example of the truth of 'he who loves and runs away will + live to love another day.' Oh, Georgie-Porgie, will you ever love + any woman enough to rise with her to the heights? + + "Perhaps there aren't any heights for you or me. But I should like + to think there were. Different hilltops, of course, so that we + could wave across. We shall never climb together, Georgie. Perhaps + we are too much alike to help each other up the hills. We need + stronger props. + + "Tell me about Flora. Is she really ill? If she is, I'll come. But + I'd rather not. + + "I hope you won't read this aloud to Oscar. You might, you know, + and it wouldn't do. He would hate to believe that he'd be happier + buying things at a delicatessen, and he wouldn't believe it. But + it's true, just as it is true that you would be happy shining + boots and making love to the maids like a character in Dickens. + + "Come on up, and we'll motor to Boston on Sunday afternoon and + we'll go to Trinity; I want somebody to be good with me, Georgie, + and there are so many of the other kind. + + "Ever wistfully, + "Madge." + +George knew that he ought to go, but he was not ready yet to run away. +He was having the time of his life, and as for Becky, he would teach her +how to play the game. + + +IV + +Aunt Claudia was away for three weeks. + +"I wish she would come home," young Paine said one morning to his +mother. + +"Why?" Caroline Paine was at her desk with her mind on the dinner. "Why, +Randy?" + +"Oh, Dalton's going there a lot." + +Mrs. Paine headed her list with gumbo soup. "Do you think he goes to see +Becky?" + +"Does a duck swim? Of course he goes there to see her, and he's turning +her head." + +"He is enough to turn any woman's head. He has nice eyes." Mrs. Paine +left the topic as negligible, and turned to more important things. + +"Randy, would you mind picking a few pods of okra for the soup? Susie is +so busy and Bob and Jefferson are both in the field." + +"Certainly, Mother," his cool answer gave no hint of the emotions which +were seething within him. Becky's fate was hanging in the balance, and +his mother talked of okra! He had decided some weeks ago that boarders +were disintegrating--and that a mother was not a mother who had three +big meals a day on her mind. + +He went into the garden. An old-fashioned garden, so common at one time +in the South--with a picket fence, a little gate, orderly paths--a blaze +of flowers to the right, and to the left a riot of vegetables--fat +tomatoes weighing the vines to the ground, cucumbers hiding under their +sheltering leaves, cabbages burgeoning in blue-green, and giving the +promise of unlimited boiled dinners, onions enough to flavor a thousand +delectable dishes, sweet corn running in countless rows up the hill, +carrots waving their plumes, Falstaffian watermelons. It was evident +with the garden as an index that the boarders at King's Crest were fed +on more than milk and honey. + +Randy picked the okra and carried it to the kitchen, and returning to +the Schoolhouse found the Major opening his morning mail. + +Randy sat down on the step. "Once upon a time," he said, "we had +niggers to work in our gardens. And now we are all niggers." + +The Major's keen eyes studied him. "What's the matter?" + +"I've been picking okra--for soup, and I'm a Paine of King's Crest." + +"Well, you peeled potatoes in France." + +"That's different." + +"Why should it be different? If a thing is for the moment your job you +are never too big for it." + +"I wish I had stayed in the Army. I wish I had never come back." + +The Major whistled for a moment, thoughtfully. Then he said, "Look here, +Paine, hadn't you better talk about it?" + +"Talk about what?" + +"That's for you to tell me. There's something worrying you. You are more +tragic than--Hamlet----" + +"Well--it's--Becky----" + +"And Dalton, of course. Why don't you cut him out, Paine----" + +"Me? Oh, look here, Major, what have I to offer her?" + +"Youth and energy and a fighting spirit," the Major rapped out the +words. + +"What is a fighting spirit worth," Randy asked with a sort of weary +scorn, "when a man is poor and the woman's rich?" + +The Major had been whistling a silly little tune from a modern opera. It +was an air which his men would have recognized. It came to an end +abruptly. + +"Rich? Who is rich?" + +"Becky." + +The Major got up and limped to the porch rail. "I thought she was as +poor as----" + +"The rest of us? Well, she isn't." + +It appeared that Becky's fortune came from the Nantucket grandmother, +and that there would be more when the Admiral died. It was really a very +large fortune, well invested, and yielding an amazing income. One of the +clauses of the grandmother's will had to do with the bringing up of +Becky. Until she was of age she was to be kept as much as possible away +from the distractions and temptations of modern luxury. The Judge and +the Admiral had agreed that nothing could be better. The result, Randy +said, was that nobody ever thought of Becky Bannister as rich. + +"Yet those pearls that she wears are worth more than I ever expect to +earn." + +"It is rather like a fairy tale. The beggar-maid becomes a queen." + +"You can see now why I can't offer her just youth and a fighting +spirit." + +"I wonder if Dalton knows." + +"I don't believe he does," Randy said slowly. "I give him credit for +that." + +"He might have heard----" + +"I doubt it. He hasn't mingled much, you know." + +"It will be rather a joke on him----" + +"To find that he has married--Mademoiselle Midas?" + +"To find that she is Mademoiselle Midas, whether he marries her or not." + + +V + +Of course Georgie-Porgie ran away. It was the inevitable climax. Flora's +illness hastened things a bit. + +"She wants to see her New York doctors," Waterman had said. "I think we +shall close the house, and join Madge later at the Crossing." + +George felt an unexpected sense of shock. The game must end, yet he +wanted it to go on. The cards were in his hands, and he was not quite +ready to turn the trick. + +"When do we go?" he asked Oscar. + +"In a couple of days if we can manage it. Flora is getting worried about +herself. She thinks it is her heart." + +George rode all of that afternoon with Becky. But not a word did he say +about his departure. He never spoiled a thing like this with "Good-bye." +Back at Waterman's, Kemp was packing trunks. In forty-eight hours there +would be the folding of tents, and Hamilton Hill would be deserted. It +added a pensiveness to his manner that made him more than ever charming. +It rained on the way home, and it seemed to him significant that his +first ride and his last with Becky should have been in the rain. + +He stayed to dinner, and afterwards he and Becky walked together in the +fragrance of the wet garden. A new moon hung low for a while and was +then lost behind the hills. + +"My little girl," George said when the moment came that he must go, "My +dear little girl." He gathered her up in his arms--but did not kiss her. +For once in his life, Georgie-Porgie was too deeply moved for kisses. + +After he had gone, Becky went into the Bird Room, and stood on the +hearth and looked up at the Trumpeter Swan. There was no one to whom she +could speak of the ecstasy which surged through her. As a child she had +brought her joys here, and her sorrows--her Christmas presents in the +early morning--the first flowers of the spring. She had sat here often +in her little black frock and had felt the silent sympathy of the wise +old bird. + +He gazed down at her now with an almost uncanny intelligence. She +laughed a little and standing on tiptoe laid her cheek against the cool +glass. "When I am married," was her wordless question, "will you sound +your trumpet high up near the moon?" + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +MADEMOISELLE MIDAS + + +I + +There came to Huntersfield the next morning at about the same moment, +Kemp in his little car with a small parcel for Becky, and Calvin with a +big box from the express office. + +Becky was in her room at breakfast when Calvin brought the boxes up to +her. It was a sunshiny morning, and the Judge had gone a-fishing with +Mr. Flippin. Becky, in a lace cap and a robe that was delicately blue, +sat in a big chair with a low table in front of her. + +There were white roses on the table in a silver bowl. The Judge had sent +them to her. The Judge had for the women of his family a feeling that +was almost youthfully romantic, and which was, unquestionably, +old-fashioned. He liked to think that they had roses for their little +noses, ribbons and laces for their pretty faces. He wanted no harsh +winds to blow on them. And in return for the softness and ease with +which he would surround them, he wanted their deference to his masculine +point of view. + +With the box which George sent was a note. It was the first that Becky +had ever received from her lover. George's code did not include much +correspondence. Flaming sentiment on paper was apt to look silly when +the affair ended. + +To Becky, her name on the outside of the envelope seemed written in +gold. She was all blushing expectation. + +"There ain't no answer," Calvin said, and she waited for him to go +before she opened it. + +She read it and sat there drained of all feeling. She was as white as +the roses on her table. She read the note again and her hands shook. + + "Flora is very ill. We are taking her up to New York. After that we + shall go to the North Shore. There isn't time for me to come and + say, 'Good-bye.' Perhaps it is better not to come. It has been a + wonderful summer, and it is you who have made it wonderful for me. + The memory will linger with me always--like a sweet dream or a rare + old tale. I am sending you a little token--for remembrance. Think + of me sometimes, Becky." + +That was all, except a scrawled "G. D." at the end. No word of coming +back. No word of writing to her again. No word of any future in which +she would have a part. + +She opened the box. Within on a slender chain was a pendant--a square +sapphire set in platinum, and surrounded by diamonds. George had +ordered it in anticipation of this crisis. He had, hitherto, found such +things rather effective in the cure of broken hearts. + +Now, had George but known it, Becky had jewels in leather cases in the +vaults of her bank which put his sapphire trinket to shame. There were +the diamonds in which a Meredith great-grandmother had been presented at +the Court of St. James, and there were the pearls of which her own +string was a small part. There were emeralds and rubies, old corals and +jade--not for nothing had the Admiral sailed the seas, bringing back +from China and India lovely things for the woman he loved. And now the +jewels were Becky's, and she had not cared for them in the least. If +George had loved her she would have cherished his sapphire more than all +the rest. + +But he did not love her. She knew it in that moment. All of her doubts +were confirmed. + +The thing that had happened to her seemed incredible. + +She put the sapphire back in its box, wrapped it, tied the string +carefully and called Mandy. + +"Tell Calvin to take this to Mr. Dalton." + +Mandy knew at once that something was wrong. But this was not a moment +for words. The Bannisters did not talk about things that troubled them. +They held their heads high. And Becky's was high at this moment, and her +eyes were blazing. + +As she sat there, tense, Becky wondered what Dalton could have thought +of her. If she had not had a jewel in the world, she would not have kept +his sapphire. Didn't he know that? + +But how could he know? To him it had been "a sweet dream--a rare old +tale," and she had thought him a Romeo ready to die for her sake, an +Aucassin--willing to brave Hell rather than give her up, a Lohengrin +sent from Heaven! + +She shuddered and hid her face in her hands. At last she crept into bed. +Mandy, coming in to straighten the room, was told to lower the curtains. + +"My--my head aches, Mandy." + +Mandy, wise old Mandy, knew of course that it was her heart. "You res' +an' sleep, honey," she said, and moved about quietly setting things in +order. + +But Becky did not sleep. She lay wide awake, and tried to get the thing +straight in her mind. How had it happened? Where had she failed? Oh, why +hadn't Sister Loretto told her that there were men like this? Why hadn't +Aunt Claudia returned in time? + +In the big box which Mandy had brought up were clothes--exquisite things +which Becky had ordered from New York. She had thought it a miracle +that George should have fallen in love with her believing her poor. It +showed, she felt, his splendidness, his kingly indifference to--poverty. +Yet she had planned a moment when he should know. When their love was +proclaimed to the world he should see her in a splendor which matched +his own. He had loved her in spite of her faded cottons, in spite of her +shabby shoes. She had made up her list carefully, thinking of his +sparkling eyes when he beheld her. + +She got out of bed and opened the box. The lovely garments were wrapped +in rosy tissue paper, and tied with ribbons to match. It seemed to Becky +as if those rosy wrappings held the last faint glow of her dreams. + +She untied the ribbons of the top parcel, and disclosed a frock of fine +white lace--there was cloth of silver for a petticoat, and silver +slippers. She would have worn her pearls, and George and she would have +danced together at the Harvest Ball at the Merriweathers. It was an +annual and very exclusive affair in the county. It was not likely that +the Watermans and their guests would be invited, but there would have +been a welcome for Dalton as her friend--her more than friend. + +There was a white lace wrap with puffs of pink taffeta and knots of +silver ribbon which went with the gown. Becky with a sudden impulse put +it on. She stripped the cap from her head, and wound her bronze locks +in a high knot. She surveyed herself. + +Well, she was Becky Bannister of Huntersfield--and the mirror showed her +beauty. And Dalton had not known or cared. He thought her poor, and had +thrown her aside like an old glove! + +Down-stairs the telephone rang. Old Mandy, coming up to say that Mr. +Randy was on the wire, stood in amazement at the sight of Becky in the +rosy wrap with her hair peaked up to a topknot. + +"Ain' you in baid?" she asked, superfluously. + +"No. Who wants me, Mandy?" + +"I tole you--Mr. Randy." + +Becky deliberated. "I'll go down. When I come up we'll unpack all this, +Mandy." + +Randy at the other end of the wire was asking Becky to go to a barbecue +the next day. + +"The boarders are giving it--it is Mother's birthday and they want to +celebrate. It is to be on Pavilion Hill. They want you and the +Judge----" + +"To-morrow? Oh, I don't know, Randy." + +"Why not? Have you another engagement?" + +"No." + +"Then what's the matter? Can't you tear yourself away from your shining +knight?" + +Silence. + +"Becky--oh, I didn't mean that. I'm sorry--_Becky_----" + +Her answer came faintly, "I'll come." + +"What's the matter with the wire? I can't hear you." + +There was nothing the matter with the wire. The thing that was the +matter was Becky's voice. She found it suddenly unmanageable. "We'll +come," she told him finally, and hung up the receiver. + +She ascended the stairs as if she carried a burden on her back. Mandy +was on her knees before the hamper, untying the rosy packages. + +"Is you goin' to try 'em on, honey?" she asked. + +Becky stood in the doorway, the lace wrap hanging from her shoulders and +showing the delicate blue of the negligee beneath--her face was like +chalk but her eyes shone. "Yes," she said, "there's a pink gingham I +want to wear to the barbecue to-morrow. There ought to be a hat to match. +Did the hats come, Mandy?" + +"Calvin he say there's another box, but he ain' brought it up from the +deepot. He was ridin' dat Jo-mule, and this yer basket was all he could +ca'y." + +In the pink frock Becky looked like a lovely child. + +"Huc-cum you-all gettin' eve'y thing pink, Miss Becky?" Mandy asked. + +"For a change," said Becky. + +And how could she tell old Mandy that she had felt that in a +rose-colored world everything should be rose-color? + +She tried on each frock deliberately. She tried on every pair of +slippers. She tried on the wraps, and the hats which came up finally +with Calvin staggering beneath the bulkiness of the box. She was lovely +in everything. And she was no longer the little Becky Bannister whom +Dalton had wooed. She was Mademoiselle Midas, appraising her beauty in +her lovely clothes, and wondering what Dalton would think if he could +see her. + + +II + +Becky did not, after all, wear the pink gingham. The Judge elected to go +on horseback, so Becky rode forth by his side correctly and smartly +attired in a gray habit, with a straight black sailor and a high stock +and boots that made her look like a charming boy. + +They came to Pavilion Hill to find the boarders like the chorus in light +opera very picturesque in summer dresses and summer flannels, and with +Mrs. Paine in a broad hat playing the part of leading lady. Mr. Flippin, +who was high-priest at all of the county barbecues, was superintending +the roasting of a whole pig, and Mrs. Flippin had her mind on hot +biscuits. The young mulatto, Daisy, and Mandy's John, with the negroes +from the Paine household, were setting the long tables under the trees. +There was the good smell of coffee, much laughter, and a generally +festive atmosphere. + +The Judge, enthroned presently in the Pavilion, was the pivotal center +of the crowd. Everybody wanted to hear his stories, and with this fresh +audience to stimulate him, he dominated the scene. He wore a sack suit +and a Panama hat and his thin, fine face, the puff of curled white hair +at the back of his neck, the gayety of his glance gave an almost +theatric touch to his appearance, so that one felt he might at any +moment come down stage and sing a topical song in the best Gilbertian +manner. + +It was an old scene with a new setting. It was not the first time that +Pavilion Hill had been the backgrounds of a barbecue. But it was the +first time that a Paine of King's Crest had accepted hospitality on its +own land. It was the first time that it had echoed to the voices of an +alien group. It was the first time that it had seen a fighting black man +home from France. The old order had changed indeed. No more would there +be feudal lords of Albemarle acres. + +Yet old loyalties die hard. It was the Judge and Mrs. Paine and Becky +and Randy who stood first in the hearts of the dusky folk who served at +the long tables. The boarders were not in any sense "quality." Whatever +they might be, North, East and West, their names were not known on +Virginia records. And what was any family tree worth if it was not +rooted in Virginia soil? + +"Effen the Jedge was a king and wo' a crown," said Mandy's John to +Daisy, "he couldn't look mo' bawn to a th'one." + +Daisy nodded. "Settin' at the head o' that table minds me o' whut my old +Mammy used to say, 'han'some is as han'some does.' The Bannisters _done_ +han'some and they _is_ han'some." + +"They sure is," John agreed; "that-all's whut makes you so good-lookin', +Daisy." + +He came close to her and she drew away. "You put yo' min' on passin' +them plates," she said with severity, "or you'll be spillin' po'k gravy +on they haids." Her smile took away the sting of her admonition. John +moved on, murmuring, "Well, yo' does han'some and yo' is han'some, +Daisy, and that's why I loves you." + +There were speeches after dinner. One from Randy, in which he thanked +them in the name of his mother, and found himself quite suddenly and +unexpectedly being fond of the boarders. Major Prime was not there. He +had been summoned back to Washington, but would return, he hoped, for +the week-end. + +It was after lunch that Randy and Becky walked in the woods. Nellie +Custis followed them. They sat down at last at the foot of a hickory +tree. Becky took off her hat and the wind blew her shining hair about +her face. She was pale and wore an air of deep preoccupation. + +"Randy," she asked suddenly out of a long silence, "did you ever kiss a +girl?" + +Her question did not surprise him. He and Becky had argued many matters. +And they usually plunged in without preliminaries. He fancied that Becky +was discussing kisses in the abstract. It never occurred to him that the +problem was personal. + +"Yes," he said, "I have. What about it?" + +"Did you--ask her to marry you?" + +"No." + +"Why not?" + +He pulled Nellie Custis' ears. "One of them wasn't a nice sort of +girl--not the kind that I should have cared to introduce to--you." + +"Yet you cared to--kiss her?" + +Randy flushed faintly. "I know how it looks to you. I hated it +afterwards, but I couldn't marry a girl--like that----" + +"Who was the other girl?" + +For a moment he did not reply, then he said with something of an effort, +"It was you, Becky." + +"Me? When?" She turned on him her startled gaze. + +"Do you remember at Christmas--oh, ten years ago--and your grandfather +had a party for you. There was mistletoe in the hall, and we danced and +stopped under the mistletoe----" + +"I remember, Randy--how long ago it seems." + +"Yet ten years isn't really such a long time, is it, Becky? I was only a +little boy, but I told myself then that I would never kiss any other +girl. I thought then that--that some day I might ask you to marry me. +I--I had a wild dream that I might try to make you love me. I didn't +know then that poverty is a millstone about a man's neck." He gave a +bitter laugh. + +Becky's breath came quickly. "Oh, Randy," she said, "poverty wouldn't +have had anything to do with it--not if we had--cared----" + +"I care," said Randy, "and I think the first time I knew how much I +cared was when I kissed that other girl. Somehow you came to me that +night, a little white thing, so fine and different, and I loathed her." + +He was standing now--tall and lean and black-haired, but with the look +of race on his thin face, a rather princely chap in spite of his shabby +clothes. "Of course you don't care," he said; "I think if I had money I +should try to make you. But I haven't the right. I had thought that, +perhaps, if no other man came that some time I might----" + +Becky picked up her riding crop, and as she talked she tapped her boot +in a sort of staccato accompaniment. + +"That other man has come," _tap-tap_, "he kissed me," _tap-tap_, "and +made me love him," _tap-tap_, "and he has gone away--and he hasn't asked +me to marry him." + +One saw the Indian in Randy now, in the lifted head, the square-set jaw, +the almost cruel keenness of the eyes. + +"Of course it is George Dalton," he said. + +"Yes." + +"I could kill him, Becky." + +She laughed, ruefully. "For what? Perhaps he thinks I'm not a nice sort +of girl--like the one you kissed----" + +"For God's sake, Becky." + +He sat down on a flat rock. He was white, and shaking a little. He +wanted more than anything else in the wide world to kill George Dalton. +Of course in these days such things were preposterous. But he had murder +in his heart. + +"I blame myself," Becky said, _tap-tap_, "I should have known that a man +doesn't respect," _tap-tap_, "a woman he can kiss." + +He took the riding crop forcibly out of her hands. "Look at me, look at +me, Becky, do you love him?" + +She whispered, "Yes." + +"Then he's got to marry you." + +But her pride was up. "Do you think I want him if he doesn't want--me?" + +"He shall want you," said Randy Paine; "the day shall come when he shall +beg on his knees." + +Randy had studied law. But there are laws back of the laws of the white +man. The Indian knows no rest until his enemy is in his hands. Randy lay +awake late that night thinking it out. But he was not thinking only of +Georgie. He was thinking of Becky and her self-respect. "She will never +get it back," he said, "until that dog asks her to marry him." + +He had faith enough in her to believe that she would not marry Dalton +now if he asked her. But she must be given the chance. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +ANCESTORS + + +I + +The Judge and Mr. Flippin were fishing, with grasshoppers for bait. The +fish that they caught they called "shiners." As an edible product +"shiners" were of little account. But the Judge and Mr. Flippin did not +fish for food, they fished for sport. It was mild sport compared to the +fishing of other days when the Judge had waded into mountain streams +with the water coming up close to the pocket of his flannel shirt where +he kept his cigars, or had been poled by Bob Flippin from "riffle" to +pool. Those had been the days of speckled trout and small-mouthed bass, +and Bob had been a boy and the Judge at middle age. Now Bob Flippin had +reached the middle years, and the Judge was old, but they still fished +together. They were comrades in a very close and special sense. What Bob +Flippin lacked in education and culture he made up in wisdom and +adoration of the Judge. When he talked he had something to say, but as +a rule he let the Judge talk and was always an absorbed listener. + +There was in their relations, however, a complete adjustment to the +class distinctions which separated them. The Judge accepted as his right +the personal service with which Bob Flippin delighted to honor him. It +was always Bob who pulled the boat and carried the basket. It was Bob +who caught the grasshoppers and cooked the lunch. + +There was one dish dedicated to a day's fishing--fried ham and eggs. Bob +had a long-handled frying-pan, and the food was seasoned with the salt +and savor of the out-of-doors. + +There were always several dogs to bear their masters company. The +Judge's three were beagles--tireless hunters of rabbits, and somewhat in +disgrace as a species since Germany had gone to war with the world. +Individually, however, they were beloved by the Judge because they were +the children and grandchildren of a certain old Dinah who had slept in a +basket by his bed until she died. + +Bob Flippin had a couple of setters, and the five canines formed a +wistful semicircle around the lunch basket. + +The lunch basket was really a fishing-basket, lined with tin. In one end +was a receptacle for ice. After the lunch was eaten, the fish were put +next to the ice, and the basket thus served two purposes. Among the +other edibles there were always corn-cakes for the dogs. They knew it, +and had the patience of assured expectation. + +"Truxton comes on Saturday," said the Judge as he watched Bob turn the +eggs expertly in the long-handled pan, "and Claudia. I told Becky to +ride over this morning and ask your wife if she could help Mandy. +Mandy's all right when there's nobody but the family, but when there's +company in prospect she moans and groans." + +"Mollie's up at the Watermans'; Mrs. Waterman is worse. They expected to +take her to New York, but she is too ill, and they are going to have the +doctors bring another nurse." + +"I had a note from Mr. Dalton," said the Judge, "saying they were going. +It was rather sudden, and he was sorry. Nice fellow. He liked to come +over and look at my birds." + +Bob Flippin's eyes twinkled. "I reckon he liked to look at a pretty +girl----" + +The Judge stared at him. "At Becky?" + +Flippin nodded. "Didn't you know it?" + +"Bless my soul." The Judge was unquestionably startled. "But I don't +know anything about him. I can't have him running after Becky." + +"Seems to me he's been a-runnin'." + +"But what would Claudia say? I don't know anything about his family. +Maybe he hasn't any family. How do I know he isn't a fortune-hunter?" + +"Well, he isn't a bird hunter, I can tell you that. I saw him kick one +of your dogs. A man that will kick a dog isn't fit to hold a gun." + +"No, he isn't," said the Judge, soberly. "I'm upset by what you've said, +Flippin. Dalton's all right as far as I can see as a friend of mine. But +when anybody comes courting at Huntersfield he's got to show +credentials." + +He ate his lunch without much appetite. He was guiltily aware of what +Claudia would say if she knew what had happened. + +But perhaps nothing had happened and perhaps she need not know. He +cheered up and threw a bit of ham to the waiting dogs. Perhaps Becky +wasn't interested. Perhaps, after all, Dalton had been genuine in his +interest in the stuffed birds. + +"Becky's too young for things like that," he began hopefully. + +But Bob Flippin shook his head. "Girls are queer, Judge, and you never +can tell what they're goin' to do next. Now, there's my Mary--running +off and getting married, and coming home and not talking much about it. +She--didn't even bring her marriage certificate. Said that he had kept +it. But she's never lied to me, and I know when she says she's married, +she's--married--but it's queer. He ain't written now for weeks, but she +ain't worried. She says she knows the reason, but she can't tell me. And +when I try to ask questions, she just looks me straight in the eye and +says, 'I never lied to you, Father, did I? And it's all right.'" + +"He has a good name," said the Judge. "Branch--it's one of our names--my +wife's family." + +"But I reckon there ain't never been any Truelove Branches in your +family tree. I laugh at Mary when she calls him that. '"Truelove" ain't +any name for a man, Mary,' I tell her. But she says there couldn't be a +better one. And she insisted on naming the child 'Fidelity.' But if +anybody had told me that my little Mary--would take things into her own +hands like that--why, Judge, before she went away to teach school, she +leaned on me and her mother--and now she's as stiff as a poker when we +try to ask about her affairs----" + +"Does he support her?" the Judge asked. + +"Sends her plenty of money. She always seems to have enough, even when +he doesn't write. He'll be coming one of these days--and then we'll get +the thing straight, but in the meantime there ain't any use in asking +Mary." + +He brought out the bag of corn-cakes and fed the dogs. They were a +well-bred crew and took their share in turn, sitting in a row and going +through the ceremony with an air of enjoying not only the food but the +attention they attracted from the two men. + +"Of course," said Mr. Flippin as he gathered up the lunch things, "I'm +saying to you what I wouldn't say to another soul. Mary's my girl, and +she's all right. But I naturally have the feelings of a father." + +The Judge stretched himself on the grass, and pulled his hat over his +eyes. "Girls are queer, and if that Dalton thinks he can court my +Becky----" He stopped, and spoke again from under his hat, "Oh, what's +the use of worrying, Bob, on a day like this?" + +The Judge always napped after lunch, and Bob Flippin, stretched beside +him, lay awake and watched the stream slip by in a sheet of silver, he +watched a squirrel flattened on the limb above him, he watched the birds +that fluttered down to the pools to bathe, he watched the buzzards +sailing high above the hills. + +And presently he found himself watching his own daughter Mary, as she +came along the opposite bank of the stream. + +She was drawing Fiddle-dee-dee in a small red cart and was walking +slowly. + +She walked well. Country-born and country-bred, there was nothing about +her of plodding peasant. All her life she had danced with the +Bannisters and the Beauforts. Yet she had never been invited to the big +balls. When the Merriweathers gave their Harvest Dance, Mary and her +mother would go over and help bake the cakes, and at night they would +sit in the gallery of the great ballroom and watch the dancers, but Mary +would not be asked out on the floor. + +Seeing the Judge asleep, Mary stopped and beckoned from the other side. + +Flippin rose and made his way across the stream, stepping from stone to +stone. + +"Mother wants you to come right up to the Watermans', Father. Mrs. +Waterman is to have an operation, and you are to direct the servants in +fitting up a room for the surgeons. The nurse will tell you what to do." + +Mr. Flippin rubbed his face with his handkerchief. "I don't like to wake +the Judge." + +"I'll stay here and tell him," Mary said. "And you can send Calvin down +to carry the basket." + +She was standing beside him, and suddenly she laid her cheek against his +arm. "I love you," she said, "you are a darling, Daddy." + +He patted her cheek. "That sounds like my little Mary." + +"Don't I always sound like your little Mary?" + +"Not always." + +"Well--I've had things on my mind." Her blue eyes met his, and she +flushed a bit. "Not things that I am sorry for, but things that I am +worried about. But now--well, I am very happy in my heart, Daddy." + +He smiled down at her. "Have you heard from T. Branch?" + +"Yes, by wireless----" + +He looked his astonishment. "Wireless?" + +"Heart-wireless, Daddy. Didn't you get messages that way when you were +young--from Mother?" + +"How do I know? It's been twenty-five years since then, and we haven't +had to send messages. We've just held on to each other's hands, thank +God." He bent and kissed her. "You stay and tell the Judge, Mary. He'll +sleep for a half-hour yet; he's as regular as the clock." + +His own two dogs followed him, but the Judge's beagles lay with their +noses on their paws at their master's feet. Now and then they snapped at +flies but otherwise they were motionless. + +Before the half hour was up Fiddle-dee-dee fell asleep, and the Judge +waking, saw on the other side of a stream propped against the gray old +oak, the young mother cool in her white dress, her child in her arms. + +"Father had to go," she told him, and explained the need; "he'll send +Calvin for the basket." + +"I can carry my own basket, Mary; I'm not a thousand years old." + +"It isn't that. But you've never carried baskets, Judge." + +The Judge chuckled. "You say that is if it were an accusation." + +"It isn't. Only some of us seem born to carry baskets and others are +born to--let us carry them." Her smile redeemed her words from +impertinence. + +"Are you a Bolshevik, Mary?" + +"No. I believe in the divine rights of kings and--Judges. I'd hate to +see you carry a basket. It would rob you of something--just as I would +hate to see a king without his crown or a queen without her scepter." + +"Oh, Mary, Mary, your father has never said things like that to me." + +"He doesn't feel them. Father believes in The God of Things as They +are----" + +"And don't you?" + +"I believe in you," she rose and carrying her sleeping child, crossed +the stream on the stones as easily as if she carried no burden; "you +know I believe in you, don't you--and in all the Bannisters?" + +It was said so lightly that he took it lightly. No one was so touchy as +the Judge about his dignity if it were disregarded. But here was little +Mary smiling up at him and telling him that he was a king with a crown +and she liked it. + +"Well, well. Let's sit down, Mary." + +"Fish, if you want to, and I'll watch." + +He baited his hook and cast his line into the stream. It had a bobbing +red cork which fascinated Fiddle-dee-dee. She tried to wade out and get +it, and had to be held by her very short skirts lest she drown in the +attempt. + +"So I'm a confounded autocrat," the Judge chuckled. "Nobody ever said +that to me before, but maybe some of them have been thinking it." + +"Maybe they have," said Mary gravely, "but they haven't really cared. +Having the Bannisters at Huntersfield is like the English having a +Victoria or an Edward or a George at Buckingham Palace or at Windsor; it +adds flavor to their--democracy----" + +"Mary--who's been saying all this to you?" he demanded. + +"My husband." + +"Truelove Branch?" + +She nodded. + +"I'd like to meet him, by Jove, I'd like to meet him. He has been +teaching his wife to poke fun at her old friend----" + +She faced him fearlessly. "I'm not poking fun. I--I'd hate to have the +Bannisters lose one little bit of their beautiful traditions. I--I---- +Some day I'm going to teach little Fiddle those traditions, and tell her +what it means when--when people have race back of them. You see, I +haven't it, Judge, but I know what it's worth." + +He was touched by her earnestness. "My dear Mary," he said, "I wish my +own grandson looked at it that way. His letters of late have been very +disturbing." + +A little flush crept into her cheeks. "Disturbing?" + +"He writes that we Americans have got to fit our practice to our +theories. He says that we shout democracy and practice autocracy. That +we don't believe that all men are free and equal, and that, well, in +your words, Mary--we let other people carry our baskets." + +Mary was smiling to herself. "You are glad he is coming home?" + +"Truxton? Yes. On Saturday." + +"Becky told me. She rode over to get Mother to help Mandy." + +"I am going to have a lot of people to dine the day he arrives," said +the Judge, "and next week there'll be the Merriweathers' ball. He will +have a chance to see his old friends." + +"Yes," said Mary, "he will." + +They talked a great deal about Truxton after that. + +"I wish he bore the Bannister name," said the Judge. "Becky is the only +Bannister." + +After the death of her husband Mrs. Beaufort had come to live with the +Judge. Truxton's boyhood had been spent on the old estate. The Judge's +income was small, and Truxton had known few luxuries. Like the rest of +the boys of the Bannister family he was studying law at the University. +He and Randy had been classmates, but had gone into different branches +of the service. + +"When he comes back," the Judge told Mary, "he must show the stuff he is +made of. I can't have him selling cars around the county like Randy +Paine." + +"Well, Randy has sold a lot of them," said Mary. "Father has given him +an order----" + +"You don't mean to say that Bob Flippin is going to buy a car----" + +"He is." + +"He didn't dare tell me," the Judge said; "what's he going to do with +his horses?" + +"Keep them," said Mary serenely; "the car is for Mother--she's going to +drive it herself." + +The Judge, with a vision of Mollie Flippin's middle-aged plumpness upon +him, exclaimed: "You don't mean that your mother is going to--drive a +car?" + +"Yes," said Mary, "she is." + +"I would as soon think of Claudia----" + +"No," said Mary, "Mrs. Beaufort will never drive her own car. She has +the coachman habit, and if she ever gets a car, there'll be a man at the +wheel." + +She brought the conversation back to Truxton. "Do you remember how we +had a picnic here years ago, Mother packed the lunch, and Truxton ate up +all the raspberry tarts?" + +"He loved tarts," said the Judge, "and chocolate cake. Well, well, I +shall be glad to see him." + +"Perhaps--perhaps when he gets here you'll be disappointed." + +"Why," sharply, "why should I?" + +Mary did not answer. She stood up with Fiddle in her arms. "Calvin's +coming for the basket," she said, "and I shall have to go up on the +other side--I left the cart." + +She said "good-bye" and crossed by the stepping-stones. The Judge wound +up his fishing tackle. The day's sport resulted in three small +"shiners." But he had enjoyed the day--there had been the stillness and +the sunlight, and the good company of Bob Flippin and his daughter +Mary. + +The dogs followed, and Mary from the other side of the stream watched +the little procession, Calvin in the lead with the load, the Judge +straight and slim with his fluff of white hair, the three little dogs +paddling on their short legs. + +"Judge Bannister of Huntersfield," said Mary Flippin. Then she raised +Fiddle high in her arms. "Say _Granddad_, Fiddle," she whispered, "say +_Granddad_." + + +II + +The Flippin farmhouse was wide and rambling. It had none of the classic +elegance of the old Colonial mansions, but it had a hall in the middle +with the sitting-room on one side and on the other an old-fashioned +parlor with a bedroom back of it. The dining-room was back of the +sitting-room, and beyond that was the kitchen, and a succession of +detached buildings which served as dairy, granary, tool-house and +carriage house in the old fashion. There was much sunlight and +cleanliness in the farmhouse, and beauty of a kind, for the Flippins had +been content with simple things, and Mary's taste was evidenced in the +restraint with which the new had been combined with the old. She and her +mother did most of the work. It was not easy in these days to get +negroes to help. Daisy, the mulatto, had come down for the summer, but +they had no assurance that when the winter came they could keep her. +Divested of her high heels and city affectations, Daisy was just a +darkey, of a rather plain, comfortable, efficient type. When Mary went +in, she was getting supper. + +"Has Mother come, Daisy?" + +"No, Miss, she ain', an' yo' Poppa ain' come. An' me makin' biscuits." + +"Your biscuits are always delicious, Daisy." + +"An' me and John wants to go to the movies, Miss Mary. An' efen the +supper is late." + +"You can leave the dishes until mornin', Daisy." + +Mary smiled and sighed as she went on with Fiddle to her own room. The +good old days of ordered service were over. + +She went into the parlor bedroom. It was the one which she and Fiddle +occupied. She bathed and dressed her baby, and changed her own frock. +Then she entered the long, dim parlor. There was a family Bible on the +table. It was a great volume with steel engravings. It had belonged to +her father's father. In the middle of the book were pages for births and +deaths. The records were written legibly but not elegantly. They went +back for two generations. Beyond that the Flippins had no family tree. + +Mary had seen the family tree at Huntersfield. It was rooted in +aristocratic soil. There were Huguenot branches and Royalist +branches--D'Aubignes and Moncures, Peytons and Carys, Randolphs and +Lees. And to match every name there was more than one portrait on the +walls of Huntersfield. + +Mary remembered a day when she and Truxton Beaufort had stood in the +wide hall. + +"A great old bunch," Truxton had said. + +"If they were my ancestors I should be afraid of them." + +"Why, Mary?" + +"Oh, they'd expect so much of me." + +"Oh, that," Truxton said airily, "who cares what they expect?" + +Mr. and Mrs. Flippin came home in time for supper. The nurse had arrived +and the surgeons would follow in the morning. "It's dreadful, Mary," +Mrs. Flippin said, "to see her poor husband; money isn't everything. And +he loves her as much as if they were poor." + +Daisy washed the dishes in a perfect whirl of energy, donned her +high-heeled slippers and her Washington manner, and went off with John. +It was late that night when Mrs. Flippin went out to find Mary busy. + +"My dear," she said, "what are you doing?" + +Mary was rolling out pastry, with ice in a ginger-ale bottle. "I am +going to make some tarts. There was a can of raspberries left--and--and +well--I'm just hungry for--raspberry tarts, Mother." + + +III + +It was the Judge who told Becky that Dalton had not gone. "Mrs. Waterman +is very ill, and they are all staying down." + +Becky showed no sign of what the news meant to her, but that night pride +and love fought in the last ditch. It seemed to Becky that with Dalton +at King's Crest the agony of the situation was intensified. + +"Oh, why should I care?" she kept asking herself as she sat late by her +window. "He doesn't. And I have known him only three weeks. Why should +he count so much?" + +She knew that he counted to the measure of her own constancy. "I can't +bear it," she said over and over again pitifully, as the hours passed. +"I think I shall--die." + +It seemed to her that she wanted more than anything in the whole wide +world to see him for a moment--to hear the quick voice--to meet the +sparkle of his glance. + +Well, why not? If she called him--he would come. She was sure of that. +He was staying away because he thought that she cared. And he didn't +want her to care. But he was not really--cruel--and if she called +him---- + +She wandered around the room, stopping at a window and going on, +stopping at another to stare out into the starless night. There had been +rain, and there was that haunting wet fragrance from the garden. "I must +see him," she said, and put her hand to her throat. + +She went down-stairs. Everybody was in bed. There was no one to hear. +Her grandfather's room was over the library; Mandy and Calvin slept in +servants' quarters outside. To-morrow the house would be full of +ears--and it would be too late. + +A faint light burned in the lower hall. The stairway swept down from a +sort of upper gallery, and all around the gallery and on the stairs and +along the lower hall were the portraits of Becky's dead and gone +ancestors. + +They were really very worth-while ancestors, not as solid and +substantial perhaps as those whose portraits hung in the Meredith house +on Main Street in Nantucket, but none the less aristocratic, with a bit +of dare-devil about the men, and a hint of frivolity about the +women--with a pink coat here and a black patch there, with the sheen of +satin and the sparkle of jewels--a Cavalier crowd, with the greatest +ancestor of all in his curly wig and his sweeping plumes. + +They stared at Becky as she went down-stairs, a little white figure in +her thin blue dressing-gown, her bronze hair twisted into a curly +topknot, her feet in small blue slippers. + +The telephone was on a small table under the portrait of the greatest +grandfather. He had a high nose, and a fine clear complexion, and he +looked really very much alive as he gazed down at Becky. + +She found the King's Crest number. It was a dreadful thing that she was +about to do. Yet she was going to do it. + +She reached for the receiver. Then suddenly her hand was stayed, for it +seemed to her that into the silence her greatest grandfather shouted +accusingly: + +_"Where is your pride?"_ + +She found herself trying to explain. "But, Grandfather----" + +The clamour of other voices assailed her: + +_"Where is your pride?"_ + +They were flinging the question at her from all sides, those gentlemen +in ruffles, those ladies in shining gowns. + +Becky stood before them like a prisoner at the bar--a slight child, yet +with the look about her of those lovely ladies, and with eyes as clear +as those of the old Governor who had accused her. + +"But I love him----" + +It was no defense and she knew it. Not one of those lovely ladies would +have tried to call a lover back, not one of them but would have died +rather than show her hurt. Not one of those slender and sparkling +gentlemen but would have found swords or pistols the only settlement for +Dalton's withdrawal at such a moment. + +And she was one of them--one of that prideful group. There came to her a +sense of strength in that association. What had been done could be done +again. Other women had hidden broken hearts. Other women had held their +heads high in the face of disappointment and defeat. There were +traditions of the steadfastness of those smiling men and women. Some +day, perhaps, she would have her portrait painted, and she would +be--smiling. + +She had no fear now of their glances, as she passed them on the stairs, +as she met them in the upper hall. What she had to bear she must bear in +silence, and bear it like a Bannister. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +"T. BRANCH" + + +I + +Dalton felt that Fate had played a shabby trick. He had planned a +graceful exit and the curtain had stuck; he had wanted to run away, and +he could not. Flora was very ill, and it was, of course, out of the +question to desert Oscar. + +Madge had been sent for. She was to arrive on the noon train. He had +promised Oscar that he would drive down for her. The house was in a +hubbub. There were two trained nurses, and a half-dozen doctors. The +verdict was unanimous, Flora could not be moved, and an operation was +imperative. + +And in the meantime there was the thought of Becky beating at his heart. +With miles between them, the thing would have been easy. Other interests +would have crowded her out. But here she was definitely within +reach--and he wanted her. He wanted her more than he had ever wanted +Madge, more than he had ever wanted any other woman. There had been a +sweetness about her, a dearness. + +He thought it over as he lay in bed waiting for his breakfast. Since +waking, he had led Kemp a life of it. + +"Of all the fools," he said, when at last the tray came. + +"Anything the matter, sir?" + +George lifted a silver cover. "That's not what I ordered." + +"You said a kidney omelette, sir." + +"I wanted the kidney broiled--not in a messy sauce. Take it away." + +"I'll get you another." + +"I don't want another. Take it away." He flung his napkin on the tray +and turned his face to the wall. "I've got a headache. Tell Waterman +that if he asks for me, that I've told you to go down and meet Miss +MacVeigh." + +Kemp stood and looked at the figure humped up under the light silk +cover. He had long patience. He might have been a stick or stone under +his master's abuse. But he was not a stick or a stone. It seemed too +that suddenly his soul expanded. No man had ever called him a fool, and +he had worn a decoration in France. He knew what he was going to do. And +for the first time in many months he felt himself a free man. + +George's decision to have Kemp meet Madge had been founded on the +realization that it would be unbearably awkward if he should pass Becky +on the road. She had sent back his pendant without a word, and there was +no telling how she was taking it. If the thing were ever renewed--and +his mind dwelt daringly on that possibility, explanations would be +easy--but he couldn't make explanation if she saw him first in a car +with another woman. + +It was thus that Madge, arriving on the noon train, found Kemp waiting +for her. Kemp was very fond of Miss MacVeigh. She was not a snob and +there were so many snobs among Dalton's friends. She talked to him as if +he were a man and not a mechanical toy. Dalton, on the other hand, +treated his valet as if he were a marionette to be pulled by strings, an +organ controlled by stops, or a typewriter operated by keys. + +Major Prime had come down on the same train. Randy, driving Little +Sister, was there to meet him. + +"It is good to get back," the Major said. "I've been homesick." + +"We missed you a lot. Yesterday we had a barbecue, and you should have +been here----" + +"I wanted to be, Randy. I hope you are not going to turn me out with the +rest of the boarders when you roll in affluence." + +"Affluence, nothing--but I sold two cars yesterday----" + +"Not bad for a poet." + +"It is a funny sort of game," said Randy soberly; "all day I run around +in this funny little car, and at night I think big thoughts and try to +put them on paper." + +He could not tell the Major that the night before his thoughts had not +been the kind to put on paper. He had been in a white fury. He knew that +if he met Dalton nothing could keep him from knocking him down. He felt +that a stake and burning fagots would be the proper thing, but, failing +that, fists would do. Yet, there was Becky's name to be considered. +Revenge, if he took it, must be a subtle thing--his mind had worked on +it in the darkness of the night. + +Kemp was helping Madge into the Waterman car. "Who is she?" the Major +asked. "She came down on my train." + +"Miss MacVeigh. Mrs. Waterman is very ill. There is to be an operation +at once." + +"I watched her on the train," the Major confessed as he and Randy drove +off. "She read all the way down, and smiled over her book. I saw the +title, and it was 'Pickwick Papers.' Fancy that in these days. Most +young people don't read Dickens." + +"Well, she isn't young, is she?" + +"Not callow, if that's what you mean, you ungallant cub. But she is +young in contrast to a Methuselah like myself." + +Kemp had to look after Miss MacVeigh's trunks, so Randy's little car +went on ahead. Thus again Fate pulled wires, or Providence. If the big +car had had the lead Madge would have gone straight as an arrow to +Hamilton Hill. But as it happened, Little Sister barred the way to the +open road. + + +II + +The two cars had to pass the Flippins. Mrs. Flippin and Mary were baking +cakes for the feast at Huntersfield. Mrs. Flippin was to go over in the +afternoon and help Mandy, and to-morrow Truxton and his mother would +arrive. + +"The Judge is like a boy," said Mrs. Flippin; "he's so glad to have +Truxton home." + +"Perhaps he won't be so glad when he gets here----" + +"Why not?" Mrs. Flippin turned and stared at her daughter. + +Mary was seeding raisins, wetting her fingers now and then in a glass of +water which stood on a table by her side. "Well, Truxton may be +changed--most of the men are, aren't they?" + +"Is Randy Paine changed?" + +"Yes, Mother." + +"How?" + +"He's a grown-up." + +"Well, he needed to grow, and it wouldn't hurt Truxton either." + +"But if Truxton has grown up and wants his own way--the Judge won't like +it. The Judge has always ruled at Huntersfield." + +"Well, he supports Truxton; why shouldn't he?" + +A bright flush stained Mary's skin. "Truxton has his officer's pay now." + +"He won't have it when he gets out of the Army." + +Mary rose and went to the stove. She came back with a kettle and poured +boiling water over a dish of almonds to blanch them. + +"We ought to have made this fruit cake a week ago to have it really +good," she said, and shelved the subject of Truxton Beaufort. + +"It will be good enough as it is," said Mrs. Flippin; "there isn't +anybody in the county that can beat me when it comes to baking cakes." + +"Where's Fiddle," Mary said, suddenly; "can you see her from the window, +Mother?" + +Mrs. Flippin could not. + +"Well, she's probably sailing her celluloid fish in the chickens' water +pan," said Mary; "I'll go out and look her up in a minute." + +But Fiddle was not sailing celluloid fish. Columbus-like she had decided +that there were wider seas than the water pan. Once upon a time her +grandmother had taken her to the bottom of the hill, and at the bottom +of the hill there had been a lot of water, and Fiddle had walked in it +with her bare feet, and had splashed. She had liked it much better than +the chickens' pan. + +So she had picked up her three celluloid fish and had trotted down the +path. She wore her pink rompers, and as she bobbed along she was like a +mammoth rose-petal blown by the wind. + +At the foot of the hill she came upon a little brown stream. It was just +a thread of a stream, very shallow with a lot of big flat stones. Fiddle +walked straight into it, and the clear water swept over her toes. She +put in her little fish, and quite unexpectedly, they swam away. She +followed and came to where the stream was spanned by a rail-fence which +separated the Flippin farm from the road. The lowest rail was about as +high above the stream as her own fast-beating heart. She ducked under it +and discovered one of her fish whirling in a small eddy. It was a red +fish and she was very fond of it. She made a sudden grab, caught it, +lost her balance and sat down in the water. After the first shock, she +found that she liked it. The other fish had continued on their journey +towards the river. Perhaps some day they would come to the sea. Fiddle +forgot them. She held the little red fish fast and splashed the water +with her heels. + +Now on each side of the water was a road, which went up a hill each way, +so that cars coming down, put on speed to go up, and forded the stream +which was a mere thread of water except after high rains. + +Randy was talking to the Major as he came down the hill. He did not see +Fiddle until he was almost upon her. He was driving at high speed, and +there was only a second in which to jam things down and pull things up +and stop the car. + +Kemp was behind him. He was not prepared for Randy's sudden stop. He +swerved sharply to the left, slammed into a telegraph pole--and came +back to life to find somebody bending over him. "Who is looking after +the lady, sir?" he managed to murmur. + +"Young Paine and Mr. Flippin are carrying her to the house. You are cut +a bit. Let me tie up your head." The Major gave efficient first aid and +after that Kemp got to his feet painfully. "Is Miss MacVeigh badly +hurt?" + +"She is conscious, and not in great pain. I'm not much of a prop to lean +on, but I think we can make that hill together." + +They climbed slowly, the man of crutches and the man with the bound-up +head. + +"It's like a little bit of over there, Kemp, isn't it?" + +"Yes it is, sir--many's the time I've seen them helping each +other--master and man." + +When they got to the house, they found Madge on the sofa, and Mrs. +Flippin bending over her. "My husband has gone for the doctor," she told +the Major. "I think the blood comes from her hand; she must have put it +up to save her face." + +"I bent my head," murmured Madge, "and my hat was broad. Think what +might have happened if I had worn a little hat." + +She had started the sentence lightly but she stopped with a gasp of +pain. "Oh--my foot----" she said, "the pain--is--dreadful----" + +The Major drew up a chair, and handed his crutches to Randy. "If you'll +let us take off your shoe, it might help till the doctor comes." + +She fainted dead away while they did it, and came back to life to find +her foot bandaged, and her uncut hand held in the firm clasp of the man +with the crutches. He was regarding her with grave gray eyes, but his +face lighted as she looked up at him. + +"Drink this," he told her. "The doctor is on the way, and I think it +will help the pain until he comes." + +She liked his voice--it had a deep and musical quality. She was glad he +was there. Something in his strength seemed to reach out to her and +give her courage. + +When the pain began again, he gave her another drink from the glass, and +when she drifted off, she came back to the echo of a softly-whistled +tune. + +"I beg your pardon," the Major said as she opened her eyes; "it is a bad +habit that I permit myself when I have things on my mind. My men said +they always knew by the tune I whistled the mood I was in. And that +there was only one tune they were afraid of." + +"What was that?" + +"'Good-night, Ladies----'" He threw back his head and laughed. "When I +began on that they knew it was all up with them----" + +She tried to laugh with him, but it was a twisted grin. "Oh," she said +and began to tremble. She saw his eyes melt to tenderness. "Oh, you poor +little thing." + +She was conscious after that of the firm hand which held hers. The deep +voice which soothed. Through all that blinding agony she was conscious +of his call to courage--she wondered if he had called his men like +that--over there---- + +When the doctor came, he shook his head. "We'd better keep her here. She +is in no condition to be moved to Hamilton Hill, not over these roads. +Can you make room for her, Mrs. Flippin?" + +"She can have my room," said Mary; "Fiddle and I can go up-stairs----" + +They moved Madge, and Mrs. Flippin and Mary got her to bed. The Major +sat in the sitting-room and talked to Randy, and as he talked he held +Madge's hat in his hand. It had a brim of straw and a crown of mauve +silk. The Major, turning it round and round on a meditative finger, +thought of the woman who had worn it. She was a pretty woman, a very +oddly pretty woman. + +"Is she related to Mrs. Waterman, Kemp?" he asked. + +"No, sir. But she's been there all summer. And then she went away, and +they sent for her because Mrs. Waterman is ill." + +Randy rather indiscreetly flung out, "It seems as if the trail of that +Waterman crowd is over our world. I suppose we shall have to get the +news of this up to them somehow." + +"I can telephone Mr. Dalton, sir." + +"Is Dalton still there?" + +"Yes, sir. And he had a headache this morning, and stayed in bed, or he +would have been in the car, sir----" + +Randy wished bloodthirstily that Dalton had been in the car. Why +couldn't Dalton have been smashed instead of Madge? + +"I might call up Mr. Waterman instead of Mr. +Dalton," Kemp suggested. "If Mr. Dalton's in bed, he'll hate to be +disturbed." + +"Are you afraid of him, Kemp?" + +Kemp's honest eyes met Randy's burning glance. "No, I am not afraid. I +am leaving his service, sir." + +They stared at him. "Leaving his service, why?" Randy demanded. + +"He called me a fool this morning. And I am not a fool, sir." + +"What made him say that?" Randy asked, with interest. + +"He ordered a kidney omelette for breakfast, and I brought it, and he +wouldn't eat it, and blamed me. I am willing to serve any man, but not +without self-respect, sir." + +"What are you going to do now, Kemp?" the Major asked. + +"Find a better man to work for." + +"It won't be hard," Randy interpolated. + +"Work for me," said the Major. + +Kemp was eager----! "For you, sir?" + +"Yes. I need somebody to be legs for me--I'm only half a man. The place +is open for you if you want it." + +"I shall want it in a week," said Kemp; "I shall have to give him +notice." + +"There will be three musketeers in the old Schoolhouse, Paine. We have +all seen service." + +"It will be the best thing that ever happened to me, sir," said Kemp +ecstatically, "to know that I can wait on a fighting man." He swung down +the hall to the telephone as if he marched to the swirl of pipes. + +"Isn't Dalton a brute?" said Randy. + +"He that calleth his brother a fool----" mused the Major. He was still +turning the mauve hat in his hands. "It is queer," he said unexpectedly, +"how some women make you think of some flowers. Did you notice +everything Miss MacVeigh wore was lilac--and there's the perfume of it +about her things----" + +"Becky's a rose," said Randy, "from her own garden. She's as fresh and +sweet," his voice caught. "Oh, hang Dalton," he said, "I hate the whole +tribe of them----" + +Kemp came back to say that Oscar Waterman would be down at once. He +insisted that Miss MacVeigh should be brought up to Hamilton Hill. + +"He must talk with the doctor." + +"He is bringing a doctor of his own. One who came down for Mrs. +Waterman." + +Randy picked up his hat. "I'm going home. The same house won't hold +us----" + +Kemp was discreet. "Can I help you with your car, sir?" + +"I'll come over later and look at it." Randy, escaping by the back way, +walked over the hills. + +The Major stayed, and was in the sitting-room with the county doctor +when the others arrived. + +Dr. Dabney, the county doctor, was not old. He rode to hounds and he +enjoyed life. But he was none the less a good doctor and a wise one. +Waterman's physician confirmed the diagnosis. It would be very unwise to +move Miss MacVeigh. + +"But she can't stay here," said Dalton. + +"Why not?" + +"She can't be made comfortable." Dalton surveyed the Flippin +sitting-room critically. He was aware that Mr. Flippin was in the +doorway, and that Mrs. Flippin and Mary could not fail to catch his +words. But he did not care who heard what he said. All was wrong with +his world. It was bad enough to have Flora ill, but to have Madge out of +commission would be to forge another chain to hold him to Hamilton Hill. + +"She can be made very comfortable here," said Dr. Dabney. "Mrs. Flippin +is a famous housekeeper. And anyone who has ever slept in that east room +in summer knows that there is nothing better." + +Dalton ignored him. "What do you think?" He turned to the Washington +doctor. "What do you think?" + +"I think it best not to move her. We can send a nurse, and with Dr. +Dabney on the case, she will be in good hands." + +"The only trouble is," said Dr. Dabney, unexpectedly, "that we may +impose too much on Mrs. Flippin's hospitality." + +"We will pay----" said Dalton with a touch of insolence. + +From the doorway, Mr. Flippin answered him. "We don't want pay---- +Neighbors don't ask for money when they--help out----" + +There was a fine dignity about him. He was a rough farmer in overalls, +but Dalton would never match the simple grace of his fine gesture of +hospitality. + +The Major, who had been silent, now spoke up. "You are having more than +your share of trouble, Mr. Waterman. First your wife, and now your +guest." + +"Oh, I am, I am," said Oscar, brokenly. "I don't see what I've done to +deserve it." + +He was a pathetic figure. Whatever else he lacked, he loved his wife. If +she died--he felt that he could not bear it. For the first time in his +life Oscar faced a situation in which money did not count. He could not +buy off Death--all the money in the world would not hold back for one +moment the shadow of the Dark Angel from his wife's door. + + +III + +The window of the east room looked out on the old orchard. There was a +screened door which opened upon a porch and a stretch of lawn beyond +which was the dairy. + +Within the room there was a wide white bed, and a mahogany dresser with +a scarf with crocheted trimming, above the dresser was an old steel +engraving of Samson destroying the temple. The floor was spotless, a +soft breeze shook the curtains. Madge, relieved from pain and propped on +her pillows, watched a mother cat who with her kittens sat just outside +the door. + +She was a gray cat with white paws and breast, not fat at the moment but +with a comfortable well-fed look. She alternately washed herself and +washed her offspring. There were four of them, a rollicking lot not easy +to keep in order. + +"Aren't they--ripping?" Madge said to Mary. + +"They always come up on the step about this time in the afternoon; they +are waiting for the men to bring the milk to the dairy." + +A little later Madge saw the men coming--two of them, with the foaming +pails. The mother cat rose and went to meet them. Her tail was straight +up, and the kittens danced after her. + +"They will get a big dish of it, and then they will go around to the +kitchen door to wait for supper and the table scraps. And after that +Bessie will coax the kittens out to the barn and go hunting for the +night." + +"Is that her name--Bessie?" + +"Yes, there has always been a Bessie-cat here. And we cling to old +customs." + +"I like old customs," said Madge, "and old houses." + +After a little she asked, "Who makes the butter?" + +"I do. It's great fun." + +"Oh, when I am well, may I help?" + +"You----?" Mary came over and stood looking down at her; "of course you +may help. But perhaps you wouldn't like it." + +"I am sure I should. And I don't think I am going to get well very +soon----" + +Mary was solicitous. "Why not?" + +"I don't want to get well. I want to stay here. I think this place +is--heavenly." + +Mary laughed. "It is just a plain farmhouse. If you want the show places +you should go to Huntersfield and King's Crest----" + +"I want just this. Do you know I am almost afraid to go to sleep for +fear I shall wake up and find it a--dream----" + +A little later, she asked, "Are those apples in the orchard ripe?" + +"Yes." + +"May I have one?" + +"The doctor may not want you to have it," said her anxious nurse. + +"Just to hold in my hand," begged Madge. + +So Mary picked a golden apple, and when the doctor came after dark, he +found the room in all the dimness of shaded lamplight, and the golden +girl asleep with that golden globe in her hand. + +Up-stairs the mulatto girl, Daisy, was putting Fiddle-dee-dee to sleep. + +"You be good, and Daisy gwine tell you a story." + +Fiddle liked songs better. "Sing 'Jack-Sam bye.'" + +Daisy, without her corsets and in disreputable slippers, settled herself +to an hour of ease. She had the negro's love of the white child, and a +sensuous appreciation of the pleasant twilight, the bedtime song, the +rhythm of the rocking-chair. + +"Well, you lissen," she said, and rocked in time to the tune. + + Bye, oh, bye, little Jack-Sam, bye. + Bye, oh, bye, my baby, + When you wake, you shall have a cake-- + And all the pretty little horses-- + +Her voice was low and pleasant, with queer, quavering minor cadences. +But Fiddle-dee-dee was not sleepy. + +"'Tory," she begged, when the song was ended. + +So Daisy told the story of the three bears. Fiddle was too young to +fully comprehend, but she liked the sound of Daisy's voice at the +climaxes, "Who's been sittin' in _my_ chair?" and "Who's been sleepin' +in _my_ bed?" and "Who's been eatin' _my_ soup?" Daisy was dramatic or +nothing, and she entered into the spirit of her tale. It was such an +exciting performance altogether that Fiddle was wider awake than ever +when the story was finished. + +"Ain' you evah gwine shut yo' eyes?" + +"Daisy, sing," said Fiddle. + +"I'se sung twel my th'oat's dry," said Daisy. And just then Mary came +in. "Isn't she asleep, Daisy?--I'll take her. Bannister's John is +down-stairs and wants to see you." + +"Well, I ain' wantin' to see him," Daisy tossed her head; "you jus' take +Miss Fiddle whilst I goes down and settles _him_. I ain' dressed and I +ain' ready, Miss Mary. You jes' look at them feet." She stuck them out +for inspection. Her shoes were out at the toes and down at the heels. +"This ain' my comp'ny night." As she went down-stairs, her voice died +away in a querulous murmur. + +Mary, with her child in her arms, sat by the window and looked out upon +the quiet scene. There was faint rose in the sky, and a silver star. But +while she watched the rose faded. + +Fiddle, warm and heavy in her arms, slept finally. Then Mary took off +her dress and donned a thin white kimono. She let down her hair and +braided it---- + +There was no light in the room, and her mother, coming up, asked softly, +"Are you there?" + +"Yes." + +"Fiddle asleep?" + +"Yes, Mother." + +Mrs. Flippin found her way to the window and sat down. "The nurse is +here, and a lot of clothes and things just came over for Miss MacVeigh +from Hamilton Hill. Mary, I wish you could see them." + +"I shall in the morning, Mother." + +"The nurse got her into a satin nightgown before I came up, with nothing +but straps for sleeves--but she looked like a Princess----" + +"Aren't you tired to death, dear?" + +Mrs. Flippin laughed. "Me? I like it. I am sorry to have Miss MacVeigh +hurt, but having her in the house with all those pretty things and +people coming and going is better than a circus." + +Mary laughed a little. "You are such a darling--making the best of +things----" + +"Well, making the best is the easiest way," said Mrs. Flippin. "I ain't +taking any credit, Mary." + +"You've had a hard day. You'd better go to bed." + +"I'll have a harder one to-morrow. Nothing would do but I must go back +to Huntersfield. Mandy's off her head, and the Judge wants the whole +house turned upside down for Truxton." + +"And Truxton comes--on the noon train." + +"Yes." + +There was a long silence. Then Mary said in a queer voice, "Mother, I've +got to tell you something--to-night----" + +"You ain't got anything to tell me, honey." + +"But I have--something--I should have told you--months ago." + +"There isn't anything you can tell me that I don't know." + +_"Mother----"_ + +"Girls can't fool their mothers, Mary. Do you think that when Fiddle +grows up, she is going to fool you?" + + +IV + +The next morning Mr. Flippin was at the foot of the stairs when his +daughter came down. + +"So you lied to me, Mary." + +She shook her head, "No." + +"You said his name was Truelove Branch." + +"He is my true love, Father. And his name is T. Branch--Truxton Branch +Beaufort." + +"What do you think the Judge is going to say about this?" + +"He is going to hate it. He is going to think that your daughter isn't +good enough for his grandson." + +"You are good enough for anybody, Mary. But this wasn't the right way." + +"It was the only way. Didn't Mother tell you that he begged me to let +him write to you and go to the Judge, and I wouldn't?" + +"Why not?" + +"I wanted to have him here, so that we might face it together." + +"Your mother says she guessed it long ago. But she didn't say anything. +Talking might make it worse." + +"Talking would have made it worse, Dad. We had done it--and I'd do it +again," there was a lift of her head, a light in her eyes, "but it +hasn't been easy--to know that you wondered--that other people wondered. +But it wouldn't have been any better if I had told. Truxton had to be +here to make it right if he could." + +"Why didn't he come a-runnin' to you as soon as he got on this side?" + +"He couldn't. His orders kept him in New York, and he wanted me to come. +But I wouldn't. I made him ask his mother. I could spare him for three +weeks,--he will be mine for the rest of his life--and he is to tell her +before they get here." + +"I wouldn't have had it happen for a thousand dollars," said troubled +Bob Flippin. "I've always done everything on the square with the Judge." + +"I know," said Mary, with the sudden realization of how her act had +affected others, "I know. That's the only thing I am sorry about. But--I +don't believe the Judge would be so silly as to let anything I did make +any difference about you----" + +"Where are you going to live?" + +For the first time Mary's air of assurance left her. "He is hoping his +grandfather will want us at Huntersfield----" + +"He can keep on a-hoping," said Bob Flippin. "I know the Judge." + +Mary flared. "We can find a little house of our own----" + +Her father laid his hand on her shoulder. "Look at me, daughter," he +said, and turned her face up to him. "Our house is yours, Mary," he +said. "I don't like the way you did it, and I hate to think what will +happen when the Judge finds out. But our home is yours, and it's your +husband's. As long as you like to stay----" + +And now Mary sobbed--a little slip of a thing in her father's arms. All +the long months she had kept her secret, holding it safe in her heart, +dreading yet longing for the moment when she could tell the world that +she was the wife of Truxton Beaufort, whom she had adored from babyhood. + +"I would have married him, Dad, if--if I had had to tramp the road." + +Truxton came on the noon train. He drove at once to Huntersfield with +his mother, was embraced by the Judge, kissed Becky, and suddenly +disappeared. + +"Where's he gone?" the Judge asked, irritably. "Where has he gone, +Claudia?" + +"He will be back in time for lunch," said Mrs. Beaufort. "May I speak to +you in the library, Father?" + +Becky, from the moment of her aunt's arrival, had known that something +was wrong. She had expected to see Mrs. Beaufort glowing with renewed +youth, radiant. Instead, she looked as if a blight had come upon her, +shrivelled--old. When she smiled it was without joy; she was dull and +flat. + +It was a half hour before Aunt Claudia came out from the library. "My +dear," she said, finding Becky still on the porch, "I have something to +tell you. Will you go up-stairs with me?--I--think I should like to--lie +down----" + +Becky put a strong young arm about her and they went up together. + +"It's--it's about Truxton," Aunt Claudia said, prone on the couch in her +room. "Becky--he's married----" + +_"Married?"_ + +"Married, my dear. He did not tell me until--last night. He wanted me to +be happy--as long as I could. He's a dear boy, Becky--but--he's +married----" She went on presently with an effort. "He has been married +over two years--and, Becky--he has married--Mary Flippin." + +_"Aunt Claudia----"_ + +"He married her in Petersburg--before he went to France with the first +ambulance corps. They decided not to tell anyone. Mary took Truxton's +middle name. When the baby came, Truxton was wild to write us, but +Mary--wouldn't. She felt if he was here when it was told that we would +forgive him---- If anything--happened to him--she didn't want him to die +feeling that we had--blamed him---- I must say that Mary--was +wise--but--to think that my son has married--Mary Flippin." + +"Mary's a dear," said Becky stoutly. + +"Yes," Aunt Claudia agreed, "but not a wife for my son. I had such hopes +for him, Becky. He could have married anybody." + +Becky knew the kind of woman that Aunt Claudia had wanted Truxton to +marry--one whose ancestors were like those whose portraits hung in the +hall at Huntersfield--a woman with a high-held head--a woman whose +family traditions paralleled those of the Bannisters and Beauforts. + +"Then Fiddle is Truxton's child." + +"And I am a grandmother, Becky. Mrs. Flippin and I are grandmothers----" +She said it with a sort of bitter mirth. + +"What did Grandfather say?" + +"I left him--raging. It was--very hard on me. I had hoped--he would make +it easy. He declares that Mary Flippin shan't step inside of his front +door. That he is going to recall all the invitations that he had sent +out for to-night. I tried to show him that now that the thing is +done--we might as well--accept it. But he wouldn't listen. If he keeps +it up like this, I don't want Truxton to come back--to lunch. I had +hoped that he might bring Mary with him---- She's his wife, Becky--and +I've got to love her----" + +"Aunt Claudia," Becky came over and put her arms about the pitiful black +figure, "you are the best sport--ever----" + +"No, I'm not," but Aunt Claudia kissed her, and for a moment they clung +together; "you mustn't make me cry, Becky." + +But she did cry a little, wiping her eyes with her black-bordered +handkerchief, and saying all the time, "He's my son, Becky. I--I can't +put him away from me----" + +"He loved her," said Becky, with a catch of her breath. "I--I think that +counts a great deal, Aunt Claudia." + +"Yes, it does. And they did no wrong. They were only foolish children." + +"If anyone was to blame," she went on steadily, "it was Truxton. He had +been brought up a--gentleman. He knew what was expected of a man of his +birth and breeding. Secrecy is never honorable and I told him--last +night--that I was sorry to be less proud of my son than of the men who +had gone before him." + +"Did you tell him that?" + +"Yes. If pride of family means anything, Becky, it means holding on to +the finest of your traditions. If you break the rules--you are a little +less fine--a little less worthy----" + +What a stern little thing she was. Yet one felt the stimulus of her +strength. "Aunt Claudia," said Becky, tremulously, "if I could only be +as sure of things as you are----" + +"What things?" + +"Of right and wrong and all the rest of it." + +"I don't know what you mean by all the rest. But right is right, and +wrong is wrong, my dear. There is no half-way, in spite of all the +sophistries with which people try to salve their consciences." + +She stopped, and plunged again into the discussion of her problem. "I +must telephone to Truxton--he mustn't come--not until his grandfather +asks him, Becky." + +"He is coming now," said Becky, who sat by the window. "Look, Aunt +Claudia." + +Tramping up the hill towards the second gate was a tall figure in khaki. +Resting like a rose-petal on one shoulder was a mite of a child in pink +rompers. + +"He is bringing Fiddle with him," Becky gasped. "Oh, Aunt Claudia, he is +bringing Fiddle." + +Aunt Claudia rose and looked out---- "Well," she said, "let her come. +She's his child. If Father turns them out, I'll go with them." + +Truxton saw them at the window and waved. "Shall we go down?" Becky +said. + +"No--wait a minute. Father's in the hall." Aunt Claudia stood tensely in +the middle of the room. "Becky, listen over the stair rail to what they +are saying." + +"But----" + +"Go on," Aunt Claudia insisted; "there are times when--one breaks the +rules, Becky. I've got to know what they are saying----" + +The voices floated up. Truxton's a lilting tenor---- + +"Are you going to forgive us, Grandfather?" + +"I am not the grandfather of Mary Flippin's child," the Judge spoke +evidently without heat. + +"You are the grandfather of Fidelity Branch Beaufort," said Truxton +coolly; "you can't get away from that----" + +"The neighborhood calls her Fiddle Flippin," the Judge reminded him. + +"What's in a name?" said Truxton, and swung his baby high in the air. +"Do you love your daddy, Fiddle-dee-dee?" + +"'Ess," said Fiddle, having accepted him at once on the strength of +sweet chocolate, and an adorable doll. + +"What are they saying?" whispered Aunt Claudia, still tense in the +middle of the room. + +"Hush," Becky waved a warning hand. + +"There is," said the Judge, in a declamatory manner, "everything in a +name. The Bannisters of Huntersfield, the Paines of King's Crest, the +Randolphs of Cloverdale, do you think these things don't count, +Truxton?" + +"I think there's a lot of rot in it," said young Beaufort, "when we were +fighting for democracy over there----" + +The shot told. "Democracy has nothing to do with it----" + +"Democracy," said Truxton, "has a great deal to do with it. The days of +kings and queens are dead, they have married each other for generations +and have produced offspring like--William of Germany. Class assumptions +of superiority are withered branches on the tree of civilization. Mary +is as good as I am any day." + +"You wrote things like this," said the Judge, interested in spite of +himself, and loving argument. + +"I wrote them because I believed them. I am ready to apologize for not +telling you of my marriage before this. I have no apologies to make for +my wife---- + +"I have no apologies to make for my wife," Truxton repeated. "I fought +for democratic ideals. I am practising them. Mary is a lady. You must +admit that, Grandfather." + +"I do admit it," said the Judge slowly, "in the sense that you mean it. +But in the county sense? Do you think the Merriweathers will ask her to +their ball? Do you think Bob Flippin will dine with my friends +to-night?" + +"I don't think he will expect to dine with you, Grandfather. I think if +you ask him, he will refuse. But if you take your friendship from him it +will break his heart----" + +"Who said I would take my friendship away from Bob Flippin?" + +"He is afraid--you may----" + +"Because you married Mary?" + +"Yes." + +The Judge was breathing hard. "Whom does he think I'd go fishing with?" + +"Do you think he'll want to go fishing with you if you cast off Mary?" + +The Judge had a vision of life without Bob Flippin. On sunshiny days +there would be no one to cut bait for him, no one to laugh with him at +the dogs as they sat waiting for their corn-cakes, no one to listen with +flattering attention to his old, old tales. + +It had not occurred to him that Bob Flippin, too, might have his pride. + +He sat down heavily in a porch chair. + +"Go and get Mary," he exploded; "bring her here. The thing is done. The +milk is spilled. And there's no use crying over it. And if you think you +two young people can separate me and Bob Flippin----" + +Mrs. Beaufort and Becky came down presently, to find the old man gazing, +frowning, into space. + +"I have told him to bring Mary, Claudia, but I must say that I am +bitterly disappointed." + +"Mary is a good little thing, Father." Aunt Claudia's voice shook. + +The old man looked up at her. "It is hardest for you, my dear. And I +have helped to make it hard." + +He reached out his hand to her. She took it. "He is my son--and I love +him----" + +"And I love you, Claudia." + +"May I get the blue room ready?" + +The blue room was the bridal chamber at Huntersfield; kept rather +sacredly at other times for formal purposes. + +"Do as you please. The house is yours, my dear." + +And so that night the lights of the blue room shone on Fiddle Flippin +and her new grandmother. + +"Do you think she would let me put her to bed?" Mrs. Beaufort had asked +Mary. + +"If you will sing, 'Jack-Sam Bye.'" + +Mary pulled the last little garment from the pink plump body, and +Fiddle, like a rosy Cupid, counted her toes gleefully in the middle of +the wide bed. + +"I told Truxton," Mary said suddenly, "that he might not want to call +her 'Fiddle.' The whole neighborhood says 'Fiddle Flippin.'" + +"It is a dear little name," Aunt Claudia was bending adoringly over the +baby, "but Fidelity is better--Fidelity Branch Beaufort----" + +"I want her to be as proud of her name as I am," Mary's voice had a +thrilling note. "It is a great thing to know that my child has in her +the blood of all those wonderful people whose portraits hang in the +hall. I want her to be worthy of her name." + +She could have said nothing better. Aunt Claudia's face was lighted by +the warmth in her heart. "Such a lot of ancestors for one little fat +Fidelity," she said; "put on her nightgown, Mary, and I'll rock her to +sleep." + + + + +CHAPTER X + +A GENTLEMAN'S LIE + + +I + +Becky was not well. Aunt Claudia, perceiving her listlessness, decided +that she needed a change. Letters were written to the Nantucket +grandfather, and plans made for Becky's departure. She was to spend a +month on the island, come back to Boston to the Admiral's big old house +on the water-side of Beacon Street, and return to Huntersfield for +Christmas. + +Becky felt that it was good of everybody to take so much trouble. She +really didn't care in the least. She occupied herself steadily with each +day's routine. She bent her head over the fine embroidery of a robe she +was making for Mary. She cut the flowers for the vases and bowls, she +recited nursery rhymes to Fiddle, entrancing that captious young person +with "Oranges and Lemons" and "Lavender's Blue." She read aloud to the +Judge, planned menus for Aunt Claudia, and was in fact such an angel in +the house that Truxton, after three days of it, protested. + +"Oh, what's the matter with Becky, Mums?" + +"Why?" + +"She hasn't any pep." + +"I know." + +"Isn't she well?" + +"I have tried to have her see a doctor. But she won't. She insists that +she is all right----" + +"She is not. She is no more like the old Becky than champagne is +like--milk---- Becky was the kind that--went to your head--Mums. You +know that--sparkling." + +"I have wondered," Mrs. Beaufort said, slowly, "if anything happened +while I was away." + +"What could happen----" + +His mother sighed. "Nothing, I suppose----" She let it go at that. Her +intuitions carried her towards the truth. She had learned from Mandy and +the Judge that Dalton had spent much time at Huntersfield in her +absence. Becky never mentioned him. Her silence spoke eloquently, Mrs. +Beaufort felt, of something concealed. Becky was apt to talk of things +that interested her. And there had been no doubt of her interest in +Dalton before her aunt had gone away. + +Randy, coming often now to Huntersfield, had his heart torn for his +beloved. No one except himself knew what had happened, and the knowledge +stirred him profoundly. He held that burning torches and a stake were +none too good for Dalton. He sighed for the old days in Virginia when +gentlemen settled such matters in the woods at dawn, with pistols, +seconds, a shot or two. Farther back it would have been an affair of +knives and tomahawks--Indian chiefs in a death struggle. + +But neither duels nor death struggles were in the modern mode, nor would +any punishment which he might inflict on Dalton help Becky in this +moment of deep humiliation. He knew her pride and the hurt that had come +to her, he knew her love, and the deadly inertia which had followed the +loss of illusion. + +Randy's love was not a selfish love. In that tense moment of Becky's +confession on the day of the barbecue, his own hopes had died. The boy +in him had died, too, and he had reached the full stature of a man. He +wanted to protect and shield--he was all tenderness. He felt that he +would dare anything, do anything, if he could bring back to Becky the +dreams of which Dalton robbed her. + +Night after night he sat in his room up-stairs in the old Schoolhouse, +and wrote on "The Trumpeter Swan." It was an outlet for his pent-up +emotions, and something of the romance which was denied him, something +of the indignation which stirred him, something of the passions of love +and revenge which fought within him, drove his pen onward, so that his +little tale took on color and life. Crude, perhaps, in form, it was yet +a song of youth and patriotism. It was Randy's call to his comrades. +There was to be no compromise. They must make men look up and listen--to +catch the sound of their clear note. The ideals which had made them +fight brutality and greed were living ideals. They were not to be doffed +with their khaki and overseas caps. Their country called, the whole +world called, for men with faith and courage. There was no place for +pessimism, no place for materialism, no place for sordidness. + +His hero was, specifically, a man who had come back from the fighting, +flaming with the thought of his high future. He had found the world +smiling and unconcerned. It was this world which needed to listen to the +call of trumpets--high up---- + +The chapters in which he wrote of love--for there was a woman in the +story--were more beautiful than Randy realized. It was of a boy's love +that he told--delicately. It was his own story of love denied, yet +enriching a life. + +Yet--because man cannot live up always to the measure of his own vision, +there came often between Randy and the written page the image of George +Dalton, smiling and insolent. And he would lay down his pen, and lean +his head on his hand, and gaze into space, and sometimes he would speak +out in the silence. "I will make him suffer." + +It was in one of these moments that he saw how it might be done. "He +would let fruit drop to the ground and rot if no other man wanted it," +he analyzed keenly, "but if another man tried to pick it up, he would +fight for it." + +Dalton was still at King's Crest. Mrs. Waterman had not responded +satisfactorily to the operation. The doctors had grave doubts as to her +recovery. Madge was convalescing at the Flippins'. + +Randy had been content, hitherto, to receive bulletins indirectly from +both of the invalids. But on the morning following the birth of his +great idea he rode on horseback to King's Crest. He looked well on +horseback, and in his corduroys, with a soft shirt and flowing tie, a +soft felt hat, he was at his best. + +He found George and Oscar on the west terrace, shaded by blue and +white-striped awnings, with a macaw, red and blue on a perch--a peacock +glimmering at the foot of the steps--and the garden blazing beyond. + +There were iced drinks in tall glasses--a litter of cigarettes on +smoking-stands, magazines and newspapers on the stone floors, packs of +cards on a small table. Oscar, hunched up in a high-backed Chinese +chair, was white and miserable. George looked bored to extinction. + +Randy, coming in, gave a clear-cut impression of strength and youth. + +"Mother sent some wine jelly for Mrs. Waterman," he said to Oscar. "It +was made from an old recipe, and she thought it might be different. And +there were some hundred-leaved roses from our bush. I gave them to your +man." + +Oscar brightened. He was grateful for the kindness of these queer +neighbors of his who would have nothing to do with him and his wife when +they were well, and who had seemed to care not at all for his money. But +who, now that sickness had come and sorrow, offered themselves and their +possessions unstintedly. + +"I'll go and see that Flora gets them," he said. "She hasn't any +appetite. She's--it's rather discouraging----" + +Randy, left alone with Dalton, was debonair and delightful. George, +looking at him with speculative eyes, decided that there was more to +this boy than he would have believed. He had exceedingly good manners +and an ease that was undeniable. There was of course good blood back of +him. And in a way it counted. George knew that he could never have been +at ease in old clothes in the midst of elegance. + +It was Randy who spoke first of Becky. Dalton's heart jumped when he +heard her name. Night after night he had ridden towards Huntersfield, +only to turn back before he reached the lower gate. Once he had ventured +on foot as far as the garden, and in the hush had called softly, +"Becky." But no one had answered. He wondered what he would have done if +Becky had responded to his call. "I am not going to be fool enough to +marry her," he told himself, angrily, yet knew that if he played the +game with Becky there could be no other end to it. + +Randy said, quite naturally, that Becky was going away. To Nantucket. He +asked if George had been there. + +"Once, on Waterman's yacht. It's quaint--but a bit spoiled by summer +people----" + +"Becky doesn't know the summer people. Her great-grandparents were among +the first settlers, and the Merediths have never sold the old home." + +"She is a pretty little thing," George said. "And she's buried down +here." + +"I shouldn't call it exactly--buried." + +George, with his eyes on the peacock, smiled and shrugged his shoulders. + +Randy smiled and his eyes, too, were on the peacock. He was thinking +that there were certain points of resemblance between the gorgeous bird +and Dalton. They glimmered in the sunlight and strutted a bit---- + +He came back to say easily, "Has Becky told you of our happiness----" + +George gave him a startled glance. "Happiness?" + +"We are to be married when she comes back--at Christmas." + +"Married----" + +"Yes," coolly, "it was rather to be expected, you know. We played +together as children--our fathers played together--our grandfathers--our +great-grandfathers." + +A cold wave seemed to sweep over George. So this young cub would have +her beauty! + +"Aren't you rather young----?" he demanded, "and what have you to give +her?" + +"Love," said Randy calmly, "a man's respect for her goodness and +worth--for her innocence. She's a little saint in a shrine." + +"Is she?" Georgie-Porgie asked, and smiled to himself; "few women are +that." + +After Randy had gone George Dalton walked the floor. He knew innocence +when he saw it, and he knew that Randy had told the truth. Becky +Bannister was as white as the doves that were fluttering down to the +garden pool to drink. He had never cared particularly for innocence. +But he cared for Becky. He knew now that he cared tremendously. Randy +had made him know it. It had not seemed so bad to think of Becky as +breaking her heart and waiting for a word from him. It seemed very bad, +indeed, when he thought of her as married to Randy. + +He felt that, of course, she did not love Randy; that he, +Georgie-Porgie, had all that she had to give---- But woman-like, she had +taken this way to get back at him. He wondered if she had sent Randy. + +Up and down the terrace he raged like a lion. He wanted to show that +cub--oh, if he might show him----! + +Randy had known that he would rage, and as he rode home he had the +serene feeling that he had stuck a splinter in George's flesh. + +Oscar Waterman joined George on the terrace, but noticed nothing. His +mind was full of Flora. "I am sorry young Paine went so soon. I wanted +to thank him. Flora can't eat the jelly, but it was good of them to send +it. She can't eat anything. She's worse, George. I don't know how I am +going to stand it." + +George was in no mood for condolence. Yet he was not quite heartless. +"Look here," he said, "you mustn't give up." + +"George, if she dies," Oscar said, wildly, "what do you think will +happen to me? I never planned for this. I planned for a good time. I +thought maybe that when we were old--one of us might go. But it wouldn't +be fair to take her now--and leave me." + +"I have given her--everything----" he went on. "I--I think I've been a +good husband. I have always loved her a lot, George, you know that." + +He was a plain little man, but at this moment he gained something of +dignity. And there was this to say for him, that what he felt for Flora +was a deeper emotion than George had ever known. + +"The doctor says the crisis comes to-night. I am not going to bed. I +couldn't sleep. George--I've been wondering if I oughtn't to call +in--some kind of clergyman--to see her." + +"People don't, nowadays, do they?" George asked rather uncomfortably. + +"Well, I don't see why they shouldn't. There ought to be somebody to +pray for Flora." + +There was, it developed upon inquiry, a little old rector who lived not +far away. George went for him in his big car. + +The little man, praying beside Flora's gorgeous bed, felt that this was +the hundredth sheep who had wandered and was found. The other ninety and +nine were safely in the fold. He had looked after the spiritual +condition of the county for fifty years. There had been much to +discourage him, but in the main if they strayed they came back. + +He prayed with fervor, the fine old prayers of his church. + +"Look down from heaven, we humbly beseech thee, with the eyes of mercy +upon this child now lying upon the bed of sickness: Visit her, O Lord, +with thy salvation; deliver her in thy good appointed time from bodily +pain, and save her soul for thy mercies' sake; that, if it shall be thy +pleasure to prolong her days here on earth, she may live for thee, and +be an instrument of thy glory, by serving thee faithfully, and doing +good in her generation; or else receive her into those heavenly +habitations, where the souls of those who sleep in the Lord Jesus enjoy +perpetual rest and felicity." + +Flora, lying inert and bloodless, opened her eyes. "Say it again," she +whispered. "Say it again." + + +II + +Randy rode straight from Hamilton Hill to Huntersfield. He found Becky +in the Bird Room. She had her head tied up in a white cloth, and a big +white apron enveloped her. She was as white as the whiteness in which +she was clad, and there were purple shadows under her eyes. The windows +were open and a faint breeze stirred the curtains. The shade of the +great trees softened the light to a dim green. After the glare of +Oscar's terrace it was like coming from a blazing desert to the bottom +of the sea. + +There was a wide seat under a window which looked out towards the hills. +Becky sat down on it. "Everybody is out," she said, "except Aunt +Claudia. She is taking a nap up-stairs." + +"I didn't come to see everybody, Becky. I came to see you." + +"I am glad you came. I can rest a bit." + +"You work as hard as if you had to do it." + +She leaned back against the green linen cushions of the window seat and +looked up at him. "I do have to do it. There is nobody else. Mandy is +busy, and, anyhow, Grandfather doesn't like to have the servants in +here. And neither do I---- It is almost as if the birds were alive--and +loved me." + +Randy hugged his knee and meditated. "But there are lots of rich women +who wouldn't dust a room." + +She made a gesture of disdain. "Oh, _that_ kind of rich people." + +"What kind?" + +"The kind that aren't used to their money. Who think ladies--are idle. +Sister Loretto says that is the worst kind--the awful kind. She talked +to me every day about it. She said that money was a curse when people +used it only for their ease. Sister Loretto hates laziness. She had +money herself before she took her vows, but now she works every hour of +the day and she says it brings her happiness." + +Randy shook his head. "Most of us need to play around a bit, Becky." + +"Do we? I--I think most women would be better off if they were like +Sister Loretto." + +"They would not. Stop talking rot, Becky, and take that thing off your +head. It makes you look like a nun." + +"I know. I saw myself in the glass. I don't mind looking like a nun, +Randy." + +"Well, I mind. Turn your head and I'll take out that pin." + +"Don't be silly, Randy." + +He persisted. "Keep still while I take it out----" + +He found the pin and unwound the white cloth. "There," he said, drawing +a long breath, "you look like yourself again. You were so--austere, you +scared me, Becky." + +He was again hugging his knees. "When are you going away?" + +"On the twenty-ninth. I shall stay over until next week for the +Merriweathers' ball." + +"I didn't know whether you would feel equal to it." + +"I shall go on Mary's account. It will be her introduction to Truxton's +friends, and if I am there it will be easier for her. She has a lovely +frock, jade green tulle with a girdle of gold brocade. It came down for +me with a lot of other clothes, and it needed only a few changes for her +to wear it." + +"You will be glad to get away?" + +"It will be cooler--and I need the change. But it is always more formal +up there--they remember that I have money. Here it is forgotten." + +"I wish I could forget it." + +"Why should you ever think of it?" she demanded with some heat. "I am +the same Becky with or without it." + +"Not quite the same," he was turning his hat in his hand. Then, raising +his eyes and looking at her squarely, he said what he had come to say, +"I have--I have just been to see Dalton, Becky." + +A wave of red washed over her neck, touched her chin, her cheeks. "I +don't see what that has to do with me." + +"It has a great deal to do with you. I told him you were going to marry +me." + +The wave receded. She was chalk-white. + +"Randy, how dared you do such a thing?" + +"I dared," said Randy, with tense fierceness, "because a man like Dalton +wants what other men want. He will think about you a lot, and I want him +to think. He won't sleep to-night, and I want him to stay awake. He will +wonder whether you love me, and he will be afraid that you do--and I +want him to be afraid." + +"But it was a lie, Randy. I am not going to marry you." + +"Do you think that I meant that----? That I am expecting anything for +myself?" + +"No," unsteadily, her slender body trembling as if from cold, "but what +did you mean?" + +"I told you. Dalton's got to come back to you and beg--on his knees--and +he will come when he thinks you are mine----" + +"I don't want him to come. And when you talk like that it makes me +feel--smirched----" + +Dead silence. Then, "It was a gentleman's lie----" + +"Gentlemen do not lie. Go to him this minute, Randy, and tell him that +it isn't true." + +"Give me three days, Becky. If in that time he doesn't try to see you or +call you up, I'll go---- But give me three days." + +She wavered. "What good will it do?" + +He caught up her cold little hands in his. "You will have a chance to +get back at him. And when you stick in the knife, you can turn it--until +it hurts." + + +III + +It was while the family at Huntersfield were at dinner that the +telephone rang. Calvin answered, and came in to say that Miss Becky was +wanted. She went listlessly. But the first words over the wire stiffened +her. + +It was George's voice, quick imploring. Saying that he had something to +tell her. That he must see her---- + +"Let me come, Becky." + +"Of course." + +"You mean that I--may----?" + +"Why not?" + +He seemed to hesitate. "But I thought----" + +Her laugh was light and clear. "I must get back to my dinner. I have +only had my soup. And I am simply--_starving_----" + +It was not what he had expected. Not in the least. As he hung up the +receiver he was conscious too of a baffled feeling that Becky had, in a +sense, held the reins of the situation. + +In spite of her famished condition, Becky did not at once go to the +dining-room. She called up King's Crest, and asked for Randy. + +She wanted to know, she said, whether he had anything on for the +evening. No? Then could he come over and bring the boarders? Oh, as many +of them as would come. And they would dance. She was bored to _death_. +Her laugh was still clear and light, and Randy wondered. + +Then she went back to the dinner table and ate the slice of lamb which +the Judge had carved for her. She ate mint sauce and mashed potatoes, +she ate green corn pudding, and a salad, and watermelon. Her cheeks were +red, and Aunt Claudia felt that Becky was looking much better. For how +could Aunt Claudia know that everything that Becky ate was like sawdust +to her palate. She found herself talking and laughing a great deal, and +Truxton teased her. + +After dinner she went up-stairs with Mary and showed her a new way to do +her hair, and found an entrancing wisp of a frock for Mary to wear. + +"It will be great fun having the boarders from King's Crest. There are a +lot of young people of all kinds--and not many of them our kind, Mary." + +Mary smiled at her. "I am not quite your kind, am I?" + +"Why not? And oh, Mary, you are happy, happy. And you are lovely with +your hair like that, close to your head and satin-smooth." + +Mary, surveying herself in the glass, gave an excited laugh. "Do you +know when I married Truxton I never thought of this?" + +"Of what?" Becky asked. + +"Of pretty clothes--and dances--and dinners. I just knew that he--loved +me, and that he had to leave me. But I don't suppose I could make the +world believe it." + +"Truxton believes it, doesn't he, Mary?" + +"Yes." + +"And I believe it. And what do you care for the others? It is what we +know of ourselves, Mary," she drew a quick breath. "It is what we know +of ourselves----" + +Becky was wearing the simple frock of pale blue in which George had seen +her on that first night when he came to Huntersfield. + +"Aren't you going to change?" Mary asked. + +"No. It is too much trouble." Becky was in front of the mirror. Her +pearls caught the light of the candles. Her bronze hair was a shining +wave across her forehead. "It is too much trouble," she said, again, and +turned from the mirror. + +She had a dozen frocks that had come in the rosy hamper--frocks that +would have made the boarders open their eyes. Frocks that would have +made Dalton open his. But Becky had the feeling that this was not the +moment for lovely clothes. She felt that she would be cheapened if she +decked herself for George. + +When the two girls went down-stairs Truxton was waiting for his wife. "I +thought you would never come," he said. He drew her within the circle of +his arm, and they went out into the garden. The Judge and Mrs. Beaufort +were on the porch. Becky sat on the step and leaned her head against +Aunt Claudia's knee. + +"What in the world made you ask all those people over, Becky?" the Judge +demanded. + +"Oh, they're great fun, Grandfather, and I felt like it." + +"Have you planned anything for them to eat, Claudia?" + +"Watermelons. Calvin has put a lot of them in the spring." + +The stars were thick overhead. Becky looked up at them and relaxed a +little. Since Dalton had spoken to her over the wire she had gone +through the motions of doing normal things. She had eaten and talked, +and now she was sitting quite still on the step while Aunt Claudia +smoothed her hair, and the Judge talked of things to eat. + +But shut up within her was a clock which ticked and never stopped. _"He +will come--when he thinks--you are mine---- He will come--when he +thinks--you are mine----"_ + +Randy and his mother arrived in Little Sister, with two of the boarders +for good measure in the back seat. They had dropped Major Prime at +Flippins', where he was to make a call on Madge MacVeigh. He had +promised to come later, however, if Randy would drive over and get him. + +The rest of the boarders were packed variously into their cars and the +surrey, and as soon as they arrived they proceeded to occupy the lawn +and the porch, and to overflow the garden. They made a great deal of +pleasant noise about it, and the white gowns of the women, and the white +flannels of the men gave an impressionistic effect of faint blue against +the deeper blue of the night. + +Within the house, the rugs were up in the drawing-room, the library, the +dining-room, and the wide hall; there sounded, presently, the tinkling +music of the phonograph, and there was the unceasing movement of +white-clad figures which seemed to float in a golden haze. + +Becky danced a great deal, with Randy, with the younger boarders, and +with the genial gentleman. She laughed with an air of unaffected gayety. +And she felt that her heart stopped beating, when at last she looked up +and saw Dalton standing in the door. + +She at once went towards him, and gave him her hand. "I wonder if you +know everybody?" + +Her clear eyes met his without self-consciousness. He attempted a +swagger. "I don't want to know everybody. How do they happen to be +here?" + +"I asked them. And they are really very nice." + +He did not see the niceness. He had thought to find her in the setting +which belonged to her beauty. The silent night, the fragrance of the +garden, the pale statues among the trees, and himself playing the game +with a greater sense of its seriousness than ever before. + +Throughout the evening George watched for a chance to see Becky alone. +Without conspicuously avoiding him, she had no time for him. He +complained constantly. "I want to talk to you. Run away with me, +Becky--and let these people go." + +"It isn't proper for a hostess to leave her guests." + +"Are you trying to--punish me?" + +"For what?" + +So--she too was playing----! She had let him come that he might see +her--indifferent. + +Becky had danced with George once, and with Randy three times. George +had protested, and Becky had said, "But I promised him before you +came----" + +"You knew I was coming?" + +"Yes." + +"You might have kept a few----" + +She seemed to consider that. "Yes, I might. But not from Randy----" + +At last he said to her, "I have been out in the garden. There is a star +shining in the little pool where the fishes are. I want you to see the +star." + +It was thus he had won her. He had always seen stars shining in little +pools, or a young moon rising from a rosy bed. But it had never meant +anything. She shook her head. "I should like to see your little star. +But I haven't time." + +"Are you afraid to come?" + +"Why should I be?" + +"Well, there's Love--in the garden," he was daring--his sparkling eyes +tried to hold hers and failed. + +She was looking straight beyond him to where Randy stood by a window, +tall and thin with his Indian profile, and his high-held head. + +"We are going to have watermelons in a minute," was her romantic +response to Dalton's fire. "You'd better stay and eat some." + +"I don't want to eat. And if you aren't afraid you'll come." + +Calvin and Mandy and their son, John, with Flippins' Daisy, had +assembled the watermelons on a long table out-of-doors. Above the table +on the branch of a tree was hung an old ship's lantern brought by +Admiral Meredith to his friend, the Judge. It gave a faint but steady +light, and showed the pink and green and white of the fruit, the dusky +faces of the servants as they cut and sliced, and handed plates to the +eager and waiting guests. + +Becky, standing back in the shadows with Randy by her side, watched the +men surge towards the table, and retire with their loads of +lusciousness. Grinning boys were up to their ears in juice, girls, +bare-armed and bare-necked, reached for plates held teasingly aloft. It +was all rather innocently bacchanal--a picture which for Becky had an +absolutely impersonal quality. She had entertained her guests as she had +eaten her dinner, outwardly doing the normal and conventional thing, +while her mind was chaotic. This jumble of people on the lawn seemed +unreal and detached. The only real people in the world were herself and +Dalton. + +"How did you happen to ask us?" Randy was saying. + +"Because I wanted you----" + +"That doesn't explain it. It has something to do with Dalton----" + +"He said he was coming--and I wanted a crowd." + +"Were you afraid to see him alone?" + +"He says that I am." + +"When did he say it?" + +"Just now. He's in the garden, Randy." + +"Waiting for you?" + +"He says that he is waiting." + +Randy gave a quick exclamation. "Surely you won't go." + +"Why not? I've got to turn--the knife----" + +He groaned. "So this is what I've let you in for----" + +"Well, I shall see it through, Randy." + +"Becky, don't go to him in the garden." + +"Why not?" + +"The whole thing is wrong," the boy said, slowly. "I lied to give you +your opportunity, and now, I'd rather die than think of you out +there----" + +"Then you don't trust me, Randy?" + +"My dear, I do. But I don't trust--him." + + +IV + +George had known that she would come. Yet when he saw the white blur of +her gown against the blackness of the bushes, his heart leaped. All +through the ages men have waited for women in gardens--"_She is coming, +my own, my sweet_----" and farther back, "_Make haste, my beloved_," and +in the beginning, as Mandy could have told, a serpent waited. + +Dalton was not, of course, a serpent. He was merely a very selfish man, +who had always had what he wanted, and now he wanted Becky. He was +still, perhaps, playing the game, but he was playing it in dead earnest +with Randy as his opponent and Becky the prize. + +She recognized a new note in his voice and was faintly disturbed by it. + +"So you are not afraid?" + +"No." + +She sat down on the bench. Behind them was the pale statue of Diana, the +pool was at their feet with its little star. + +"Why should I be afraid?" she asked. + +"You are trying to shut me out of your heart, Becky--and you are afraid +I may try to--open the door." + +"Silly," she said, clearly and lightly, but with a sense of panic. Oh, +why had she come? The darkness seemed to shut her in; his voice was +beating against her heart---- + +He was saying that he loved her, _loved_ her. Did she understand? That +he had been _miserable_? His defense was masterly. He played on her +imagination delicately, as if she were a harp, and his fingers touched +the strings. He realized what a cad he must have seemed. But she was a +saint in a shrine--it will be seen that he did not hesitate to borrow +from Randy. She was a saint in a shrine, and well, he knelt at her +feet--a sinner. "You needn't think that I don't know what I have done, +Becky. I swept you along with me without a thought of anything serious +in it for either of us. It was just a game, sweetheart, and lots of +people play it, but it isn't a game now, it is the most serious thing in +life." + +There is no eloquence so potent as that which is backed by genuine +passion. Becky coming down through the garden had been so sure of +herself. She had felt that pride would be the rock to which she would +anchor her resistance to his enchantments. Yet here in the garden---- + +"Oh, _please_," she said, and stood up. + +He rose, too, and towered above her. "Becky," he said, hoarsely, "it's +the real thing--for me----" + +His spell was upon her. She was held by it--drawn by it against her +will. Her cry was that of a frightened and fascinated bird. + +He bent down. His face was a white circle in the dark, but she could see +the sparkle of his eyes. "Kiss me, Becky." + +"I shall never kiss you again." + +"I love you." + +"Love," she said, with a sort of tense quiet, "does not kiss and run +away." + +"My heart never ran away. I swear it. Marry me, Becky." + +He had never expected to ask her. But now that he had done it, he was +glad. + +She was swayed by his earnestness, by the thought of all he had meant +to her in her dreams of yesterday. But to-day was not yesterday, and +George was not the man of those dreams. Yet, why not? There was the +quick laughter, with its new ring of sincerity, the sparkling eyes, the +Apollo head. + +"Marry me, Becky." + +Beyond the pool which reflected the little star was the dark outline of +the box hedge, and beyond the hedge, the rise of the hill showed dark +against the dull silver of the sky--a shadow seemed to rise suddenly in +that dim brightness, the tall thin shadow of a man with a clear-cut +profile, and a high-held head! + +Becky drew a sharp breath--then faced Dalton squarely. "I am going to +marry Randy." + +His laugh was triumphant---- + +"Do you think I am going to let you? You are mine, Becky, and you know +it. _You are mine_----" + + +V + +Randy, having made a record run with Little Sister to the Flippins', had +brought back Major Prime. When he returned Becky had disappeared. He +looked for her, knowing all the time that she had gone down into the +garden to meet Dalton. And he had brought Dalton back to her, he had +given him this opportunity to plead his cause, had given him the +incentive of a man of his kind to still pursue; he had, as he had said, +let Becky in for it, and now he was raging at the thought. + +[Illustration: BECKY DREW A SHARP BREATH--THEN FACED DALTON SQUARELY--"I +AM GOING TO MARRY RANDY"] + +Nellie Custis, padding at his heels, had known that something disturbed +him. He walked restlessly from room to room, from porch to porch, across +the lawn, skirted the garden, stopped now and then to listen, called +once when he saw a white figure alone by the big gate, "Becky!" + +Nellie knew who it was that he wanted. And at last she instituted a +search on her own account. She went through the garden, passed the pool, +found Becky's feet in blue slippers, and rushed back to her master with +an air of discovery. + +But Randy would not follow her. He must, he knew, set a curb on his +impatience. He walked beyond the gate, following the ridge of the hill +to the box hedge. He was not in the least aware that his shadow showed +up against the silver of the sky. Perhaps Fate guided him to the ridge, +who knows? At any rate, it seemed so afterwards to Becky, who felt that +the shadow of Randy against the silver sky was the thing that saved her. + +She gave the old Indian cry, and he answered it. + +His shadow wavered on the ridge. He was lost for a moment against the +blackness of the hedge, and emerged on the other side of the pool. + +"Randy," she was a bit breathless, "here we are. Mr. Dalton and I. I +saw you on the ridge. You have no idea how tall your shadow seemed----" + +She was talking in that clear light voice which was not her own. Dalton +said sullenly, "Hello, Paine." And Randy's heart was singing, "She +called me." + +The three of them walked to the house together. Becky had insisted that +she must go back to her guests. George left them at the step. He was for +the moment beaten. As he drove his car madly back to King's Crest, he +tried to tell himself that it was all for the best. That he must let +Becky alone. He would be a fool to throw himself away on a shabby +slender slip of a thing because she had clear eyes and bronze hair. + +But it was not because of her slenderness and clear eyes and bronze hair +that Becky held him, it was because of the force within her which +baffled him. + +The guests were leaving. They had had the time of their lives. They +packed themselves into their various cars, and the surrey, and shouted +"good-bye." The Major stayed and sat on the lawn to talk to the Judge +and Mrs. Beaufort. Mary and Truxton ascended the stairs to the Blue +Room, where little Fiddle slept in the Bannister crib that had been +brought down from the attic. + +Becky and Randy went into the Bird Room and sat under the swinging +lamp. "I have something to tell you, Randy," Becky had said, and as in +the days of their childhood the Bird Room seemed the place for +confidences. + +Becky curled herself up in the Judge's big chair like a tired child. +Randy on the other side of the empty fireplace said, "You ought to be in +bed, Becky." + +"I shan't--sleep," nervously. There were deep shadows under her troubled +eyes. "I shan't sleep when I go." + +Randy came over and knelt by her side. "My dear, my dear," he said, "I +am afraid I have let you in for a lot of trouble." + +"But the things you said were true--he came--because he thought +I--belonged to--you." + +She hesitated. Then she reached out her hand to him. "Randy," she said, +"I told him I was going to marry--you." + +His hand had gone over hers, and now he held it in his strong clasp. "Of +course it isn't true, Becky." + +"I am going to make it true." + +Dead silence. Then, "No, my dear." + +"Why not?" + +"You don't love me." + +"But I like you," feverishly, "I like you, tremendously, and don't you +want to marry me, Randy?" + +"God knows that I do," said poor Randy, "but I must not. It--it would be +Heaven for me, you know that. But it wouldn't be quite--cricket--to let +you do it, Becky." + +"I am not doing it for your sake. I am doing it for my own. I want to +feel--safe. Do I seem awfully selfish when I say that?" + +A great wave of emotion swept over him. She had turned to him for +protection, for tenderness. In that moment Randy grew to the full +stature of a man. He lifted her hand and kissed it. "You are making me +very happy, Becky, dear." + +It was a strange betrothal. Behind them the old eagle brooded with +outstretched wings, the owl, round-eyed, looked down upon them and +withheld his wisdom, the Trumpeter, white as snow, in his glass case, +was as silent as the Sphinx. + +"You are making me very happy, Becky, dear," said poor Randy, knowing as +he said it that such happiness was not for him. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +WANTED--A PEDESTAL + + +I + +The Major's call on Miss MacVeigh had been a great success. She was +sitting up, and had much to say to him. Throughout the days of her +illness and convalescence, the Major had kept in touch with her. He had +sent her quaint nosegays from the King's Crest garden, man-tied and +man-picked. He had sent her nice soldierly notes, asking her to call +upon him if there was anything he could do for her. He had sent her +books, and magazines, and now on this first visit, he brought back the +"Pickwick" which he had picked up in the road after the accident. + +"I have wondered," Madge said, "what became of it." + +They were in the Flippin sitting-room. Madge was in a winged chair with +a freshly-washed gray linen cover. The chair had belonged to Mrs. +Flippin's father, and for fifty years had held the place by the east +window in summer and by the fireplace in winter. Oscar had wanted to +bring things from Hamilton Hill to make Madge comfortable. But she had +refused to spoil the simplicity of the quiet old house. "Everything that +is here belongs here, Oscar," she had told him, "and I like it." + +She wore a mauve negligee that was sheer and soft and flowing, and her +burnt-gold hair was braided and wound around her head in a picturesque +and becoming coiffure. + +As she turned the pages of the little book the Major noticed her hands. +They were white and slender, and she wore only one ring--a long amethyst +set in silver. + +"Do you play?" he asked abruptly. + +"Yes. Why?" + +"Your hands show it." + +She smiled at him. "I am afraid that my hands don't quite tell the +truth." She held them up so that the light of the lamp shone through +them. "They are really a musician's hands, aren't they? And I am only a +dabbler in that as in everything else." + +"You can't expect me to believe that." + +"But I am. I have intelligence. But I'm a 'dunce with wits.' I know what +I ought to do but I don't do it. I think that I have brains enough to +write, I am sure I have imagination enough to paint, I have strength +enough when I am well to"--she laughed,--"scrub floors. But I don't +write or play or paint--or scrub floors--I don't believe that there is +one thing in the world that I can do as well as Mary Flippin makes +biscuits." + +Her eyes seemed to challenge him to deny her assertion. He settled +himself lazily in his chair, and asked about the book. + +"Tell me why you like Dickens, when nobody reads him in these days +except ourselves." + +"I like him because in my next incarnation I want to live in the kind of +world he writes about." + +He was much interested. "You do?" + +She nodded. "Yes. I never have. My world has always been--cut and dried, +conventional, you know the kind." The slender hand with the amethyst +ring made a little gesture of disdain. "There were three of us, my +mother and my father and myself. Everything in our lives was very +perfectly ordered. We were not very rich--not in the modern sense, and +we were not very poor, and we knew a lot of nice people. I went to +school with girls of my own kind, an exclusive school. I went away +summers to our own cottage in an exclusive North Shore colony. We took +our servants with us. After my mother died I went to boarding-school, +and to Europe in summer, and when my school days were ended, and I +acquired a stepmother, I set up an apartment of my own. It has +Florentine things in it, and Byzantine things, and things from China +and Japan, and the colors shine like jewels under my lamps--you know the +effect. And my kitchen is all in white enamel, and the cook does things +by electricity, and when I go away in summer my friends have Italian +villas--like the Watermans, on the North Shore, although all of my +friends are not like the Watermans." She threw this last out casually, +not as a criticism, but that he might, it seemed, withhold judgment of +her present choice of associates. "And I have never known the world of +good cheer that Dickens writes about--wide kitchens, and teakettles +singing and crickets chirping and everybody busy with things that +interest them. Do you know that there are really no bored people in +Dickens except a few aristocrats? None of the poor people are bored. +They may be unhappy, but there's always some recompense in a steaming +drink or savory stew, or some gay little festivity;--even the vagabonds +seem to get something out of life. I realize perfectly that I've never +had the thrills from a bridge game that came to the Marchioness when she +played cards with Dick Swiveller--by stealth." + +She talked rapidly, charmingly. He could not be sure how much in earnest +she might be--but she made out her case and continued her argument. + +"When I was a child I walked on gray velvet carpets, and there were +etchings on the wall, and chilly mirrors between the long windows in +the drawing-room. And the kitchen was in the basement and I never went +down. There wasn't a cozy spot anywhere. None of us were cozy, my mother +wasn't. She was very lovely and sparkling and went out a great deal and +my father sparkled too. He still does. But there was really nothing to +draw us together--like the Cratchits or even the Kenwigs. And we were +never comfortable and merry like all of these lovely people in +Pickwick." + +She went on wistfully, "When I was nine, I found these little books in +our library and after that I enjoyed vicariously the life I had never +lived. That's why I like it here--Mrs. Flippin's kettle sings--and the +crickets chirp--and Mr. and Mrs. Flippin are comfortable--and cozy--and +content." + +It was a long speech. "So now you see," she said, as she ended, "why I +like Dickens." + +"Yes. I see. And so--in your next incarnation you are going to be +like----" + +"Little Dorrit." + +He laughed and leaned forward. "I can't imagine--you." + +"She really had a heavenly time. Dickens tried to make you feel sorry +for her. But she had the best of it all through. Somebody always wanted +her." + +"But she was imposed upon. And her unselfishness brought her heavy +burdens." + +"She got a lot out of it in the end, didn't she? And what do selfish +people get? I'm one of them. I live absolutely for myself. There isn't a +person except Flora who gets anything of service or self-sacrifice out +of me. I came down here because she wanted me, but I hated to come. The +modern theory is that unselfishness weakens. And the modern psychologist +would tell you that little Dorrit was all wrong. She gave herself for +others--and it didn't pay. But does the other thing pay?" + +"Selfishness?" + +"Yes. I'm selfish, and Oscar is, and Flora, and George Dalton, and most +of the people we know. And we are all bored to death. If being unselfish +is interesting, why not let us be unselfish?" Her lively glance seemed +to challenge him, and they laughed together. + +"I know what you mean." + +"Of course you do. Everybody does who _thinks_." + +"And so you are going to wait for the next plane to do the things that +you want to do?" + +"Yes." + +"But why--wait?" + +"How can I break away? I am tied into knots with the people whom I have +always known; and I shall keep on doing the things I have always done, +just as I shall keep on wearing pale purples and letting my skin get +burned so that I may seem distinctive." + +It came to him with something of a shock that she did these things with +intention. That the charms which seemed to belong to her were carefully +planned. + +Yet how could he tell if what she said was true, when her eyes laughed? + +"I shall get all I can out of being here. Mary Flippin is going to let +me help her make butter, and Mrs. Flippin will teach me to make +corn-bread, and some day I am going fishing with the Judge and Mr. +Flippin and learn to fry eggs out-of-doors----" + +"So those are the things you like?" + +She nodded. "I think I do. George Dalton says it is only because I crave +a change. But it isn't that. And I haven't told him the way I feel about +it--the Dickens way--as I have told you." + +He was glad that she had not talked to Dalton as she had talked to him. + +"I wonder," he said slowly, "why you couldn't shake yourself free from +the life which binds you?" + +"I'm not strong enough. I'm like the drug-fiend, who doesn't want his +drug, but can't give it up." + +"Perhaps you need--help. There are doctors of everything, you know, in +these days." + +"None that can cure me of the habit of frivolity--of the claims of +custom----" + +"If a man takes a drug, he is cured by substituting something else for a +while until he learns to do without it." + +"What would you substitute for--my drug?" + +"I'll have to think about it. May I come again and tell you?" + +"Of course. I am dying to know." + +Mrs. Flippin entered just then with a tall pitcher of lemonade and a +plate of delicate cakes. "I think Miss MacVeigh is looking mighty fine," +she said; "don't you, Major?" + +He would not have dared to tell how fine she looked to him. + +He limped across the room with the plate of cakes, and poured lemonade +into a glass for Madge. Her eyes followed his strong soldierly figure. +What a man he must have been before the war crippled him. What a man he +was still, and his strength was not merely that of body. She felt the +strength too of mind and soul. + +"I think," said Mrs. Flippin that night, "that Major Prime is one of the +nicest men." + +Madge was in bed. The nurse had made her ready for the night, and was +out on the porch with Mr. Flippin. Mrs. Flippin had fallen into the +habit of having a little nightly talk with Madge. She missed her +daughter, and Madge was pleasant and friendly. + +"I think that Major Prime is one of the nicest men," repeated Mrs. +Flippin as she sat down beside the bed, "but what a dreadful thing that +he is lame." + +"I am not sure," Madge said, "that it is dreadful." + +She hastened to redeem herself from any possible charge of +bloodthirstiness. + +"I don't mean," she said, "that it isn't awful for a man to lose his leg. +But men who go through a thing like that and come out--conquerors--are +rather wonderful, Mrs. Flippin." + +Madge had hold of Mrs. Flippin's hand. She often held it in this quiet +hour, and the idea rather amused her. She was not demonstrative, and it +seemed inconceivable that she should care to hold Mrs. Flippin's hand. +But there was a motherliness about Mrs. Flippin, a quality with which +Madge had never before come closely in contact. "It is like the way I +used to feel when I was a little girl and said my prayers at night," she +told herself. + +Madge did not say her prayers now. Nobody did, apparently. She thought +it rather a pity. It was a comfortable thing to do. And it meant a great +deal if you only believed in it. + +"Do you say your prayers, Mrs. Flippin?" she asked suddenly. + +Mrs. Flippin was getting used to Madge's queer questions. She treated +them as a missionary might treat the questions of a beautiful and +appealing savage, who having gone with him to some strange country was +constantly interrogatory. + +"She don't seem to know anything about the things we do," Mrs. Flippin +told her husband. "She got the nurse to wheel her out into the kitchen +this afternoon, and watched me frost a cake and cut out biscuits. And +she says that she has never seen anything so sociable as the teakettle, +the way it rocks and sings." + +So now when Madge asked Mrs. Flippin if she said her prayers, Mrs. +Flippin said, "Do you mean at night?" + +"Yes." + +"Bob and I say them together," said Mrs. Flippin. "We started on our +wedding night, and we ain't ever stopped." + +It was a simple statement of a sublime fact. For thirty years this plain +man and this plain woman had kept alive the spiritual flame on the +household altar. No wonder that peace was under this roof and serenity. + +Madge, as she lay there holding Mrs. Flippin's hand, looked very young, +almost like a little girl. Her hair was parted and the burnished braids +lay heavy on her lovely neck. Her thin fine gown left her arms bare. +"Mrs. Flippin," she said, "I wish I could live here always, and have you +come every night and sit and hold my hand." + +Her eyes were smiling and Mrs. Flippin smiled back. "You'd get tired." + +"No," said Madge, "I don't believe anybody ever gets tired of goodness. +Not real goodness. The kind that isn't hypocritical or priggish. And in +these days it is so rare, that one just loves it. I am bored to death +with near-bad people, Mrs. Flippin, and near-good ones. I'd much rather +have them real saints and real sinners." + +The nurse came in just then, and Mrs. Flippin went away. And after a +time the house was very still. Madge's bed was close to the window. +Outside innumerable fireflies studded the night with gold. Now and then +a screech-owl sounded his mournful note. It was a ghostly call, and +there was the patter of little feet on the porch as the old cat played +with her kittens in the warm dark. But Madge was not afraid. She had a +sense of great content as she lay there and thought of the things she +had said to Major Prime. It was not often that she revealed herself, and +when she did it was still rarer to meet understanding. But he had +understood. She was sure of that, and she would see him soon. He had +promised. And she would not have to go back to Oscar and Flora until she +was ready. Flora was better, but still very weak. It would be much +wiser, the doctor had said, if she saw no one but her nurses for several +days. + + +II + +Truxton Beaufort rode over to King's Crest the next morning, and sat on +the steps of the Schoolhouse. Randy and Major Prime were having +breakfast out-of-doors. It was ten o'clock, but they were apparently +taking their ease. + +"I thought you had to work," Truxton said to Randy. + +"I sold a car yesterday----" + +"And to-day you are playing around like a plutocrat. I wish I could sell +cars. I wish I could do _anything_. Look here, you two. I wonder if you +feel as I do." + +"About what?" + +"Coming back. I came home expecting a pedestal--and I give you my word +nobody seems to think much of me except my family. And they aren't +worshipful--exactly. They can't be. How can they rave over my one +decoration when that young nigger John has two, and deserved them, and +when the butcher and baker and candlestick-maker are my ranking +officers? War used to be a gentleman's game. But it isn't any more." + +"We've got to carve our own pedestals," said the Major. "We are gods of +yesterday. The world won't stop to praise us. We did our duty, and we +would do it again. But our laurel wreaths are doffed. Our swords are +beaten into plowshares. Peace is upon us. If we want pedestals, we've +got to carve them." + +Truxton argued that it wasn't quite fair. The Major agreed that it might +not seem so, but the thing had been so vast, and there were so many men +involved, so many heroes. + +"Every little family has a hero of its own," Truxton supplemented. "Mary +thinks none of the others did _anything_--I won the _whole_ war. That's +where I have it over you two," he grinned. + +"It is a thing," said the Major, cheerfully, "which can be remedied." + +"It can," Truxton told him; "which reminds me that our young John is +going to marry Flippins' Daisy, and our household is in mourning. Mandy +doesn't approve of Daisy, and neither does Calvin. Mandy took to her bed +when she heard the news, and young John cooked breakfast to the tune of +his Daddy's lamentations. But it was a good breakfast." + +"Marriage," said the Major, "seems rather epidemic in these days." + +Randy rose restlessly and sat on the porch rail. "Why in the world does +John want to marry Daisy----" + +"Why not?" easily. "There's some style about Daisy----" + +"But there are lots of nice, comfortable, hard-working girls in this +neighborhood." + +"Lead me to 'em," Truxton mimicked young John, "lead me to 'em. Mary +says that Daisy is the best of the lot. She has plenty of good sense +back of her foolishness, and she is one of the best cooks in the county. +She and John are planning to go up to Washington and open an +old-fashioned oyster house. She says that people are complaining that +they can't get oysters as they did in the old days, and she is going to +show them. I wouldn't be surprised if they made a success of it. And I +tell you this--I envy John. He will have a paying business, and here I +am without a thing ahead of me, and I have married a wife and the ravens +won't feed us." + +Randy stuck his hands in his pockets with an air of sudden resolution. + +"Look here," he said, "why can't we go halves in this car business? It +will pay our expenses, and we can finish our law course at the +University." + +"Law? Oh, look here, Randy, I thought you had given that up." + +"I haven't, and why should you? We will finish, and some day we will +open an office together." + +The Major, whistling softly, listened and said nothing. + +"I have been thinking a lot about it," Randy went on, "and I can't see +much of a future ahead of me. Not the kind of future that our families +are expecting of us. You and I have got to stand for something, Truxton, +or some day the world will be saying that all the great men died with +Thomas Jefferson." + +The Major went on with his lilting tune. What a pair they were, these +lads! Randy, afire with his dreams, and rather tragic in his dreaming. +Truxton, light as a feather--laughing. + +"Why can't we give to the world as much as the men who have gone before +us?" Randy was demanding. "Are we going to take everything from our +ancestors, and give nothing to our descendants?" + +Truxton chuckled. "By Jove," he said, "now that I come to think of it, I +am the head of a family--there's Fiddle-dee-dee, and I shall have to +reckon with Fiddle-dee-dee's children and grandchildren and +great-grandchildren--who will expect that my portrait will hang on the +wall at Huntersfield." + +"It is all very well to laugh," said Randy hotly, "but that is the way +it looks to me; that we have got to show to the world that our ambitions +are--big. It is all very well to talk about the day's work. I am going +to do it, and pay my way, but there's got to be something beyond that to +think about--something bigger than I have ever known." + +He gained dignity through the sincerity of his purpose. The Major, still +whistling softly, wondered what had come over the boy. He recognized a +difference since he had last talked to him. Randy was not only roused; +he was ready to look life in the face, to wrest from it the best. "If +that is what love of the little girl is doing for him," said the Major +to himself, "then let him love her." + +Truxton continued to treat the situation lightly. "Look here," he said, +"do you think you are going to be the only great man in our generation?" + +Randy laughed; but the fire was still in his eyes. "The county will hold +the two of us." + +And now the Major spoke. "No man can be great by simply saying it. But I +think most of our great men have expected things of themselves. They +have dreamed dreams of greatness. I fancy that Lincoln did in his log +cabin, and Roosevelt on the plains. And it wasn't egotism--it was a +boy's wish to give himself to the world. And the wish was the urge. And +the trouble with many of our men in these days is that they are content +to dream of what they can get instead of what they can do. Paine has the +right idea. There must be a day's work no matter how hard, and it must +be done well, but beyond that must be a dream of bigger things for the +future----" + +Truxton stood up. "I asked for bread and you have given me--caviar. +Sufficient unto the day is the greatness thereof. And in the meantime, +Randy, I will make the grand gesture--and help you sell cars." He was +grinning as he left them. "Good-bye, Major. Good-bye, T. Jefferson, Jr. +Let me know when you want me in your Cabinet." + +It was late that afternoon that Mary, looking for her husband, found him +in the Judge's library. + +"What are you doing?" she asked, with lively curiosity. + +Truxton was sitting on the floor with a pile of calf-bound books beside +him. + +"What are you doing, lover?" + +"Come here and I'll tell you." He made a seat for her of four of the big +books. His arm went around her and he laid his head against her +shoulder. + +"Mary," he said, "I am carving a pedestal." + +"You are what?" + +He explained. He laughed a great deal as he gave her an account of his +conversation with the Major and Randy that morning. + +"You see before you," with a final flourish, "a potential great man. A +Thomas Jefferson, up-to-date; a John Randolph of the present day; the +Lincoln of my own time; the ancestor of Fiddle's great-grandchildren." + +She rumpled his hair. "I like you as you are." + +He caught her hand and held it. "But you'd like me on--a pedestal?" + +"If you'll let me help you carve it." + +He kissed the hand that he held. "If I am ever anything more than I am," +he said, and now he was not laughing, "it will be because of you--my +dearest darling." + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +INDIAN--INDIAN + + +I + +The Merriweather fortunes had not been affected by the fall of the +Confederacy. There had been money invested in European ventures, and +when peace had come in sixty-five, the old grey stone house had again +flung wide its doors to the distinguished guests who had always honored +it, and had resumed its ancient custom of an annual harvest ball. + +The ballroom, built at the back of the main house, was connected with it +by wide curving corridors, which contained the family portraits, and +which had long windows which opened out on little balconies. On the +night of the ball these balconies were lighted by round yellow lanterns, +so that the effect from the outside was that of a succession of full +moons. + +The ballroom was octagonal, and canopied with a blue ceiling studded +with silver stars. There were cupids with garlands on the side walls, +and faded blue brocade hangings. Across one end of the ballroom was the +long gallery reserved for those whom the Merriweathers still called "the +tenantry," and it was here that Mary and Mrs. Flippin always sat after +baking cakes. + +Mrs. Flippin had not baked the cakes to-day, nor was she in the gallery, +for her daughter, Mary, was among the guests on the ballroom floor, and +her mother's own good sense had kept her at home. + +"I shall look after Miss MacVeigh," she had said. "I want Truxton to +bring you over and show you in your pretty new dress." + +When they came, Madge, who was sitting up, insisted that she, too, must +see Mary. "My dear, my dear," she said, "what a wonderful frock." + +"Yes," Mary said, "it is. It is one of Becky's, and she gave it to me. +And the turquoises are Mrs. Beaufort's." + +Madge, who knew the whole alphabet of smart costumers, was aware of the +sophisticated perfection of that fluff of jade green tulle. The touch of +gold at the girdle, the flash of gold for the petticoat. She guessed the +price, a stiff one, and wondered that Mary should speak of it casually +as "one of Becky's." + +"The turquoises are the perfect touch." + +"That was Becky's idea. It seemed queer to me at first, blue with the +green. But she said if I just wore this band around my hair, and the +ring. And it does seem right, doesn't it?" + +"It is perfect. What is Miss Bannister wearing?" + +"Silver and white--lace, you know. The new kind, like a cobweb--with +silver underneath--and a rose-colored fan--and pearls. You should see +her pearls, Miss MacVeigh. Tell her about them, Truxton." + +"Well, once upon a time they belonged to a queen. Becky's +great-grandfather on the Meredith side was a diplomat in Paris, and he +bought them, or so the story runs. Becky only wears a part of them. The +rest are in the family vaults." + +Madge listened, and showed no surprise. But that account of lace and +silver, and priceless pearls did not sound in the least like the new +little girl about whom George had, in the few times that she had seen +him of late, been so silent. + +"If only Flora would get well, and let me leave this beastly hole," had +been the burden of his complaint. + +"I thought you liked it." + +"It is well enough for a time." + +"What about the new little girl?" + +He was plainly embarrassed, but bluffed it out. "I wish you wouldn't ask +questions." + +"I wish you wouldn't be--rude--Georgie-Porgie." + +"I hate that name, Madge. Any man has a right to be rude when a woman +calls him 'Georgie-Porgie.'" + +"So that's it? Well, now run along. And please don't come again until +you are nice--and smiling." + +"Oh, look here, Madge." + +"Run along----" + +"But there isn't any place to run." + +Laughter lurked in her eyes. "Oh, Georgie-Porgie--for once in your life +can't you run away?" + +"Do you think you are funny?" + +"Perhaps not. Smile a little, Georgie." + +"How can anybody smile, with everybody sick?" + +"Oh, no, we're not. We are better. I am so glad that Flora is +improving." + +"Oscar thinks it is because that little old man prayed for her. Fancy +Oscar----" + +Madge meditated. "Yet it might be, you know, George. There are things in +that old man's petition that transcend all our philosophy." + +"Oh, you're as bad as Oscar," said George. He rose and stood frowning on +the threshold. "Well, good-bye, Madge." + +"Good-bye, Georgie, and smile when you come again." + +She had guessed then that something had gone wrong in the game with the +new little girl. She had a consuming curiosity to know the details. But +she could never force things with Georgie. Some day, perhaps, he would +tell her. + +And now here was news indeed! She waited until young Beaufort and his +wife had driven away, and until Mrs. Flippin had time for that quiet +hour by her bedside. + +"Mary looked lovely," said Madge. + +"Didn't she?" Mrs. Flippin rocked and talked. "You would never have +known that dress was made for anybody but for Mary. Becky gave Mary +another dress out of a lot she had down from New York. It is yellow +organdie, made by hand and with little embroidered scallops." + +Madge knew the house which made a specialty of those organdie gowns with +embroidered scallops, and she knew the price. + +"But how does--Becky manage to have such lovely things?" + +"Oh, she's rich," Mrs. Flippin was rocking comfortably. "You would never +know it, and nobody thinks of it much. But she's got money. From her +grandmother. And there was something in the will about having her live +out of the world as long as she could. That's why they sent her to a +convent and kept her down here as much as possible. She ain't ever +seemed to care for clothes. She could always have had anything she +wanted, but she ain't cared. She told Mary that she had a sudden notion +to have some pretty things, and she sent for them, and it was lucky for +Mary that she did. She couldn't have gone to this ball, for there wasn't +any time to get anything made. Mr. Flippin and I are going to buy her +some nice things when she goes to Richmond. But they won't be like the +things that Becky gets, of course." + +Madge, listening to further details of the Meredith fortunes, wondered +how much of this Georgie knew. "Becky's mother died when she was five, +and her father two years later," Mrs. Flippin was saying. "She might +have been spoiled to death if she had been brought up as some children +are. But she has spent her winters at the convent with Sister Loretto, +and she's never worn much of anything but the uniform of the school. You +wouldn't think that she had any money to see her, would you, Miss +MacVeigh?" + +"No, you wouldn't," said Madge, truthfully. + +It was after nine o'clock--a warm night--with no sound but the ticking +of the clock and the insistent hum of locusts. + +"Mrs. Flippin," said Madge, "I wish you'd call up Hamilton Hill and ask +for Mr. Dalton, and tell him that Miss MacVeigh would like to have him +come and see her if he has nothing else on hand." + +Mrs. Flippin looked her astonishment. "To-night?" + +"Oh, I am not going to receive him this way," Madge reassured her. "If +he can come, I'll get nurse to dress me and make me comfy in the +sitting-room." + +Having ascertained that Dalton would be over at once, the nurse was +called, and Madge was made ready. It was a rather high-handed +proceeding, and both Mrs. Flippin and the nurse stood aghast. + +The nurse protested. "You really ought not, Miss MacVeigh." + +"I love to do things that I ought not to do." + +"But you'll tire yourself." + +"If you were my Mary," said Mrs. Flippin severely, "I wouldn't let you +have your way----" + +"I love to have my own way, Mrs. Flippin. And--I am not your Mary"--then +fearing that she had hurt the kind heart, she caught Mrs. Flippin's hand +in her own and kissed it,--"but I wish I were. You're such a lovely +mother." + +Mrs. Flippin smiled at her. "I'm as near like your mother as a hen is +mother to a bluebird." + +Madge, robed in the mauve gown, refused to have her hair touched. "I +like it in braids," and so when George came there she sat in the +sitting-room, all gold and mauve--a charming picture for his sulky +eyes. + +"Oh," she said, as he came in, in a gray sack suit, with a gray cap in +his hand, "why, you aren't even dressed for dinner!" + +"Why should I be?" he demanded. "Kemp has left me." + +She had expected something different. "Kemp?" + +"Yes." + +"Why?" + +"He didn't give any reason. Just said he was going--and went. He said he +had intended to go before, and had only stayed until Mrs. Waterman was +better. Offered to stay on a little longer if it would embarrass me any +to have him leave. I told him that if he wanted to go, he could get out +now. And he is packing his bags." + +"But what will you do without him?" + +"I have wired to New York for a Jap." + +"Where will Kemp go?" + +"To King's Crest. To work for that lame officer--Prime." + +"Oh--Major Prime? How did it happen?" + +"Heaven only knows. I call it a mean trick." + +"Well, of course, Kemp had a right to go if he wanted to. And perhaps +you will like a Jap better. You always said Kemp was too independent." + +"He is," shortly, "but I hate to be upset. It seems as if everything +goes wrong these days. What did you want with me, Madge?" + +Her eyelashes flickered as she surveyed him. "I wanted to see +you--smile, Georgie." + +"You didn't bring me down here to tell me that----" But in spite of +himself the corners of his lips curled. "Oh, what's the answer, Madge?" +he said, and laughed in spite of himself. + +"I wanted to talk a little about--your Becky." + +His laughter died at once. "Well, I'm not going to talk about her." + +"Please--I am dying of curiosity--I hear that she is very--rich, +Georgie." + +"Rich?" + +"Yes. She has oodles of money----" + +"I don't believe it." + +"But it is true, Georgie." + +"Who told you?" + +"Mrs. Flippin." + +"It is all--rot----" + +"It isn't rot, Georgie. Mrs. Flippin knows about it. Becky inherits from +her Meredith grandmother. And her grandfather is Admiral Meredith of +Nantucket, with a big house on Beacon Street in Boston. And they all +belong to the inner circle." + +He stared at her. "But Becky doesn't look it. She doesn't wear rings and +things." + +"'Rings on her fingers and bells on her toes'? Oh, George, did you think +it had to be like that when people had money? Why, her pearls belonged +to a queen." She told him their history. + +It came back to him with a shock that he had said to Becky that the +pearls cheapened her. "If they were _real_," he had said. + +"It was rather strange the way I found it out," Madge was saying. "Mary +Flippin had on the most perfect gown--with all the marks on it of +exclusive Fifth Avenue. She was going to the Merriweather ball, and +Becky is to be there." + +She saw him gather himself together. "It is rather a Cinderella story, +isn't it?" he asked, with assumed lightness. + +"Yes," she said, "but I thought you'd like to know." + +"What if I knew already?" + +She laughed and let it go at that. "I'm lonesome, Georgie, talk to me," +she said. But he was not in a mood to talk. And at last she sent him +away. And when he had gone she sat there a long time and thought about +him. There had been a look in his eyes which made her almost sorry. It +seemed incredible as she came to think of it that anybody should ever be +sorry for Georgie. + + +II + +Since that night with Becky in the garden at Huntersfield George had +been torn by conflicting emotions. He knew himself at last in love. He +knew himself beaten at the game by a little shabby girl, and a lanky +youth who had been her champion. + +He would not acknowledge that the thing was ended, and in the end he had +written her a letter. He cried to Heaven that a marriage between her and +young Paine would be a crime. "How can you love him, Becky--you are +mine." + +The letter had been returned unopened. His burning phrases might have +been dead ashes for all the good they had done. She had not read them. + +And now Madge had told him the unbelievable thing--that Becky Bannister, +the shabby Becky of the simple cottons and the stubbed shoes, was rich, +not as Waterman was rich, flamboyantly, vulgarly, with an eye to letting +all the world know. But rich in a thoroughbred fashion, scorning +display--he knew the kind, secure in a knowledge of the unassailable +assets of birth and breeding and solid financial standing. + +No wonder young Paine wanted to marry her. George, driving through the +night, set his teeth. He was seeing Randy, poor as Job's turkey, with +Becky's money for a background. + +Well, he should not have it. He should not have Becky. + +George headed his car for the Merriweathers'. Becky was there, and he +was going to see Becky. How he was to see her he left to the +inspiration of the moment. + +He parked his car by the road, and walked through the great stone gates. +The palatial residence was illumined from top to bottom, its windows +great squares of gold against the night. The door stood open, but except +for a servant or two there was no one in the wide hall. The guests were +dancing in the ballroom at the back, and George caught the lilt of the +music as he skirted the house, then the sound of voices, the light +laughter of the women, the deeper voices of the men. + +The little balconies, lighted by the yellow lanterns, were empty. As +soon as the music stopped they would be filled with dancers seeking the +coolness of the outer air. He stood looking up, and suddenly, as if the +stage had been set, Becky stepped out on the balcony straight in front +of him, and stood under the yellow lantern. The light was dim, but it +gave to her white skin, to her lace frock, to the pink fan, a faint +golden glow. She might have been transmuted from flesh into some fine +metal. George had not heard the Major's name for her, "Mademoiselle +Midas," but he had a feeling that the little golden figure was +symbolic--here was the real Golden Girl for him--not Madge or any other +woman. + +Randy was with her, back in the shadow, but unmistakable, his lean +height, the lift of his head. + +George moved forward until, hidden by a bush, he was almost under the +balcony. He could catch the murmur of their voices. But not a word that +they said was intelligible. + +They were talking of Mary. Her introduction to her husband's friends had +been an ordeal for Bob Flippin's daughter. But she had gone through it +simply, quietly, unaffectedly, with the Judge by her side standing +sponsor for his son's wife in chivalrous and stately fashion, with Mrs. +Beaufort at her elbow helping her over the initial small talk of her +presentation. With Truxton beaming, and with Becky drawing her into that +charmed circle of the younger set which might so easily have shut her +out. More than one of those younger folk had had it in mind that at last +year's ball Mary Flippin had sat in the gallery. But not even the most +snobbish of them would have dared to brave Becky Bannister's +displeasure. Back of her clear-eyed serenity was a spirit which flamed +and a strength which accomplished. Becky was an amiable young person who +could flash fire at unfairness or injustice or undue assumption of +superiority. + +The music had stopped and the balconies were filled. George, in the +darkness, was aware of the beauty of the scene--the lantern making +yellow moons--the golden groups beneath them. Mary and Truxton with a +friend or two were in the balcony adjoining the one where Becky sat with +young Paine. + +"Isn't she a dear and a darling, Randy?" Becky was saying; "and how well +she carries it off. Truxton is so proud of her, and she is so pretty." + +"She can't hold a candle to you, Becky." + +"It is nice of you to say it." She leaned on the stone balustrade and +swung her fan idly. + +"I am not saying it to be nice." + +"Aren't you--oh----!" She gave a quick exclamation. + +"What's the matter?" + +"I dropped my fan." + +"I'll go and get it," he said, and just then the music started. + +"No," said Becky, "never mind now. This is your dance with Mary--and she +mustn't be kept waiting." + +"Aren't you dancing this?" + +"It is Truxton's, and I begged off. Run along, dear boy." + +When he was gone she leaned over the rail. Below was a tangle of bushes, +and the white gleam of a stone bench. Beyond the bushes was a path, and +farther on a fountain. It was a rather imposing fountain, with a Neptune +in bronze riding a seahorse, with nymphs on dolphins in attendance. +Neptune poured water from a shell which he held in his hand, and the +dolphins spouted great streams. The splash of the water was a grateful +sound in the stillness of the hot night, and the mist which the slight +breeze blew towards a bed of tuberoses seemed to bring out their heavy +fragrance. Always afterwards when Becky thought of that night, there +would come to her again that heavy scent and the splash of streaming +water. + +"Becky," a voice came up from below, "I have your fan." + +She peered down into the darkness, but did not speak. + +"Becky, I am punished enough, and I am--starved for you----" + +"Give me my fan----" + +"I want to talk to you--I must--talk to you----" + +"Give me my fan----" + +"I can't reach----" + +"You can stand on that bench." + +He stood on it, and she could see his figure faintly defined. + +"I am afraid I am still too far away. Lean over a bit, Becky--and I'll +hand it to you." + +She stretched her white arm down into the darkness. Her hand was caught +in a strong clasp. "Becky, give me just five minutes by the fountain." + +"Let me go." + +"Not until you promise that you'll come." + +"I shall never promise." + +"Then I shall keep your fan----" + +"Keep it--I have others." + +"But you will think about this one, because I have it." There was a note +of triumph in his soft laugh. + +He kissed her finger-tips and reluctantly released her hand. "The fan is +mine, then, until you ask for it." + +"I shall never ask." + +"Who knows? Some day you may--who knows?" and he was gone. + +He could not have chosen a better way in which to fire her imagination. +His voice in the dark, his laughing triumph, the daring theft of her +fan. Her heart followed him, seeing him a Conqueror even in this, seeing +him a robber with his rose-colored booty, a Robin Hood of the Garden, a +Dick Turpin among the tuberoses. + +The spirit of Romance went with him. The things that Pride had done for +her looked gray and dull. She had promised to marry Randy, and felt that +she faced a somewhat sober future. Set against it was all that George +had given her, the sparkle and dash and color of his ardent pursuit. + +He was not worth a thought, yet she thought of him. She was still +thinking of him when Randy came back. + +"Did you get your fan?" he asked. + +"No. Never mind, Randy. I will have one of the servants look for it." + +"But I do mind." + +She hesitated. "Well, don't look for it now. Let's go in and join the +others. Are they going down to supper?" + +Supper was served in the great Hunt Room, which was below the ballroom. +It was a historic and picturesque place, and had been the scene for over +a century of merry-making before and after the fox-hunts for which the +county was famous. There were two great fireplaces, almost hidden +to-night by the heaped-up fruits of the harvest, orange and red and +green, with cornstalks and goldenrod from the fields for decorations. + +Becky found Mary alone at a small table in a corner. Truxton had left +her to forage for refreshments and Randy followed him. + +"Are you having a good time, Mary?" + +Mary did not answer at once. Then she said, bravely, "I don't quite fit +in, Becky. I am still an--outsider." + +"Oh, Mary!" + +"I am not--unhappy, and Truxton is such a dear. But I shall be glad to +get home, Becky." + +"But you look so lovely, Mary, and everybody seems so kind." + +"They are, but underneath I am just plain--Mary Flippin. They know that, +and so do I, and it will take them some time to forget it." + +There was an anxious look in Becky's eyes. "It seems to me that you are +feeling it more than the others." + +"Perhaps. And I shouldn't have said anything. Don't let Truxton know." + +"Has anyone said anything to hurt you, Mary?" + +"No, but when I dance with the men, I can't speak their language. I +haven't been to the places--I don't know the people. I am on the +outside." + +Becky had a sudden forlorn sense that things were wrong with the whole +world. But she didn't want Mary to be unhappy. + +"Truxton loves you," she said, "and you love him. Don't let anything +make you miserable when you have--that. Nothing else counts, Mary." + +There was a note of passion in her voice which brought a pulsing +response from Mary. + +"It _is_ the only thing that counts, Becky. How silly I am to worry." + +Her young husband was coming towards her--flushed and eager, a prince +among men, and he was hers! + +As he sat down beside her, her hand sought his under the table. + +He looked down at her. "Happy, little girl?" + +"Very happy, lover." + + +III + +Caroline Paine was having the time of her life. She wore a new dress of +thin midnight blue which Randy had bought for her and which was very +becoming; her hair was waved and dressed, and she had Major Prime as an +attentive listener while she talked of the past and linked it with the +present. + +"Of course there was a time when the men drank themselves under the +tables. Everybody calls them the 'good old times,' but I reckon they +were bad old times in some ways, weren't they? There was hot blood, and +there were duels. There's no denying it was picturesque, Major, but it +was foolish for all that. Men don't settle things now by shooting each +other, except in a big way like the war. The last duel was fought by the +old fountain out there--one of the Merriweathers met one of the Paines. +Merriweather was killed, and the girl died of a broken heart." + +"Then it was Merriweather that she loved?" + +"Yes. And young Paine went abroad, and joined the British army and was +killed in India. So nobody was happy, and all because there was, +probably, a flowing bowl at the harvest ball. I am glad they don't do it +that way now. Just think of my Randy stripped to his shirt and with +pistols for two. We are more civilized in these days and I'm glad of +it." + +"Are we?" said the Major; "I'm not sure. But I hope so." + +Randy came by just then and spoke to them. "Are you getting everything +you want, Mother?" + +"Yes, indeed. The Major looked after me. I've had salad twice, and +everything else----" + +"That sounds greedy, but it isn't, not when you think of the groaning +boards of other days. Has she been telling you about them, Major?" + +"Yes, she has peopled the room with ghosts----" + +"Now, Major!" + +"Pleasant ghosts--in lace ruffles and velvet coats, smoking long pipes +around a punch bowl; beautiful ghosts in patches and powder," he made an +expressive gesture; "they have mingled with the rest of +you--shadow-shapes of youth and loveliness." + +"Well, if anybody can tell about it, Mother can," said Randy, "but I +don't believe there were ever any prettier girls than are here +to-night." + +"Becky looks like an angel," Mrs. Paine stated, "but she's pale, Randy." + +"She is tired, Mother. I think she ought to go home. I shall try to +make her when I come back. She dropped her fan and I am going to get +it." + +He had not told Becky where he was going. He had slipped away--his mind +intent on regaining her property. But when he reached the bushes and +flashed his pocket-light on the ground beneath, there was no fan. It +must have fallen here. He was sure he had made no mistake. + +He decided finally that someone else had found it. It seemed unlikely, +however, for the spot was remote, and the thickness of the bushes +offered a barrier to anyone strolling casually through the grounds. + +He went slowly back to the house. Ever since that night when Becky had +said she would marry him he had lived in a dream. They were pledged to +each other, yet she did not love him. How could he take her? And again, +how could he give her up? She had offered herself freely, and he wanted +her in his future. And there was a fighting chance. He had youth and +courage and a love for her he challenged any man to match. Why not? Was +it beyond the bounds of reason that some day he could make Becky love +him? + +They had agreed that no one was to be told. "Not until I come back from +Nantucket," Becky had stipulated. + +"By that time you won't want me, my dear." + +"Well, I shan't if you talk like that," Becky had said with some spirit. + +"Like what?" + +"As if I were a queen and you were a slave. When you were a little boy +you bossed me, Randy." + +There had been a gleam in his eye. "I may again." + +He wondered if, after all, that would be the way to win her. Yet he +shrank from playing a game. When she came to him, if she ever came, it +must be because she found something in him that was love-worthy. At +least he could make himself worthy of love, whether she ever came to him +or not. + +He stopped by the fountain; just beyond it the long windows of the Hunt +Room opened out upon the lawn. The light lay in golden squares upon the +grass. Randy, still in the shadow, stood for a moment looking in. There +were long tables and little ones, kaleidoscopic color, movement and +light, and Becky back in her corner in the midst of a gay group. + +He was aware, suddenly, that he was not the only one who watched. Half +hidden by the shadows of one of the great pillars of the lower porch was +a man in light flannels and a gray cap. + +He was not skulking, and indeed he seemed to have a splendid +indifference to discovery. He was staring at Becky and in his hand, a +blaze of lovely color against his coat, was Becky's fan! + +Randy took a step forward. George turned and saw him. + +"I was looking for that," Randy said, and held out his hand for the fan. + +But Dalton did not give it to him. "She knows I have it." + +"How could she know?" Randy demanded; "she dropped it from the balcony." + +"And I was under the balcony"--George's laugh was tantalizing,--"a +patient Romeo." + +"You picked it up." + +"I picked it up. And she knew that I did. Didn't she tell you?" + +She had not told him. He remembered now her unwillingness to have him +search for it. + +He had no answer for George. But again he held out his hand. + +"She will be glad to get it. Will you give it to me?" + +"She told me I might--keep it." + +"Keep it----?" + +"For remembrance." + +There was a tense pause. "If that is true," said Randy, "there is, of +course, nothing else for me to say." + +He turned to go, but George stopped him. "Wait a minute. You are going +to marry her?" + +"Yes." + +"And she is very--rich." + +"Her money does not enter into the matter." + +"Some people might think it did. There are those who might be unkind +enough to call you a--fortune-hunter." + +"I shall be called nothing of the kind by those who know me." + +"But there are so many who don't know you." + +"I wonder," said Randy, fiercely, "why I am staying here and letting you +say such things to me. There is nothing you can say which can hurt me. +Becky knows--God knows, that I wish she were as poor as poverty. Perhaps +money doesn't mean as much to us as it does to you. I wish I had it, +yes--so that I could give it to her. But love for us means a tent in the +desert--a hut on a mountain--it can never mean what we could buy with +money." + +"Does love mean to her," George's tone was incisive, "a tent in the +desert, a hut on a mountain?" + +Randy's anger flamed. "I think," he said, "that I should beg Becky's +pardon for bringing her name into this at all---- And now, will you give +me her fan?" + +"When she asks for it--yes." + +Randy was breathing heavily. "Will you give me her--fan----" + +The mist from the fountain blew cool against his hot cheeks. The water +which old Neptune poured from his shell flashed white under the stars. + +"Let her ask for it----" George's laugh was light. + +It was that laugh which made Randy see red. He caught George's wrists +suddenly in his hands. "Drop it." + +George stopped laughing. "Let her ask for it," he said again. + +Randy twisted the wrists. It was a cruel trick. But his Indian blood was +uppermost. + +"Drop it," he said, with another twist, and the fan fell. + +But Randy was not satisfied. "Do you think," he said, "that I am through +with you? What you need is tar and feathers, but failing that----" he +did not finish his sentence. He caught George around the body and began +to push him back towards the fountain. + +George fought doggedly--but Randy was strong with the muscular strength +of youth and months of military training. + +"I'll kill you for this," George kept saying. + +"No," said Randy, conserving his breath, "they don't--do +it--in--these--days----" + +He had Dalton now at the rim and with a final effort of strength he +lifted him--there was a splash, and into the deeps of the great basin +went George, while the bronze Neptune, and the bronze dolphins, and the +nymphs with flowing hair, splashed and spouted a welcoming chorus that +drowned his cry! + +Randy, head up, eyes shining, marched into the house and had a servant +brush him off and powder a scratch on his chin; then he went down-stairs +to the Hunt Room and strode across the room until he came to where Becky +sat in her corner. + +"I found your fan," he told her, and laid it, a blaze of lovely color, +on the table in front of her. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE WHISTLING SALLY + + +I + +Becky, as she journeyed towards the north, had carried with her a vision +of a new and rather disturbing Randy--a Randy who, striding across the +Hunt Room with high-held head, had delivered her fan, and had, later, +asked for an explanation. + +"How did he get it, Becky?" + +She had told him. + +"Why didn't you tell me when I came back and said I would go for it?" + +"I was afraid he might still be there." + +"Well?" + +"And that something might happen." + +Something had happened later by the fountain. But Randy did not speak of +it. "I saw the fan in his hand and asked for it," grimly, "and he gave +it to me----" + +On the night before she went away, Randy had said, "I can't tell you all +that you mean to me, Becky, and I am not going to try. But I am yours +always--remember that----" He had kissed her hand and held it for a +moment against his heart. Then he had left her, and Becky had wanted to +call him back and say something that she felt had been left unsaid, but +had found that she could not. + +Admiral Meredith met his granddaughter in New York, and the rest of the +trip was made with him. + +Admiral Meredith was as different from Judge Bannister in his mental +equipment as he was in physical appearance. He was a short little man, +who walked with a sailor's swing, and who laughed like a fog-horn. He +had ruddy cheeks, and the manners of a Chesterfield. If he lacked the +air of aristocratic calm which gave distinction to Judge Bannister, he +supplied in its place a sophistication due to his contact with a world +which moved faster than the Judge's world in Virginia. + +He adored Becky, and resented her long sojourn in the South. "I believe +you love the Judge better than you do me," he told her, as he turned to +her in the taxi which took them from the train to the boat. + +"I don't love anybody better than I do you," she said, and tucked her +hand in his. + +"What have they been doing to you?" he demanded; "you are as white as +paper." + +"Well, it has been hot." + +"Of all the fool things to keep you down there in summer. I am going to +take you straight to 'Sconset to the Whistling Sally and keep you there +for a month." + +"The Whistling Sally" was the Admiral's refuge when he was tired of the +world. It was a gray little house set among other gray little houses +across the island from Nantucket town. It stood on top of the bluff and +overlooked a sea which stretched straight to Spain. It was called "The +Whistling Sally" because a ship's figure-head graced its front yard, the +buxom half of a young woman who blew out her cheeks in a perpetual +piping, and whose faded colors spoke eloquently of the storms which had +buffeted her. + +The Admiral, as has been indicated, had an imposing mansion in Nantucket +town. For two months in the summer he entertained his friends in all the +glory of a Colonial background--white pillars, spiral stairway, polished +floors, Chinese Chippendale, lacquered cabinets, old china and oil +portraits. He gave dinners and played golf, he had a yacht and a motor +boat, he danced when the spirit moved him, and was light on his feet in +spite of his years. He was adored by the ladies, lionized by everybody, +and liked it. + +But when the summer was over and September came, he went to Siasconset +and reverted to the type of his ancestors. He hobnobbed with the men and +women who had been the friends and neighbors of his forbears. He doffed +his sophistication as he doffed his formal clothes. He wore a slicker on +wet days, and the rain dripped from his rubber hat. He sat knee to knee +with certain cronies around the town pump. He made chowder after a +famous recipe, and dug clams when the spirit moved him. + +His housekeeper, Jane, adjourned from the town house to "The Whistling +Sally" when Becky was there; at other times the Admiral did for himself, +keeping the little cottage as neat as a pin, and cooking as if he were +born to it. + +It seemed to Becky that as the long low island rose from the sea, the +burdens which she had carried for so long dropped from her. There were +the houses on the cliff, the glint of a gilded dome, and then, gray and +blue and green the old town showed against the skyline, resolving itself +presently into roofs, and church towers, and patches of trees, with long +piers stretching out through shallow waters, boat-houses, fishing +smacks, and at last a thin line of people waiting on the wharf. + +The air was like wine. The sky was blue with the deep sapphire which +follows a wind-swept night. There was not a hint of mist or fog. Flocks +of gulls rose and dipped and rose again, or rested unafraid on the +wooden posts of the pier. + +The 'Sconset 'bus was waiting and they took it. Until two years ago no +automobiles had been allowed on the island, but there had been the +triumph of utility over the picturesque and quaint, and now one motored +across the moor on smooth asphalt, in one-half the time that the trip +had been made in the old days. + +The Admiral did not like it. He admitted that it was quicker. "But we +used to see the pheasants fly up from the bushes, and the ducks from the +pools, and now they are gone before we can get our eyes on them." + +Becky was not in a captious mood. The moor was before her, rising and +falling in low unwooded hills, amber with dwarf goldenrod, red with the +turning huckleberry, purple with drying grasses, green with a thousand +lovely growing things still unpainted by the brush of autumn. The color +was almost unbelievably gorgeous. Even the pools by the roadside were +almost unbelievably blue, as if the water had been dyed with indigo, and +above all was that incredible blue sky----! + +Then out of the distance clear cut like cardboard the houses lifted +themselves above the horizon, with the sea a wall to the right, and to +the left, across the moor, the Sankaty lighthouse, white and red with +the sun's rays striking across it. + +They entered the village between rows of pleasant informal residences, +many of them closed until another season; they passed the tennis +courts, and came to the post-office, with its flag flying. The 'bus +stopped, and they found Tristram waiting for them. + +"Tristram" is an old name in Nantucket. There was a Tristram among the +nine men who had purchased the island from Thomas Mayhew in 1659 for "30 +pounds current pay and two beaver hats." The present Tristram wore the +name appropriately. Fair-haired and tall, not young but towards the +middle-years, strong with the strength of one who lives out-of-doors in +all weathers, browned with the wind and sun, blue-eyed, he called no man +master, and was the owner of his own small acres. + +Like the Admiral, he gave himself up for two months of the year to the +summer people. If his association with them was a business rather than a +social affair, it was, none the less, interesting. The occupation of +Nantucket by "off-islanders" was a matter of infinite speculation and +amusement. Into the serenity of his life came restless men and women who +golfed and swam and rode and danced, who chafed when it rained, and +complained of the fog, who seemed endlessly trying to get something out +of life and who were endlessly bored, who wondered how Tristram could +stand the solitudes and who pitied him. + +Tristram knew that he did not need their pity. He had a thousand things +that they did not have. He was never bored, and he was too busy to +manufacture amusements. There were always things happening on the +island--each day brought something different. + +To-day, it was the winter gulls. "They are coming down--lots of them +from the north," he told the Admiral as they drove through the quaint +settlement with its gray little houses, "the big ones----" + +There was also the _gerardia_, pale pink and shading into mauve. He had +brought a great bunch to "The Whistling Sally," and had put it in a bowl +of gray pottery. + +When Becky saw the flowers, she knew whom to thank. "Oh, Tristram," she +said, "you found them on the moor." + +Tristram, standing in the little front room of the Admiral's cottage, +seemed to tower to the ceiling. "The Whistling Sally" from the outside +had the look of a doll's house, too small for human habitation. Within +it was unexpectedly commodious. It had the shipshape air of belonging to +a seafaring man. The rooms were all on one floor. There was the big +front room, which served as a sitting-room and dining-room. It had a +table built out from the wall with high-backed benches on each side of +it, and a rack for glasses overhead. There was a window above the table +which looked out towards the sea. The walls were painted blue, and +there was an old brick fireplace. A model of a vessel from which the +figure-head in the front yard had been taken was over the mantel, +flanked by an old print or two of Nantucket in the past. There were +Windsor chairs and a winged chair; some pot-bellied silver twinkled in a +corner cupboard. + +The windows throughout were low and square and small-paned and +white-curtained. The day was cool, and there was a fire on the hearth. +The blaze and the pink flowers, and the white curtains gave to the +little room an effect of brightness, although outside the early twilight +was closing in. + +Jane came in with her white apron and added another high light. She +kissed Becky. "Did your grandfather tell you that Mr. Cope is coming +over to have chowder?" she asked. + +It would be impossible to describe Jane's way of saying "chowder." It +had no "r," and she clipped it off at the end. But it is the only way in +the world, and the people who so pronounce it are usually the only +people in the world who can make it. + +"Who is Mr. Cope?" Becky asked. + +Mr. Cope, it seemed, had a cottage across the road from the Admiral's. +He leased it, and it was his first season at 'Sconset. His sister had +been with him only a week ago. She had gone "off-shore," but she was +coming back. + +"Is he young?" Becky asked. + +"Well, he isn't old," said Jane, "and he's an artist." + +Becky was not in the least interested in Mr. Cope, so she talked to +Tristram until he had to go back to his farm and the cows that waited to +be milked. Then Becky went into her room, and took off her hat and coat +and ran a comb through the bronze waves of her hair. She did not change +the straight serge frock in which she had travelled. She went back into +the front room and found that Mr. Cope had come. + +He was not old. That was at once apparent. And he was not young. He did +not look in the least like an artist. He seemed, rather, like a +prosperous business man. He wore a Norfolk suit, and his reddish hair +was brushed straight back from his forehead. He had rather humorous gray +eyes, and Becky thought there was a look of delicacy about his white +skin. Later he spoke of having come for his health, and she learned that +he had a weak heart. + +He had a pleasant laughing voice. He belonged to Boston, but had lived +abroad for years. + +"With nothing to show for it," he told her with a shrug, "but one +portrait. I painted my sister, and she kept that. But before we left +Paris we burned the rest----" + +"Oh, how dreadful," Becky cried. + +"No, it wasn't dreadful. They were not worth keeping. You see, I played +a lot and made sketches and things, and then there was the war--and I +wasn't very well." + +He had had two years of aviation, and after that a desk in the War +Department. + +"And now I am painting again." + +"Gardens?" Becky asked, "or the sea?" + +"Neither. I am trying to paint the moor. I'll show you in the morning." + +The Admiral was in the kitchen, superintending the chowder. Jane knew +how to make it, and he knew that she knew. But he always went into the +kitchen at the psychological moment, tied on an apron, and put in the +pilot crackers. Then he brought the chowder in, in a big porcelain +tureen which was shaped like a goose. Becky loved him in his white +apron, with his round red face, and the porcelain goose held high. + +"If you could paint him like that," she suggested to Archibald Cope. + +"Do you think he would let me?" eagerly. + +After supper the two men smoked by the fire, and Becky sat between them +and watched the blaze. She heard very little of the conversation. Her +mind was in Albemarle. How far away it seemed! Just three nights ago she +had danced at the Merriweathers' ball, and George had held her hand as +she leaned over the balcony. + +"If you can bring yourself back for a moment, Becky, to present +company," her grandfather was saying, "you can tell Mr. Cope whether you +will walk with us to-morrow to Tom Never's." + +"I'd love it." + +"Really?" Cope asked. "You are sure you won't be too tired?" + +"Not in this air. I feel as if I could walk forever." + +"How about a bit of a walk to-night--up to the bluff? Is it too late, +Admiral?" + +"Not for you two. I'll finish my pipe, and read my papers." + +The young people followed the line of the bluff until they came to an +open space which looked towards the east. To the left of them was the +ridge with a young moon hanging low above it, and straight ahead, +brighter than the moon, whitening the heavens, stretching out and out +until it reached the sailors in their ships, was the Sankaty light. + +"I always come out to look at it before I go to bed," said Cope; "it is +such a _living_ thing, isn't it?" + +The wind was rising and they could hear the sound of the sea. Becky +caught her breath. "On dark nights I like to think how it must look to +the ships beyond the shoals----" + +"The sea is cruel," said Cope; "that's why I don't paint it." + +"Oh, it isn't always cruel." + +"When isn't it? Last year, with the submarines, it was--a monster. I saw +a picture once in a gallery, 'The Eternal Siren,' just the sea. And a +woman asked, 'Where's the Siren?'" + +Becky laughed. "If you had sailor blood in you, you wouldn't feel that +way. Ask Grandfather." + +"The Admiral is prejudiced. He loves--the siren----" + +"He would tell you that the sea isn't a siren. It's a bold, blustering +lass like the Whistling Sally out there in the front yard. Man has tamed +her even if he hasn't quite mastered her." + +"He will never master her. She will go on and on, after we are dead, +through the ages, wooing men to--destruction----" + +Becky shivered. "I hate to think of things--after we are dead." + +"Do you? I don't. I like to think way beyond the ages to the time when +there shall be no more sea----" + +He pulled himself up abruptly. "I am talking rather dismally, I am +afraid, about death and destruction. You won't want to walk with me +again." + +"Oh, yes, I shall. And I want to see your pictures." + +"You may not care for them. Lots of people don't. But I have to work in +my own way----" + +As they walked back, he told her what he was trying to do. As she +listened, Becky seemed to have two minds, one that caught his words, and +answered them, and another which went back and back to the things which +had happened since she had last walked this bluff with the wind in her +face and the sound of the sea in her ears. + +It seemed to her as if a lifetime had elapsed since last she had looked +at the Sankaty light. + + +II + +When Becky wrote to Randy, she had a great deal to say about Archibald +Cope. + + "He is trying to paint the moor. He wants to get its meaning, and + then make other people see what it means. He doesn't look in the + least like that, Randy--as if he were finding the spirit of things. + He has red hair and wears correct clothes, and says the right + things, and you feel as if he ought to be in Wall Street buying + bonds. But here he is, refusing to believe that anything he has + done is worth while until he does it to his own satisfaction. + + "We walked to Tom Never's Head yesterday. It was one of those clear + silver days, a little cloudy and without much color. The + cranberries are ripe, and the moor was carpeted with them. When we + got to Tom Never's we sat on the edge of the bluff, and Mr. Cope + told me what he meant about the moor. It has its moods, he said. On + a quiet, cloudy morning, it is a Quaker lady. With the fog in, it + is a White Spirit. There are purple twilights when it + is--Cleopatra, and windy nights with the sun going down blood-red, + when it is--Medusa---- He says that the trouble with the average + picture is that it is just--paint. I am not sure that I understand + it all, but it is terribly interesting. And when he had talked a + lot about that, he talked of the history of the island. He said + that he should never be satisfied until somebody put a bronze + statue of an Indian right where we stood, with his back to the sea. + And when I said, 'Why with his back to it?' he said, 'Wasn't the + sea cruel to the red man? It brought a conquering race in ships.' + + "I told him then about our Indians in Virginia, and that some of us + had a bit of red blood in our veins, and I told him that you and I + always used the old Indian war cry when we called to each other, + and he asked, 'Who is Randy?' and I said that you were an old + friend, and that we had spent much of our childhood together." + +As a matter of fact, Cope had been much interested in her account of +young Paine. "Do you mean to say that he is still living on all that +land?" + +"Yes." + +"Master of his own domain. I can't see it. The way I like to live is +with a paint box, and a bag, and nothing to keep me from moving on." + +"We aren't like that in the South." + +"Do you like to stay in one place?" + +"I never have. I have always been handed around." + +"Would you like a home of your own?" + +"Of course--after I am married." + +"North, south, east or west?" + +She put the question to him seriously. "Do you think it would make any +difference if you loved a man, where you lived?" + +"Well, of course, there might be difficulties--on a desert island." + +"Not if you loved him." + +"My sister wouldn't agree with you." + +"Why not?" + +"She is very modern. She says that love has nothing to do with it. Not +romantic love. She says that when she marries she shall choose a man who +lives in New York, who likes to go to Europe, and who hates the tropics. +He must fancy pale gray walls and willow-green draperies, and he must +loathe Florentine furniture. He must like music and painting, and not +care much for books. He must adore French cooking, and have a prejudice +against heavy roasts. He must be a Republican and High Church. She is +sure that with such a man she would be happy. The dove of peace would +hover over the household, because she and her husband would have nothing +to quarrel about." + +"Of course she doesn't mean it." + +"She thinks she does." + +"She won't if she is ever really in love." + +He glanced at her. "Then you believe in the desert island?" + +"I think I do----" + +She stood up. "Did you feel a drop of rain? And Grandfather is waving." + +The Admiral on the porch of the closed Lodge was calling to them to come +under shelter. + +It was a gentle rain, and they decided to walk home in it. They went at +a smart pace, which they moderated as Cope showed signs of fatigue. +"It's a beastly nuisance," he said, "to give out. I wish you would go on +ahead, and let me rest here----" + +They rested with him. The two men talked, and Becky was rather silent. +When they started on again, Cope said to her, "Are you tired? It is a +long walk." + +"No," she said, "I am not tired. And I have been thinking a lot about +the things you said to me." + +He was not a conceited man, and he was aware that it was the things +which he had said to her which had set her mind to work, not any +personal fascination. She was quaint and charming, and he was glad that +she had come. He had been lonely since his sister left. And his +loneliness had fear back of it. + +It was because of this conversation with Cope that Becky ended her +letter to Randy with the following paragraph: + + "Mr. Cope has a sister, Louise. She thinks that people ought to + marry because they like the same things. She thinks that if two + people care for the same furniture and the same religion and the + same things to eat, that life will be lovely. She couldn't love a + man enough to live on a desert island with him, because she adores + New York. Of course, there is something in that, and if it is so, + you and I ought to be very happy, Randy. We like old houses and the + Virginia hills, and lots of books, and fireplaces--and dogs and + horses and hot biscuits and fried chicken. It sounds awfully funny + to put it that way, doesn't it, and practical? But perhaps Louise + Cope is right, and one isn't likely, of course, to have the desert + island test. Do you _really_ think that anybody could be happy on a + desert island, Randy?" + +Randy replied promptly. + + "If you were in love with me, Becky, you wouldn't be asking + questions. You would believe that we could be blissful on a desert + island. I believe it. It may not be true, yet I feel that a hut on + a mountain top would be heaven for me if you were in it, Becky. In + a way Cope's sister is right. The chances for happiness are + greatest with those who have similar tastes, but not fried chicken + tastes or identical religious opinions. These do not mean so much, + but it would mean a great deal that we think alike about honesty + and uprightness and truth and courage---- + + "And now, Becky, I might as well say it straight from the shoulder. + I haven't the least right in the world to let you feel that you are + engaged to me. I shall never marry you unless you love me--unless + you love me so much that you would have the illusion of happiness + with me on a desert island. + + "I have no right to let you tie yourself to me. The whole thing is + artificial and false. You are strong enough to stand alone. I want + you to stand alone, Becky, for your own sake. I want you to tell + yourself that Dalton isn't worth one single thought of yours. Tell + yourself the truth, Becky, about him. It is the only way to own + your soul. + + "You may be interested to know that the Watermans left Hamilton + Hill yesterday. Dalton went with them. I haven't seen him since the + night of the Merriweathers' ball. I didn't tell you, did I, that + after I took the fan away from him, I dropped him into the + fountain? I had much rather have tied him to a stake, and have + built a fire under him, but that isn't civilized, and of course, I + couldn't. But I am glad I dropped him in the fountain----" + +Becky read Randy's letter as she sat alone on the beach. It was cool and +sunshiny and she was wrapped in a red cape. The winter gulls were +beating strong wings above the breakers, and their sharp cries cut +across the roar of the waters. + +There had been a storm the night before--wind booming out of the +northeast and the sea still sang the song of it. + +Becky felt, suddenly, that she was very angry with Randy. It was as if +he had broken a lovely thing that she had worshipped. She hated to think +of that struggle in the dark---- She hated to think of Randy as--the +Conqueror. She hated to think of George as dank and dripping. She wanted +to think of him as shining and splendid, and Randy had spoiled that. + +But she wanted to be fair. Hadn't George, after all, spoiled his own +splendidness? He had wooed her and had run away. And he had not run back +until he thought another man wanted her. + +"Of course," said somebody behind her, "you won't tell me what you are +thinking about. But if you will just let me sit here and think, by your +side, it will be a great privilege." + +It was Mr. Cope, and she was not sure that she wanted him at this +moment. Perhaps something of her thought showed in her eyes, for when +she said, "Oh, yes," he stood looking down at her. + +"Would you rather be alone with your letters? Don't hedge and be polite. +Tell me." + +"Well," she admitted, "my letters are a bit on my mind. But if you don't +care if I am stupid, you can stay----" + +He sat down. He had known her for ten days, and dreaded to think that in +ten days more she might be gone. "I won't talk if you don't wish it." + +Becky's eyes were on the sea. "I think I should like to talk. I have +been thinking--about that Indian that you want commemorated in bronze up +there on the bluff. Do you think he was cruel?" + +"Who knows? He was, perhaps, a savage. Yet he may have been +tender-hearted. I hope so, if he is going to be fixed in bronze for the +ages to stare at." + +"Did you," Becky asked, deliberately, "ever want to tie a man to a stake +and build a fire under him?" + +He turned and stared at her. "My dear child, what ever put such an idea +in your head?" + +"Well, did you?" + +He considered it. "There was a time in France when I wanted to do worse +than that." + +"But that was war." + +"No, it was a brute in my own company. He broke the heart of a little +girl that he met in Brittany. He--he--well he murdered her--dreams." + +"Perhaps he didn't know what he was doing." + +"He knew. Every man knows." + +"And you wanted to make him--suffer----" + +"Yes." + +She shivered. "Are all men like that?" + +"Like what?" + +"Cruel." + +"It can't be cruelty. It's a sense of justice." + +"I hope it is." She kept thinking about George rising dank and dripping +from the fountain. She hated to think about it. + +So she changed the subject. "I thought you were painting." + +"I was. But the moor is fickle. Yesterday she billowed towards the +south, all gray and blue. And last night the storm spoiled it; she is +gorgeous and gay to-day, and I don't like her." + +"Oh, why not?" + +"She is too obvious. Anybody can paint a Persian carpet, but one can't +put soul into a--carpet----" + +He was petulant. "I shall never paint the pictures I want to paint. Life +is too short." + +"Life isn't short. Look at Grandfather. You will have forty years yet in +which to paint." + +And now it was he who changed the subject, quickly, as if he were afraid +of it. + +"My sister is coming to-morrow. I rather think you will like her." + +"Will she like me, that's more important." + +"She will love you, as I do, as everybody does, Becky." + +They had reached that point in ten days that he could say such things to +her and win her smile. She did not believe in the least that he loved +her. He always laughed when he said it. + +She liked him very much. She felt that the Admiral and Tristram and +Archibald Cope were all of them the best of comrades. Except for Jane, +she had had practically no feminine society since she came. And Jane was +not especially inspiring, not like Tristram, who seemed to carry one's +imagination back to Viking days. + +Cope was immensely enthusiastic about Tristram. "If I could paint +figures as I want to," he said, "I'd do Tristram as 'The Islander.' One +feels that he belongs here as inevitably as the moors or the sands or +the sea. Perhaps it is he who ought to be in bronze on the bluff, +instead of the Indian." + +"But he'd have to face the sea," said Becky. + +"Yes," Cope agreed, "he would. He loves it and his ancestors lived by +it. I'll stick to my Indian and the moor." + +Becky gathered up her letters. "It is time for lunch, and Jane doesn't +like to be kept waiting. Won't you lunch with us? Grandfather will be +delighted." + +"I shall get to be a perpetual guest. I feel as if I were taking +advantage of your hospitality." + +"We shouldn't ask you if we didn't want you." + +"Then I'll come." + +They walked up the beach together. Becky was muffled in her red cape, +Cope had a sweater under his coat. The air was sharp and clear as +crystal. + +"How anybody can go in bathing in this weather," Becky shivered, as a +woman ran down the sands towards the sea. She cast off her bathing cloak +and stood revealed, slim and rather startling, in yellow. + +"She goes in every day," said Cope, "even when it storms." + +"Who is she?" + +"A dancer--from New York. Haven't you seen her before?" + +"No. Where is she staying?" + +"At the hotel." + +"I thought the hotel was closed." + +"Not for three weeks. There aren't many guests. This one came up a month +ago. She dances on the moor--practising for some play which opens in +October." + +"What's her name?" + +"I don't know. They call her 'The Yellow Daffodil' because of that +bathing suit." + +The girl was swimming now beyond the breakers. + +Becky was envious. "I wish I could swim like that." + +"You can do other things--that she can't do." + +"What things?" + +"Well, be a lady, for example. That's not exactly cricket, is it, to +draw a deadly parallel? But I don't want people like that dancing on my +moor." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +THE DANCER ON THE MOOR + + +I + +Randy's letter had set Becky adrift. She was not in love with him. She +was sure of that. And he had said he would not marry her without love. +He had said that if she owned her soul she would think of Dalton as a +cad and as a coward. + +It seemed queer that Randy should be demanding things of her. He had +always been so glad to take anything she would give, and now she had +offered him herself, and he wouldn't have her. Not till she owned her +soul. + +She knew what he meant. The thought of George was always with her. She +kept seeing him as she had first seen him at the station; as he had been +that wonderful day when they had had tea in the Pavilion; the night in +the music room when he had kissed her; the old garden with its pale +statues and box hedges; and always there was his sparkling glance, his +quick voice. + +She would never own her soul until she forgot George. Until she put him +out of her life; until the thought of him would not make her burn hot +with humiliation; until the thought of him would not thrill to her +finger-tips. + +She found Cope's easy and humorous companionship a balance for her +hidden emotions. And when Louise Cope came, she proved to be a rather +highly emphasized counterpart of her brother. Her red-gold hair was +thick and she wore it bobbed. Her skin was white but lacked the look of +delicacy which seemed to contradict constantly Cope's vivid personality. +She seemed to laugh at the world as he did. She called Becky "quaint," +but took to her at once. + +"Archie has been writing to me of you," she told Becky; "he says you +came up like a bird from the south." + +"Birds don't fly north in the fall----" + +"Well, you were the--miracle," Cope asserted. + +Louise Cope's shrewd glance studied him. "He has fallen in love with +you, Becky Bannister," was her blunt assurance, "but you needn't let it +worry you. As yet it is only an aesthetic passion. But there is no +telling what may come of it----" + +"Does he fall in love--like that?" Becky demanded. + +"He has never been in love," Louise declared, "not really. Except with +me." + +Becky felt that the Copes were a charming pair. When she answered +Randy's letter she spoke of them. + + "Louise adores her brother, and she thinks he would be a great + artist if he would take himself seriously. But neither of them + seems to take anything seriously. They always seem to be laughing + at the world in a quiet way. Louise is not pretty, but she gives an + effect of beauty---- She wears a big gray cape and a black velvet + tam, and I am not sure that the color in her cheeks is real. She is + different from other people, but it doesn't seem to be a pose. It + is just because she has lived in so many places and has seen so + many people and has thought for herself. I have always let other + people think for me, haven't I, Randy? + + "And now that I have done with the Copes, I am going to talk about + the things that you said to me in your letter, and which are really + the important things. + + "I hated to think that you dropped Mr. Dalton in the fountain. I + hated to think that you wanted to burn him at the stake--there was + something--cruel--and--dreadful in it all. I have kept thinking of + that struggle between you--in the dark---- I have hated to think + that a few years ago if you had felt as you do about him--that you + might have--killed him. But perhaps men are like that. They care + more for justice than for--mercy. + + "I am trying to take your advice and tell myself the truth about + Mr. Dalton. That he isn't worth a thought of mine. Yet I think of + him a great deal. I am being very frank with you, Randy, because we + have always talked things out. I think of him, and wonder which is + the real man--the one I thought he was--and I thought him very fine + and splendid. Or is he just trifling and commonplace? Perhaps he is + just between, not as wonderful as I thought him, nor as + contemptible as I seem forced to believe. + + "Yet I gave him something that it is hard to take back. I gave a + great deal. You see I had always been shut up in a glass case like + the bob-whites and the sandpipers in the Bird Room, and I knew + nothing of the world. And the first time I tried my wings, I + thought I was flying towards the sun, and it was just a blaze + that--burned me. + + "Of course you are right when you say that you won't marry me + unless I love you. I had a queer feeling at first about it--as if + you were very far away and I couldn't reach you. But I know that + you are right, and that you are thinking of the thing that is best + for me. But I know I shall always have you as a friend. I don't + think that I shall ever love anybody. And after this we won't talk + about it. There are so many other things that we have to say to + each other that don't hurt----" + +Becky could not, of course, know the effect of her letter on Randy. The +night after its receipt, he roamed the woods. She had thought him +cruel--and dreadful. Well, let her think it. He was glad that he had +dropped George in the fountain. He should always be glad. But women were +not like that--they were tender--and hated--hardness. Perhaps that was +because they were--mothers---- + +And men were--hard. He had been hard, perhaps, in the things he had said +in his letter. Her words rang in his ears. "I had a queer feeling at +first that you were very far away, and that I could not reach you." And +she had said that, when his soul ached to have her near. + +Yet he had tried to do the best that he could for Becky. He had felt +that she must not be bound by a tie that was no longer needed to protect +her from Dalton. She was safe at 'Sconset, with the Admiral and her new +friends the Copes. He envied them, their hours with her. He was +desperately lonely, with a loneliness which had no hope. + +He worked intensively. The boarders had gone from King's Crest, and he +and the Major had moved into the big house. Randy spent a good deal of +time in the Judge's library at Huntersfield. He and Truxton had great +plans for their future. They read law, sold cars, and talked of their +partnership. The firm was to be "Bannister, Paine and Beaufort"; it was +to have brains, conscience, and business acumen. + +"In the order named," Truxton told the Major. "The Judge has brains, +Randy has a conscience. There's nothing left for me but to put pep into +the business end of it." + +Randy worked, too, on his little story. He did not know in the least +what he was going to do with it, but it was an outlet for the questions +which he kept asking himself. The war was over and the men who had +fought had ceased to be important. He and the Major and Truxton talked a +great deal about it. The Major took the high stand of each man's +satisfaction in the thing he had done. Truxton was light-heartedly +indifferent. He had his Mary, and his future was before him. But Randy +argued that the world ought not to forget. "It was a rather wonderful +thing for America. I want her to keep on being wonderful." + +The Major in his heart knew that the boy was right. America must keep on +being wonderful. Her young men must go high-hearted to the tasks of +peace. It was the high-heartedness of people which had won the war. It +would be the high-heartedness of men and women which would bring sanity +and serenity to a troubled world. + +"The difficulty lies in the fact that we are always trying to make laws +to right the world, when what we need is to form individual ideals. The +boy who says in his heart, 'I want to be like Lincoln,' and who stands +in front of a statue of Lincoln, and learns from that rugged countenance +the lesson of simple courage and honesty, has a better chance of a +future than the boy who is told, 'There is evil in the world, and the +law punishes those who transgress.' Half of our Bolsheviks would be +tamed if they had the knowledge and love of some simple hero in their +hearts, and felt that there was a chance for them to be heroic. The war +gave them a chance. We have now to show them that there is beauty and +heroism in orderly living----" + +He was talking to Madge. She was still with the Flippins. The injury to +her foot had been more serious than it had seemed. She might have gone +with Oscar and Flora when they left Hamilton Hill. But she preferred to +stay. Flora was to go to a hospital; Madge would not be needed. + +"I am going to stay here as long as you will let me," she said to Mrs. +Flippin; "you will tell me if I am in the way----" + +Mrs. Flippin adored Madge. "It is like having a Princess in the house," +she said, "only she don't act like a Princess." + +The Major came over every afternoon. Kemp drove him, as a rule, in the +King's Crest surrey. If the little man missed Dalton's cars, he said no +word. He made the Major very comfortable. He lived a life of ease if not +of elegance, and he loved the wooded hills, the golden air, the fine old +houses, the serene autumn glory of this southern world. + +On the afternoon when the Major talked to Madge of the world at peace, +they were together under the apple tree which Madge had first seen from +the window of the east room. There were other apple trees in the old +orchard, but it was this tree that Madge liked because of its golden +globes. "The red ones are wonderful," she said, "but red isn't my color. +With my gold skin, they make me look like a gypsy. If I am to be a +golden girl, I must stay away from red----" + +"Is that what you are--a golden girl?" + +"That was always George Dalton's name for me." + +"I am sorry." + +"Why?" + +"Because I should like it to be mine for you. I should like to link my +golden West with the thought of you." + +"And you won't now, because it was somebody else's name for me?" + +Kemp, before he went away, had made her comfortable with cushions in a +chair-like crotch of the old tree. The Major was at her feet. He +meditated a moment. "I shall make it my name for you. What do I care +what other men have called you." + +"Do you know what you called me--once?" she was smiling down at him. + +"No." + +"A little lame duck. It was when I first tried to use my foot. And you +laughed, and said that it--linked us--together. And now you are trying +to link me with your West----" + +"You know why, of course." + +"Yes, I do." + +He drew a long breath. "Most women would have said, 'No, I don't know.' +But you told the truth. I want to link you with my life in every way I +can because I love you. And you know that I care--very much--that I want +you for my wife--my golden girl in my golden West----?" + +"You have never told me before that--you cared." + +"There was no need to tell it. You knew." + +"Yes. I was afraid it was true----" + +He was startled. "Afraid? Why?" + +"Oh, I oughtn't to let you care," she said. "You don't know what a +slacker I've been. And I don't want you to find out----" + +"The only thing that I want to find out is whether you care for me." + +She flushed a little under his steady gaze, then quite unexpectedly she +reached her hand down to him. He took it in his firm clasp. "I do +care--an awful lot," she said, "but I've tried not to. And I shouldn't +let you care for me." + +"Why--shouldn't?" + +"I'm not--half good enough. My life has always been lived at loose ends. +Nothing bad, but a thousand things that you wouldn't--like to hear--I'm +not a golden girl--I'm a gilded one----" + +"Why should you tell me things like that? I don't believe it." + +"Please believe it," she said earnestly, "don't whitewash things. Just +let me begin again--loving you----" + +Her voice broke. He drew himself up, and took her in his arms. "My dear +girl," he said, "my dear girl----" + +"I never met a man like you, I never believed there were--such men----" +He felt her tears against his hand. + +"Listen," he said quietly; "let me tell you something of my life." He +told her the things he had told Randy. Of the little wife he had not +loved. "Perhaps if it had not been for her, I should not have had the +courage to offer to you my--maimed--self. When I married her I was +strong and young and had wealth to give her. Yet I did not give her +love. And love is more than all the rest. I have that to give you--you +know it." + +"Yes." + +"I have some money. I don't think it is going to count much with either +of us. What will count is the way we plan our future. I have a big old +ranch, and we'll live in it--with the dairy and the wide kitchen that +you've talked about--and you won't have to wait for another world, +dearest, to get your heart's desire----" + +"I have my heart's desire," she whispered; "you are--my world." + + +II + +Madge wrote to George Dalton that she was going to marry Major Prime. + + "There is no reason why we should put it off, Georgie. The + clergyman who prayed for Flora will perform the ceremony, and the + wedding will be at the Flippins' farm. + + "It seems, of course, too good to be true. Not many women have such + luck. Not my kind of women anyway. We meet men as a rule who want + us to be gilded girls, and not golden ones. But Mark wants me to be + gold all through. And I shall try to be---- We are to live on his + ranch, a place that passes in California for a farm--a sort of + glorified country place. Mrs. Flippin is teaching me to make + butter, so that I can superintend my own dairy, and I have learned + a great deal about chickens and eggs. + + "I am going to be a housewife in what I call a reincarnated + sense--loving my house and the things which belong to it, and + living as a part of it, not above it, and looking down upon it. + Perhaps all American women will come to that some day and I shall + simply be blazing the way for them. I shall probably grow rosy and + round, and if you ever ride up to my door-step, you will find me a + buxom and blooming matron instead of a golden girl. And you won't + like it in the least. But my husband will like it, because he + thinks a bit as I do about it, and he doesn't care for the woman + who lives for her looks. + + "I shall come and see Flora before I go West. But I am going to be + married first. We both have a feeling that it must be now--that + something might happen if we put it off, and nothing must happen. I + love him too much. Of course you won't believe that. I can hardly + believe it myself. But I have someone to climb the heights with me, + Georgie, and we shall ascend to the peak--together." + +For a wedding present George sent Madge the pendant he had bought for +Becky. To connect it up with Madge's favorite color scheme, he had an +amethyst put in place of the sapphire. He was glad to give it away. +Every time he had come upon it, it had reminded him of things that he +wished to forget. + +Yet he could not forget. Even as Becky had thought of him, he had +thought of her; of her radiant youth on the morning that Randy had +arrived; at the Horse Show in her shabby shoes and sailor hat; in the +Bird Room in pale blue under the swinging lamp; in the music room +between tall candles; in the garden, with a star shining into the still +pool; that last night, on the balcony, leaning over, with a yellow +lantern like a halo behind her. + +There were other things that he thought of--of Randy, in khaki on the +station platform; Randy, lean and tall among the boarders; Randy, left +behind with Kemp in the rain; Randy, debonair and insolent, announcing +his engagement on the terrace at Hamilton Hill; Randy, a shadow against +a silver sky, answering Becky's call; Randy, in the dark by the +fountain, with muscles like iron, forcing him inevitably back, lifting +him above the basin, letting him drop----; Randy, the Conqueror, +marching away with Becky's fan as his trophy----! + +New York was, of course, at this season of the year, a pageant of +sparkling crowds, and of brilliant window displays, of new productions +at the theaters. People were coming back to town. Even the fashionable +folk were running down to taste the elixir of the early days in the +metropolis. + +But George found everything flat and stale. He did the things he had +always done, hunted up the friends he had always known. He spent +week-ends at various country places, and came always back to town with +an undiminished sense of his need of Becky, and his need of revenge on +Randy. + +He had heard before he left Virginia that Becky was at Nantucket. He had +found some consolation in the fact that she was not at Huntersfield. To +have thought of her with Randy in the old garden, on Pavilion Hill, in +the Bird Room, would have been unbearable. + +He had a feeling that, in a sense, Madge's marriage was a desertion. He +did not in the least want to marry her, but there were moments when he +needed her friendship very much. He needed it now. And she was going to +marry Major Prime, and go out to some God-forsaken place, and get fat +and lose her beauty. He wished that she would not talk about such +things--it made him feel old, and worried about his waist-line. + +Even Oscar was failing him. "When Flora gets well," the little man kept +telling him, "we are going to do some good with our money. We have done +nothing but think of ourselves----" + +"Oh, for Heaven's sake, don't preach," George exploded. It seemed to him +that the world had gone mad on the subject of reforms. Man was no longer +master of his fate. The time would come when the world would be a dry +desert, without a cocktail or a highball for a thirsty soul, and all +because a lot of people had been feeling for some time as Flora and +Oscar felt at this moment. + +"I shall take Flora up to the Crossing in a few days," Oscar was +saying; "the doctor thinks the sea air will do her good. I wish you +would come with us." + +George had no idea of going with Oscar and Flora. He had been marooned +long enough with a sick woman and her depressed spouse. When Flora was +better and she and Oscar got over their mood of piety and repentance, he +would be glad to join them. In the meantime he searched his mind for +some reasonable excuse. + +"Look here," he said, "I'll join you later, Oscar. I've promised some +friends at Nantucket that I'll come down for the hunting." + +"I didn't know that you had friends in Nantucket," Oscar told him +moodily. + +"The Merediths," George remembered in the nick of time the name of +Becky's grandfather. Oscar would not know the difference. + +Having committed himself, his spirits soared. It had, he felt, been an +inspiration to put it over on Oscar like that. Subconsciously he had +known that some day he would follow Becky, and when the moment came, he +had spoken out of his thoughts. + +In the two or three days that elapsed between his decision and the date +that he had set for his departure, he found himself enjoying the +city--its clear skies, its hurrying crowds, its color and glow, the +tingle of its rush and hurry, its light-hearted acceptance of the +pleasure of the moment. + +He telegraphed for a room at a hotel in Nantucket. Once there, he was +confident that he could find Becky. Everybody would know Admiral +Meredith. + +He went by boat from New York to New Bedford, and enjoyed the trip. +Later on the little steamer, _Sankaty_, plying between New Bedford and +Nantucket, he was so shining and splendid that he was much observed by +the other passengers. His Jap servant, trotting after him, was perhaps +less martial in bearing than the ubiquitous Kemp, but he was none the +less an ornament. + +Thus George came, at last, to Nantucket, and to his hotel. Having dined, +he asked the way to the Admiral's house. He did not of course plan to +storm the citadel after dark, but a walk would not hurt him, and he +could view from the outside the cage which held his white dove. For he +had come to that, sentimentally, that Becky was the white dove that he +would shelter against his heart. + +The clerk at the hotel desk, directing him, thought that the Admiral was +not in his house on Main Street. He was apt at this season to spend his +time in Siasconset. + +"'Sconset? Where's 'Sconset?" + +"Across the island." + +"How can I get there?" + +"You can motor over. There's a 'bus, or you can get a car." + +So the next morning, George took the 'bus. He saw little beauty in the +moor. He thought it low and flat. His heart leaped with the thought that +every mile brought him nearer Becky--his white dove--whom he had--hurt! + +He was set down by the 'bus at the post-office. He asked his way, and +was directed to a low huddle of gray houses on a grassy street. "It is +the 'Whistling Sally,'" the driver of the 'bus had told him. + +When George reached "The Whistling Sally," he felt that there must be +some mistake. Here was no proper home for an Admiral or an heiress. His +eyes were blind to the charms of the wooden young woman with the +puffed-out cheeks, to the beauty of silver-gray shingles, of late +flowers blooming bravely in the little garden. + +He kept well on the other side of the street. It might perhaps be +embarrassing if he met Becky while she was with her grandfather. He +wanted to see her alone. With no one to interfere, he would be, he was +sure, master of the situation. + +He passed the house. The windows were open, and the white curtains blew +out. But there was no one in sight. At the next corner, he accosted a +tall man in work clothes, with bronzed skin and fair hair. + +"Can you tell me," George asked, "whether Admiral Meredith lives in that +cottage--'The Whistling Sally'?" + +"Yes. But he isn't there. He's gone to Boston." + +George was conscious of a sense of shock. + +"Boston?" + +"Yes. He wasn't very well and he wanted to see his doctor." + +"Has his--granddaughter gone with him?" + +"Miss Becky? Yes." + +"But--the windows of the house are open----" + +"I open them every morning. The housekeeper is in Nantucket. But they +are all coming back at the end of the week." + +"Coming back?" eagerly; "the Admiral, and Miss Bannister?" + +"Yes." + +George drew a long breath. He walked back with Tristram to the low gray +house. "Queer little place," he said. + +Tristram eyed him with easy tolerance. "Of course it seems queer if you +aren't used to it----" + +"I thought the Admiral had money." + +"Well, he has. But he forgets it out here----" + +"Is there a good hotel?" + +"Yes. It is usually closed by now. But they are keeping it open for +some guests who are up for the hunting." + +The hotel was a pleasant rambling structure, and overlooked the sea. +George engaged a room for Saturday--and said that his man would bring +his bags. He would have his lunch and take the afternoon 'bus back to +Nantucket. + +As he waited for the dining-room doors to open, a girl wrapped in a +yellow cape crossed the porch and descended the steps which led to the +beach. She wore a yellow bathing cap and yellow shoes. George walked to +the top of the bluff and watched her. She threw off the cape, and stood +slim and striking for a moment before she dived into the sea. She swam +splendidly. It was very cold, and George wondered how she endured it. +When she came running back up the steps and across the porch, she was +wrapped in the cape. She was rather handsome in a queer dark way. "It +was cold," she said, as she passed George. + +He took a step forward. "You were brave----" + +She stopped and shrugged her shoulders. "One gets warm," she said, "in a +moment." + +She left him, and he went in to lunch. He stopped at the desk on the way +out. "I have changed my mind. My man will bring my bags to-morrow." + +It was still too early for the 'bus, so George walked back up the +bluff, turning at last towards the left. Crossing a grassy space, there +was ahead of him a ridge which marked the edge of the moor. A little fog +was blowing in, and mistily through the fog he saw a figure which moved +as light as smoke above the eminence. It was a woman dancing. + +As he came nearer, he saw that she wore gray with a yellow sash. Her +yellow cape lay on the ground. "I am not sure," George said, as he +stopped beside her, "whether you are a pixie or a mermaid." + +"Look," she said, smiling, "I'll show you what I am----" + +She began with a light swaying motion, like a leaf stirred by a breeze. +Then, whipped into action, she ran before the pursuing elements. She +cowered, and registered defiance. Her loosened hair hung heavy about her +shoulders, then wound itself about her, as she whirled in a cyclone of +movement. Beaten to the ground, she rose languidly, swayed again to that +light step and stopped. + +Then she came close to George. "You see," she said, "I am not a pixie or +a mermaid. I am the spirit of the storm." + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +THE TRUMPETER SWAN + + +I + +The Admiral's rheumatism had taken Becky to Boston. "There'll be +treatments every morning," he said, "and we'll invite the Copes to visit +us, and they will look after you while I am away." + +The Copes were delighted. "Only it seems like an imposition----" + +"The house is big enough for an army," the Admiral told them; "that's +what we built houses for in the old days. To have our friends. Charles, +my butler, and his wife, Miriam, who cooks, stay in the house the year +round, so it is always open and ready." + +"And you and I shall see Boston together," Archibald told Becky, +triumphantly. "I wonder if you have ever seen Boston as I shall show it +to you." + +"Well, I've been to all the historic places." + +"Bunker Hill and the embattled farmers, of course," said Archibald; "but +have you seen them since the war?" + +"No. Are they different?" + +"They aren't, but you are. All of us are." + +Louise was not quite sure that her brother ought to leave the island. +"You are down here for the air, Arch, and the quiet." + +He was impatient. "Do you think I am going to miss this?" + +She frowned and shook her head. "I don't want you to miss it. But it +will be going against the doctor's orders." + +"Oh, hang the doctor, Louise. Being in Boston with Becky will be +like--wine----" + +But she was not satisfied. "You always throw yourself into things +so--desperately----" + +"Well, when I lose my enthusiasm I want to--die." + +"No, you don't, Arch. Don't say things like that." Her voice was sharp. + +He patted her hand. "I won't. But don't curb me too much, old girl. Let +me play--while I can----" + +They arrived in Boston to find a city under martial law, a city whose +streets were patrolled by khaki-clad figures with guns, whose traffic +was regulated by soldierly semaphores, who linked intelligence with +military training, and picturesqueness with both. + +For a short season Boston had been in the hands of the mob. All of her +traditions of law and order had not saved her. It had been her +punishment perhaps for leaving law and order in the hands of those who +cared nothing for them. People with consciences had preferred to keep +out of politics. So for a time demagogues had gotten the ear of the +people, and chaos had resulted until a quiet governor had proved himself +as firm as steel, and soldiers had replaced the policemen who had for a +moment followed false gods. + +"It all proves what I brought you here to see," Cope told Becky eagerly. + +Coffee was being served in the library of the Meredith mansion on Beacon +Street. The Admiral's library was as ruddy and twinkling as the little +man himself. He had furnished it to suit his own taste. A great +davenport of puffy red velvet was set squarely in front of a fireplace +with shining brasses. The couch was balanced by a heavy gilt chair also +in puffy red. The mantel was in white marble, and over the mantel was an +oil portrait of the Admiral's wife painted in '76. She wore red velvet +with a train, and with the pearls which had come down to Becky. The room +had been keyed up to her portrait, and had then been toned down with +certain heavy pieces of ebony, a cabinet of black lacquer, the dark +books which lined the wall to the ceiling. The room was distinctly +nineteenth-century. If it lacked the eighteenth-century exquisiteness +of the house at Nantucket, with its reminder of austere Quaker +prejudices, it was none the less appropriate as a glowing background for +the gay old Admiral. + +Becky and Cope sat on the red davenport. It was so wide that Becky was +almost lost in a corner of it. The old butler, Charles, served the +coffee. The coffee service was of repousse silver. The Admiral would +have no other. It had been given him by a body of seamen when he had +retired from active duty. + +"It all proves what I brought you here to see," Archibald emphasized, +"how the gods of yesterday are going to balance the gods of to-day." + +The Admiral chuckled. "There aren't any gods of to-day." + +"The gods of to-day are our young men," Cope flung out, glowingly; "the +war has left them with their dreams, and they have got to find a way to +make their dreams come true. And that's where the old gods will help. +Those fine old men who dreamed, backed their dreams with deeds. Then for +a time we were so busy making money that we forgot their dreams. And +when foreigners came crowding to our shores, we didn't care whether they +were good Americans or not. All we cared was to have them work in our +mills and factories and in our kitchens, and let us alone in our pride +of ancestry and pomp of circumstance. We forgot to show them Bunker +Hill and to tell them about the old North Church and Paul Revere and the +shot heard 'round the world, and what liberty meant and democracy, and +now we've got to show them. I am going to take you around to-morrow, +Becky, and pretend you are Olga from Petrograd, and that you are seeing +America for the first time." + +Archibald Cope was kindled by fires which gave color to his pale cheeks. +"Will you be--Olga from Petrograd?" + +"I'd love it." + +But the next morning it rained. "And you can't, of course, be Olga of +Petrograd in the rain. Bunker Hill must have the sun on it, and the +waves of the harbor must be sparkling when I tell you about the tea." + +They decided, therefore, to read aloud "The Autocrat of the Breakfast +Table." + +"Then if it stops raining," said Archibald, "we'll step straight out +from its pages into the Boston that I want to show you." + +He read well. Louise sat at a little table sewing a pattern of beads on +a green bag. Becky had some rose-colored knitting. The Admiral was in +his big chair by the fire with his hands folded across his waistcoat and +his eyes shut. The colorful work of the two women, the light of the +fire, the glow of the little lamp at Cope's elbow, the warmth of the +red furniture saved the room from dreariness in spite of the rain +outside. + + "'It was on the Common,'" read Cope, "'that we were walking. The + mall, or boulevard of our Common, you know, has various branches + leading from it in different directions. One of these runs down + from opposite Joy Street southward across the whole length of the + Common to Boylston Street. We called it the long path, and were + fond of it. + + "'I felt very weak indeed (though of a tolerably robust habit) as + we came opposite the head of this path on that morning. I think I + tried to speak twice without making myself distinctly audible. At + last I got out the question, "Will you take the long path with me?" + "Certainly," said the schoolmistress, "with much pleasure." + "Think," I said, "before you answer: if you take the long path with + me now, I shall interpret it that we are to part no more!" The + schoolmistress stepped back with a sudden movement, as if an arrow + had struck her. + + "'One of the long granite blocks used as seats was hard by--the one + you may still see close by the Gingko-tree. "Pray sit down," I + said. "No, no," she answered, softly, "I will walk the _long path_ + with you!" + + "'--The old gentleman who sits opposite met us walking arm in arm + about the middle of the long path, and said, very + charmingly,--"Good-morning, my dears!"'" + +The reading stopped at luncheon time, and it was still raining. On the +table were letters for Becky forwarded from Siasconset. An interesting +account from Aunt Claudia of the wedding of Major Prime and Madge MacVeigh. + + "They were married in the old orchard at the Flippins', and it was + beautiful. The bride wore simple clothes like the rest of us. It + was cool and we kept on our wraps, and she was in white linen with + a loose little coat of mauve wool, and a hat to match. The only + bride-y thing about her was a great bunch of lilacs that the Major + ordered from a Fifth Avenue florist. They are to stay in New York + for a day or two, and then visit the Watermans on the North Shore. + After that they will go at once to the West, where they are to live + on the Major's ranch. He has been relieved from duty at Washington, + and will have all of his time to give to his own affairs. + + "There has been an epidemic of weddings. Flippins' Daisy waited + just long enough to help Mrs. Flippin get Miss MacVeigh married; + then she and young John had an imposing ceremony in their church, + with Daisy in a train and white veil, and four bridesmaids, and + Mandy and Calvin in front seats, and Calvin giving the bride away. + I think the elaborateness of it all really reconciled Mandy to her + daughter-in-law." + +There was also, from Randy, a long envelope enclosing a thick manuscript +and very short note. + + "I want you to read this, Becky. It belongs in a way to you. I + don't know what I think about it. Sometimes it seems as if I had + done a rather big thing, and as if it had been done without me at + all. I wonder if you understand what I mean--as if I had held the + pen, and it had--come---- I have sent it to the editor of one of + the big magazines. Perhaps he will send it back, and it may not + seem as good to me as it does at this moment. Let me know what you + think." + +Becky, finishing the letter, felt a bit forlorn. Randy, as a rule, wrote +at length about herself and her affairs. But, of course, he had other +things now to think of. She must not expect too much. + +There was no time, however, in which to read the manuscript, for Cope +was saying, wistfully, "Do you think you'd mind a walk in the rain?" + +"No." She gathered up her letters. + +"Then we'll walk across the Common." + +They shared one umbrella. And they played that it was over fifty years +ago when the Autocrat had walked with the young Schoolmistress. They +even walked arm in arm under the umbrella. They took the long path to +Boylston Street. And Cope said, "Will you take the long path with me?" + +And Becky said, "Certainly." + +And they both laughed. But there was no laughter in Cope's heart. + +"Becky," he said, "I wish that you and I had lived a century ago in +Louisberg Square." + +"If we had lived then, we shouldn't be living now." + +"But we should have had our--happiness----" + +"And I should have worn lovely flowing silk skirts. Not short things +like this, and little bonnets with flowers inside, and velvet +mantles----" + +"And you would have walked on my arm to church. And we would have owned +one of those old big houses--and your smile would have greeted me across +the candles every day at dinner----" He was making it rather personal, +but she humored his fancy. + +"And you would have worn a blue coat, and a bunch of big seals, and a +furry high hat----" + +"You are thinking all the time about what we would wear," he complained; +"you haven't any sense of romance, Becky----" + +"Well, of course, it is all make-believe." + +"Yes, it is all--make-believe," he said, and walked in silence after +that. + +The wind blew cold and they stopped in a pastry shop on Boylston Street +and had a cup of tea. + +Becky ate little cream cakes with fluted crusts, and drank Orange Pekoe. + +"I am glad you don't wear flowing silks and velvet mantles," said +Archibald, suddenly; "I shall always remember you like this, Becky, in +your rough brown coat and your close little hat, and that your hand was +on my arm when we walked across the Common. Do you like me as a +playmate, Becky?" + +"Yes." + +"Do you--love me--as a playmate?" He leaned forward. + +"Please--don't." + +"I beg your--pardon----" he flushed. "I am not going to say such things +to you, Becky, and spoil things for both of us--I know you don't want to +hear them----" + +"Make-believe is much nicer," she reminded him steadily. + +"But I am not a make-believe friend, am I? Our friendship--that at least +is--real?" + +Her clear eyes met his. "Yes. We shall always be friends--forever----" + +"How long is forever, Becky?" + +She could not answer that. But she was sure that friendship was like +love and lived beyond the grave. They were very serious about it, these +two young people drinking tea. + + +II + +It was when the four of them were gathered together that night in the +library that Becky asked Archibald Cope to read "The Trumpeter Swan." + +"Randy wrote it," she said, "and he sent the manuscript to me this +morning." + +The Admiral was at once interested. "He got the name from the swan in +the Judge's Bird Room?" + +"Yes." + +"Has he ever written anything before?" Louise asked. + +"Lots of little things. Lovely things----" + +"Have they been published?" + +"I don't think he has tried." + +Becky had the manuscript in her work-bag. She brought it out and handed +it to Archibald. "You are sure you aren't too tired?" + +Louise glanced up from her beaded bag. "You've had a hard day, Arch. You +mustn't do too much." + +"I won't, Louise," impatiently. + +She went back to her work. "It will be on your own head if you don't +sleep to-night, not on mine." + +"The Trumpeter Swan" was a story of many pages. Randy had confined +himself to no conventional limits. He had a story to tell, and he did +not bring it to an end until the end came naturally. In it he had asked +all of the questions which had torn his soul. What of the men who had +fought? What of their futures? What of their high courage? Their high +vision? Was it all now to be wasted? All of that aroused emotion? All of +that disciplined endeavor? Would they still "carry on" in the spirit of +that crusade, or would they sink back, and forget? + +His hero was a simple lad. He had fought for his country. He had found +when he came back that other men had made money while he fought for +them. He loved a girl. And in his absence she had loved someone else. +For a time he was overthrown. + +Yet he had been one of a glorious company. One of that great flock which +had winged its exalted flight to France. Throughout the story Randy wove +the theme of the big white bird in the glass case. His hero felt himself +likewise on the shelf, shut-in, stuffed, dead--his trumpet silent. + +"Am I, too, in a glass case?" he asked himself; "will my trumpet never +sound again?" + +The first part of the story ended there. "Jove," Cope said, as he looked +up, "that boy can write----" + +Louise had stopped working. "It is rather--tremendous, don't you think?" + +Archibald nodded. "In a quiet way it thrills. He hasn't used a word too +much. But he carries one with him to a sort of--upper sky----" + +Becky, flushing and paling with the thought of such praise as this for +Randy, said, "I always thought he could do it." + +But even she had not known that Randy could do what he did in the second +part of the story. + +For in it Randy answered his own questions. There was no limit to a +man's powers, no limits to his patriotism, if only he believed in +himself. He must strive, of course, to achieve. But striving made him +strong. His task might be simple, but its very simplicity demanded that +he put his best into it. He must not measure himself by the rule of +little men. If other men had made money while he fought, then let them +be weighed down by their bags of gold. He would not for one moment set +against their greed those sacred months of self-sacrifice. + +And as for the woman he loved. If his love meant anything it must burn +with a pure flame. What he might have been for her, he would be because +of her. He would not be less a man because he had loved her. + +And so the boy came in the end of the story to the knowledge that it was +the brave souls who sounded their trumpets---- One did not strive for +happiness. One strove for--victory. One strove, at least, for one clear +note of courage, amid the clamor of the world. + +Louise, listening, forgot her beads. The Admiral blew his nose and wiped +his eyes. Becky felt herself engulfed by a wave of surging memories. + +"That's corking stuff, do you know it?" Archibald was asking. + +Louise asked, "How old is he?" + +"Twenty-three." + +"He is young to have learned all that----" + +"All what, Louise?" Archibald asked. + +"Renunciation," said Louise, slowly, "that's what it is in the final +analysis," she went back to her beads and her green bag. + +"Randy ought to do great things," said Becky; "the men of his family +have all done great things, haven't they, Grandfather?" + +"Randolph blood is Randolph blood," said the Admiral; "fine old +Southerners; proud old stock." + +"If I could write like that," said Archibald, and stopped and looked +into the fire. + +Louise rose and came and stood back of him. "You can paint," she said, +"why should you want to write?" + +"I can't paint," he reached up and caught her hand in his; "you think I +can, but I can't. And I am not wonderful---- Yet here I must sit and +listen while you and Becky sing young Paine's praises." + +He flung out his complaint with his air of not being in earnest. + +The Admiral got up stiffly. "I've a letter to write before I go to bed. +Don't let me hurry the rest of you." + +"Please take Louise with you," Archibald begged; "I want to talk to +Becky." + +His sister rumpled his hair. "So you want to get rid of me. Becky, he is +going to ask questions about that boy who wrote the story." + +"Are you?" Becky demanded. + +"Louise is a mind reader. That's why I want her out of the way----" + +"You can stay until the Admiral finishes his letter." Louise bent and +kissed him, picked up her beaded bag, and left them together. + +When she reached the threshold, she stopped and looked back. Archibald +had piled up two red cushions and was sitting at Becky's feet. + +"Tell me about him." + +"Randy?" + +"Yes. He's in love with you, of course." + +"What makes you think that?" + +"He sent you the story." + +"Well, he is," she admitted, "but I am not sure that we ought to talk +about it." + +"Why not?" + +"Is it quite fair, to him?" + +"Then we'll talk about his story. It gripped me---- Oh, let's have it +out, Becky. He loves you and you don't love him. Why don't you?" + +"I can't--tell you----" + +There was silence for a moment, then Archibald Cope said gently, "Look +here, girl dear, you aren't happy. Don't I know it? There's something +that's awfully on your mind and heart. Can't you think of me as a sort +of--father confessor--and let me--help----?" + +She clasped her hands tensely on her knees; the knuckles showed white. +"Nobody can help." + +"Is it as bad as that?" + +"Yes." She looked away from him. "There is somebody else--not Randy. +Somebody that I shouldn't think about. But I--do----" + +She was dry-eyed. But he felt that here was something too deep for +tears. + +"Does Randy know?" + +"Yes. I told him. We have always talked about things----" + +"I see," he sat staring into the fire, "and of course it is Randy that +you ought to marry----" + +"I don't want to marry anyone. I shall never marry----" + +"Tut-tut, my dear." He laid his hand over hers. "Do you know what I was +thinking, Becky, to-day, as we walked the Boston streets? I was thinking +of why those big houses were built, rows upon rows of them, and of the +people who lived in them. Those old houses speak of homes, Becky, of +people who wanted household gods, and neighborly gatherings, and +community interests. They weren't the kind of people who ran around +Europe with a paint box, as I have been doing. They had home-keeping +hearts and they built for the future." + +He was very much in earnest. She had, indeed, never seen him so much in +earnest. + +"It is all very well," he went on, "to talk of a tent in a desert or a +hut on a mountain top, but when we walked across the Common this +morning, it seemed to me that if I could really have lived the game we +played--that life could have held nothing better in the world for me +than that, my dear." + +She tried to withdraw her hand, but he held it. "Let me speak to-night, +Becky--and then forever, we'll forget it. I love you--very much. You +don't love me, and I should thank the stars for that, although I am not +sure that I do. I am not a man to deal in--futures. I'll tell you why +some day." He drew a long breath and went on in a lighter tone: "But +you, Becky--you've got to find a man whose face you will want to see at +the other end of the table--for life. It sounds like a prisoner's +sentence, doesn't it?" + +But he couldn't carry it off like that, and presently he hid his face +against her hands. "Oh, Becky, Becky," she heard him whisper. + +Then there was the Admiral's step in the hall and Archibald was on his +feet, staring in the fire when the little man came in. + +"Any letters for Charles to mail?" + +"No, Grandfather." + +The Admiral limped away. Becky stood up. Cope turned from the fire. + +"If it doesn't rain to-morrow, I'll show America to Olga of Petrograd." + +They smiled at each other, and Becky held out her hand. He bent and +kissed it. "I shall sleep well to-night because of--to-morrow." + + +III + +But when to-morrow came there was a telephone message for Becky that +Major Prime and his wife were in town. They had messages for her from +Huntersfield, and from King's Crest. + +"And so our day is spoiled," said Archibald. + +"We can come again," said the Admiral, "but we must be getting back to +Siasconset to-morrow. I wrote to Tristram. We'll have Prime and his wife +here for dinner to-night, and drive them out somewhere this afternoon. I +remember Mark Prime well. I played golf with him one season at Del +Monte. How did you happen to know him, Becky?" + +Becky told of the Major's sojourn to King's Crest. + +The Copes made separate plans for the afternoon. "If I can't have you to +myself, Becky," Cope complained, "I won't have you at all----" + +Madge, sitting later next to Becky in the Admiral's big car, was lovely +in a great cape of pale wisteria, with a turban of the same color set +low on her burnt-gold hair. + +"I have brought you wonderful news of Randy Paine," she said to Becky. +"He has sold his story, 'The Trumpeter Swan.' To one of the big +magazines. And they have asked for more. He is by way of being +rather--famous. He came on to New York the day after we arrived. They +had telegraphed for him. We wanted him to come up here with us, but he +wouldn't." + +"Why wouldn't he?" + +"He had some engagements, and after that----" + +"He will never write another story like 'The Trumpeter Swan,'" said +Becky. + +"Why not?" + +"It--it doesn't seem as if he could---- It is--wonderful, Mrs. +Prime----" + +"Well, Randy--is wonderful," said Madge. + +A silence fell between them, and when Madge spoke again it was of the +Watermans. "We go to the Crossing to-morrow. I must see Flora before I +go West." + +The blood ran up into Becky's heart. She wondered if George Dalton was +with the Watermans. But she did not dare ask. + +So she asked about California instead. "You will live out there?" + +"Yes, on a ranch. There will be chickens and cows and hogs. It sounds +unromantic, doesn't it? But it is really frightfully interesting. It is +what I have always dreamed about. Mark says this is to be +my--reincarnation." + +She laughed a little as she explained what she meant. "And when I was in +New York, I bought the duckiest lilac linens and ginghams, and white +aprons, frilly ones. Mark says I shall look like a dairy maid in 'Robin +Hood.'" + +The Major, who was in front of them with the Admiral, turned and spoke. + +"Tell her about Kemp." + +"Oh, he is going with us. It develops that there is a girl in Scotland +who is waiting for him. And he is going to send for her--and they are to +have a cottage on the ranch, and come into the house to help us, and +there is an old Chinese cook that Mark has had for years." + +Becky spoke sharply. "You don't mean Mr.--Dalton's Kemp?" + +"Yes. He came to Mark. Didn't you know?" + +Becky had not known. + +"Why did he leave Mr.--Dalton?" + +"He and Georgie had a falling out about an omelette. I fancy it was a +sort of comic opera climax. So Mark got a treasure and Georgie-Porgie +lost one----" + +"Georgie-Porgie?" + +"Oh, I always call him that, and he hates it," Madge laughed at the +memory. + +"You did it to--tease him?" slowly. + +"I did it because it was--true. You know the old nursery rhyme? Well, +George is like that. There were always so many girls to be--kissed, and +it was so easy to--run away----" + +She said it lightly, with shrugged shoulders, but she did not look at +Becky. + +And that night when she was dressing for dinner, Madge said to her +husband, "It sounded--catty--Mark. But I had to do it. There's that +darling boy down there eating his heart out. And she is nursing a +dream----" + +The Major was standing by his wife's door, and she was in front of her +mirror. It reflected her gold brocade, her amethysts linked with +diamonds in a long chain that ended in a jeweled locket. Her jewel case +was open and she brought out the pendant that George had sent her and +held it against her throat. "It matches the others," she said. + +He arched his eyebrows in inquiry. + +"I wouldn't wear it," she said with a sudden quick force, "if there was +not another jewel in the world. I wish he hadn't sent it. Oh, Mark, I +wish I hadn't known him before I found--you," she came up to him +swiftly; "such men as you," she said, "if women could only meet +them--_first_----" + +His arm went around her. "It is enough that we--met----" + +Becky was also at her mirror at that moment. She had dressed carefully +in silver and white with her pearls and silver slippers. Louise came in +and looked at her. "I haven't any grand and gorgeous things, you know. +And I fancy your Mrs. Prime will be rather gorgeous." + +"It suits her," said Becky, "but after this she is going to be +different." She told Louise about the ranch and the linen frocks and the +frilled aprons. "She is going to make herself over. I wonder if it will +be a success." + +"It doesn't fit in with my theories," said Louise. "I think it is much +better if people marry each other ready-made." + +Becky turned from her mirror. "Louise," she said, "does anything ever +fit in with a woman's theories when she falls in love?" + +"One shouldn't fall in love," Louise said, serenely, "they should walk +squarely into it. That's what I shall do, when I get ready to marry---- +But I shall love Archibald as long as the good Lord will let me----" + +She was trying to say it lightly, but a quiver of her voice betrayed +her. + +"Louise," Becky said, "what's the matter with Archibald? Is anything +really the matter?" + +Louise began to cry. "Archie saw the doctor to-day, and he won't promise +anything--I made Arch tell me----" + +"Oh, Louise." Becky's lips were white. + +"Of course if he takes good care of himself, it may not be for years. +You mustn't let him know that I told you, Becky. But I had to tell +somebody. I've kept it all bottled up as if I were a stone image. And +I'm not a stone image, and he's all I have." + +She dabbed her eyes with a futile handkerchief. The tears dripped. "I +must stop," she kept saying, "I shall look like a fright for dinner----" + +But at dinner she showed no signs of her agitation. She had used powder +and rouge with deft touches. She had followed Becky's example and wore +white, a crisp organdie, with a high blue sash. With her bobbed hair and +pink cheeks she was not unlike a painted doll. She carried a little blue +fan with lacquered sticks, and she tapped the table as she talked to +Major Prime. The tapping was the only sign of her inner agitation. + +The Admiral's table that night seemed to Becky a circle of sinister +meaning. There was Archibald, condemned to die--while youth still beat +in his veins---- There was Louise, who must go on without him. There was +the Admiral--the last of a vanished company; there was the Major, whose +life for four years had held--horrors. There was Madge, radiant to-night +in the love of her husband, as she had perhaps once been radiant for +Dalton. + +_Georgie-Porgie!_ + +It was a horrid name. "_There were always so many girls to be +kissed--and it was so easy to run away_----" + +She had always hated the nursery rhyme. But now it seemed to sing itself +in her brain. + + _"Georgie-Porgie, + Pudding and pie, + Kissed the girls, + And made them cry----"_ + +Cope was at Becky's right. "Aren't you going to talk to me? You haven't +said a word since the soup." + +"Well, everybody else is talking." + +"What do I care for anybody else?" + +Becky wondered how Archibald did it. How he kept that light manner for a +world which he was not long to know. And there was Louise with rouge +and powder on her cheeks to cover her tears---- That was courage---- She +thought suddenly of "The Trumpeter Swan." + +She spoke out of her thoughts. "Randy has sold his story." + +He wanted to know all about it, and she repeated what Madge had said. +Yet even as she talked that hateful rhyme persisted, + + _"When the girls + Came out to play, + Georgie-Porgie + Ran away----"_ + +After dinner they went into the drawing-room so that Louise could play +for them. A great mirror which hung at the end of the room reflected +Louise on the piano bench in her baby frock. It reflected Madge, slim +and gold, with a huge fan of lilac feathers. It reflected Becky--in a +rose-colored damask chair, it reflected the three men in black. Years +ago there had been other men and women--the Admiral's wife in red velvet +and the same pearls that were now on Becky's neck---- She shuddered. + +As they drove home that night, the Major spoke to his wife of Becky. +"The child looks unhappy." + +"She will be unhappy until some day her heart rests in her husband, as +mine does in you. Shall I spoil you, Mark, if I talk like this?" + +When they reached their hotel there were letters. One was from Flora: +"You asked about George. He is not with us. He has gone to Nantucket to +visit some friends of his--the Merediths. He will be back next week." + +"The Merediths?" Madge said. "George doesn't know any--Merediths. +Mark--he is following Becky." + +"Well, she's safe in Boston." + +"She is going back. On Wednesday. And he'll be there." Her eyes were +troubled. + +"Mark," she said, abruptly, "I wonder if Randy has left New York. Call +him up, please, long distance. I want to talk to him." + +"My darling girl, do you know what time it is?" + +"Nearly midnight. But that's nothing in New York. And, anyhow, if he is +asleep, we will wake him up. I am going to tell him that George is at +Siasconset." + +"But, my dear, what good will it do?" + +"He's got to save Becky. I know Dalton's tricks and his manners. He can +cast a glamour over anything. And Randy's the man for her. Oh, Mark, +just think of her money and his genius----" + +"What have money and genius to do with it?" + +"Nothing, unless they love each other. But--she cares---- You should +have seen her eyes when I said he had sold his story. But she doesn't +know that she cares, and he's got to make her know." + +"How can he make her know?" + +"Let her see him--now. She has never seen him as he was in New York with +us, sure of himself, knowing that he has found the thing that he can do. +He was beautiful with that radiant boy-look. You know he was, Mark, +wasn't he?" + +"Yes, my darling, yes." + +"And I want him to be happy, don't you?" + +"Of course, dear heart." + +"Then get him on the 'phone. I'll do the rest." + + +IV + +Randy, in New York, acclaimed by a crowd of enthusiasts who had read his +story as a gold nugget picked up from a desert of literary mediocrity. +Randy, not knowing himself. Randy, modest beyond belief. Randy, in his +hotel at midnight, walking the floor with his head held high, and saying +to himself, "I've done it." + +It seemed to him that, of course, it could not be true. The young editor +who had eyed him through shell-rimmed glasses had said, "There's going +to be a lot of hard work ahead--to keep up to this----" + +Randy, in his room, laughed at the thought of work. What did hardness +matter? The thing that really mattered was that he had treasure to lay +at the feet of Becky. + +He sat down at the desk to write to her, cheeks flushed, eyes bright, a +hand that shook with excitement. + + "I am to meet a lot of big fellows to-morrow--I shall feel like an + ugly duckling among the swans--oh, the _swans_, Becky, did we ever + think that the Trumpeter in his old glass case----" + +The telephone rang. Randy, answering it, found Madge at the other end. +There was an exchange of eager question and eager answer. + +Then Randy hung up the receiver, tore up his note to Becky, asked the +office about trains, packed his bag, and went swift in a taxi to the +station. + +It was not until he was safe in his sleeper, and racketing through the +night, that he remembered the meeting with the literary swans and the +editor with the shell-rimmed glasses. A telegram would convey his +regrets. He was sorry that he could not meet them, but he had on hand a +more important matter. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +THE CONQUEROR + + +I + +If Randy's train had not missed a connection, he would have caught the +same boat that took the Admiral and his party back to the island. They +motored down to Wood's Hole, and boarded the _Sankaty_, while Randy, +stranded at New Bedford, was told there would not be another steamer out +until the next day. + +The Admiral was the only gay and apparently care-free member of his +quartette. Becky felt unaccountably depressed. Louise sat in the cabin +and worked on her green bag. There was a heavy sky and signs of a storm. +It was not pleasant outside. + +Archibald was nursing a grievance. "If your grandfather had only stayed +over another day." + +"He had written Tristram that we would come. He is very exact in his +engagements." + +"And he feels that fifty years in 'Sconset is better than a cycle +anywhere else." + +"Yes. It will be nice to get back to our little gray house, and the +moor, don't you think?" + +"Yes. But I wanted to show you Boston as if you had never seen it, and +now I shall never show it." + +They were on deck, wrapped up to their chins. "Tell me what you would +have shown me," Becky said; "play that I am Olga and that you are +telling me about it." + +He looked down at her. "Well, you've just arrived. You aren't dressed in +a silver-toned cloak with gray furs and a blue turban with a silver +edge. That's a heavenly outfit, Becky. But what made you wear it on a +day like this?" + +"It is the silver lining to my--cloud," demurely; "dull clothes are +dreadful when the sky is dark." + +"I am not sure but I liked you better in your brown--in the rain with +your hand on my arm---- That is--unforgettable----" + +She brought him back to Olga. "I have just arrived----" + +"Yes, and you have a shawl over your head, and a queer old coat and +funny shoes. I should have to speak to you through an interpreter, and +you would look at me with eager eyes or perhaps frightened ones." + +"And first we should have gone to Bunker Hill, and I should have said, +'Here we fought. Not of hatred of our enemy, but for love of liberty. +The thing had to be done, and we did it. We had a just cause.' And then +I should have taken you to Concord and Lexington, and I would have said, +'These farmers were clean-hearted men. They believed in law and order, +they hated anarchy, and upon that belief and upon that hatred they built +up a great nation.' And thus ends the first lesson." + +He paused. "Lesson the second would have to do with the old churches." + +They had stopped by the rail; the wind buffeted them, but they did not +heed it. "It was in the churches that the ideals of the new nation were +crystallized. No country prospers which forgets its God." + +"Lesson number three," he went on, "would have had to do with the +bookshops." + +"The bookshops?" + +He nodded. "The old bookshops and the new of Boston. I would have taken +you to them, and I would have said, 'Here, Olga, is the voice of the +nation speaking to you through the printed page. Learn to read in the +language of your new country.' Oh, Becky," he broke off, "I wanted to +show you the bookshops. It's a perfect pilgrimage----" + +The Admiral, swaying to the wind, came up to them. "Hadn't you better go +inside?" he shouted. "Becky will freeze out here." + +They followed him. The cabin was comparatively quiet after the tumult. +Louise was still working on the green bag. "What have you two been +doing?" she asked. + +"Playing Olga of Petrograd," said Archibald, moodily, "but Becky was +cold and came in." + +"Grandfather brought me in," said Becky. + +"If you had cared to stay, you would have stayed," he told her, rather +unreasonably. "Perhaps, after all, Boston to Olga simply means baked +beans which she doesn't like, and codfish which she prefers--raw----" + +"Now you have spoiled it all," said Becky. "I loved the things that you +said about the churches and the bookshops and Bunker Hill." + +"Did you? Well, it is all true, Becky, the part they have played in +making us a nation. And it is all going to be true again. We Americans +aren't going to sell our birthright for a mess of pottage!" + +And now the island once more rose out of the sea. The little steamer had +some difficulty in making a landing. But at last they were on shore, and +the 'bus was waiting, and it was after dark when they reached "The +Whistling Sally." + +The storm was by that time upon them--the wind blew a wild gale, but the +little gray cottage was snug and warm. Jane in her white apron went +unruffled about her pleasant tasks--storms might come and storms might +go--she had no fear of them now, since none of her men went down to the +sea in ships. + +Tristram in shining oilskins brought up their bags. He stood in the hall +and talked to them, and before he went away, he said casually over his +shoulder, "There's a gentleman at the hotel that has asked for you once +or twice." + +"For me?" the Admiral questioned. + +"You and Miss Becky." + +"Do you know his name?" + +"It's Dalton. George Dalton----" + +"I don't know any Daltons. Do you, Becky?" + +Becky stood by the table with her back to them. She did not turn. "Yes," +she said in a steady voice. "There was a George Dalton whom I met this +summer--in Virginia." + + +II + +There was little sleep for Becky that night. The storm tore around the +tiny house, but its foundations were firm, and it did not shake. The +wind whistled as if the wooden figure in the front yard had suddenly +come to life and was madly making up for the silence of a half-century. + +So George had followed her. He had found her out, and there was no way +of escape. She would have to see him, hear him. She would have to set +herself against the charm of that quick voice, those sparkling eyes. +There would be no one to save her now. Randy was far away. She must make +her fight alone. + +She turned restlessly. Why should she fight? What, after all, did George +mean to her? A chain of broken dreams? A husk of golden armor? +_Georgie-Porgie_--who had kissed and run away. + +She was listless at breakfast. The storm was over, and the Admiral was +making plans for a picnic the next day to Altar Rock. "Hot coffee and +lobster sandwiches, and a view of the sea on a day like this." + +Becky smiled. "Grandfather," she said, "I believe you are happy because +you keep your head in the stars and your feet on the ground." + +"What's the connection, my dear?" + +"Well, lobster sandwiches and a view of the sea. So many people can't +enjoy both. They are either lobster-sandwich people, or view-of-the-sea +people." + +"Which shows their limitations," said the Admiral, promptly; "the people +of Pepys' time were eloquent over a pigeon pie or a poem. The good Lord +gave us both of them. Why not?" + +It was after breakfast that a note was brought to Becky. The boy would +wait. + + "I am here," George wrote, "and I shall stay until I see you. Don't + put me off. Don't shut your heart against me. I am very unhappy. + May I come?" + +She wrote an immediate answer. She would see him in the afternoon. The +Admiral would be riding over to Nantucket. He had some business affairs +to attend to--a meeting at the bank. Jane would be busy in her kitchen +with the baking. The coast would be clear. There would be no need, if +George came in the afternoon, to explain his presence. + +Having dispatched her note, and with the morning before her, she was +assailed by restlessness. She welcomed Archibald Cope's invitation from +the adjoining porch. He sang it in the words of the old song, + + "Madam, will you walk! + Madam, will you talk? + Madam, will you walk and talk + With me----" + +"Where shall we go?" + +"To Sankaty----" + +She loved the walk to the lighthouse. In the spring there was Scotch +broom on the bluffs--yellow as gold, with the blue beyond. In summer +wild roses, deep pink, scenting the air with their fresh fragrance. But, +perhaps, she loved it best on a day like this, with the breakers on the +beach below, racing in like white horses, and with the winter gulls, +dark against the brightness of the morning. + +"Why aren't you painting?" she asked Archibald. + +"Because," he said, "I am not going to paint the moor any more. It gets +away from me--it is too vast---- It has a primal human quality, and yet +it is not alive." + +"It sometimes seems alive to me," she said, "when I look off over it--it +seems to rise and fall as if it--breathed." + +"That's the uncanny part of it," Archibald agreed, "and I am going to +give it up. I am not going to paint it---- I want to paint you, Becky." + +"Me? Why do you want to do that?" + +He flashed a glance at her. "Because you are nice to look at." + +"That isn't the reason." + +"Why should you question my motives?" he demanded. "But since you must +have the truth--it is because of a fancy of mine that I might do it +well----" + +"I should like it very much," she said, simply. + +"Would you?" eagerly. + +"Yes." + +She had on her red cape, and a black velvet tam pulled over her shining +hair. + +"I shall not paint you like this," he said, "although the color +is--superlative---- Ever since you read to me that story of Randy +Paine's, I have had a feeling that the real story ought to have a happy +ending, and that I should like to make the illustration." + +"I don't know what you mean?" + +"Why shouldn't the girl care for the boy after he came back? Why +shouldn't she, Becky Bannister?" + +Her startled gaze met his. "Let's sit down here," he said, "and have it +out." + +There was a bench on the edge of the bluff, set so that one might have a +wider view of the sea. + +"There ought to be a happy ending, Becky." + +"How could there be?" + +"Why not you--and Randy Paine? I haven't met him, but somehow that story +tells me that he is the right sort. And think of it, Becky, you and that +boy--in that big house down there, going to church, smiling across the +table at each other," his breath came quickly, "your love for him, his +for you, making a background for his--genius." + +She tried to stop him. "Why should you say such things?" + +"Because I have thought them. Last night in the storm--I couldn't sleep. +I--I wanted to be a dog in the manger. I couldn't have you, and I'd be +darned if I'd help anyone else to get you. You--you see, I'm a sort of +broken reed, Becky. It--it isn't a sure thing that I am going to get +well. And if what I feel for you is worth anything, it ought to mean +that I must put your happiness--first. And that's why I want to make the +picture for the--happy ending." + +Her hand went out to him. "It is a beautiful thing for you to do. But I +am not sure that there will be a--happy ending." + +"Why not?" + +She could not tell him. She could not tell--that between her and her +thought of Randy was the barrier of all that George Dalton had meant to +her. + +"If you paint the picture," she evaded, "you must finish it at +Huntersfield. Why can't you and Louise come down this winter? It would +be heavenly." + +"It would be Heaven for me. Do you mean it, Becky?" + +She did mean it, and she told him so. + +"I shall paint you," he planned, "as a little white slip of a girl, with +pearls about your neck, and dreams in your eyes, and back of you a +flight of shadowy swans----" + +They rose and walked on. "I thought you were to be with the Admiral in +Boston this winter." + +"I stay until Thanksgiving. I always go back to Huntersfield for +Christmas." + +After that it was decided that she should sit for him each morning. They +did not speak again of Randy. There had been something in Becky's manner +which kept Archibald from saying more. + +When they reached the lighthouse, the wind was blowing strongly. Before +them was the sweep of the Nantucket Shoals--not a ship in sight, not a +line of smoke, the vast emptiness of heaving waters. + +Becky stood at the edge of the bluff, her red cape billowing out into a +scarlet banner, her hair streaming back from her face, the velvet tam +flattened by the force of the wind. + +Archibald glanced at her. "Are you cold?" + +"No, I love it." + +He was chilled to the bone, yet there she stood, warm with life, bright +with beating blood---- + +"What a beastly lot of tumbling water," he said with sudden +overmastering irritation. "Let's get away from it, Becky. Let's get +away." + +Going back they took the road which led across the moor. The clear day +gave to the low hills the Persian carpet coloring which Cope had +despaired of painting. Becky, in her red cape, was almost lost against +the brilliant background. + +But she was not the only one who challenged nature. For as she and +Archibald approached the outskirts of the town, they discerned, at some +distance, at the top of a slight eminence, two figures--a man and a +woman. The woman was dancing, with waving arms and flying feet. + +"She calls that dance 'Morning on the Moor,'" Cope told Becky; "she has +a lot of them--'The Spirit of the Storm, 'The Wraith of the Fog.'" + +"Do you know her?" + +"No. But Tristram says she dances every morning. She is getting ready +for an act in one of the big musical shows." + +The man sat on the ground and watched the woman dance. Her primrose cape +was across his knee. He was a big man and wore a cap. Becky, surveying +him from afar, saw nothing to command closer scrutiny. Yet had she +known, she might have found him worthy of another look. For the man with +the primrose cape was Dalton! + + +III + +George Dalton, entering the little sitting-room of "The Whistling +Sally," had to bend his head. He was so shining and splendid that he +seemed to fill the empty spaces. It seemed, indeed, to Becky, as if he +were too shining and splendid, as if he bulked too big, like a giant, +top-heavy. + +But she was not unmoved. He had been the radiant knight of her girlish +dreams--some of the glamour still remained. Her cheeks were touched with +pink as she greeted him. + +He took both of her hands in his. "Oh, you lovely, lovely little thing," +he said, and stood looking down at her. + +They were the words he had said to her in the music-room. They revived +memories. Flushing a deeper pink, she drew away from him. "Why did you +come?" + +"I could not stay away." + +"How long have you been here?" + +"Five days----" + +"Please--sit down"--she indicated a chair on the other side of the +hearth. She had seated herself in the Admiral's winged chair. It came up +over her head, and she looked very slight and childish. + +George, surveying the room, said, "This is some contrast to +Huntersfield." + +"Yes." + +"Do you like it?" + +"Oh, yes. I have spent months here, you know, and Sally, who whistles +out there in the yard, is an old friend of mine. I played with her as a +child." + +"I should think the Admiral would rather have one of those big houses on +the bluff." + +"Would you?" + +"Yes." + +"But he has so many big houses. And this is his play-house. It belonged +to his grandfather, and that ship up there is one on which our Sally was +the figure-head." + +He forced himself to listen while she told him something of the history +of the old ship. He knew that she was making conversation, that there +were things more important to speak of, and that she knew it. Yet she +was putting off the moment when they must speak. + +There came a pause, however. "And now," he said, leaning forward, "let's +talk about ourselves, I have been here five days, Becky--waiting----" + +"Waiting? For what?" + +"To ask you to--forgive me." + +Her steady glance met his. "If I say that I forgive you, will that +be--enough?" + +"You know it will not," his sparkling eyes challenged her. "Not if you +say it coldly----" + +"How else can I say it?" + +"As if--oh, Becky, don't keep me at long distance--like this. Don't tell +me that you are engaged to Randy Paine. Don't----. Let this be our +day----" He seemed to shine and sparkle in a perfect blaze of gallantry. + +"I am not engaged to Randy." + +He gave an exclamation of triumph. "You broke it off?" + +"No," she said, "he broke it." + +"What?" + +She folded her hands in her lap. "You see," she said, "he felt that I +did not love him. And he would not take me that way--unloving." + +"He seemed to want to take you any way, the day he talked to me. I asked +him what he had to offer you----" He gave a light laugh--seemed to brush +Randy away with a gesture. + +Her cheeks flamed. "He has a great deal to offer." + +"For example?" lazily, with a lift of the eyebrows. + +"He is a gentleman--and a genius----" + +His face darkened. "I'll pass over the first part of that until later. +But why call him a 'genius'?" + +"He has written a story," breathlessly, "oh, all the world will know it +soon. The people who have read it, in New York, are crazy about it----" + +"Is that all? A story? So many people write nowadays." + +"Well," she asked quietly, "what more have you to offer?" + +"Love, Becky. You intimated a moment ago that I was not--a +gentleman--because I failed--once. Is that fair? How do you know that +Paine has not failed--how do you know----? And love hasn't anything to +do with genius, Becky, it has to do with that night in the music-room, +when you sang and when I--kissed you. It has to do with nights like +those in the old garden, with the new moon and the stars, and the old +goddesses." + +"And with words which meant--nothing----" + +"_Becky_," he protested. + +"Yes," she said, "you know it is true--they meant nothing. Perhaps you +have changed since then. I don't know. But I know this, that I have +changed." + +He felt back of her words the force which had always baffled him. + +"You mean that you don't love me?" + +"Yes." + +"I--I don't believe it----" + +"You must----" + +"But----" he rose and went towards her. + +"Please--we won't argue it. And--Jane is going to give us some tea." She +left him for a moment and came back to sit behind the little table. Jane +brought tea and fresh little cakes. + +"For Heaven's sake, Becky," George complained, when the old woman had +returned to her kitchen, "can you eat at a moment like this?" + +"Yes," she said, "I can eat and the cakes are very nice." + +She did not let him see that her hand trembled as she poured the tea. + +George had had five days in the company of the dancer in yellow. He had +found her amusing. She played the game at which he had proved himself so +expert rather better than the average woman. She served for the moment, +but no sane man would ever think of spending his life with her. But here +was the real thing--this slip of a child in a blue velvet smock, with +bows on her slippers, and a wave of bronze hair across her forehead. He +felt that Becky's charms would last for a lifetime. When she was old, +and sat like that on the other side of the hearth, with silver hair and +bent figure, she would still retain her loveliness of spirit, the +steadfast gaze, the vivid warmth of word and gesture. + +For the first time in his life George knew the kind of love that +projects itself forward into the future, that sees a woman as friend and +as companion. And this woman whom he loved had just said that she did +not love him. + +"I won't give you up," he said doggedly. + +"How can you keep me?" she asked quietly, and suddenly the structure of +hope which he had built for himself tumbled. + +"Then this is the--end?" + +"I am afraid it is," and she offered him a cup. + +His face grew suddenly gray. "I don't want any tea. I want you," his +hands went over his face. "I want you, Becky." + +"Don't," she said, shakily, "I am sorry." + +She was sorry to see him no longer shining, no longer splendid, but she +was glad that the spell was broken--the charm of sparkling eyes and +quick voice gone--forever. + +She said again, as she gave him her hand at parting, "I'm sorry." + +His laugh was not pleasant. "You'll be sorrier if you marry Paine." + +"No," she said, and he carried away with him the look which came into +her eyes as she said it, "No, if I marry Randy I shall not be sorry." + + +IV + +Randy, arriving on the evening boat, caught the 'bus, and found the +Admiral in it. + +"It's Randy Paine," he said, as he climbed in and sat beside the old +gentleman. + +"My dear boy, God bless you. Becky will be delighted." + +"I was in New York," was Randy's easy explanation, "and I couldn't +resist coming up." + +"We read your story, and Mrs. Prime told us how the editor received it. +You are by way of being famous, my boy." + +"Well, it's mighty interesting, sir," said young Randy. + +It was late when they reached the little town, but the west was +blood-red above the ridge, with the moor all darkling purple. + +Becky was not in the house. "I saw her go down to the beach," Jane told +them. + +"In what direction?" Randy asked; "I'll go after her." + +"She sometimes sits back of the blue boat," said Jane, "when there's a +wind. But if you don't find her, Mr. Paine, she'll be back in time for +supper. I told her not to be late. I am having raised rolls and broiled +fish, and Mr. and Miss Cope are coming." + +"I'll find her," said Randy, and was off. + +The moon was making a path of gold across the purple waters, and casting +sharp shadows on the sand. The blue boat, high on the beach, had lost +its color in the pale light. But there was no other boat, so Randy went +towards it. And as he went, he gave the old Indian cry. + +Becky, wrapped in her red cape, deep in thoughts of the thing that had +happened in the afternoon, heard the cry and doubted her ears. + +It came again. + +"Randy," she breathed, and stood up and saw him coming. She ran towards +him. "Oh, Randy, Randy." + +She came into his arms as if she belonged there. And he, amazed but +rapturous, received her, held her close. + +"Oh, oh," she whispered, "you don't know how I have wanted you, Randy." + +"It is nothing to the way that I have wanted you, my dear." + +"Really, Randy?" + +"Really, my sweet." + +The moon was very big and bright. It showed her face white as a +rose-leaf against his coat. He scarcely dared to breathe, lest he should +frighten her. They stood for a moment in silence, then she said, simply, +"You see, it was you, after all, Randy." + +"Yes," he said, "I see. But when did you find it out?" + +"This afternoon. Let's sit down here out of the wind behind the boat, +and I'll tell you about it----" + +But he was not ready yet to let her go. "To have you here--like this." + +[Illustration: "OH, OH," SHE WHISPERED, "YOU DON'T KNOW HOW I HAVE +WANTED YOU"] + +He stopped. He could not go on. He lifted her up to him, and their +lips met. Years ago he had kissed her under the mistletoe; the kiss that +he gave her now was a pledge for all the years to come. + +They were late for supper. Jane relieved her mind to the Admiral and his +guests. "She had a gentleman here this afternoon for tea, and neither of +them ate anything. And now there's another gentleman, and the rolls are +spoiling." + +"You can serve supper, Jane," the Admiral told her; "they can eat when +they come." + +When they came, Becky's cheeks were as red as her cape. As she swept +within the radius of the candle-light, Archibald Cope, who had risen at +her entrance, knew what had happened. Her eyes were like stars. "Did +Jane scold about us?" she asked, with a quick catch of her breath; "it +was so lovely--with the moon." + +Back of her was young Randy--Randy of the black locks, of the high-held +head and Indian profile, Randy, with his air of Conqueror. + +"I've told them all about you," Becky said, "and they have read your +story. Will you please present him properly, Grandfather, while I go and +fix my hair?" + +She came back very soon, slim and childish in her blue velvet smock, her +hair in that bronze wave across her forehead, her eyes still lighted. + +She sat between her grandfather and Archibald. + +"So," said Cope softly, under cover of the conversation, "it has +happened?" + +"What has happened?" + +"The happy ending." + +"Oh--how did you know?" + +"As if the whole world wouldn't know just to look at you." + +The Randy of the supper table at "The Whistling Sally" was a Randy that +Becky had never seen. Success had come to him and love. There was the +ring of it in his young voice, the flush of it on his cheeks. He was a +man, with a man's future. + +He talked of his work. "If I am a bore, please tell me," he said, "but +it is rather a fairy-tale, you know, when you've made up your mind to a +hum-drum law career to find a thing like this opening out." + +Becky sat and listened. Her eyes were all for her lover. Already she +thought of him at King's Crest, writing for the world, with her money +making things easy for him, but not spoiling the simplicity of their +tastes. If she thought at all of George Dalton, it was to find the +sparkle and shine of his splendid presence dimmed by Randy's radiance. + +"I hate to say that he is--charming," Cope complained. + +He was a good sport, and he wanted Becky to be happy. But it was not +easy to sit there and see those two--with the pendulum swinging between +them of joy and dreams, and the knowledge of a long life together. + +"Why should it be?" he asked Louise, as he stood beside her, later, on +their own little porch which overlooked the sea; "those two--did you see +them? While I----" + +Louise laid her hand on his shoulder. "Yes. I think it is something like +this, Arch. They've got to live it out, and life isn't always going to +be just to-night for them. And perhaps in the years together they may +lose some of their dreams. They've got to grow old, and you, you'll go +out--with all--your dreams----" + +He reached up and took the kind hand. + +"'They all go out like this--into the night--but what a fleet +of--stars.' Is that it, Louise?" + +"Yes." + +The clearness of the moonlight was broken by long fingers of fog +stretched up from the horizon. + +"I'll wrap up and sit here, Louise," Archibald said; "I shan't sleep if +I go in." + +"Don't stay too long. Good-night, my dear, good-night." + +Archibald, watching the fog shut out the moonlight, had still upon him +that sense of revolt. Fame had never come to him, and love had come too +late. + +Yet for Randy there was to be fulfillment--the wife of his heart, the +applause of the world. What did it all mean? Why should one man have +all, and the other--nothing? + +Yet he had had his dreams. And the dreams of men lived. That which died +was the least of them. The great old gods of democracy--Washington, +Jefferson, Adams--had seen visions, and the visions had endured. Only +yesterday Roosevelt had proclaimed his gallant doctrines. He had died +proclaiming them, and the world held its head higher, because of his +belief in its essential rightness. + +The mists enveloped Archibald in a sort of woolly dampness. He saw for a +moment a dim and distant moon. If he could have painted a moon like +that--with fingers of fog reaching up to it----! + +His own dreams of beauty? What of them? His pictures would not live. He +knew that now. But he had given more than pictures to the world. He had +given himself in a crusade which had been born of high idealism and a +sense of brotherhood. Day after day, night after night, his plane had +hung, poised like an eagle, above the enemy. He had been one of the +young gods who had set their strength and courage against the greed and +grossness of gray-coated hordes. + +And these dreams must live--the dreams of the young gods--as the dreams +of the old gods had endured. Because men had died to make others free, +freedom must be the song on the lips of all men. + +He thought of Randy's story. The Trumpeter Swan was only a stuffed bird +in a glass case. But once he had spread his wings--flown high in the +upper air. There had been strength in his pinions--joy in his +heart--thrilling life in every feather of him. Some lovely lines drifted +through Archibald's consciousness-- + + "Upon the brimming water, among the stones + Are nine and fifty swans. + Unwearied still, lover by lover, + They paddle in the cold + Companionable streams or climb the air; + Their hearts have not grown old; + Passion and conquest, wander where they will. + Attend upon them still----" + +From the frozen north the swan had come to the sheltered bay and some +one had shot him. He had not been asked if he wanted to live; they had +taken his life, and had set him up there on the shelf--and that had been +the end of him. + +But was it the end? Stuffed and quiet in his glass case, he had looked +down on a little boy. And the little boy had seen him not dead, but +sounding his trumpet. And now the whole world would hear of him. In +Randy's story, the Trumpeter would live again in the hearts of men. + +The wind was rising--the fog blown back before it showed the golden +track of the sea--light stretching to infinity! + +He rose and stood by the rail. Then suddenly he felt a hand upon his, +and looking down, he saw Becky. + +"I ran away from Randy," she said, breathlessly, "just for a moment. I +was afraid you might be alone, and unhappy." + +His hand held hers. "Just for this moment you are mine?" + +"Yes." + +"Then let me tell you this--that I shall never be alone as long as I may +have your friendship--I shall always be happy because I have--loved +you." + +He kissed her hand. "Run back to your Randy. Good-night, my dear, +good-night." + +Her lover received her rapturously at the door of the little house. They +went in together. And Archibald looked out, smiling, over a golden sea. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Trumpeter Swan, by Temple Bailey + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRUMPETER SWAN *** + +***** This file should be named 17697.txt or 17697.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/7/6/9/17697/ + +Produced by Sjaani, Beginners Projects and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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