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diff --git a/26673-h/26673-h.htm b/26673-h/26673-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..78afb45 --- /dev/null +++ b/26673-h/26673-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10272 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> +<title> +The Project Gutenberg eBook of At the Sign of the Jack O’Lantern, by Myrtle Reed. +</title> + +<style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p {margin-top: 0.5em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + body {margin-left: 11%; margin-right: 10%;} + a {text-decoration: none;} + h3 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal; font-size: 1.2em;} + .pncolor {color: silver;} + div.ce p {text-align: center; margin: auto 0;} + .caption {font-size:.8em;} + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + hr.tb {width: 35%; margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; clear:both;} + .blockquot {margin-left:5%; margin-right:5%;} + .pagenum {display: inline; font-size: x-small; text-align: right; position: absolute; right: 2%; padding: 1px 3px; font-style: normal; font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration: none; background-color: inherit; border:1px solid #eee;} + div.ra p {text-align: right; margin: auto 0;} + hr.major {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; clear:both;} + hr.silver {width: 100%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver;} + h2 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal; font-size: 1.4em;} +// --> +/* XML end ]]>*/ +</style> + +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's At the Sign of the Jack O'Lantern, by Myrtle Reed + +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: At the Sign of the Jack O'Lantern + +Author: Myrtle Reed + +Release Date: September 20, 2008 [EBook #26673] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AT THE SIGN OF THE JACK O'LANTERN *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div class='ce'> +<p style='font-size:2.2em; margin-top:1em;'>At the Sign of the</p> +<p style='font-size:2.2em; margin-bottom:1em;'>Jack O’Lantern</p> +<div style='margin-top:1em'></div> +<p>BY</p> +<p style='font-size:1.4em;'>MYRTLE REED</p> +<div style='margin-top:1em'></div> +<p>Author of</p> +<p>Lavender and Old Lace</p> +<p>The Master’s Violin</p> +<p>A Spinner in the Sun</p> +<p>Old Rose and Silver</p> +<p>A Weaver of Dreams</p> +<p>Flower of the Dusk</p> +<p style='margin-bottom:3em;'>Etc.</p> +<div style='margin-top:1em'></div> +<p>New York</p> +<p style='font-size:1.2em;'>GROSSET & DUNLAP</p> +<p>Publishers</p> +</div> + +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div class='ce'> +<p><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Copyright</span>, 1902</p> +<p style='font-size:0.8em;'>BY</p> +<p style='font-size:0.8em; margin-bottom:2em;'>MYRTLE REED</p> +</div> + +<table summary='booklist'> +<tr><td colspan='2' align='center'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>By Myrtle Reed:</span></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Weaver of Dreams</td><td>Sonnets to a Lover</td></tr> +<tr><td>Old Rose and Silver</td><td>Master of the Vineyard</td></tr> +<tr><td>Lavender and Old Lace</td><td>Flower of the Dusk</td></tr> +<tr><td>The Master's Violin</td><td>At the Sign of the Jack-o'-Lantern</td></tr> +<tr><td>Love Letters of a Musician</td><td>A Spinner in the Sun</td></tr> +<tr><td>The Spinster Book</td><td>Later Love Letters of a Musician</td></tr> +<tr><td>The Shadow of Victory</td><td>Love Affairs of Literary Men</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan='2' align='center'>Myrtle Reed Year Book</td></tr> +</table> + +<div class='ce'> +<p style='margin-top:2em;'>This edition is issued under arrangement with the publishers</p> +<p><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>G. P. Putnam’s Sons, New York and London</span></p> +</div> + +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div class='ce'> +<p style='font-size:1.4em; margin-bottom:1em;'>Contents</p> +</div> + +<table border='0' width='500' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Contents' style='margin:1em auto;'> +<tr> + <td align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><span style='font-size:small;'>CHAPTER</span></td> + <td></td> + <td align='right'><span style='font-size:small;'>PAGE</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>I.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The End of the Honeymoon</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#I_THE_END_OF_THE_HONEYMOON'>1</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>II.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Day Afterward</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#II_THE_DAY_AFTERWARD'>18</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>III.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The First Caller</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#III_THE_FIRST_CALLER'>35</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>IV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Finances</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#IV_FINANCES'>53</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>V.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Mrs. Smithers</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#V_MRS_SMITHERS'>68</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Coming of Elaine</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VI_THE_COMING_OF_ELAINE'>84</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>An Uninvited Guest</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VII_AN_UNINVITED_GUEST'>100</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>More</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VIII_MORE'>119</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>IX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Another</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#IX_ANOTHER'>136</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>X.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Still More</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#X_STILL_MORE'>154</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Mrs. Dodd’s Third Husband</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XI_MRS_DODD_S_THIRD_HUSBAND'>173</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Her Gift to the World</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XII_HER_GIFT_TO_THE_WORLD'>191</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>A Sensitive Soul</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIII_A_SENSITIVE_SOUL'>210</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Mrs. Dodd’s Fifth Fate</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIV_MRS_DODD_S_FIFTH_FATE'>226</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Treasure-Trove</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XV_TREASURETROVE'>243</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Good Fortune</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XVI_GOOD_FORTUNE'>264</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Lady Elaine Knows Her Heart</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XVII_THE_LADY_ELAINE_KNOWS_HER_HEART'>282</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Uncle Ebeneezer’s Diary</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XVIII_UNCLE_EBENEEZER_S_DIARY'>299</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Various Departures</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIX_VARIOUS_DEPARTURES'>319</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Love of Another Elaine</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XX_THE_LOVE_OF_ANOTHER_ELAINE'>338</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='I_THE_END_OF_THE_HONEYMOON' id='I_THE_END_OF_THE_HONEYMOON'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_1' name='page_1'></a>1</span> +<h2>I</h2> +<h3>The End of the Honeymoon</h3> +</div> + +<p>It was certainly a queer house. Even +through the blinding storm they could +distinguish its eccentric outlines as they alighted +from the stage. Dorothy laughed happily, +heedless of the fact that her husband’s umbrella +was dripping down her neck. “It’s a +dear old place,” she cried; “I love it already!”</p> +<p>For an instant a flash of lightning turned the +peculiar windows into sheets of flame, then +all was dark again. Harlan’s answer was +drowned by a crash of thunder and the turning +of the heavy wheels on the gravelled road.</p> +<p>“Don’t stop,” shouted the driver; “I’ll +come up to-morrer for the money. Good luck +to you—an’ the Jack-o’-Lantern!”</p> +<p>“What did he mean?” asked Dorothy, +shaking out her wet skirts, when they were +safely inside the door. “Who’s got a Jack-o’-Lantern?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_2' name='page_2'></a>2</span></p> +<p>“You can search me,” answered Harlan, +concisely, fumbling for a match. “I suppose +we’ve got it. Anyhow, we’ll have a look at +this sepulchral mansion presently.”</p> +<p>His deep voice echoed and re-echoed +through the empty rooms, and Dorothy +laughed; a little hysterically this time. Match +after match sputtered and failed. “Couldn’t +have got much wetter if I’d been in swimming,” +he grumbled. “Here goes the last +one.”</p> +<p>By the uncertain light they found a candle +and Harlan drew a long breath of relief. “It +would have been pleasant, wouldn’t it?” he +went on. “We could have sat on the stairs +until morning, or broken our admirable necks +in falling over strange furniture. The next +thing is a fire. Wonder where my distinguished +relative kept his wood?”</p> +<p>Lighting another candle, he went off on a +tour of investigation, leaving Dorothy alone.</p> +<p>She could not repress a shiver as she glanced +around the gloomy room. The bare loneliness +of the place was accentuated by the depressing +furniture, which belonged to the black +walnut and haircloth period. On the marble-topped +table, in the exact centre of the room, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_3' name='page_3'></a>3</span> +was a red plush album, flanked on one side +by a hideous china vase, and on the other by +a basket of wax flowers under a glass shade.</p> +<p>Her home-coming! How often she had +dreamed of it, never for a moment guessing +that it might be like this! She had fancied a +little house in a suburb, or a cosy apartment +in the city, and a lump came into her throat +as her air castle dissolved into utter ruin. She +was one of those rare, unhappy women +whose natures are so finely attuned to beauty +that ugliness hurts like physical pain.</p> +<p>She sat down on one of the slippery haircloth +chairs, facing the mantel where the +single candle threw its tiny light afar. Little +by little the room crept into shadowy relief—the +melodeon in the corner, the what-not, +with its burden of incongruous ornaments, and +even the easel bearing the crayon portrait of +the former mistress of the house, becoming +faintly visible.</p> +<p>Presently, from above the mantel, appeared +eyes. Dorothy felt them first, then looked +up affrighted. From the darkness they +gleamed upon her in a way that made her +heart stand still. Human undoubtedly, but +not in the least friendly, they were the eyes +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_4' name='page_4'></a>4</span> +of one who bitterly resented the presence of +an intruder. The light flickered, then flamed +up once more and brought into view the features +that belonged with the eyes.</p> +<p>Dorothy would have screamed, had it not +been for the lump in her throat. A step came +nearer and nearer, from some distant part of +the house, accompanied by a cheery, familiar +whistle. Still the stern, malicious face held +her spellbound, and even when Harlan came +in with his load of wood, she could not turn +away.</p> +<p>“Now,” he said, “we’ll start a fire and +hang ourselves up to dry.”</p> +<p>“What is it?” asked Dorothy, her lips +scarcely moving.</p> +<p>His eyes followed hers. “Uncle Ebeneezer’s +portrait,” he answered. “Why, Dorothy +Carr! I believe you’re scared!”</p> +<p>“I was scared,” she admitted, reluctantly, +after a brief silence, smiling a little at her own +foolishness. “It’s so dark and gloomy in here, +and you were gone so long——”</p> +<p>Her voice trailed off into an indistinct +murmur, but she still shuddered in spite of +herself.</p> +<p>“Funny old place,” commented Harlan, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_5' name='page_5'></a>5</span> +kneeling on the hearth and laying kindlings, +log-cabin fashion, in the fireplace. “If an +architect planned it, he must have gone crazy +the week before he did it.”</p> +<p>“Or at the time. Don’t, dear—wait a +minute. Let’s light our first fire together.”</p> +<p>He smiled as she slipped to her knees beside +him, and his hand held hers while the +blazing splinter set the pine kindling aflame. +Quickly the whole room was aglow with +light and warmth, in cheerful contrast to the +stormy tumult outside.</p> +<p>“Somebody said once,” observed Harlan, +as they drew their chairs close to the hearth, +“that four feet on a fender are sufficient for +happiness.”</p> +<p>“Depends altogether on the feet,” rejoined +Dorothy, quickly. “I wouldn’t want Uncle +Ebeneezer sitting here beside me—no disrespect +intended to your relation, as such.”</p> +<p>“Poor old duck,” said Harlan, kindly. +“Life was never very good to him, and Death +took away the only thing he ever loved.</p> +<p>“Aunt Rebecca,” he continued, feeling her +unspoken question. “She died suddenly, +when they had been married only three or +four weeks.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_6' name='page_6'></a>6</span></p> +<p>“Like us,” whispered Dorothy, for the first +time conscious of a tenderness toward the departed +Mr. Judson, of Judson Centre.</p> +<p>“It was four weeks ago to-day, wasn’t +it?” he mused, instinctively seeking her +hand.</p> +<p>“I thought you’d forgotten,” she smiled +back at him. “I feel like an old married +woman, already.”</p> +<p>“You don’t look it,” he returned, gently. +Few would have called her beautiful, but love +brings beauty with it, and Harlan saw an exquisite +loveliness in the deep, dark eyes, the +brown hair that rippled and shone in the firelight, +the smooth, creamy skin, and the sensitive +mouth that betrayed every passing mood.</p> +<p>“None the less, I am,” she went on. “I’ve +grown so used to seeing ‘Mrs. James Harlan +Carr’ on my visiting cards that I’ve forgotten +there ever was such a person as ‘Miss Dorothy +Locke,’ who used to get letters, and go calling +when she wasn’t too busy, and have things +sent to her when she had the money to buy +them.”</p> +<p>“I hope—” Harlan stumbled awkwardly +over the words—“I hope you’ll never be +sorry.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_7' name='page_7'></a>7</span></p> +<p>“I haven’t been yet,” she laughed, “and +it’s four whole weeks. Come, let’s go on an +exploring expedition. I’m dry both inside +and out, and most terribly hungry.”</p> +<p>Each took a candle and Harlan led the way, +in and out of unexpected doors, queer, winding +passages, and lonely, untenanted rooms. +Originally, the house had been simple enough +in structure, but wing after wing had been +added until the first design, if it could be dignified +by that name, had been wholly obscured. +From each room branched a series +of apartments—a sitting-room, surrounded by +bedrooms, each of which contained two or +sometimes three beds. A combined kitchen +and dining-room was in every separate wing, +with an outside door.</p> +<p>“I wonder,” cried Dorothy, “if we’ve +come to an orphan asylum!”</p> +<p>“Heaven knows what we’ve come to,” +muttered Harlan. “You know I never was +here before.”</p> +<p>“Did Uncle Ebeneezer have a large family?”</p> +<p>“Only Aunt Rebecca, who died very soon, +as I told you. Mother was his only sister, +and I her only child, so it wasn’t on our +side.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_8' name='page_8'></a>8</span></p> +<p>“Perhaps,” observed Dorothy, “Aunt Rebecca +had relations.”</p> +<p>“One, two, three, four, five,” counted Harlan. +“There are five sets of apartments on this side, +and three on the other. Let’s go upstairs.”</p> +<p>From the low front door a series of low +windows extended across the house on each +side, abundantly lighting the two front rooms, +which were separated by the wide hall. A +high, narrow window in the lower hall, seemingly +with no purpose whatever, began far +above the low door and ended abruptly at the +ceiling. In the upper hall, a similar window +began at the floor and extended upward no +higher than Harlan’s knees. As Dorothy said, +“one would have to lie down to look out of +it,” but it lighted the hall, which, after all, +was the main thing.</p> +<p>In each of the two front rooms, upstairs, +was a single round window, too high for one +to look out of without standing on a chair, +though in both rooms there was plenty of side +light. One wing on each side of the house +had been carried up to the second story, and +the arrangement of rooms was the same as +below, outside stairways leading from the +kitchens to the ground. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9' name='page_9'></a>9</span></p> +<p>“I never saw so many beds in my life,” +cried Dorothy.</p> +<p>“Seems to be a perfect Bedlam,” rejoined +Harlan, making a poor attempt at a joke and +laughing mirthlessly. In his heart he began +to doubt the wisdom of marrying on six hundred +dollars, an unexplored heirloom in Judson +Centre, and an overweening desire to write +books.</p> +<p>For the first time, his temerity appeared to +him in its proper colours. He had been a +space writer and Dorothy the private secretary +of a Personage, when they met, in the +dreary basement dining-room of a New York +boarding-house, and speedily fell in love. +Shortly afterward, when Harlan received a letter +which contained a key, and announced +that Mr. Judson’s house, fully furnished, had +been bequeathed to his nephew, they had +light-heartedly embarked upon matrimony +with no fears for the future.</p> +<p>Two hundred dollars had been spent upon +a very modest honeymoon, and the three +hundred and ninety-seven dollars and twenty-three +cents remaining, as Harlan had accurately +calculated, seemed pitifully small. +Perplexity, doubt, and foreboding were plainly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10' name='page_10'></a>10</span> +written on his face, when Dorothy turned to +him.</p> +<p>“Isn’t it perfectly lovely,” she asked, “for +us to have this nice, quiet place all to ourselves, +where you can write your book?”</p> +<p>Woman-like, she had instantly touched the +right chord, and the clouds vanished.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he cried, eagerly. “Oh, Dorothy, +do you think I can really write it?”</p> +<p>“Write it,” she repeated; “why, you dear, +funny goose, you can write a better book than +anybody has ever written yet, and I know you +can! By next week we’ll be settled here and +you can get down to work. I’ll help you, +too,” she added, generously. “If you’ll buy +me a typewriter, I can copy the whole book +for you.”</p> +<p>“Of course I’ll buy you a typewriter. +We’ll send for it to-morrow. How much +does a nice one cost?”</p> +<p>“The kind I like,” she explained, “costs a +hundred dollars without the stand. I don’t +need the stand—we can find a table somewhere +that will do.”</p> +<p>“Two hundred and ninety-seven dollars +and twenty-three cents,” breathed Harlan, +unconsciously. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11' name='page_11'></a>11</span></p> +<p>“No, only a hundred dollars,” corrected +Dorothy. “I don’t care to have it silver +mounted.”</p> +<p>“I’d buy you a gold one if you wanted it,” +stammered Harlan, in some confusion.</p> +<p>“Not now,” she returned, serenely. “Wait +till the book is done.”</p> +<p>Visions of fame and fortune appeared before +his troubled eyes and set his soul alight with +high ambition. The candle in his hand burned +unsteadily and dripped tallow, unheeded. +“Come,” said Dorothy, gently, “let’s go +downstairs again.”</p> +<p>An open door revealed a tortuous stairway +at the back of the house, descending mysteriously +into cavernous gloom. “Let’s go down +here,” she continued. “I love curly stairs.”</p> +<p>“These are kinky enough to please even +your refined fancy,” laughed Harlan. “It reminds +me of travelling in the West, where you +look out of the window and see your engine +on the track beside you, going the other way.”</p> +<p>“This must be the kitchen,” said Dorothy, +when the stairs finally ceased. “Uncle Ebeneezer +appears to have had a pronounced fancy +for kitchens.”</p> +<p>“Here’s another wing,” added Harlan, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12' name='page_12'></a>12</span> +opening the back door. “Sitting-room, bedroom, +and—my soul and body! It’s another +kitchen!”</p> +<p>“Any more beds?” queried Dorothy, peering +into the darkness. “We can’t keep house +unless we can find more beds.”</p> +<p>“Only one more. I guess we’ve come +down to bed rock at last.”</p> +<p>“In other words, the cradle,” she observed, +pulling a little old-fashioned trundle bed out +into the light.</p> +<p>“Oh, what a joke!” cried Harlan. “That’s +worth three dollars in the office of any funny +paper in New York!”</p> +<p>“Sell it,” commanded Dorothy, inspired by +the prospect of wealth, “and I’ll give you fifty +cents for your commission.”</p> +<p>Outside, the storm still raged and the old +house shook and creaked in the blast. The +rain swirled furiously against the windows, +and a swift rush of hailstones beat a fierce +tattoo on the roof. Built on the summit of a +hill and with only a few trees near it, the +Judson mansion was but poorly protected +from the elements.</p> +<p>None the less, there was a sense of warmth +and comfort inside. “Let’s build a fire in the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span> +kitchen,” suggested Dorothy, “and then we’ll +try to find something to eat.”</p> +<p>“Which kitchen?” asked Harlan.</p> +<p>“Any old kitchen. The one the back stairs +end in, I guess. It seems to be the principal +one of the set.”</p> +<p>Harlan brought more wood and Dorothy +watched him build the fire with a sense that +a god-like being was here put to base uses. +Hampered in his log-cabin design by the limitations +of the fire box, he handled the kindlings +awkwardly, got a splinter into his thumb, said +something under his breath which was not +meant for his wife to hear, and powdered his +linen with soot from the stove pipe. At +length, however, a respectable fire was started.</p> +<p>“Now,” he asked, “what shall I do next?”</p> +<p>“Wind all the clocks. I can’t endure a +dead clock. While you’re doing it, I’ll get +out the remnants of our lunch and see what +there is in the pantry that is still edible.”</p> +<p>In the lunch basket which the erratic ramifications +of the road leading to Judson Centre +had obliged them to carry, there was still, fortunately, +a supply of sandwiches and fruit. A +hasty search through the nearest pantry revealed +jelly, marmalade, and pickles, a box of musty +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span> +crackers and a canister of tea. When Harlan +came back, Dorothy had the kitchen table set +for two, with a lighted candle dispensing +odorous good cheer from the centre of it, and +the tea kettle singing merrily over the fire.</p> +<p>“Seems like home, doesn’t it?” he asked, +pleasantly imbued with the realisation of the +home-making quality in Dorothy. Certain +rare women with this gift take their atmosphere +with them wherever they go.</p> +<p>“To-morrow,” he went on, “I’ll go into +the village and buy more things to eat.”</p> +<p>“The ruling passion,” she smiled. “It’s—what’s +that!”</p> +<p>Clear and high above the sound of the +storm came an imperious “Me-ow!”</p> +<p>“It’s a cat,” said Harlan. “You don’t +suppose the poor thing is shut up anywhere, +do you?”</p> +<p>“If it had been, we’d have found it. +We’ve opened every door in the house, I’m +sure. It must be outside.”</p> +<p>“Me-ow! Me-ow! Me-ow!” The voice +was not pleading; it was rather a command, a +challenge.</p> +<p>“Kitty, kitty, kitty,” she called. “Where +are you, kitty?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span></p> +<p>Harlan opened the outside door, and in +rushed a huge black cat, with the air of one +returning home after a long absence.</p> +<p>“Poor kitty,” said Dorothy, kindly, stooping +to stroke the sable visitor, who instinctively +dodged the caress, and then scratched +her hand.</p> +<p>“The ugly brute!” she exclaimed. “Don’t +touch him, Harlan.”</p> +<p>Throughout the meal the cat sat at a respectful +distance, with his greenish yellow +eyes fixed unwaveringly upon them. He was +entirely black, save for a white patch under +his chin, which, in the half-light, carried with +it an uncanny suggestion of a shirt front. +Dorothy at length became restless under the +calm scrutiny.</p> +<p>“I don’t like him,” she said. “Put him out.”</p> +<p>“Thought you liked cats,” remarked Harlan, +reaching for another sandwich.</p> +<p>“I do, but I don’t like this one. Please put +him out.”</p> +<p>“What, in all this storm? He’ll get wet.”</p> +<p>“He wasn’t wet when he came in,” objected +Dorothy. “He must have some warm, dry +place of his own outside.”</p> +<p>“Come, kitty,” said Harlan, pleasantly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span></p> +<p>“Kitty” merely blinked, and Harlan rose.</p> +<p>“Come, kitty.”</p> +<p>With the characteristic independence of +cats, the visitor yawned. The conversation +evidently bored him.</p> +<p>“Come, kitty,” said Harlan, more firmly, +with a low swoop of his arm. The cat +arched his back, erected an enlarged tail, and +hissed threateningly. In a dignified but effective +manner, he eluded all attempts to capture +him, even avoiding Dorothy and her broom.</p> +<p>“There’s something more or less imperial +about him,” she remarked, wiping her flushed +cheeks, when they had finally decided not to +put the cat out. “As long as he’s adopted +us, we’ll have to keep him. What shall we +name him?”</p> +<p>“Claudius Tiberius,” answered Harlan. “It +suits him down to the ground.”</p> +<p>“His first name is certainly appropriate,” +laughed Dorothy, with a rueful glance at her +scratched hand. Making the best of a bad +bargain, she spread an old grey shawl, nicely +folded, on the floor by the stove, and requested +Claudius Tiberius to recline upon it, +but he persistently ignored the invitation.</p> +<p>“This is jolly enough,” said Harlan. “A +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span> +cosy little supper in our own house, with a +gale blowing outside, the tea kettle singing +over the fire, and a cat purring on the hearth.”</p> +<p>“Have you heard Claudius purr?” asked +Dorothy, idly.</p> +<p>“Come to think of it, I haven’t. Perhaps +something is wrong with his purrer. +We’ll fix him to-morrow.”</p> +<p>From a remote part of the house came +twelve faint, silvery tones. The kitchen clock +struck next, with short, quick strokes, followed +immediately by a casual record of +the hour from the clock on the mantel beneath +Uncle Ebeneezer’s portrait. Then the +grandfather’s clock in the hall boomed out +twelve, solemn funereal chimes. Afterward, +the silence seemed acute.</p> +<p>“The end of the honeymoon,” said Dorothy, +a little sadly, with a quick, inquiring look +at her husband.</p> +<p>“The end of the honeymoon!” repeated +Harlan, gathering her into his arms. “To-morrow, +life begins!”</p> +<p>Several hours later, Dorothy awoke from a +dreamless sleep to wonder whether life was +any different from a honeymoon, and if so, +how and why.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='II_THE_DAY_AFTERWARD' id='II_THE_DAY_AFTERWARD'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span> +<h2>II</h2> +<h3>The Day Afterward</h3> +</div> + +<p>By the pitiless light of early morning, the +house was even uglier than at night. +With an irreverence essentially modern, Dorothy +decided, while she was dressing, to have +all the furniture taken out into the back yard, +where she could look it over at her leisure. +She would make a bonfire of most of it, or, +better yet, have it cut into wood for the fireplace. +Thus Uncle Ebeneezer’s cumbrous +bequest might be quickly transformed into +comfort.</p> +<p>“And,” thought Dorothy, “I’ll take down +that hideous portrait over the mantel before +I’m a day older.”</p> +<p>But when she broached the subject to Harlan, +she found him unresponsive and somewhat +disinclined to interfere with the existing +order of things. “We’ll be here only for the +Summer,” he said, “so what’s the use of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span> +monkeying with the furniture and burning up +fifty or sixty beds? There’s plenty of wood +in the cellar.”</p> +<p>“I don’t like the furniture,” she pouted.</p> +<p>“My dear,” said Harlan, with patronising +kindness, “as you grow older, you’ll find lots +of things on the planet which you don’t like. +Moreover, it’ll be quite out of your power to +cremate ’em, and it’s just as well to begin +adjusting yourself now.”</p> +<p>This bit of philosophy irritated Mrs. Carr +unbearably. “Do you mean to say,” she demanded, +with rising temper, “that you won’t +do as I ask you to?”</p> +<p>“Do you mean to say,” inquired Harlan, +wickedly, in exact imitation of her manner, +“that you won’t do as I ask you to? Four +weeks ago yesterday, if I remember rightly, +you promised to obey me!”</p> +<p>“Don’t remind me of what I’m ashamed +of!” flashed Dorothy. “If I’d known what +a brute you were, I’d never have married +you! You may be sure of that!”</p> +<p>Claudius Tiberius insinuated himself between +Harlan’s feet and rubbed against his +trousers, leaving a thin film of black fur in his +wake. Being fastidious about his personal +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span> +appearance, Harlan kicked Claudius Tiberius +vigorously, grabbed his hat and went out, +slamming the door, and whistling with an +exaggerated cheerfulness.</p> +<p>“Brute!” The word rankled deeply as he +went downhill with his hands in his pockets, +whistling determinedly. So Dorothy was +sorry she had married him! After all he’d +done for her, too. Giving up a good position +in New York, taking her half-way around the +world on a honeymoon, and bringing her to a +magnificent country residence in a fashionable +locality for the Summer!</p> +<p>Safely screened by the hill, he turned back +to look at the “magnificent country residence,” +then swore softly under his breath, as, +for the first time, he took in the full meaning +of the eccentric architecture.</p> +<p>Perched high upon the hill, with intervening +shrubbery carefully cut down, the Judson +mansion was not one to inspire confidence in +its possessor. Outwardly, it was grey and +weather-worn, with the shingles dropping off +in places. At the sides, the rambling wings +and outside stairways, branching off into +space, conveyed the impression that the house +had been recently subjected to a powerful influence +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span> +of the centrifugal sort. But worst of +all was the front elevation, with its two round +windows, its narrow, long window in the +centre, and the low windows on either side +of the front door—the grinning, distorted +semblance of a human face.</p> +<p>The bare, uncurtained windows loomed up +boldly in the searching sunlight, which spared +nothing. The blue smoke rising from the +kitchen chimney appeared strangely like a +plume streaming out from the rear. Harlan +noted, too, that the railing of the narrow +porch extended almost entirely across the +front of the house, and remembered, dimly, +that they had found the steps at one side of +the porch the night before. Not a single unpleasant +detail was in any way hidden, and +he clutched instinctively at a tree as he +realised that the supports of the railing +were cunningly arranged to look like huge +teeth.</p> +<p>“No wonder,” he said to himself “that the +stage driver called it the Jack-o’-Lantern! +That’s exactly what it is! Why didn’t he +paint it yellow and be done with it? The +old devil!” The last disrespectful allusion, +of course, being meant for Uncle Ebeneezer. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span></p> +<p>“Poor Dorothy,” he thought again. “I’ll +burn the whole thing, and she shall put every +blamed crib into the purifying flames. It’s +mine, and I can do what I please with it. +We’ll go away to-morrow, we’ll go——”</p> +<p>Where could they go, with less than four +hundred dollars? Especially when one hundred +of it was promised for a typewriter? +Harlan had parted with his managing editor +on terms of great dignity, announcing that +he had forsworn journalism and would hereafter +devote himself to literature. The editor +had remarked, somewhat cynically, that it was +a better day for journalism than for literature, +the fine, inner meaning of the retort not having +been fully evident to Harlan until he was +some three squares away from the office.</p> +<p>Much chastened in spirit, and fully ready to +accept his wife’s estimate of him, he went on +downhill into Judson Centre.</p> +<p>It was the usual small town, the post-office, +grocery, meat market, and general loafing-place +being combined under one roof. Near by was +the blacksmith shop, and across from it was the +inevitable saloon. Far up in the hills was the +Judson Centre Sanitarium, a worthy institution +of some years standing, where every +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span> +human ailment from tuberculosis to fits was +more or less successfully treated.</p> +<p>Upon the inmates of the sanitarium the inhabitants +of Judson Centre lived, both materially +and mentally. Few of them had ever +been nearer to it than the back door, but tales +of dark doings were widely prevalent throughout +the community, and mothers were wont +to frighten their young offspring into obedience +with threats of the “san-tor-i-yum.”</p> +<p>“Now what do you reckon ails <i>him</i>?” +asked the blacksmith of the stage-driver, as +Harlan went into the village store.</p> +<p>“Wouldn’t reckon nothin’ ailed him to +look at him, would you?” queried the driver, +in reply.</p> +<p>Indeed, no one looking at Mr. Carr would +have suspected him of an “ailment.” He was +tall and broad-shouldered and well set up, +with clear grey eyes and a rosy, smooth-shaven, +boyish face which had given him +the nickname of “The Cherub” all along +Newspaper Row. In his bearing there was +a suggestion of boundless energy, which +needed only proper direction to accomplish +wonders.</p> +<p>“You can’t never tell,” continued the driver, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span> +shifting his quid. “Now, I’ve took folks up +there goin’ on ten year now, an’ some I’ve +took up looked considerable more healthy than +I be when I took ’em up. Comin’ back, howsumever, +it was different. One young feller +rode up with me in the rain one night, a-singin’ +an’ a-whistlin’ to beat the band, an’ +when I took him back, a month or so arterward, +he had a striped nurse on one side of +him an’ a doctor on t’ other, an’ was wearin’ +a shawl. Couldn’t hardly set up, but he was +a-tryin’ to joke just the same. ‘Hank,’ says +he, when we got a little way off from the +place, ‘my book of life has been edited by the +librarians an’ the entire appendix removed.’ +Them’s his very words. ‘An’,’ says he, ‘the +time to have the appendix took out is before +it does much of anythin’ to your table of +contents.’</p> +<p>“The doctor shut him up then, an’ I didn’t +hear no more, but I remembered the language, +an’ arterwards, when I got a chanst, I looked +in the school-teacher’s dictionary. It said as +how the appendix was sunthin’ appended or +added to, but I couldn’t get no more about it. +I’ve hearn tell of a ‘devil child’ with a tail to +it what was travellin’ with the circus one year, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span> +an’ I’ve surmised as how mebbe a tail had +begun to grow on this young feller an’ it was +took off.”</p> +<p>“You don’t say!” ejaculated the blacksmith.</p> +<p>By reason of his professional connection +with the sanitarium, Mr. Henry Blake was, in +a sense, the oracle of Judson Centre, and he +enjoyed his proud distinction to the full. Ordinarily, +he was taciturn, but the present hour +found him in a conversational mood.</p> +<p>“He’s married,” he went on, returning to +the original subject. “I took him an’ his wife +up to the Jack-o’-Lantern last night. Come +in on the nine forty-seven from the Junction. +Reckon they’re goin’ to stay a spell, ’cause +they’ve got trunks—one of a reasonable size, +an’ ’nother that looks like a dog-house. Box, +too, that’s got lead in it.”</p> +<p>“Books, maybe,” suggested the blacksmith, +with unexpected discernment. “Schoolteacher +boarded to our house wunst an’ she +had most a car-load of ’em. Educated folks +has to have books to keep from losin’ their +education.”</p> +<p>“Don’t take much stock in it myself,” remarked +the driver. “It spiles most folks. +As soon as they get some, they begin to pine +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span> +an’ hanker for more. I knowed a feller wunst +that begun with one book dropped on the +road near the sanitarium, an’ he never stopped +till he was plum through college. An’ a +woman up there sent my darter a book wunst, +an’ I took it right back to her. ‘My darter’s got a book,’ +says I, ‘an’ she ain’t a-needin’ of +no duplicates. Keep it,’ says I, ‘fer somebody +that ain’t got no book.”</p> +<p>“Do you reckon,” asked the blacksmith, +after a long silence, “that they’re goin’ to live +in the Jack-o’-Lantern?”</p> +<p>“I ain’t a-sayin’,” answered Mr. Blake, cautiously. +“They’re educated, an’ there’s no +tellin’ what educated folks is goin’ to do. +This young lady, now, that come up with +him last night, she said it was ‘a dear old +place an’ she loved it a’ready.’ Them’s her +very words!”</p> +<p>“Do tell!”</p> +<p>“That’s c’rrect, an’ as I said before, when +you’re dealin’ with educated folks, you’re +swimmin’ in deep water with the shore clean +out o’ sight. Education was what ailed him.” +By a careless nod Mr. Blake indicated the Jack-o’-Lantern, +which could be seen from the main +thoroughfare of Judson Centre. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span></p> +<p>“I’ve hearn,” he went on, taking a fresh +bite from his morning purchase of “plug,” +“that he had one hull room mighty nigh plum +full o’ nothin’ but books, an’ there was always +more comin’ by freight an’ express an’ through +the post-office. It’s all on account o’ them +books that he’s made the front o’ his house into +what it is. My wife had a paper book wunst, +a-tellin’ ‘How to Transfer a Hopeless Exterior,’ +with pictures of houses in it like they be here an’ +more arter they’d been transferred. You bet I +burnt it while she was gone to sewin’ circle, an’ +there ain’t no book come into my house since.”</p> +<p>Mr. Blake spoke with the virtuous air of +one who has protected his home from contamination. +Indeed, as he had often said +before, “you can’t never tell what folks’ll do +when books gets a holt of ’em.”</p> +<p>“Do you reckon,” asked the blacksmith, +“that there’ll be company?”</p> +<p>“Company,” snickered Mr. Blake, “oh, my +Lord, yes! A little thing like death ain’t never +going to keep company away. Ain’t you +never hearn as how misery loves company? +The more miserable you are the more company +you’ll have, an’ vice versey, etcetery an’ +the same.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span></p> +<p>“Hush!” warned the blacksmith, in a harsh +whisper. “He’s a-comin’!”</p> +<p>“City feller,” grumbled Mr. Blake, affecting +not to see.</p> +<p>“Good-morning,” said Harlan, pleasantly, +though not without an air of condescension. +“Can you tell me where I can find the stage-driver?”</p> +<p>“That’s me,” grunted Mr. Blake. “Be +you wantin’ anythin’?”</p> +<p>“Only to pay you for taking us up to the +house last night, and to arrange about our +trunks. Can you deliver them this afternoon?”</p> +<p>“I ain’t a-runnin’ of no livery, but I can take +’em up, if that’s what you’re wantin’.”</p> +<p>“Exactly,” said Harlan, “and the box, too, +if you will. And the things I’ve just ordered +at the grocery—can you bring them, too?”</p> +<p>Mr. Blake nodded helplessly, and the blacksmith +gazed at Harlan, open-mouthed, as he +started uphill. “Must sure have a ailment,” +he commented, “but I hear tell, Hank, that in +the city they never carry nothin’ round with +’em but perhaps an umbrell. Everythin’ else +they have ‘sent.’”</p> +<p>“Reckon it’s true enough. I took a ham +wunst up to the sanitarium for a young sprig +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span> +of a doctor that was too proud to carry it himself. +He was goin’ that way, too—walkin’ up +to save money—so I charged him for carryin’ +up the ham just what I’d have took both for. +‘Pigs is high,’ I told him, ‘same price for +one as for ’nother,’ but he didn’t pay no attention +to it an’ never raised no kick about the +price. Thinkin’ ’bout sunthin’ else, most likely—most +of ’em are.”</p> +<p>Harlan, most assuredly, was “thinkin’ ’bout +sunthin’ else.” In fact, he was possessed by +portentous uneasiness. There was well-defined +doubt in his mind regarding his reception +at the Jack-o’-Lantern. Dorothy’s parting +words had been plain—almost to the point of +rudeness, he reflected, unhappily, and he was +not sure that “a brute” would be allowed in +her presence again.</p> +<p>The bare, uncurtained windows gave no +sign of human occupancy. Perhaps she had +left him! Then his reason came to the rescue—there +was no way for her to go but downhill, +and he would certainly have seen her had +she taken that path.</p> +<p>When he entered the yard, he smelled +smoke, and ran wildly into the house. A +hasty search through all the rooms revealed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span> +nothing—even Dorothy had disappeared. +From the kitchen window, he saw her in the +back yard, poking idly through a heap of +smouldering rubbish with an old broomstick.</p> +<p>“What are you doing?” he demanded, +breathlessly, before she knew he was near +her.</p> +<p>Dorothy turned, disguising her sudden start +by a toss of her head. “Oh,” she said, coolly, +“it’s you, is it?”</p> +<p>Harlan bit his lips and his eyes laughed. “I +say, Dorothy,” he began, awkwardly; “I was +rather a beast, wasn’t I?”</p> +<p>“Of course,” she returned, in a small, unnatural +voice, still poking through the ruins. +“I told you so, didn’t I?”</p> +<p>“I didn’t believe you at the time,” Harlan +went on, eager to make amends, “but I do +now.”</p> +<p>“That’s good.” Mrs. Carr’s tone was not +at all reassuring.</p> +<p>There was an awkward pause, then Harlan, +putting aside his obstinate pride, said the +simple sentence which men of all ages have +found it hardest to say—perhaps because it is +the sign of utter masculine abasement. “I’m +sorry, dear, will you forgive me?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span></p> +<p>In a moment, she was in his arms. “It +was partly my fault,” she admitted, generously, +from the depths of his coat collar. “I +think there must be something in the atmosphere +of the house. We never quarrelled +before.”</p> +<p>“And we never will again,” answered +Harlan, confidently. “What have you been +burning?”</p> +<p>“It was a mattress,” whispered Dorothy, +much ashamed. “I tried to get a bed out, +but it was too heavy.”</p> +<p>“You funny, funny girl! How did you +ever get a mattress out, all alone?”</p> +<p>“Dragged it to an upper window and +dumped it,” she explained, blushing, “then +came down and dragged it some more. +Claudius Tiberius didn’t like to have me do +it.”</p> +<p>“I don’t wonder,” laughed Harlan. “That +is,” he added hastily, “he couldn’t have +been pleased to see you doing it all by yourself. +Anybody would love to see a mattress +burn.”</p> +<p>“Shall we get some more? There are +plenty.”</p> +<p>“Let’s not take all our pleasure at once,” he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span> +suggested, with rare tact. “One mattress a +day—how’ll that do?”</p> +<p>“We’ll have it at night,” cried Dorothy, +clapping her hands, “and when the mattresses +are all gone, we’ll do the beds and bureaus +and the haircloth furniture in the parlour. Oh, +I do so love a bonfire!”</p> +<p>Harlan’s heart grew strangely tender, for it +had been this underlying childishness in her +that he had loved the most. She was stirring +the ashes now, with as much real pleasure as +though she were five instead of twenty-five.</p> +<p>As it happened, Harlan would have been +saved a great deal of trouble if he had followed +out her suggestion and burned all of the beds +in the house except two or three, but the +balance between foresight and retrospection +has seldom been exact.</p> +<p>“Beast of a smudge you’re making,” he +commented, choking.</p> +<p>“Get around to the other side, then. Why, +Harlan, what’s that?”</p> +<p>“What’s what?”</p> +<p>She pointed to a small metal box in the +midst of the ashes.</p> +<p>“Poem on Spring, probably, put into the +corner-stone by the builder of the mattress.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span></p> +<p>“Don’t be foolish,” she said, with assumed +severity. “Get me a pail of water.”</p> +<p>With two sticks they lifted it into the water +and waited, impatiently enough, until they +were sure it was cool. Then Dorothy, asserting +her right of discovery, opened it with +trembling fingers.</p> +<p>“Why-ee!” she gasped.</p> +<p>Upon a bed of wet cotton lay a large +brooch, made wholly of clustered diamonds, +and a coral necklace, somewhat injured by the +fire.</p> +<p>“Whose is it?” demanded Dorothy, when +she recovered the faculty of speech.</p> +<p>“I should say,” returned Harlan, after due +deliberation, “that it belonged to you.”</p> +<p>“After this,” she said, slowly, her eyes +wide with wonder, “we’ll take everything +apart before we burn it.”</p> +<p>Harlan was turning the brooch over in his +hand and roughly estimating its value at two +thousand dollars. “Here’s something on the +back,” he said. “‘R. from E., March 12, +1865.’”</p> +<p>“Rebecca from Ebeneezer,” cried Dorothy. +“Oh, Harlan, it’s ours! Don’t you remember +the letter said: ‘my house and all its +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span> +contents to my beloved nephew, James Harlan +Carr’?”</p> +<p>“I remember,” said Harlan. But his conscience +was uneasy, none the less.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='III_THE_FIRST_CALLER' id='III_THE_FIRST_CALLER'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span> +<h2>III</h2> +<h3>The First Caller</h3> +</div> + +<p>As Mr. Blake had heard, there was “one +hull room mighty nigh plum full o’ +nothin’ but books”; a grievous waste, indeed, +when one already “had a book.” It was the +front room, opposite the parlour, and every +door and window in it could be securely +bolted from the inside. If any one desired +unbroken privacy, it could be had in the +library as nowhere else in the house.</p> +<p>The book-shelves were made of rough +pine, unplaned, unpainted, and were scarcely +a seemly setting for the treasure they bore. +But in looking at the books, one perceived +that their owner had been one who passed +by the body in his eager search for the soul.</p> +<p>Here were no fine editions, no luxurious, +costly volumes in full levant. Illuminated +pages, rubricated headings, and fine illustrations +were conspicuous by their absence. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span> +For the most part, the books were simply +but serviceably bound in plain cloth covers. +Many a paper-covered book had been bound +by its purchaser in pasteboard, flimsy enough +in quality, yet further strengthened by cloth +at the back. Cheap, pirated editions were +so many that Harlan wondered whether his +uncle had not been wholly without conscience +in the matter of book-buying.</p> +<p>Shelf after shelf stretched across the long +wall, with its company of mute consolers +whose master was no more. The fine flowering +of the centuries, like a single precious +drop of imperishable perfume, was hidden in +this rude casket. The minds and hearts of +the great, laid pitilessly bare, were here in +this one room, shielded merely by pasteboard +and cloth.</p> +<p>Far up in the mountains, amid snow-clad +steeps and rock-bound fastnesses, one finds, +perchance, a shell. It is so small a thing that +it can be held in the hollow of the hand; so +frail that a slight pressure of the finger will +crush it to atoms, yet, held to the ear, it +brings the surge and sweep of that vast, +primeval ocean which, in the inconceivably +remote past, covered the peak. And so, to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span> +the eye of the mind, the small brown book, +with its hundred printed pages, brings back +the whole story of the world.</p> +<p>A thin, piping voice, to which its fellows +have paid no heed, after a time becomes +silent, and, ceaselessly marching, the years +pass on by. Yet that trembling old hand, +quietly laid at last upon the turbulent heart, +in the solitude of a garret has guided a pen, +and the manuscript is left. Ragged, worn, +blotted, spotted with candle drippings and +endlessly interlined, why should these few +sheets of paper be saved?</p> +<p>Because, as it happens, the only record of +the period is there—a record so significant +that fifty years can be reconstructed, as an +entire language was brought to light by a triple +inscription upon a single stone. Thrown like +the shell upon Time’s ever-receding shore, it +is, nevertheless, the means by which unborn +thousands shall commune with him who +wrote in his garret, see his whole life mirrored +in his book, know his philosophy, and +take home his truth. For by way of the +printed page comes Immortality.</p> +<p>There was no book in the library which +had not been read many times. Some were +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span> +falling apart, and others had been carefully +sewn together and awkwardly rebound. Still +open, on a rickety table in the corner, was +that ponderous volume with an extremely +limited circulation: <i>The Publishers’ Trade +List Annual</i>. Pencilled crosses here and +there indicated books to be purchased, or at +least sent on approval, to “customers known +to the House.”</p> +<p>“Some day,” said Dorothy, “when it’s +raining and we can’t go out, we’ll take down +all these books, arrange them in something +like order, and catalogue them.”</p> +<p>“How optimistic you are!” remarked Harlan. +“Do you think it could be done in one +day?”</p> +<p>“Oh, well,” returned Dorothy; “you +know what I mean.”</p> +<p>Harlan paced restlessly back and forth, +pausing now and then to look out of the window, +where nothing much was to be seen +except the orchard, at a little distance from +the house, and Claudius Tiberius, sunning +himself pleasantly upon the porch. Four +weeks had been a pleasant vacation, but two +weeks of comparative idleness, added to it, +were too much for an active mind and body +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span> +to endure. Three or four times he had tried +to begin the book that was to bring fame +and fortune, and as many times had failed. +Hitherto Harlan’s work had not been obliged +to wait for inspiration, and it was not so easy +as it had seemed the day he bade his managing +editor farewell.</p> +<p>“Somebody is coming,” announced Dorothy, +from the window.</p> +<p>“Nonsense! Nobody ever comes here.”</p> +<p>“A precedent is about to be established, +then. I feel it in my bones that we’re going +to have company.”</p> +<p>“Let’s see.” Harlan went to the window +and looked over her shoulder. A little man +in a huge silk hat was toiling up the hill, +aided by a cane. He was bent and old, +yet he moved with a certain briskness, and, +as Dorothy had said, he was inevitably +coming.</p> +<p>“Who in thunder—” began Harlan.</p> +<p>“Our first company,” interrupted Dorothy, +with her hand over his mouth. “The very +first person who has called on us since we +were married!”</p> +<p>“Except Claudius Tiberius,” amended Harlan. +“Isn’t a cat anybody?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span></p> +<p>“Claudius is. I beg his imperial pardon for +forgetting him.”</p> +<p>The rusty bell-wire creaked, then a timid +ring came from the rear depths of the house. +“You let him in,” said Dorothy, “and I’ll +go and fix my hair.”</p> +<p>“Am I right,” queried the old gentleman, +when Harlan opened the door, “in presuming +that I am so fortunate as to address Mr. James +Harlan Carr?”</p> +<p>“My name is Carr,” answered Harlan, politely. +“Will you come in?”</p> +<p>“Thank you,” answered the visitor, in high +staccato, oblivious of the fact that Claudius +Tiberius had scooted in between his feet; “it +will be my pleasure to claim your hospitality +for a few brief moments.</p> +<p>“I had hoped,” he went on, as Harlan +ushered him into the parlour, “to be able to +make your acquaintance before this, but my +multitudinous duties——”</p> +<p>He fumbled in his pocket and produced a +card, cut somewhat irregularly from a sheet of +white cardboard, and bearing in tremulous +autographic script: “Jeremiah Bradford, +Counsellor at Law.”</p> +<p>“Oh,” said Harlan, “it was you who +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span> +wrote me the letter. I should have hunted +you up when I first came, shouldn’t I?”</p> +<p>“Not at all,” returned Mr. Bradford. “It +is I who have been remiss. It is etiquette that +the old residents should call first upon the +newcomers. Many and varied duties in connection +with the practice of my profession +have hitherto—” His eyes sought the portrait +over the mantel. “A most excellent +likeness of your worthy uncle,” he continued, +irrelevantly, “a gentleman with whom, as I +understand, you never had the pleasure and +privilege of becoming acquainted.”</p> +<p>“I never met Uncle Ebeneezer,” rejoined +Harlan, “but mother told me a great deal +about him and we had one or two pictures—daguerreotypes, +I believe they were.”</p> +<p>“Undoubtedly, my dear sir. This portrait +was painted from his very last daguerreotype +by an artist of renown. It is a wonderful +likeness. He was my Colonel—I served +under him in the war. It was my desire to +possess a portrait of him in uniform, but he +would never consent, and would not allow +anyone save myself to address him as Colonel. +An eccentric, but very estimable gentleman.”</p> +<p>“I cannot understand,” said Harlan, “why +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span> +he should have left the house to me. I had +never even seen him.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps,” smiled Mr. Bradford, enigmatically, +“that was his reason, or rather, perhaps +I should say, if you had known your +uncle more intimately and had visited him +here, or, if he had had the privilege of knowing +you—quite often, as you know, a personal +acquaintance proves disappointing, though, +of course, in this case——”</p> +<p>The old gentleman was floundering helplessly +when Harlan rescued him. “I want +you to meet my wife, Mr. Bradford. If you +will excuse me, I will call her.”</p> +<p>Left to himself, the visitor slipped back and +forth uneasily upon his haircloth chair, and +took occasion to observe Claudius Tiberius, +who sat near by and regarded the guest unblinkingly. +Hearing approaching footsteps, +he took out his worn silk handkerchief, unfolded +it, and wiped the cold perspiration +from his legal brow. In his heart of hearts, +he wished he had not come, but Dorothy’s +kindly greeting at once relieved him of all +embarrassment.</p> +<p>“We have been wondering,” she said, +brightly, “who would be the first to call +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span> +upon us, and you have come at exactly the +right time. New residents are always given +two weeks, are they not, in which to get +settled?”</p> +<p>“Quite so, my dear madam, quite so, and +I trust that you are by this time fully accustomed +to your changed environment. Judson +Centre, while possessing few metropolitan +advantages, has distinct and peculiar recommendations +of an individual character which +endear the locality to those residing therein.”</p> +<p>“I think I shall like it here,” said Dorothy. +“At least I shall try to.”</p> +<p>“A very commendable spirit,” rejoined the +old gentleman, warmly, “and rather remarkable +in one so young.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Carr graciously acknowledged the compliment, +and the guest flushed with pleasure. +To perception less fine, there would have +been food for unseemly mirth in his attire. +Never in all her life before had Dorothy seen +rough cow-hide boots, and grey striped +trousers worn with a rusty and moth-eaten +dress-coat in the middle of the afternoon. An +immaculate expanse of shirt-front and a general +air of extreme cleanliness went far toward +redeeming the unfamiliar costume. The silk +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span> +hat, with a bell-shaped crown and wide, rolling +brim, belonged to a much earlier period, +and had been brushed to look like new. +Even Harlan noted that the ravelled edges +of his linen had been carefully trimmed and +the worn binding of the hat brim inked +wherever necessary.</p> +<p>His wrinkled old face was kindly, though +somewhat sad. His weak blue eyes were +sheltered by an enormous pair of spectacles, +which he took off and wiped continually. He +was smooth-shaven and his scanty hair was +as white as the driven snow. Now, as he +sat in Uncle Ebeneezer’s parlour, he seemed +utterly friendless and forlorn—a complete +failure of that pitiful type which never for a +moment guesses that it has failed.</p> +<p>“It will be my delight,” the old man was +saying, his hollow cheeks faintly flushed, “to +see that the elite of Judson Centre pay proper +respect to you at an early date. If I were +not most unfortunately a single gentleman, my +wife would do herself the honour of calling +upon you immediately and of tendering you +some sort of hospitality approximately commensurate +with your worth. As it is——”</p> +<p>“As it is,” said Harlan, taking up the wandering +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span> +thread of the discourse, “that particular +pleasure must be on our side. We both +hope that you will come often, and informally.”</p> +<p>“It would be a solace to me,” rejoined the +old gentleman, tremulously, “to find the +niece and nephew of my departed friend both +congenial and companionable. He was my +Colonel—I served under him in the war—and +until the last, he allowed me to address him +as Colonel—a privilege accorded to no one +else. He very seldom left his own estate, but +at his request I often spent an evening or a +Sunday afternoon in his society, and after his +untimely death, I feel the loss of his companionship +very keenly. He was my Colonel—I——”</p> +<p>“I should imagine so,” said Harlan, kindly, +“though, as I have told you, I never knew +him at all.”</p> +<p>“A much-misunderstood gentleman,” continued +Mr. Bradford, carefully wiping his spectacles. +“My grief is too recent, at present, +to enable me to discourse freely of his many +virtues, but at some future time I shall hope +to make you acquainted with your benefactor. +He was my Colonel, and in serving +under him in the war, I had an unusual +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span> +opportunity to know him as he really was. +May I ask, without intruding upon your private +affairs, whether or not it is your intention to +reside here permanently?”</p> +<p>“We have not made up our minds,” responded +Harlan. “We shall stay here this +Summer, anyway, as I have some work to do +which can be done only in a quiet place.”</p> +<p>“Quiet!” muttered the old gentleman, +“quiet place! If I might venture to suggest, +I should think you would find any other +season more agreeable for prolonged mental +effort. In Summer there are distractions——”</p> +<p>“Yes,” put in Dorothy, “in Summer, one +wants to be outdoors, and I am going to keep +chickens and a cow, but my husband hopes +to have his book finished by September.”</p> +<p>“His book!” repeated Mr. Bradford, in +genuine astonishment. “Am I actually addressing +an author?”</p> +<p>He beamed upon Harlan in a way which +that modest youth found positively disconcerting.</p> +<p>“A would-be author only,” laughed Harlan, +the colour mounting to his temples. +“I’ve done newspaper work heretofore, and +now I’m going to try something else.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span></p> +<p>“My dear sir,” said Mr. Bradford, rising, “I +must really beg the privilege of clasping +your hand. It is a great honour for Judson +Centre to have an author residing in its +midst!”</p> +<p>Taking pity upon Harlan, Dorothy hastened +to change the subject. “We hope it may +be,” she observed, lightly, “and I wonder, +Mr. Bradford, if you could not give me some +good advice?”</p> +<p>“I shall be delighted, my dear madam. +Any knowledge I may possess is trebly at +your service, for the sake of the distinguished +author whose wife you have the honour to be, +for the sake of your departed relative, who was +my friend, my Colonel, and last, but not least, +for your own sake.”</p> +<p>“It is only about a maid,” said Dorothy.</p> +<p>“A —— my dear madam, I beg your pardon?”</p> +<p>“A maid,” repeated Dorothy; “a servant.”</p> +<p>“Oh! A hired girl, or more accurately, in +the parlance of Judson Centre, the help. Do +I understand that it is your desire to become +an employer of help?”</p> +<p>“It is,” answered Dorothy, somewhat awed +by the solemnity of his tone, “if help is to be +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span> +found. I thought you might know where I +could get some one.”</p> +<p>“If I might be permitted to suggest,” replied +Mr. Bradford, after due deliberation, “I +should unhesitatingly recommend Mrs. Sarah +Smithers, who did for your uncle during the +entire period of his residence here and whose +privilege it was to close his eyes in his last +sleep. She is at present without prospect of a +situation, and I believe would be very ready +to accept a new position, especially so desirable +a position as this, in your service.”</p> +<p>“Thank you. Could you—could you send +her to me?”</p> +<p>“I shall do so, most assuredly, providing +she is willing to come, and should she chance +not to be agreeably disposed toward so pleasing +a project, it will be my happiness to endeavour +to persuade her.” Drawing out a +memorandum book and a pencil, the old gentleman +made an entry upon a fresh page. +“The multitudinous duties in connection with +the practice of my profession,” he began—“there, +my dear madam, it is already attended +to, since it is placed quite out of my +power to forget.”</p> +<p>“I am greatly obliged,” said Dorothy. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span></p> +<p>“And now,” continued the visitor, “I must +go. I fear I have already outstayed the limitation +of a formal visit, such as the first should +be, and it is not my desire to intrude upon an +author’s time. Moreover, my own duties, +slight and unimportant as they are in comparison, +must ultimately press upon my attention.”</p> +<p>“Come again,” said Harlan, kindly, following +him to the door.</p> +<p>“It will be my great pleasure,” rejoined the +guest, “not only on your own account, but +because your personality reminds me of that +of my departed friend. You favour him considerably, +more particularly in the eyes, if I +may be permitted to allude to details. I think +I told you, did I not, that he was my Colonel +and I was privileged to serve under him in the +war? My—oh, I walked, did I not? I remember +that it was my intention to come in a +carriage, as being more suitable to a formal +visit, but Mr. Blake had other engagements +for his vehicle. Dear sir and madam, I bid +you good afternoon.”</p> +<p>So saying, he went downhill, briskly +enough, yet stumbling where the way was +rough. They watched him until the bobbing, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span> +bell-shaped crown of the ancient head-gear +was completely out of sight.</p> +<p>“What a dear old man!” said Dorothy. +“He’s lonely and we must have him come +up often.”</p> +<p>“Do you think,” asked Harlan, “that I look +like Uncle Ebeneezer?”</p> +<p>“Indeed you don’t!” cried Dorothy, “and +that reminds me. I want to take that picture +down.”</p> +<p>“To burn it?” inquired Harlan, slyly.</p> +<p>“No, I wouldn’t burn it,” answered Dorothy, +somewhat spitefully, “but there’s no +law against putting it in the attic, is there?”</p> +<p>“Not that I know of. Can we reach it +from a chair?”</p> +<p>Together they mounted one of the haircloth +monuments, slipping, as Dorothy said, until +it was like walking on ice.</p> +<p>“Now then,” said Harlan, gaily, “come on +down, Uncle! You’re about to be moved +into the attic!”</p> +<p>The picture lunged forward, almost before +they had touched it, the heavy gilt frame +bruising Dorothy’s cheek badly. In catching +it, Harlan turned it completely around, +then gave a low whistle of astonishment. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span></p> +<p>Pasted securely to the back was a fearsome +skull and cross-bones, made on wrapping +paper with a brush and India ink. Below it, +in great capitals, was the warning inscription: +“LET MY PICTURE ALONE!”</p> +<p>“What shall we do with it?” asked Harlan, +endeavouring to laugh, though, as he +afterward admitted, he “felt creepy.” “Shall +I take it up to the attic?”</p> +<p>“No,” answered Dorothy, in a small, unnatural +voice, “leave it where it is.”</p> +<p>While Harlan was putting it back, Dorothy, +trembling from head to foot, crept around to +the back of the easel which bore Aunt Rebecca’s +portrait. She was not at all surprised +to find, on the back of it, a notice to this +effect: “ANYONE DARING TO MOVE +MRS. JUDSON’S PICTURE WILL BE +HAUNTED FOR LIFE BY US BOTH.”</p> +<p>“I don’t doubt it,” said Dorothy, somewhat +viciously, when Harlan had joined her. +“What kind of a woman do you suppose +she could have been, to marry him? I’ll bet +she’s glad she’s dead!”</p> +<p>Dorothy was still wiping blood from her +face and might not have been wholly unprejudiced. +Aunt Rebecca was a gentle, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span> +sweet-faced woman, if her portrait told the +truth, possessed of all the virtues save self-assertion +and dominated by habitual, unselfish +kindness to others. She could not have +been discourteous even to Claudius Tiberius, +who at this moment was seated in state upon +the sofa and purring industriously.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='IV_FINANCES' id='IV_FINANCES'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span> +<h2>IV</h2> +<h3>Finances</h3> +</div> + +<p>“I’ve ordered the typewriter,” said +Dorothy, brightly, “and some nice +new note-paper, and a seal. I’ve just been +reading about making virtue out of necessity, +so I’ve ordered ‘At the Sign of the Jack-o’-Lantern’ +put on our stationery, in gold, and +a yellow pumpkin on the envelope flap, just +above the seal. And I want you to make a +funny sign-board to flap from a pole, the way +they did in ‘Rudder Grange.’ If you could +make a wooden Jack-o’-Lantern, we could +have a candle inside it at night, and then the +sign would be just like the house. We can +get the paint and things down in the village. +Won’t it be cute? We’re farmers, now, +so we’ll have to pretend we like it.”</p> +<p>Harlan repressed an exclamation, which +could not have been wholly inspired by +pleasure. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span></p> +<p>“What’s the matter?” asked Dorothy, +easily. “Don’t you like the design for the +note-paper? If you don’t, you won’t have to +use it. Nobody’s going to make you write +letters on paper you don’t like, so cheer up.”</p> +<p>“It isn’t the paper,” answered Harlan, +miserably; “it’s the typewriter.” Up to the +present moment, sustained by a false, but +none the less determined pride, he had refrained +from taking his wife into his confidence +regarding his finances. With characteristic +masculine short-sightedness, he had failed to +perceive that every moment of delay made +matters worse.</p> +<p>“Might I inquire,” asked Mrs. Carr, coolly, +“what is wrong with the typewriter?”</p> +<p>“Nothing at all,” sighed Harlan, “except +that we can’t afford it.” The whole bitter +truth was out, now, and he turned away +wretchedly, ashamed to meet her eyes.</p> +<p>It seemed ages before she spoke. Then she +said, in smooth, icy tones: “What was your +object in offering to get it for me?”</p> +<p>“I spoke impulsively,” explained Harlan, +forgetting that he had never suggested buying +a typewriter. “I didn’t stop to think. I’m +sorry,” he concluded, lamely. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span></p> +<p>“I suppose you spoke impulsively,” +snapped Dorothy, “when you asked me to +marry you. You’re sorry for that, too, aren’t +you?”</p> +<p>“Dorothy!”</p> +<p>“You’re not the only one who’s sorry,” +she rejoined, her cheeks flushed and her eyes +blazing. “I had no idea what an expense I +was going to be!”</p> +<p>“Dorothy!” cried Harlan, angrily; “you +didn’t think I was a millionaire, did you? +Were you under the impression that I was an +active branch of the United States Mint?”</p> +<p>“No,” she answered, huskily; “I merely +thought I was marrying a gentleman instead +of a loafer, and I beg your pardon for the mistake!” +She slammed the door on the last +word, and he heard her light feet pattering +swiftly down the hall, little guessing that she +was trying to gain the shelter of her own +room before giving way to a tempest of sobs.</p> +<p>Happy are they who can drown all pain, sorrow, +and disappointment in a copious flood +of tears. In an hour, at the most, Dorothy +would be her sunny self again, penitent, and +wholly ashamed of her undignified outburst. +By to-morrow she would have forgotten it, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span> +but Harlan, made of sterner clay, would remember +it for days.</p> +<p>“Loafer!” The cruel word seemed written +accusingly on every wall of the room. In +a sudden flash of insight he perceived the +truth of it—and it hurt.</p> +<p>“Two months,” bethought; “two months +of besotted idleness. And I used to chase +news from the Battery to the Bronx every +day from eight to six! Murders, smallpox, +East Side scraps, and Tammany Hall. Why +in the hereafter can’t they have a fire at the +sanitarium, or something that I can wire +in?”</p> +<p>“The Temple of Healing,” as Dorothy had +christened it in a happier moment, stood on a +distant hill, all but hidden now by trees and +shrubbery. A column of smoke curled lazily +upward against the blue, but there was no +immediate prospect of a fire of the “news” +variety.</p> +<p>Harlan stood at the window for a long time, +deeply troubled. The call of the city dinned +relentlessly into his ears. Oh, for an hour in +the midst of it, with the rumble and roar and +clatter of ceaseless traffic, the hurrying, heedless +throng rushing in every direction, the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span> +glare of the sun on the many-windowed cliffs, +the fever of the struggle in his veins!</p> +<p>And yet—was two months so long, when a +fellow was just married, and hadn’t had more +than a day at a time off for six years? Since +the “cub reporter” was first “licked into +shape” in the office of <i>The Thunderer</i>, there +had been plenty of work for him, year in and +year out.</p> +<p>“I wonder,” he mused, “if the old man +would take me back on my job?</p> +<p>“I can see ’em in the office now,” went on +Harlan, mentally, “when I go back and tell +’em I want my place again. The old man +will look up and say: ‘The hell you do! +Thought you’d accepted a position on the +literary circuit as manager of the nine muses! +Better run along and look after ’em before +they join the union.’</p> +<p>“And the exchange man will yell at me not +to slam the door as I go out, and I’ll be +pointed out to the newest kid as a horrible +example of misdirected ambition. Brinkman +will say: ‘Sonny, there’s a bloke that got +too good for his job and now he’s come +back, willing to edit The Mother’s Corner.’</p> +<p>“It’d be about the same in the other +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span> +offices, too,” he thought. “‘Sorry, nothing +to-day, but there might be next month. Drop +in again sometime after six weeks or so and +meanwhile I’ll let you know if anything turns +up. Yes, I can remember your address. +Don’t slam the door as you go out. Most +people seem to have been born in a barn.’</p> +<p>“Besides,” he continued to himself, fiercely, +“what is there in it? They’ll take your +youth, all your strength and energy, and give +you a measly living in exchange. They’ll fill +you with excitement till you’re never good +for anything else, any more than a cavalry +horse is fitted to pull a vegetable wagon. +Then, when you’re old, they’ve got no use +for you!”</p> +<p>Before his mental vision, in pitiful array, +came that unhappy procession of hacks that +files, day in and day out, along Newspaper +Row, drawn by every instinct to the arena +that holds nothing for them but a meagre, uncertain +pittance, dwindling slowly to charity.</p> +<p>“That’s where I’d be at the last of it,” +muttered Harlan, savagely, “with even the +cubs offering me the price of a drink to get +out. And Dorothy—good God! Where +would Dorothy be?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span></p> +<p>He clenched his fists and marched up and +down the room in utter despair. “Why,” +he breathed, “why wasn’t I taught to do +something honest, instead of being cursed +with this itch to write? A carpenter, a bricklayer, +a stone-mason,—any one of ’em has a +better chance than I!”</p> +<p>And yet, even then, Harlan saw clearly +that save where some vast cathedral reared its +unnumbered spires, the mason and the bricklayer +were without significance; that even +the builders were remembered only because +of the great uses to which their buildings +were put. “That, too, through print,” he +murmured. “It all comes down to the +printed page at last.”</p> +<p>On a table, near by, was a sheaf of rough +copy paper, and six or eight carefully sharpened +pencils—the dull, meaningless stone +waiting for the flint that should strike it into +flame. Day after day the table had stood by +the window, without result, save in Harlan’s +uneasy conscience.</p> +<p>“I’m only a tramp,” he said, aloud, “and +I’ve known it, all along.”</p> +<p>He sat down by the table and took up a +pencil, but no words came. Remorsefully, he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span> +wrote to an acquaintance—a man who had a +book published every year and filled in the +intervening time with magazine work and +newspaper specials. He sealed the letter and +addressed it idly, then tossed it aside purposelessly.</p> +<p>“Loafer!” The memory of it stung him +like a lash, and, completely overwhelmed +with shame, he hid his face in his hands.</p> +<p>Suddenly, a pair of soft arms stole around his +neck, a childish, tear-wet cheek was pressed +close to his, and a sweet voice whispered, +tenderly: “Dear, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry +I can’t live another minute unless you tell me +you forgive me!”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>“Am I really a loafer?” asked Harlan, half +an hour later.</p> +<p>“Indeed you’re not,” answered Dorothy, +her trustful eyes looking straight into his; +“you’re absolutely the most adorable boy in +the whole world, and it’s me that knows it!”</p> +<p>“As long as you know it,” returned Harlan, +seriously, “I don’t care a hang what other +people think.”</p> +<p>“Now, tell me,” continued Dorothy, “how +near are we to being broke?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span></p> +<p>Obediently, Harlan turned his pockets inside +out and piled his worldly wealth on the +table.</p> +<p>“Three hundred and seventy-four dollars +and sixteen cents,” she said, when she had +finished counting. “Why, we’re almost +rich, and a little while ago you tried to make +me think we were poor!”</p> +<p>“It’s all I have, Dorothy—every blooming +cent, except one dollar in the savings bank. +Sort of a nest egg I had left,” he explained.</p> +<p>“Wait a minute,” she said, reaching down +into her collar and drawing up a loop of worn +ribbon. “Straight front corset,” she observed, +flushing, “makes a nice pocket for +almost everything.” She drew up a chamois-skin +bag, of an unprepossessing mouse colour, +and emptied out a roll of bills. “Two hundred +and twelve dollars,” she said, proudly, +“and eighty-three cents and four postage +stamps in my purse.</p> +<p>“I saved it,” she continued, hastily, “for +an emergency, and I wanted some silk stockings +and a French embroidered corset and +some handmade lingerie worse than you can +ever know. Wasn’t I a brave, heroic, noble +woman?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span></p> +<p>“Indeed you were,” he cried, “but, Dorothy, +you know I can’t touch your money!”</p> +<p>“Why not?” she demanded.</p> +<p>“Because—because—because it isn’t right. +Do you think I’m cad enough to live on a +woman’s earnings?”</p> +<p>“Harlan,” said Dorothy, kindly, “don’t be +a fool. You’ll take my whole heart and soul +and life—all that I have been and all that I’m +going to be—and be glad to get it, and now +you’re balking at ten cents that I happened to +have in my stocking when I took the fatal +step.”</p> +<p>“Dear heart, don’t. It’s different—tremendously +different. Can’t you see that it is?”</p> +<p>“Do you mean that I’m not worth as much +as two hundred and twelve dollars and eighty-three +cents and four postage stamps?”</p> +<p>“Darling, you’re worth more than all the +rest of the world put together. Don’t talk to +me like that. But I can’t touch your money, +truly, dear, I can’t; so don’t ask me.”</p> +<p>“Idiot,” cried Dorothy, with tears raining +down her face, “don’t you know I’d go with +you if you had to grind an organ in the street, +and collect the money for you in a tin cup till +we got enough for a monkey? What kind +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span> +of a dinky little silver-plated wedding present +do you think I am, anyway? You——”</p> +<p>The rest of it was sobbed out, incoherently +enough, on his hitherto immaculate shirt-front. +“You don’t mind,” she whispered, “if I cry +down your neck, do you?”</p> +<p>“If you’re going to cry,” he answered, +his voice trembling, “this is the one place +for you to do it, but I don’t want you to +cry.”</p> +<p>“I won’t, then,” she said, wiping her eyes +on a wet and crumpled handkerchief. In a +time astonishingly brief to one hitherto unfamiliar +with the lachrymal function, her sobs +had ceased.</p> +<p>“You’ve made me cry nearly a quart since +morning,” she went on, with assumed +severity, “and I hope you’ll behave so well +from now on that I’ll never have to do it +again. Look here.”</p> +<p>She led him to the window, where a pair of +robins were building a nest in the boughs of a +maple close by. “Do you see those birds?” +she demanded, pointing at them with a dimpled, +rosy forefinger.</p> +<p>“Yes, what of it?”</p> +<p>“Well, they’re married, aren’t they?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span></p> +<p>“I hope they are,” laughed Harlan, “or at +least engaged.”</p> +<p>“Who’s bringing the straw and feathers +for the nest?” she asked.</p> +<p>“Both, apparently,” he replied, unwillingly.</p> +<p>“Why isn’t she rocking herself on a bough, +and keeping her nails nice, and fixing her +feathers in the latest style, or perhaps going +off to some fool bird club while he builds the +nest by himself?”</p> +<p>“Don’t know.”</p> +<p>“Nor anybody else,” she continued, with +much satisfaction. “Now, if she happened +to have two hundred and twelve feathers, of +the proper size and shape to go into that nest, +do you suppose he’d refuse to touch them, +and make her cry because she brought them +to him?”</p> +<p>“Probably he wouldn’t,” admitted Harlan.</p> +<p>There was a long silence, then Dorothy +edged up closer to him. “Do you suppose,” +she queried, “that Mr. Robin thinks more of +his wife than you do of yours?”</p> +<p>“Indeed he doesn’t!”</p> +<p>“And still, he’s letting her help him.”</p> +<p>“But——”</p> +<p>“Now, listen, Harlan. We’ve got a house, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span> +with more than enough furniture to make it +comfortable, though it’s not the kind of furniture +either of us particularly like. Instead of +buying a typewriter, we’ll rent one for three +or four dollars a month until we have enough +money to buy one. And I’m going to have +a cow and some chickens and a garden, and +I’m going to sell milk and butter and cream +and fresh eggs and vegetables and chickens +and fruit to the sanitarium, and——”</p> +<p>“The sanitarium people must have plenty +of those things.”</p> +<p>“But not the kind I’m going to raise, nor +put up as I’m going to put it up, and we’ll +be raising most of our own living besides. +You can write when you feel like it, and be +helping me when you don’t feel like it, and +before we know it, we’ll be rich. Oh, Harlan, +I feel like Eve all alone in the Garden with +Adam!”</p> +<p>The prospect fired his imagination, for, in +common with most men, a chicken-ranch had +appealed strongly to Harlan ever since he +could remember.</p> +<p>“Well,” he began, slowly, in the tone +which was always a signal of surrender.</p> +<p>“Won’t it be lovely,” she cried ecstatically, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span> +“to have our own bossy cow mooing in the +barn, and our own chickens for Sunday dinner, +and our own milk, and butter, and cream? +And I’ll drive the vegetable waggon and you +can take the things in——”</p> +<p>“I guess not,” interrupted Harlan, firmly. +“If you’re going to do that sort of thing, +you’ll have people to do the work when I +can’t help you. The idea of my wife driving +a vegetable cart!”</p> +<p>“All right,” answered Dorothy, submissively, +wise enough to let small points settle +themselves and have her own way in things +that really mattered. “I’ve not forgotten +that I promised to obey you.”</p> +<p>A gratified smile spread over Harlan’s +smooth, boyish face, and, half-fearfully, she +reached into her sleeve for a handkerchief +which she had hitherto carefully concealed.</p> +<p>“That’s not all,” she smiled. “Look!”</p> +<p>“Twenty-three dollars,” he said. “Why, +where did you get that?”</p> +<p>“It was in my dresser. There was a false +bottom in one of the small drawers, and I +took it out and found this.”</p> +<p>“What in—” began Harlan.</p> +<p>“It’s a present to us from Uncle Ebeneezer,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span> +she cried, her eyes sparkling and +her face aglow. “It’s for a coop and chickens,” +she continued, executing an intricate +dance step. “Oh, Harlan, aren’t you awfully +glad we came?”</p> +<p>Seeing her pleasure he could not help being +glad, but afterward, when he was alone, +he began to wonder whether they had not +inadvertently moved into a bank.</p> +<p>“Might be worse places,” he reflected, +“for the poor and deserving to move into. +Diamonds and money—what next?”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='V_MRS_SMITHERS' id='V_MRS_SMITHERS'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span> +<h2>V</h2> +<h3>Mrs. Smithers</h3> +</div> + +<p>The chickens were clucking peacefully in +their corner of Uncle Ebeneezer’s dooryard, +and the newly acquired bossy cow +mooed unhappily in her improvised stable. +Harlan had christened the cow “Maud” because +she insisted upon going into the garden, +and though Dorothy had vigorously protested +against putting Tennyson to such +base uses, the name still held, out of sheer +appropriateness.</p> +<p>Harlan was engaged in that pleasant pastime +known as “pottering.” The instinct to +drive nails, put up shelves, and to improve +generally his local habitation is as firmly +seated in the masculine nature as housewifely +characteristics are ingrained in the feminine +soul. Never before having had a home of his +own, Harlan was enjoying it to the full.</p> +<p>Early hours had been the rule at the Jack-o’-Lantern +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span> +ever since the feathered sultan +with his tribe of voluble wives had taken +up his abode on the hilltop. Indeed, as +Harlan said, they were obliged to sleep +when the chickens did—if they slept at all. +So it was not yet seven one morning when +Dorothy went in from the chicken coop, singing +softly to herself, and intent upon the particular +hammer her husband wanted, never +expecting to find Her in the kitchen.</p> +<p>“I—I beg your pardon?” she stammered, +inquiringly.</p> +<p>A gaunt, aged, and preternaturally solemn +female, swathed in crape, bent slightly forward +in her chair, without making an effort +to rise, and reached forth a black-gloved hand +tightly grasping a letter, which was tremulously +addressed to “Mrs. J. H. Carr.”</p> +<div class='blockquot'> +<p>“My dear Madam,” Dorothy read.</p> +<p>“The multitudinous duties in connection +with the practice of my profession have unfortunately +prevented me, until the present +hour, from interviewing Mrs. Sarah Smithers +in regard to your requirements. While she is +naturally unwilling to commit herself entirely +without a more definite idea of what is +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span> +expected of her, she is none the less kindly +disposed. May I hope, my dear madam, that +at the first opportunity you will apprise me of +ensuing events in this connection, and that in +any event I may still faithfully serve you?</p> +<p>“With kindest personal remembrances and +my polite salutations to the distinguished +author whose wife you have the honour to +be, I am, my dear madam,</p> +<p>“Yr. most respectful and obedient servant,</p> +<div class='ra'> +<p>“<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Jeremiah Bradford</span>.</p> +</div> + +</div> +<p>“Oh,” said Dorothy, “you’re Sarah. I +had almost given you up.”</p> +<p>“Begging your parding, Miss,” rejoined +Mrs. Smithers in a chilly tone of reproof, “but +I take it it’s better for us to begin callin’ each +other by our proper names. If we should get +friendly, there’d be ample time to change. +Your uncle, God rest ’is soul, allers called me +‘Mis’ Smithers.’”</p> +<p>Somewhat startled at first, Mrs. Carr quickly +recovered her equanimity. “Very well, Mrs. +Smithers,” she returned, lightly, reflecting +that when in Rome one must follow Roman +customs; “Do you understand all branches +of general housework?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span></p> +<p>“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be makin’ no attempts +in that direction,” replied Mrs. Smithers, +harshly. “I doesn’t allow nobody to do +wot I does no better than wot I does it.”</p> +<p>Dorothy smiled, for this was distinctly encouraging, +from at least one point of view.</p> +<p>“You wear a cap, I suppose?”</p> +<p>“Yes, mum, for dustin’. When I goes +out I puts on my bonnet.”</p> +<p>“Can you do plain cooking?” inquired +Dorothy, hastily, perceiving that she was +treading upon dangerous ground.</p> +<p>“Yes, mum. The more plain it is the +better all around. Your uncle was never +one to fill hisself with fancy dishes days and +walk the floor with ’em nights, that’s wot ’e +wasn’t.”</p> +<p>“What wages do you have, Sa—Mrs. +Smithers?”</p> +<p>“I worked for your uncle for a dollar and +a half a week, bein’ as we’d knowed each +other so long, and on account of ’im bein’ +easy to get along with and never makin’ no +trouble, but I wouldn’t work for no woman +for less ’n two dollars.”</p> +<p>“That is satisfactory to me,” returned +Dorothy, trying to be dignified. “I daresay +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span> +we shall get on all right. Can you stay +now?”</p> +<p>“If you’ve finished,” said Mrs. Smithers, +ignoring the question, “there’s a few things +I’d like to ask. ’Ow did you get that bruise +on your face?”</p> +<p>“I—I ran into something,” answered Dorothy, +unwillingly, and taken quite by surprise.</p> +<p>“Wot was it,” demanded Mrs. Smithers. +“Your ’usband’s fist?”</p> +<p>“No,” replied Mrs. Carr, sternly, “it was a +piece of furniture.”</p> +<p>“I’ve never knowed furniture,” observed +Mrs. Smithers, doubtfully, “to get up and ’it +people in the face wot wasn’t doin’ nothink +to it. If you disturb a rockin’-chair at night +w’en it’s restin’ quiet, you’ll get your ankle +’it, but I’ve never knowed no furniture to ’it +people under the eye unless it ’ad been threw, +that’s wot I ain’t.</p> +<p>“I mind me of my youngest sister,” Mrs. +Smithers went on, her keen eyes uncomfortably +fixed upon Dorothy. “’Er ’usband was +one of these ’ere masterful men, ’e was, same +as wot yours is, and w’en ’er didn’t please +’im, ’e ’d ’it ’er somethink orful. Many’s the +time I’ve gone there and found ’er with ’er +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span> +poor face all cut up and the crockery broke +bad. ‘I dropped a cup’ ’er’d say to me, +‘and the pieces flew up and ’it me in the +face.’ ’Er face looked like a crazy quilt from +’aving dropped so many cups, and wunst, +without thinkin’ wot I might be doin’ of, I gave +’er a chiny tea set for ’er Christmas present.</p> +<p>“Wen I went to see ’er again, the tea set +was all broke and ’er ’ad court plaster all over +’er face. The pieces must ’ave flew more ’n +common from the tea set, cause ’er ’usband’s +’ed was laid open somethink frightful and +they’d ’ad in the doctor to take a seam in it. +From that time on I never ’eard of no more +cups bein’ dropped and ’er face looked quite +human and peaceful like w’en ’e died. God +rest ’is soul, ’e ain’t a-breakin’ no tea sets now +by accident nor a-purpose neither. I was +never one to interfere between man and wife, +Miss Carr, but I want you to tell your ’usband +that should ’e undertake to ’it me, ’e’ll get a +bucket of ’ot tea throwed in ’is face.”</p> +<p>“It’s not at all likely,” answered Dorothy, +biting her lip, “that such a thing will happen.” +She was swayed by two contradictory +impulses—one to scream with laughter, +the other to throw something at Mrs. Smithers. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span></p> +<p>“’E’s been at peace now six months come +Tuesday,” continued Mrs. Smithers, “and on +account of ’is ’avin’ broke the tea set, I don’t +feel no call to wear mourning for ’im more ’n a +year, though folks thinks as ’ow it brands me +as ’eartless for takin’ it off inside of two. +Sakes alive, wot’s that?” she cried, drawing +her sable skirts more closely about her as a +dark shadow darted across the kitchen.</p> +<p>“It’s only the cat,” answered Dorothy, reassuringly. +“Come here, Claudius.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Smithers repressed an exclamation +of horror as Claudius, purring pleasantly, +came out into the sunlight, brandishing his +plumed tail, and sat down on the edge of +Dorothy’s skirt, blinking his green eyes at the +intruder.</p> +<p>“’E’s the very cat,” said Mrs. Smithers, +hoarsely, “wot your uncle killed the week +afore ’e died!”</p> +<p>“Before who died?” asked Dorothy, a chill +creeping into her blood.</p> +<p>“Your uncle,” whispered Mrs. Smithers, +her eyes still fixed upon Claudius Tiberius. +“’E killed that very cat, ’e did, ’cause ’e +couldn’t never abide ’im, and now ’e’s come +back!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span></p> +<p>“Nonsense!” cried Dorothy, trying to be +severe. “If he killed the cat, it couldn’t +come back—you must know that.”</p> +<p>“I don’t know w’y not, Miss. Anyhow, ’e +killed the cat, that’s wot ’e did, and I saw ’is +dead body, and even buried ’im, on account +of your uncle not bein’ able to abide cats, +and ’ere ’e is. Somebody ’s dug ’im up, +and ’e ’s come to life again, thinkin’ to ’aunt +your uncle, and your uncle ’as follered ’im, +that’s wot ’e ’as, and there bein’ nobody ’ere +to ’aunt but us, ’e’s a ’auntin’ us and a-doin’ +it ’ard.”</p> +<p>“Mrs. Smithers,” said Dorothy, rising, “I +desire to hear no more of this nonsense. The +cat happens to be somewhat similar to the +dead one, that’s all.”</p> +<p>“Begging your parding, Miss, for askin’, +but did you bring that there cat with you from +the city?”</p> +<p>Affecting not to hear, Dorothy went out, +followed by Claudius Tiberius, who appeared +anything but ghostly.</p> +<p>“I knowed it,” muttered Mrs. Smithers, +gloomily, to herself. “’E was ’ere w’en ’er +come, and ’e’s the same cat. ’E’s come back +to ’aunt us, that’s wot ’e ’as!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span></p> +<p>“Harlan,” said Dorothy, half-way between +smiles and tears, “she’s come.”</p> +<p>Harlan dropped his saw and took up his +hammer. “Who’s come?” he asked. “From +your tone, it might be Mrs. Satan, or somebody +else from the infernal regions.”</p> +<p>“You’re not far out of the way,” rejoined +Dorothy. “It’s Sa—Mrs. Smithers.”</p> +<p>“Oh, our maid of all work?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know what she’s made of,” giggled +Dorothy, hysterically. “She looks like +a tombstone dressed in deep mourning, and +carries with her the atmosphere of a graveyard. +We have to call her ‘Mrs. Smithers,’ +if we don’t want her to call us by our first +names, and she has two dollars a week. She +says Claudius is a cat that uncle killed the +week before he died, and she thinks you hit +me and gave me this bruise on my cheek.”</p> +<p>“The old lizard,” said Harlan, indignantly. +“She sha’n’t stay!”</p> +<p>“Now don’t be cross,” interrupted Dorothy. +“It’s all in the family, for your uncle +hit me, as you well know. Besides, we +can’t expect all the virtues for two dollars a +week and I’m tired almost to death from trying +to do the housework in this big house +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span> +and take care of the chickens, too. We’ll +get on with her as best we can until we see a +chance to do better.”</p> +<p>“Wise little woman,” responded Harlan, +admiringly. “Can she milk the cow?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know—I’ll go in and ask her.”</p> +<p>“Excuse me, Miss,” began Mrs. Smithers, +before Dorothy had a chance to speak, “but +am I to ’ave my old rooms?”</p> +<p>“Which rooms were they?”</p> +<p>“These ’ere, back of the kitchen. My +own settin’ room and bedroom and kitchen +and pantry and my own private door outside. +Your uncle was allers a great hand for bein’ +private and insistin’ on other folks keepin’ +private, that ’s wot ’e was, but God rest ’is +soul, it didn’t do the poor old gent much +good.”</p> +<p>“Certainly,” said Dorothy, “take your old +rooms. And can you milk a cow?”</p> +<p>Mrs. Smithers sighed. “I ain’t never ’ad it +put on me, Miss,” she said, with the air of a +martyr trying to make himself comfortable +up against the stake, “not as a regler thing, I +ain’t, but wotever I’m asked to do in the line +of duty whiles I’m dwellin’ in this sufferin’ +and dyin’ world, I aims to do the best wot I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span> +can, w’ether it’s milkin’ a cow, drownin’ kittens, +or buryin’ a cat wot can’t stay buried.”</p> +<p>“We have breakfast about half-past seven,” +went on Dorothy, quickly; “luncheon at +noon and dinner at six.”</p> +<p>“Wot at six?” demanded Mrs. Smithers, +pricking up her ears.</p> +<p>“Dinner! Dinner at six.”</p> +<p>“Lord preserve us,” said Mrs. Smithers, +half to herself. “Your uncle allers ’ad ’is +dinner at one o’clock, sharp, and ’e wouldn’t +like it to ’ave such scandalous goin’s on in ’is +own ’ouse.”</p> +<p>“You’re working for me,” Dorothy reminded +her sharply, “and not for my uncle.”</p> +<p>There was a long silence, during which +Mrs. Smithers peered curiously at her young +mistress over her steel-bowed spectacles. +“I’m not so sure as you,” she said. “On +account of the cat ’avin come back from ’is +grave, it wouldn’t surprise me none to see +your uncle settin’ ’ere at any time in ’is +shroud, and a-askin’ to ’ave mush and milk +for ’is supper, the which ’e was so powerful +fond of that I was more ’n ’alf minded at the +last minute to put some of it in ’s coffin.”</p> +<p>“Mrs. Smithers,” said Dorothy, severely, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span> +“I do not want to hear any more about dead +people, or resurrected cats, or anything of +that nature. What’s gone is gone, and +there’s no use in continually referring to it.”</p> +<p>At this significant moment, Claudius Tiberius +paraded somewhat ostentatiously +through the kitchen and went outdoors.</p> +<p>“You see, Miss?” asked Mrs. Smithers, +with ill-concealed satisfaction. “Wot’s gone +ain’t always gone for long, that’s wot it +ain’t.”</p> +<p>Dorothy retreated, followed by a sepulchral +laugh which grated on her nerves. +“Upon my word, dear,” she said to Harlan, +“I don’t know how we’re going to stand +having that woman in the house. She makes +me feel as if I were an undertaker, a grave +digger, and a cemetery, all rolled into one.”</p> +<p>“You’re too imaginative,” said Harlan, +tenderly, stroking her soft cheek. He had +not yet seen Mrs. Smithers.</p> +<p>“Perhaps,” Dorothy admitted, “when she +gets that pyramid of crape off her head, she’ll +seem more nearly human. Do you suppose +she expects to wear it in the house all the +time?”</p> +<p>“Miss Carr!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span></p> +<p>The gaunt black shadow appeared in the +doorway of the kitchen and the high, harsh +voice shrilled imperiously across the yard.</p> +<p>“I’m coming,” answered Dorothy, submissively, +for in the tone there was that which +instinctively impels obedience. “What is +it?” she asked, when she entered the kitchen.</p> +<p>“Nothink. I only wants to know wot it is +you’re layin’ out to ’ave for your—luncheon, +if that’s wot you call it.”</p> +<p>“Poached eggs on toast, last night’s cold +potatoes warmed over, hot biscuits, jam, and +tea.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Smithers’s articulate response resembled +a cluck more closely than anything else.</p> +<p>“You can make biscuits, can’t you?” +went on Dorothy, hastily.</p> +<p>“I ’ave,” responded Mrs. Smithers, dryly. +“Begging your parding, Miss, but is that +there feller sawin’ wood out by the chicken +coop your ’usband?”</p> +<p>“The gentleman in the yard,” said Dorothy, +icily, “is Mr. Carr.”</p> +<p>“Be n’t you married to ’im?” cried Mrs. +Smithers, dropping a fork. “I understood as +’ow you was, else I wouldn’t ’ave come. I +was never one to——” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span></p> +<p>“I most assuredly <i>am</i> married to him,” +answered Dorothy, with due emphasis on the +verb.</p> +<p>“Oh! ’E’s the build of my youngest +sister’s poor dead ’usband; the one wot broke +the tea set wot I give ’er over ’er poor ’ed. +’E can ’it powerful ’ard, can’t ’e?”</p> +<p>Quite beyond speech, Dorothy went outdoors +again, her head held high and a dangerous +light in her eyes. To-morrow, or next +week at the latest, should witness the forced +departure of Mrs. Smithers. Mrs. Carr realised +that the woman did not intend to be impertinent, +and that the social forms of Judson +Centre were not those of New York. Still, +some things were unbearable.</p> +<p>The luncheon that was set before them, +however, went far toward atonement. With +the best intentions in the world, Dorothy’s +cooking nearly always went wide of the mark, +and Harlan welcomed the change with unmistakable +pleasure.</p> +<p>“I say, Dorothy,” he whispered, as they +rose from the table; “get on with her if you +can. Anybody who can make such biscuits +as these will go out of the house only over +my dead body.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span></p> +<p>The latter part of the speech was unfortunate. +“My surroundings are so extremely +cheerful,” remarked Dorothy, “that I’ve decided +to spend the afternoon in the library +reading Poe. I’ve always wanted to do it +and I don’t believe I’ll ever feel any creepier +than I do this blessed minute.”</p> +<p>In spite of his laughing protest, she went +into the library, locked the door, and curled +up in Uncle Ebeneezer’s easy chair with a +well-thumbed volume of Poe, finding a two-dollar +bill used in one place as a book mark. +She read for some time, then took down another +book, which opened of itself at “The +Gold Bug.”</p> +<p>The pages were thickly strewn with marginal +comments in the fine, small, shaky hand +she had learned to associate with Uncle Ebeneezer. +The paragraph about the skull, in the +tree above the treasure, had evidently filled +the last reader with unprecedented admiration, +for on the margin was written twice, in ink: +“A very, very pretty idea.”</p> +<p>She laughed aloud, for her thoughts since +morning had been persistently directed toward +things not of this world. “I’m glad I’m +not superstitious,” she thought, then jumped +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span> +almost out of her chair at the sound of an +ominous crash in the kitchen.</p> +<p>“I won’t go,” she thought, settling back +into her place. “I’ll let that old monument +alone just as much as I can.”</p> +<p>Upon the whole, it was just as well, for +the “old monument” was on her bony knees, +with her head and shoulders quite lost in +the secret depths of the kitchen range. “I +wonder,” she was muttering, “where ’e could +’ave put it. It would ’ave been just like +that old skinflint to ’ave ’id it in the stove!”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='VI_THE_COMING_OF_ELAINE' id='VI_THE_COMING_OF_ELAINE'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span> +<h2>VI</h2> +<h3>The Coming of Elaine</h3> +</div> + +<p>There is no state of mental wretchedness +akin to that which precedes the writing +of a book. Harlan was moody and despairing, +chiefly because he could not understand what +it all meant. Something hung over him like a +black cloud, completely obscuring his usual +sunny cheerfulness.</p> +<p>He burned with the desire to achieve, yet +from the depths of his soul came only emptiness. +Vague, purposeless aspirations, like disembodied +spirits, haunted him by night and by +day. Before his inner vision came unfamiliar +scenes, detached fragments of conversation, +the atmosphere, the feeling of an old romance, +then, by a swift change, darkness from which +there seemed no possible escape.</p> +<p>A woman with golden hair, mounted upon +a white horse, gay with scarlet and silver trappings—surely +her name was Elaine? And the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span> +company of gallant knights who followed her +as she set forth upon her quest—who were +they, and from whence did they hail? The +fool of the court, with his bauble and his +cracked, meaningless laughter, danced in and +out of the picture with impish glee. Behind +it all was the sunset, such a sunset as was +never seen on land or sea. Ribbons of splendid +colour streamed from the horizon to the +zenith and set the shields of the knights aglow +with shimmering flame. Clashing cymbals +sounded from afar, then, clear and high, a +bugle call, the winding silvery notes growing +fainter and fainter till they were lost in the +purple silence of the hills. Elaine turned, smiling—was +not her name Elaine? And then——</p> +<p>Darkness fell and the picture was utterly +wiped out. Harlan turned away with a sigh.</p> +<p>To take the dead, dry bones of words, the +tiny black things that march in set spaces +across the page; to set each where it inevitably +belongs—truly, it seems simple enough. +But from the vast range of our written speech +to select those which fittingly clothe the +thought is quite another matter, and presupposes +the thought. Even then, by necessity, +the outcome is uncertain. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span></p> +<p>Within the mind of the writer, the Book +lives and breathes; a child of the brain, yearning +for birth. At a white heat, after long +waiting, the words come—merely a commentary, +an index, a marginal note of that within. +Reading afterward the written words, the fine +invisible links, the colour and the music, are +treacherously supplied by the imagination, +which is at once the best friend and the +worst enemy. How is one to know that +only a small part of it has been written, that +the best of it, far past writing, lingers still +unborn?</p> +<p>Long afterward, when the original picture +has faded as though it had never been, one +may read his printed work, and wonder, in +abject self-abasement, by what miracle it was +ever printed. He has trusted to some unknown +psychology which strongly savours of +the Black Art to reproduce in the minds of his +readers the picture which was in his, and from +which these fragmentary, marginal notes were +traced. Only the words, the dead, meaningless +words, stripped of all the fancy which +once made them fair, to make for the thousands +the wild, delirious bliss that the writer knew! +To write with the tears falling upon the page, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span> +and afterward to read, in some particularly +poignant and searching review, that “the +book fails to convince!” Happy is he whose +written pages reproduce but faintly the glow +from whence they came. For “whoso with +blood and tears would dig Art out of his soul, +may lavish his golden prime in pursuit of +emptiness, or, striking treasure, find only +fairy gold, so that when his eyes are purged +of the spell of morning, he sees his hands are +full of withered leaves.”</p> +<p>A meadow-lark, rising from a distant field, +dropped golden notes into the still, sunlit +air, then vanished into the blue spaces beyond. +A bough of apple bloom, its starry +petals anchored only by invisible cobwebs, +softly shook white fragrance into the grass. +Then, like a vision straight from the golden +city with the walls of pearl, came Elaine, the +beautiful, her blue eyes laughing, and her +scarlet lips parted in a smile.</p> +<p>Harlan’s heart sang within him. His trembling +hands grasped feverishly at the sheaf of +copy-paper which had waited for this, week +in and week out. The pencil was ready to +his hand, and the words fairly wrote themselves: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span></p> +<p><i>It came to pass that when the year was at +the Spring, the Lady Elaine fared forth upon +the Heart’s Quest. She was mounted upon a +snowy palfrey, whose trappings of scarlet and +silver gleamed brightly in the sun. Her gown +was of white satin, wondrously embroidered in +fine gold thread, which was no less gold than +her hair, falling in unchecked splendour about +her.</i></p> +<p><i>Blue as sapphires were the eyes of Elaine, +and her fair cheek was like that of an apple-blossom. +Set like a rose upon pearl was the +dewy, fragrant sweetness of her mouth, and +her breath was like that of the rose itself. Her +hands—but how shall I write of the flower-like +hands of Elaine? They—</i></p> +<p>The door-bell pealed portentously through +the house, echoing and re-echoing through the +empty rooms. No answer. Presently it rang +again, insistently, and Elaine, with her snowy +palfrey, whisked suddenly out of sight.</p> +<p>Gone, except for these few lines! Harlan +stifled a groan and the bell rang once more.</p> +<p>Heavens! Where was Dorothy? Where +was Mrs. Smithers? Was there no one in the +house but himself? Apparently not, for the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span> +bell rang determinedly, and with military +precision.</p> +<p>“March, march, forward march!” grumbled +Harlan, as he ran downstairs, the one-two, +one-two-three being registered meanwhile on +the bell-wire.</p> +<p>It was not a pleasant person who violently +wrenched the door open, but in spite of his +annoyance, Harlan could not be discourteous +to a lady. She was tall, and slender, and pale, +with blue eyes and yellow hair, and so very +fragile that it seemed as though a passing +zephyr might almost blow her away.</p> +<p>“How do you do,” she said, wearily. “I +thought you were never coming.”</p> +<p>“I was busy,” said Harlan, in extenuation. +“Will you come in?” She was evidently a +friend of Dorothy’s, and, as such, demanded +proper consideration.</p> +<p>The invitation was needless, however, for +even as he spoke, she brushed past him, and +went into the parlour. “I’m so tired,” she +breathed. “I walked up that long hill.”</p> +<p>“You shouldn’t have done it,” returned +Harlan, standing first on one foot and then on +the other. “Couldn’t you find the stage?”</p> +<p>“I didn’t look for it. I never had any +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span> +ambition to go on the stage,” she concluded, +with a faint smile. “Where is Uncle +Ebeneezer?”</p> +<p>“No friend of Dorothy’s,” thought Harlan, +shifting to the other foot. “Uncle Ebeneezer,” +he said, clearing his throat, “is at +peace.”</p> +<p>“What do you mean?” demanded the +girl, sinking into one of the haircloth chairs. +“Where is Uncle Ebeneezer?”</p> +<p>“Uncle Ebeneezer is dead,” explained Harlan, +somewhat tartly. Then, as he remembered +the utter ruin of his work, he added, +viciously, “never having known him intimately, +I can’t say just where he is.”</p> +<p>She leaned back in her chair, her face as +white as death. Harlan thought she had +fainted, when she relieved his mind by bursting +into tears. He was more familiar with +salt water, but, none the less, the situation +was awkward.</p> +<p>There were no signs of Dorothy, so Harlan, +in an effort to be consoling, took the visitor’s +cold hands in his. “Don’t,” he said, kindly; +“cheer up. You are among friends.”</p> +<p>“I have no friends,” she answered, between +sobs. “I lost the last when my dear +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span> +mother died. She made me promise, during +her last illness, that if anything happened to +her, I would come to Uncle Ebeneezer. She +said she had never imposed upon him and that +he would gladly take care of me, for her sake. +I was ill a long, long time, but as soon as I was +able to, I came, and now—and now——”</p> +<p>“Don’t,” said Harlan, again, awkwardly +patting her hands, and deeply touched by the +girl’s distress. “We are your friends. You +can stay here just as well as not. I am married +and——”</p> +<p>Upon his back, Harlan felt eyes. He turned +quickly, and saw Dorothy standing in the +door—quite a new Dorothy, indeed; very +tall, and stately, and pale.</p> +<p>Through sheer nervousness, Mr. Carr +laughed—an unfortunate, high-pitched laugh +with no mirth in it. “Let me present my +wife,” he said, sobering suddenly. “Mrs. +Carr, Miss——”</p> +<p>Here he coughed, and the guest, rising, +filled the pause. “I am Elaine St. Clair,” she +explained, offering a white, tremulous hand +which Dorothy did not seem to see. “It is +very good of your husband to ask me to stay +with you.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span></p> +<p>“Very,” replied Dorothy, in a tone altogether +new to her husband. “He is always +doing lovely things for people. And now, +Harlan, if you will show Miss St. Clair to her +room, I will speak with Mrs. Smithers about +luncheon, which should be nearly ready by +this time.”</p> +<p>“Thunder,” said Harlan to himself, as +Dorothy withdrew. “What in the devil do +I know about ’her room’? Have you ever +been here before?” he inquired of the guest.</p> +<p>“Never in my life,” answered Miss St. +Clair, wiping her eyes.</p> +<p>“Well,” replied Harlan, confusedly, “just +go on upstairs, then, and help yourself. There +are plenty of rooms, and cribs to burn in every +blamed one of ’em,” he added, savagely, remembering +the look in Dorothy’s eyes.</p> +<p>“Thank you,” said Miss St. Clair, diffidently; +“it is very kind of you to let me +choose. Can some one bring my trunk up +this afternoon?”</p> +<p>“I’ll attend to it,” replied her host, +brusquely.</p> +<p>She trailed noiselessly upstairs, carrying her +heavy suit case, and Harlan, not altogether +happy at the prospect, went in search of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span> +Dorothy. At the kitchen door he paused, +hearing voices within.</p> +<p>“They’ve usually et by themselves,” Mrs. +Smithers was saying. “Is this a new one, +or a friend of yours?”</p> +<p>The sentence was utterly without meaning, +either to Harlan or Dorothy, but the answer +was given, as quick as a flash. “A friend, +Mrs. Smithers—a very dear old friend of Mr. +Carr’s.”</p> +<p>“‘Mr. Carr’s,’” repeated Harlan, miserably, +tiptoeing away to the library, where he +sat down and wiped his forehead. “‘A very +dear old friend.’” Disconnectedly, and with +pronounced emphasis, Harlan mentioned the +place which is said to be paved with good +intentions.</p> +<p>The clock struck twelve, and it was just +eleven when he had begun on <i>The Quest of +the Lady Elaine</i>. “‘One crowded hour of +glorious life is worth’—what idiot said it was +worth anything?” groaned Harlan, inwardly. +“Anyway, I’ve had the crowded hour. ‘Better +fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay’”—the +line sang itself into his consciousness. +“Europe be everlastingly condemned,” he +muttered. “Oh, how my head aches!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span></p> +<p>He leaned back in his chair, wondering +where “Cathay” might be. It sounded like +a nice, quiet place, with no “dear old friends” +in it—a peaceful spot where people could +write books if they wanted to. “Just why,” +he asked himself more than once, “was I inspired +to grab the shaky paw of that human +sponge? ‘Tears, idle tears, I know not +what they mean’—oh, the devil! She must +have a volume of Tennyson in her grip, and +it’s soaking through!”</p> +<p>Mrs. Smithers came out into the hall, more +sepulchral and grim-visaged than ever, and +rang the bell for luncheon. To Harlan’s fevered +fancy, it sounded like a sexton tolling a +bell for a funeral. Miss St. Clair, with the +traces of tears practically removed, floated +gracefully downstairs, and Harlan, coming +out of the library with the furtive step of a +wild beast from its lair, met her inopportunely +at the foot of the stairs.</p> +<p>She smiled at him in a timid, but friendly +fashion, and at the precise moment, Dorothy +appeared in the dining-room door.</p> +<p>“Harlan, dear,” she said, in her sweetest +tones, “will you give our guest your arm and escort +her out to luncheon? I have it all ready!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span></p> +<p>Miss St. Clair clutched timidly at Harlan’s +rigid coat sleeve, wondering what strange +custom of the house would be evident next, +and the fog was thick before Mr. Carr’s eyes, +when he took his accustomed seat at the head +of the table. As a sign of devotion, he tried +to step on Dorothy’s foot under the table, +after a pleasing habit of their courtship in the +New York boarding-house, but he succeeded +only in drawing an unconscious “ouch” and +a vivid blush from Miss St. Clair, by which he +impressed Dorothy more deeply than he +could have hoped to do otherwise.</p> +<p>“Have you come far, Miss St. Clair?” +asked Dorothy, conventionally.</p> +<p>“From New York,” answered the guest, +taking a plate of fried chicken from Harlan’s +shaky hand.</p> +<p>“I know,” said Dorothy sweetly. “We +come from New York, too.” Then she took +a bold, daring plunge. “I have often heard +my husband speak of you.”</p> +<p>“Of me, Mrs. Carr? Surely not! It must +have been some other Elaine.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps,” smiled Dorothy, shrugging her +shoulders. “No doubt I am mistaken, but +you may have heard of me?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span></p> +<p>“Indeed I haven’t,” Elaine assured her. +“I never heard of you in my life before. +Why should I?” A sudden and earnest +crow under the window behind her startled +her so that she dropped her knife. Harlan +stooped for it at the same time she did and +their heads bumped together smartly.</p> +<p>“Our gentleman chicken,” went on Dorothy, +tactfully. “We call him ‘Abdul Hamid.’ +You know the masculine nature is instinctively +polygamous.”</p> +<p>Harlan cackled mirthlessly, wondering, subconsciously, +how Abdul Hamid could have +escaped from the coop. After that there was +silence, save as Dorothy, in her most hospitable +manner, occasionally urged the guest to +have more of something. Throughout luncheon, +she never once spoke to Harlan, nor +took so much as a single glance at his red, +unhappy face. Even his ears were scarlet, +and the delicious fried chicken which he was +eating might have been a section of rag +carpet, for all he knew to the contrary.</p> +<p>“And now, Miss St. Clair,” said Dorothy, +kindly, as they rose from the table, “I am sure +you will wish to lie down and rest after your +long journey. Which room did you choose?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span></p> +<p>“I looked at all of them,” responded Elaine, +touched to the heart by this unexpected kindness +from strangers, “and finally chose the +suite in the south wing. It’s a nice large +room, with such a darling little sitting-room +attached, and such a dear work basket.”</p> +<p>Harlan nearly burst, for the description was +of Dorothy’s own particular sanctum.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Mrs. Carr, very quietly; “I +thought my husband would choose that room +for you—dear Harlan is always so thoughtful! +I will go up with you and take out a few of +my things which have been unfortunately left +there.”</p> +<p>Shortly afterward, Mr. Carr also climbed the +stairs, his head swimming and his knees +knocking together. Nervously, he turned +over the few pages of his manuscript, then, +hearing Dorothy coming, grabbed it and fled +like a thief to the library on the first floor. +In his panic he bolted the doors and windows +of Uncle Ebeneezer’s former retreat. It was +unnecessary, however, for no one came near +him.</p> +<p>Throughout the long, sweet Spring afternoon, +Miss St. Clair slept the dreamless sleep +of utter exhaustion, Harlan worked fruitlessly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span> +at <i>The Quest of Lady Elaine</i>, and Dorothy +busied herself about her household tasks, +singing with forced cheerfulness whenever +she was within hearing of the library.</p> +<p>“I’ll explain” thought Harlan, wretchedly. +But after all what was there to explain, +except that he had never seen Miss St. Clair +before, never in all his life heard of her, +never knew there was such a person, or had +never met anybody who knew anything about +her? “Besides,” he continued to himself +“even then, what excuse have I got for stroking +a strange woman’s hand and telling her +I’m married?”</p> +<p>As the afternoon wore on, he decided that +it would be policy to ignore the whole matter. +It was an unfortunate misunderstanding all +around, which could not be cleared away by +speech, unless Dorothy should ask him about +it—which he was very certain she would not +do. “She ought to trust me,” he said to +himself, resentfully, forgetting the absolute +openness of thought and deed upon which a +woman’s trust is founded. “I’ll read her the +book to-night,” he thought, happily, “and +that will please her.”</p> +<p>But it was fated not to. After dinner, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span> +which was much the same as luncheon, as +far as conversation was concerned, Harlan invited +Dorothy to come into the library.</p> +<p>She followed him, obediently enough, and +he closed the door.</p> +<p>“Dearest,” he began, with a grin which +was meant to be cheerful and was merely +ridiculous, “I’ve begun the book—I actually +have! I’ve been working on it all day. Just +listen!”</p> +<p>Hurriedly possessing himself of the manuscript, +he read it in an unnatural voice, down +to the flower-like hands.</p> +<p>“I don’t see how you can say that, Harlan,” +interrupted Dorothy, coolly critical; “I particularly +noticed her hands and they’re not +nice at all. They’re red and rough and nearly +the size of a policeman’s.”</p> +<p>“Whose hands?” demanded Harlan, in +genuine astonishment.</p> +<p>“Why, Elaine’s—Miss St. Clair’s. If you’re +going to do a book about her, you might at +least try to make it truthful.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Carr went out, closing the door carefully, +but firmly. Then, for the first time, the +whole wretched situation dawned upon the +young and aspiring author.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='VII_AN_UNINVITED_GUEST' id='VII_AN_UNINVITED_GUEST'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span> +<h2>VII</h2> +<h3>An Uninvited Guest</h3> +</div> + +<p>Dorothy sat alone in her room, facing +the first heartache of her married life. +She repeatedly told herself that she was not +jealous; that the primitive, unlovely emotion +was far beneath such as she. But if Harlan +had only told her, instead of leaving her to +find out in this miserable way! It had never +entered her head that the clear-eyed, clean-minded +boy whom she had married, could +have anything even remotely resembling a +past, and here it was in her own house! +Moreover, it had inspired a book, and she +herself had been unable to get him to work +at all.</p> +<p>Just why women should be concerned in regard +to old loves has never been wholly clear. +One might as well fancy a clean slate, freshly +and elaborately dedicated to noble composition, +being bothered by the addition and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span> +subtraction which was once done upon its +surface.</p> +<p>With her own eyes she had seen Miss St. +Clair weeping, while Harlan held her hands +and explained that he was married. Undoubtedly +Miss St. Clair accounted for various +metropolitan delays and absences which she +had joyously forgiven on the score of Harlan’s +“work.” Bitterest of all was the thought +that she must endure it—that the long years +ahead of her offered no escape, no remedy, +except the ignoble, painful one which she +would not for a moment consider.</p> +<p>A sudden flash of resentment stiffened her +backbone, metaphorically speaking. In spite +of Miss St. Clair, Harlan had married her, and +it was Miss St. Clair who was weeping over +the event, not Harlan. She had seen that the +visitor made Harlan unhappy—very well, she +would generously throw them together and +make him painfully weary of her, for Love’s +certain destroyer is Satiety. Deep in Dorothy’s +consciousness was the abiding satisfaction that +she had never once, as she put it to herself, +“chased him.” Never a note, never a telephone +call, never a question as to his coming +and going appeared now to trouble her. The +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span> +ancient, primeval relation of the Seeker and +the Sought had not for a single moment been +altered through her.</p> +<p>Meanwhile, Elaine had settled down peacefully +enough. Having been regaled since +infancy with tales of Uncle Ebeneezer’s generous +hospitality, it seemed only fitting and +proper that his relatives should make her welcome, +even though Elaine’s mother had been +only a second cousin of Mrs. Judson’s. Elaine +had been deeply touched by Harlan’s solicitude +and Dorothy’s kindness, seeing in it +nothing more than the manifestation of a +beautiful spirit toward one who was helpless +and ill.</p> +<p>A modest wardrobe and a few hundred +dollars, saved from the wreck of her mother’s +estate, and the household furniture in storage, +represented Elaine’s worldly goods. As too +often happens in a material world, she had +been trained to do nothing but sing a little, +play a little, and paint unspeakably. She +planned, vaguely, to stay where she was during +the Summer, and in the Autumn, when +she had quite recovered her former strength, +to take her money and learn some method of +self-support. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span></p> +<p>Just now she was resting. A late breakfast, +a walk through the country, a light luncheon, +and a long nap accounted for Elaine’s day +until dinner-time. After dinner, for an hour, +she exchanged commonplaces with the Carrs, +then retired to her own room with a book +from Uncle Ebeneezer’s library. Even Dorothy +was forced to admit that she made very +little trouble.</p> +<p>The train rumbled into the station—the very +same train which had brought the Serpent +into Paradise. Dorothy smiled a little at the +idea of a snake travelling on a train unless +it belonged to a circus, and wiped her eyes. +Having mapped out her line of conduct, the +rest was simple enough—to abide by it even +to the smallest details, and patiently await +results.</p> +<p>When she went downstairs again she was +outwardly quite herself, but altogether unprepared +for the surprise that awaited her in the +parlour.</p> +<p>“Hello,” cried a masculine voice, cheerily, +as she entered the room. “I’ve never seen +you before, have I?”</p> +<p>“Not that I know of,” replied Dorothy, +startled, but not in the least afraid. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span></p> +<p>The young man who rose to greet her was +not at all unpleasant to look upon. He was +taller than Harlan, smooth-shaven, had nice +brown eyes, and a mop of curly brown hair +which evidently annoyed him. Moreover, he +was laughing, as much from sheer joy of living +as anything else.</p> +<p>“Which side of the house are you a relative +of?” he asked.</p> +<p>“The inside,” returned Dorothy. “I keep +house here.”</p> +<p>“You don’t say so! What’s become of +Sally? Uncle shoo her off the lot?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” +answered Dorothy, with a fruitless effort +to appear matronly and dignified. “If by +‘uncle’ you mean Uncle Ebeneezer, he’s +dead.”</p> +<p>“You don’t tell me! Reaped at last, after +all this delay! Then how did you come +here?”</p> +<p>“By train,” responded Dorothy, enjoying +the situation to the utmost. “Uncle Ebeneezer +left the house and furniture to my +husband.”</p> +<p>The young man sank into a chair and +wiped the traces of deep emotion from his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span> +ruddy face. “Hully Gee!” he said, when he +recovered speech. “I suppose that’s French +for ‘Dick, chase yourself.’”</p> +<p>“Perhaps not,” suggested Mrs. Carr, +strangely loath to have this breezy individual +take his departure. “You might tell me who +you are; don’t you think so?”</p> +<p>“Not a bad notion at all. I’m the Dick of +the firm of ‘Tom, Dick, and Harry,’ you’ve +doubtless heard about from your childhood. +My other name is Chester, but few know it. +I’m merely ‘Dick’ to everybody, yourself included, +I trust,” he added with an elaborate +bow. “If you will sit down, and make +yourself comfortable, I will now unfold to you +the sad story of my life.</p> +<p>“I was born of poor but honest parents +about twenty-three years ago, according to +the last official census. They brought me up +until I reached the ripe age of twelve, then got +tired of their job and went to heaven. Since +then I’ve brought myself up. I’ve just taught +a college all it can learn from me, and been +put out. Prexy confided to me that I wasn’t +going to graduate, so I shook the classic dust +from my weary feet and fled hither as to a +harbour of refuge. I’ve always spent my +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span> +Summers with Uncle Ebeneezer, because it +was cheap for me and good for him, but I can’t +undertake to follow him up this Summer, not +knowing exactly where he is, and not caring +for a warm climate anyway.”</p> +<p>Inexpressibly shocked, Dorothy looked up +to the portrait over the mantel half fearfully, +but there was no change in the stern, malicious +old face.</p> +<p>“You’re afraid of him, aren’t you?” asked +Dick, with a hearty laugh.</p> +<p>“I always have been,” admitted Dorothy. +“He scared me the first time we came here—it +was at night, and raining.”</p> +<p>“I’ve known him to scare people in broad +daylight, and they weren’t always women +either. He used to be a pleasant old codger, +but he got over it, and after he learned to +swear readily, he was a pretty tough party to +buck up against. It took nerve to stay here +when uncle was in a bad mood, but most +people have more nerve than they think they +have. You haven’t told me your name yet.”</p> +<p>“Mrs. Carr—Dorothy Carr.”</p> +<p>“Pretty name,” remarked Dick, with evident +admiration. “If you don’t mind, I’ll +call you ‘Dorothy’ till the train goes back. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span> +It will be something for me to remember in +the desert waste of my empty years to come.”</p> +<p>A friendly, hospitable impulse seized Mrs. +Carr. “Why should you go?” she inquired, +smiling. “If you’ve been in the habit of +spending your Summers here, you needn’t +change on our account. We’d be glad to +have you, I’m sure. A dear old friend of my +husband’s is already here.”</p> +<p>“Fine or superfine?”</p> +<p>“Superfine,” returned Dorothy, feeling very +much as though the clock had been turned +back twenty years or more and she was at a +children’s party again.</p> +<p>“You can bet your sweet life I’ll stay,” +said Dick, “and if I bother you at any time, +just say so and I’ll skate out, with no hard +feelings on either side. You may need me +when the rest of the bunch gets here.”</p> +<p>“The rest of—oh Harlan, come here a +minute!”</p> +<p>She had caught him as he was going into +the library with his work, thinking that a +change of environment might possibly produce +an acceptable change in the current of +his thoughts.</p> +<p>“Dick,” said Dorothy, when Harlan came +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108' name='page_108'></a>108</span> +to the door, “this is my husband. Mr. +Chester, Mr. Carr.”</p> +<p>For days Harlan had not seen Dorothy with +such rosy cheeks, such dancing eyes, nor half +as many dimples. Bewildered, and not altogether +pleased, he awkwardly extended his +hand to Mr. Chester, with a conventional +“how do you do?”</p> +<p>Dick wrung the offered hand in a mighty +grip which made Harlan wince. “I congratulate +you, Mr. Carr,” he said gallantly, “upon +possessing the fairest ornament of her sex. +Guess this letter is for you, isn’t it? I found +it in the post-office while the keeper was out, +and just took it. If it doesn’t belong here, +I’ll skip back with it.”</p> +<p>“Thanks,” murmured Harlan, rubbing the +injured hand with the other. “I—where did +you come from?”</p> +<p>“The station,” explained Dick, pleasantly. +“I never trace myself back of where I was +last seen.”</p> +<p>“He’s going to stay with us, Harlan,” put +in Dorothy, wickedly, “so you mustn’t let us +keep you away from your work. Come +along, Dick, and I’ll show you our cow.”</p> +<p>They went out, followed by a long, low +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span> +whistle of astonishment from Harlan which +Dorothy’s acute ears did not miss. Presently +Mr. Carr retreated into the library, and locked +the door, but he did not work. The book was +at a deadlock, half a paragraph beyond “the +flower-like hands of Elaine,” of which, indeed, +the author had confessed his inability to write.</p> +<p>“Dick,” thought Harlan. “Mr. Chester. +A young giant with a grip like an octopus. +‘The fairest ornament of her sex.’ Never, +never heard of him before. Some old flame +of Dorothy’s, who has discovered her whereabouts +and brazenly followed her, even on her +honeymoon.”</p> +<p>And he, Harlan, was absolutely prevented +from speaking of it by an unhappy chain of +circumstances which put him in a false light! +For the first time he fully perceived how a +single thoughtless action may bind all one’s +future existence.</p> +<p>“Just because I stroked the hand of a distressed +damsel,” muttered Harlan, “and told +her I was married, I’ve got to sit and see a +procession of my wife’s old lovers marking +time here all Summer!” In his fevered fancy, +he already saw the Jack-o’-Lantern surrounded +by Mrs. Carr’s former admirers, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span> +heard them call her “Dorothy,” and realised +that there was not a single thing he could do.</p> +<p>“Unless, of course,” he added, mentally, +“it gets too bad, and I have an excuse to order +’em out. And then, probably, Dorothy +will tell Elaine to take her dolls and go home, +and the poor thing’s got nowhere to go—nowhere +in the wide world.</p> +<p>“How would Dorothy like to be a lonely +orphan, with no husband, no friends, and no +job? She wouldn’t like it much, but women +never have any sympathy for each other, nor +for their husbands, either. I’d give twenty +dollars this minute not to have stroked +Elaine’s hand, and fifty not to have had +Dorothy see it, but there’s no use in crying +over spilt milk nor in regretting hands that +have already been stroked.”</p> +<p>In search of diversion, he opened his letter, +which was in answer to the one he had written +some little time ago, inquiring minutely, +of an acquaintance who was supposed to be +successful, just what the prospects were for a +beginner in the literary craft.</p> +<p>“Dear Carr,” the letter read. “Sorry not +to have answered before, but I’ve been away +and things got mixed up. Wouldn’t advise +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span> +anybody but an enemy to take up writing as +a steady job, but if you feel the call, go in and +win. You can make all the way from eight +dollars a year, which was what I made when +I first struck out, up to five thousand, which +was what I averaged last year. I’ve always +envied you fellows who could turn in your +stuff and get paid for it the following Tuesday. +In my line, you work like the devil +this year for what you’re going to get next, +and live on the year after.</p> +<p>“However, if you’re bitten with it, there’s +no cure. You’ll see magazine articles in +stones and books in running brooks all the +rest of your life. When you get your book +done, I’ll trot you around to my publisher, +who enjoys the proud distinction of being an +honest one, and if he likes your stuff, he’ll +take it, and if he doesn’t, he’ll turn you down +so pleasantly that you’ll feel as though he’d +made you a present of something. If you +think you’ve got genius, forget it, and remember +that nothing takes the place of hard +work. And, besides, it’s a pretty blamed +poor book that can’t get itself printed these +days.</p> +<div class='ra'> +<p style='margin-right:3em;'>“Yours as usual,</p> +<p>“C. J.”</p> +</div> + +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span></div> +<p>The communication was probably intended +as encouragement, but the effect was depressing, +and at the end of an hour, Harlan had +written only two lines more in his book, +neither of which pleased him.</p> +<p>Meanwhile, Dick was renewing his old acquaintance +with Mrs. Smithers, much to that +lady’s pleasure, though she characteristically +endeavoured to conceal it. She belonged to +a pious sect which held all mirth to be +ungodly.</p> +<p>“Sally,” Dick was saying, “I’ve dreamed +of your biscuits night and day since I ate the +last one. Are we going to have ’em for +lunch?”</p> +<p>“No biscuits in this house to-day,” grumbled +the deity of the kitchen, in an attempt to +be properly stern, “and as I’ve told you more +than once, my name ain’t ‘Sally.’ It’s Mis’ +Smithers, that’s wot it is, and I’ll thank you +to call me by it.”</p> +<p>“Between those who love,” continued +Dick, with a sidelong glance at Dorothy, who +stood near by, appalled at his daring, “the +best is none too good for common use. If +my heart breaks the bonds of conventional +restraint, and I call you by the name under +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span> +which you always appear to me in my longing +dreams, why should you not be gracious, +and forgive me? Be kind to me, Sally, be +just a little kind, and throw together a pan of +those biscuits in your own inimitable style!”</p> +<p>“Run along with you, you limb of Satan,” +cried Mrs. Smithers, brandishing a floury +spoon.</p> +<p>“Come along, Dorothy,” said Dick, laying +a huge but friendly paw upon Mrs. Carr’s +shoulder; “we’re chased out.” He put his +head back into the kitchen, however, to file a +parting petition for biscuits, which was unnecessary, +for Mrs. Smithers had already +found her rolling-pin and had begun to sift her +flour.</p> +<p>Outside, he duly admired Maud, who was +chewing the cud of reflection under a tree, +created a panic in the chicken yard by lifting +Abdul Hamid ignominiously by the legs, to +see how heavy he was, and chased Claudius +Tiberius under the barn.</p> +<p>“If that cat turns up missing some day,” +he said, “don’t blame me. He looks so much +like Uncle Ebeneezer that I can’t stand for him.”</p> +<p>“There’s something queer about Claudius, +anyway,” ventured Dorothy. “Mrs. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span> +Smithers says that uncle killed him the week +before he died, and——”</p> +<p>“Before who died?”</p> +<p>“Claudius—no, before uncle died, and she +buried him, and he’s come to life again.”</p> +<p>“Uncle, or Claudius?”</p> +<p>“Claudius, you goose,” laughed Dorothy.</p> +<p>“If I knew just how nearly related we +were,” remarked Dick, irrelevantly enough, +“I believe I’d kiss you. You look so pretty +with all your dimples hung out and your hair +blowing in the wind.”</p> +<p>Dorothy glanced up, startled, and inclined +to be angry, but it was impossible to take +offence at such a mischievous youth as Dick +was at that moment. “We’re not related,” +she said, coolly, “except by marriage.”</p> +<p>“Well, that’s near enough,” returned +Dick, who was never disposed to be unduly +critical. “Your husband is only related to +you by marriage. Don’t be such a prude. +Come to the waiting arms of your uncle, or +cousin, or brother-in-law, or whatever it is +that I happen to be.”</p> +<p>“Go and kiss your friend Sally in the +kitchen,” laughed Dorothy. “You have my +permission.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span> +Dick made a wry face. “I don’t hanker to +do it,” he said, “but if you want me to, I +will. I suppose she isn’t pleased with her +place and you want to make it more homelike +for her.”</p> +<p>“What relation were you to Uncle Ebeneezer?” +queried Dorothy, curiously.</p> +<p>“Uncle and I,” sighed Dick, “were connected +by the closest ties of blood and marriage. +Nobody could be more related than +we were. I was the only child of Aunt +Rebecca’s sister’s husband’s sister’s husband’s +sister. Say, on the dead, if I ever bother you +will you tell me so and invite me to skip?”</p> +<p>“Of course I will.”</p> +<p>“Shake hands on it, then; that’s a good +fellow. And say, did you say there was another +skirt stopping here?”</p> +<p>“A—a what?”</p> +<p>“Petticoat,” explained Dick, patiently; +“mulier, as the ancient dagoes had it. +They’ve been getting mulier ever since, too. +How old is she?”</p> +<p>“Oh,” answered Dorothy. “She’s not +more than twenty or twenty-one.” Then, +endeavouring to be just to Elaine, she added: +“And a very pretty girl, too.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span></p> +<p>“Lead me to her,” exclaimed Dick ecstatically. +“Already she is mine!”</p> +<p>“You’ll see her at luncheon. There’s the +bell, now.”</p> +<p>Mr. Chester was duly presented to Miss +St. Clair, and from then on, appeared to be on +his good behaviour. Elaine’s delicate, fragile +beauty appealed strongly to the susceptible +Dick, and from the very beginning, he was +afraid of her—a dangerous symptom, if he had +only known it.</p> +<p>Harlan, making the best of a bad bargain, +devoted himself to his guests impartially, and, +upon the whole, the luncheon went off very +well, though the atmosphere was not wholly +festive.</p> +<p>Afterward, when they sat down in the parlour, +there was an awkward pause which no +one seemed inclined to relieve. At length +Dorothy, mindful of her duty as hostess, +asked Miss St. Clair if she would not play +something.</p> +<p>Willingly enough, Elaine went to the melodeon, +which had not been opened since the +Carrs came to live at the Jack-o’-Lantern, and +lifted the lid. Immediately, however, she went +off into hysterics, which were so violent that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span> +Harlan and Dorothy were obliged to assist her +to her room.</p> +<p>Dick strongly desired to carry Elaine upstairs, +but was forbidden by the hampering +conventionalities. So he lounged over to the +melodeon, somewhat surprised to find that +“It” was still there.</p> +<p>“It” was a brown, wavy, false front of +human hair, securely anchored to the keys +underneath by a complicated system of +loops of linen thread. Pinned to the top +was a faded slip of paper on which Uncle +Ebeneezer had written, long ago: “Mrs. Judson +always kept her best false front in the +melodeon. I do not desire to have it disturbed.—E. J.”</p> +<p>“His Nibs never could bear music,” thought +Dick, as he closed the instrument, little guessing +that a vein of sentiment in Uncle Ebeneezer’s +hard nature had impelled him to keep +the prosaic melodeon forever sacred to the +slender, girlish fingers that had last brought +music from its yellowed keys.</p> +<p>From upstairs still came the sound of crying, +which was not altogether to be wondered at, +considering Miss St. Clair’s weak, nervous +condition. Harlan came down, scowling, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span> +took back the brandy flask, moving none too +hastily.</p> +<p>“They don’t like Elaine,” murmured Dick +to himself, vaguely troubled. “I wonder +why—oh, I wonder why!”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='VIII_MORE' id='VIII_MORE'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span> +<h2>VIII</h2> +<h3>More</h3> +</div> + +<p><i>Blue as sapphires were the eyes of Elaine, +and her fair cheek was like that of an apple +blossom. Set like a rose upon pearl was the +dewy, fragrant sweetness of her mouth, and +her breath was that of the rose itself. Her +hands—but how shall I write of the flower-like +hands of Elaine? They seemed all too +frail to hold the reins of her palfrey, much +less to guide him along the rocky road that lay +before her.</i></p> +<p><i>Safely sheltered in a sunny valley was the +Castle of Content, wherein Elaine’s father +reigned as Lord. Upon the hills close at +hand were the orchards, which were now in +bloom. A faint, unearthly sweetness came +with every passing breeze, and was wafted +through the open windows of the Castle, +where, upon the upper floor, Elaine was wont +to sit with her maids at the tapestry frames.</i> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span></p> +<p><i>But, of late, a strange restlessness was +upon her, and the wander-lust surged through +her veins.</i></p> +<p><i>“My father,” she said, “I am fain to +leave the Castle of Content, and set out upon +the Heart’s Quest. Among the gallant knights +of thy retinue, there is none whom I would +wed, and it is seemly that I should set out to +find my lord and master, for behold, father, +as thou knowest, twenty years and more have +passed over my head, and my beauty hath begun +to fade.”</i></p> +<p><i>The Lord of the Castle of Content smiled +in amusement, that Elaine, the beautiful, +should fancy her charms were on the wane. +But he was ever eager to gratify the slightest +wish of this only child of his, and so he gave +his ready consent.</i></p> +<p><i>“Indeed, Elaine,” he answered, “and if +thou choosest, thou shalt go, but these despised +knights shall attend thee, and also our new +fool, who hath come from afar to make merry +in our court. His motley is of an unfamiliar +pattern, his quips and jests savour not so much +of antiquity, and his songs are pleasing. He +shall lighten the rigours of thy journey and +cheer thee when thou art sad.”</i> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span></p> +<p><i>“But, father, I do not choose to have the +fool.”</i></p> +<p><i>“Say no more, Elaine, for if thou goest, +thou shall have the fool. It is most fitting +that in thy retinue there shouldst be more +than one to wear the cap and bells, and it is in +my mind to consider this quest of thine somewhat +more than mildly foolish. Unnumbered +brave and faithful knights are at thy feet and +yet thou canst not choose, but must needs fare +onward in search of a stranger to be thy lord +and master.”</i></p> +<p><i>Elaine raised her hand. “As thou wilt, +father,” she said, submissively. “Thou canst +not understand the way of a maid. Bid thy +fool to prepare himself quickly for a long +journey, since we start at sunset.”</i></p> +<p><i>“But why at sunset, daughter? The way +is long. Mayst not thy mission wait until +sunrise?”</i></p> +<p><i>“Nay, father, for it is my desire to sleep to-night +upon the ground. The tapestried walls +of my chamber stifle me and I would fain lie in +the fresh air with only the green leaves for my +canopy and the stars for my taper lights.”</i></p> +<p><i>“As thou wilt, Elaine, but my heart is sad at +the prospect of losing thee. Thou art my only +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span> +child, the image of thy dead mother, and my +old eyes shall be misty for the sight of thee +long before my gallant knights bring thee back +again.”</i></p> +<p><i>“So shall I gain some hours, father,” she +answered. “Perhaps my sunset journeying +shall bring my return a day nearer. Cross +me not in this wish, father, for it is my fancy +to go.”</i></p> +<p><i>So it was that the cavalcade was made ready +and Elaine and her company left the Castle of +Content at sunset. Two couriers rode at the +head, to see that the way was clear, and with +a silver bugle to warn travellers to stand aside +until the Lady Elaine and her attendants had +passed.</i></p> +<p><i>Upon a donkey, caparisoned in a most amusing +manner, rode Le Jongleur, the new fool of +whom the Lord of the Castle of Content had +spoken. His motley, as has been said, was of +an unfamiliar pattern, but was none the less +striking, being made wholly of scarlet and gold. +The Lady Elaine could not have guessed that +it was assumed as a tribute to the trappings of +her palfrey, for Le Jongleur’s heart was most +humble and loyal, though leaping now with the +joy of serving the fair Lady Elaine.</i> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span></p> +<p><i>The Lord of Content stood at the portal of +the Castle to bid the retinue Godspeed, and as +the cymbals crashed out a sounding farewell, +he impatiently wiped away the mist, which +already had clouded his vision. Long he +waited, straining his eyes toward the distant +cliffs, where, one by one, the company rode +upward. The valley was in shadow, but +the long light lay upon the hills, changing the +crags to a wonder of purple and gold. To +him, too, came the breath of apple bloom, but +it brough no joy to his troubled heart.</i></p> +<p><i>What dangers lay in wait for Elaine as she +fared forth upon her wild quest? What +monsters haunted the primeval forests through +which her path must lie? And where was the +knight who should claim her innocent and +maidenly heart? At this thought, the Lord +of Content shuddered, then was quickly +ashamed.</i></p> +<p><i>“I am as foolish,” he muttered, “as he in +motley, who rides at the side of Elaine. +Surely my daughter, the child of a soldier, +can make no unworthy choice.”</i></p> +<p><i>The cavalcade had reached the summit of +the cliff, now, and at the brink, turned back. +The cymbals and the bugles pealed forth +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span> +another sounding farewell to the Lord of the +Castle of Content, whom Elaine well knew was +waiting in the shadow of the portal till her +company should be entirely lost to sight.</i></p> +<p><i>The last light shone upon the wonderful +mass of gold which rippled to her waist, unbound, +from beneath her close-fitting scarlet +cap, and gave her an unearthly beauty. Le +Jongleur held aloft his bauble, making it to +nod in merry fashion, but the Lord of Content +did not see, his eyes being fixed upon Elaine. +She waved her hand to him, but he could not +answer, for his shoulders were shaking with +grief, nor, indeed, across the merciless distance +that lay between, could he guess at +Elaine’s whispered prayer: “Dear Heavenly +Father, keep thou my earthly father safe and +happy, till his child comes back again.”</i></p> +<p><i>Over the edge of the cliff and out upon a +wide plain they fared. Ribbons of glorious +colour streamed from the horizon to the zenith, +and touched to flame the cymbals and the +bugles and the trappings of the horses and the +shields of the knights. Piercingly sweet, across +the fields of blowing clover, came the even song +of a feathered chorister, and</i>—what on earth +was that noise? +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span></p> +<p>Harlan went to the window impatiently, +like one wakened from a dream by a blind +impulse of action.</p> +<p>The village stage, piled high with trunks, +was at his door, and from the cavernous +depths of the vehicle, shrieks of juvenile terror +echoed and re-echoed unceasingly. Mr. +Blake, driving, merely waited in supreme +unconcern.</p> +<p>“What in the hereafter,” muttered Harlan, +savagely. “More old lovers of Dorothy’s, +I suppose, or else the—Good Lord, it’s +twins!”</p> +<p>A child of four or five fell out of the stage, +followed by another, who lit unerringly on +top of the prostrate one. In the meteoric +moment of the fall, Harlan had seen that the +two must have discovered America at about +the same time, for they were exactly alike, +making due allowance for the slight difference +made by masculine and feminine attire.</p> +<p>An enormous doll, which to Harlan’s +troubled sight first appeared to be an infant +in arms, was violently ejected from the stage +and added to the human pile which was +wriggling and weeping upon the gravelled +walk. A cub of seven next leaped out, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span> +whistling shrilly, then came a querulous, +wailing, feminine voice from the interior.</p> +<p>“Willie,” it whined, “how can you act so? +Help your little brother and sister up and get +Rebbie’s doll.”</p> +<p>To this the lad paid no attention whatever, +and the mother herself assorted the weeping +pyramid on the walk. Harlan ran downstairs, +feeling that the hour had come to defend his +hearthstone from outsiders. Dick and Dorothy +were already at the door.</p> +<p>“Foundlings’ Home,” explained Dick, +briefly, with a wink at Harlan. “They’re +late this year.”</p> +<p>Dorothy was speechless with amazement +and despair. Before Harlan had begun to +think connectedly, one of the twins had darted +into the house and bumped its head on the +library door, thereupon making the Jack-o’-Lantern +hideous with much lamentation.</p> +<p>The mother, apparently tired out, came in as +though she had left something of great value +there and had come to get it, pausing only +to direct Harlan to pay the stage driver, and +have her trunks taken into the rooms opening +off the dining-room on the south side.</p> +<p>Willie took a mouth-organ out of his pocket +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span> +and rendered a hitherto unknown air upon it +with inimitable vigour. In the midst of the +confusion, Claudius Tiberius had the misfortune +to appear, and, immediately perceiving +his mistake, whisked under the sofa, from +whence the other twin determinedly haled +him, using the handle which Nature had evidently +intended for that purpose.</p> +<p>“Will you kindly tell me,” demanded Mrs. +Carr, when she could make herself heard, +“what is the meaning of all this?”</p> +<p>“I do not understand you,” said the mother +of the twins, coldly. “Were you addressing +me?”</p> +<p>“I was,” returned Mrs. Carr, to Dick’s +manifest delight. “I desire to know why +you have come to my house, uninvited, and +made all this disturbance.”</p> +<p>“The idea!” exclaimed the woman, trembling +with anger. “Will you please send for +Mr. Judson?”</p> +<p>“Mr. Judson,” said Dorothy, icily, “has +been dead for some time. This house is the +property of my husband.”</p> +<p>“Indeed! And who may your husband be?” +The tone of the question did not indicate even +faint interest in the subject under discussion. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span></p> +<p>Dorothy turned, but Harlan had long since +beat an ignominious retreat, closely followed +by Dick, whose idea, as audibly expressed, +was that the women be allowed to “fight +it out by themselves.”</p> +<p>“I can readily understand,” went on Dorothy, +with a supreme effort at self-control, +“that you have made a mistake for which +you are not in any sense to blame. You are +tired from your journey, and you are quite +welcome to stay until to-morrow.”</p> +<p>“To-morrow!” shrilled the woman. “I +guess you don’t know who I am! I am Mrs. +Holmes, Rebecca Judson’s own cousin, and I +have spent the Summer here ever since Rebecca +was married! I guess if Ebeneezer +knew you were practically ordering his wife’s +own cousin out of his house, he’d rise from +his grave to haunt you!”</p> +<p>Dorothy fancied that Uncle Ebeneezer’s +portrait moved slightly. Aunt Rebecca still +surveyed the room from the easel, gentle, +sweet-faced, and saintly. There was no resemblance +whatever between Aunt Rebecca +and the sallow, hollow-cheeked, wide-eyed +termagant, with a markedly receding chin, +who stood before Mrs. Carr and defied her. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span></p> +<p>“This is my husband’s house,” suggested +Dorothy, pertinently.</p> +<p>“Then let your husband do the talking,” +rejoined Mrs. Holmes, sarcastically. “If he +was sure it was his, I guess he wouldn’t +have run away. I’ve always had my own +rooms here, and I intend to go and come as I +please, as I always have done. You can’t +make me believe that Ebeneezer gave my +apartments to your husband, nor him either, +and I wouldn’t advise any of you to try it.”</p> +<p>Sounds of fearful panic came from the +chicken yard, and Dorothy rushed out, swiftly +laying avenging hands on the disturber of the +peace. One of the twins was chasing Abdul +Hamid around the coop with a lath, as he +explained between sobs, “to make him lay.” +Mrs. Holmes bore down upon Dorothy before +any permanent good had been done.</p> +<p>“How dare you!” she cried. “How +dare you lay hands on my child! Come, +Ebbie, come to mamma. Bless his little heart, +he shall chase the chickens if he wants to, so +there, there. Don’t cry, Ebbie. Mamma will +get you another lath and you shall play with +the chickens all the afternoon. There, there!”</p> +<p>Harlan appeared at this juncture, and in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span> +a few quiet, well-chosen words told Mrs. +Holmes that the chicken coop was his property, +and that neither now nor at any other +time should any one enter it without his express +permission.</p> +<p>“Upon my word,” remarked Mrs. Holmes, +still soothing the unhappy twin. “How +high and mighty we are when we’re living +off our poor dead uncle’s bounty! Telling +his wife’s own cousin what she’s to do, and +what she isn’t! Upon my word!”</p> +<p>So saying, Mrs. Holmes retired to the +house, her pace hastened by howls from the +other twin, who was in trouble with her older +brother somewhere in her “apartment.”</p> +<p>Dorothy looked at Harlan, undecided +whether to laugh or to cry. “Poor little +woman,” he said, softly; “don’t you fret. +We’ll have them out of the house no later +than to-morrow.”</p> +<p>“All of them?” asked Dorothy, eagerly, +as Miss St. Clair strolled into the front yard.</p> +<p>Harlan’s brow clouded and he shifted uneasily +from one foot to the other. “I don’t know,” +he said, slowly, “whether I’ve got nerve +enough to order a woman out of my house +or not. Let’s wait and see what happens.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span></p> +<p>A sob choked Dorothy, and she ran swiftly +into the house, fortunately meeting no one on +her way to her room. Dick ventured out of +the barn and came up to Harlan, who was +plainly perplexed.</p> +<p>“Very, very mild arrival,” commented Mr. +Chester, desiring to put his host at his ease. +“I’ve never known ’em to come so peacefully +as they have to-day. Usually there’s more or +less disturbance.”</p> +<p>“Disturbance,” repeated Harlan. “Haven’t +we had a disturbance to-day?”</p> +<p>“We have not,” answered Dick, placidly. +“Wait till young Ebeneezer and Rebecca get +more accustomed to their surroundings, and +then you’ll have a Fourth of July every +day, with Christmas, Thanksgiving, and St. +Patrick’s Day thrown in. Willie is the worst +little terror that ever went unlicked, and the +twins come next.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps you don’t understand children,” +remarked Harlan, with a patronising air, and +more from a desire to disagree with Dick than +from anything else. “I’ve always liked them.”</p> +<p>“If you have,” commented Dick, with a +knowing chuckle, “you’re in a fair way to +get cured of it.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span></p> +<p>“Tell me about these people,” said Harlan, +ignoring the speech, and dominated once more +by healthy human curiosity. “Who are they +and where do they come from?”</p> +<p>“They’re dwellers from the infernal regions,” +explained Dick, with an air of truthfulness, +“and they came from there because the +old Nick turned ’em out. They were upsetting +things and giving the place a bad name. +Mrs. Holmes says she’s Aunt Rebecca’s cousin, +but nobody knows whether she is or not. +She’s come here every Summer since Aunt +Rebecca died, and poor old uncle couldn’t +help himself. He hinted more than once that +he’d enjoy her absence if she could be moved +to make herself scarce, but it had no more +effect than a snowflake would in the place she +came from. The most he could do was to +build a wing on the house with a separate +kitchen and dining-room in it, and take his +own meals in the library, with the door bolted.</p> +<p>“Willie is a Winter product and Judson +Centre isn’t a pleasant place in the cold +months, but the twins were born here, five +years ago this Summer. They came in the +night, but didn’t make any more trouble then +than they have every day since.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span></p> +<p>“What would you do?” asked Harlan, after +a thoughtful silence, “if you were in my +place?”</p> +<p>“I’d be tickled to death because a kind +Providence had married me to Dorothy instead +of to Mrs. Holmes. Poor old Holmes +is in his well-earned grave.”</p> +<p>With great dignity, Harlan walked into the +house, but Dick, occupied with his own +thoughts, did not guess that his host was +offended.</p> +<p>After the first excitement was over, comparative +peace settled down upon the Jack-o’-Lantern. +Mrs. Holmes decided the question +of where she should eat, by setting four more +places at the table when Mrs. Smithers’s back +was turned. Dorothy did not appear at luncheon, +and Mrs. Smithers performed her duties +with such pronounced ungraciousness that +Elaine felt as though something was about to +explode.</p> +<p>A long sleep, born of nervous exhaustion, +came at last to Dorothy’s relief. When she +awoke, it was night and the darkness dazed +her at first. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, +wondering whether she had been dead, or +merely ill. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span></p> +<p>There was not a sound in the Jack-o’-Lantern, +and the events of the day seemed like +some hideous nightmare which waking had +put to rout. She bathed her face in cool +water, then went to look out of the window.</p> +<p>A lantern moved back and forth under the +trees in the orchard, and a tall, dark figure, +armed with a spade, accompanied it. “It’s +Harlan,” thought Dorothy. “I’ll go down +and see what he’s burying.”</p> +<p>But it was only Mrs. Smithers, who appeared +much startled when she saw her mistress +at her side.</p> +<p>“What are you doing?” demanded Dorothy, +seeing that Mrs. Smithers had dug a hole at +least a foot and a half each way.</p> +<p>“Just a-satisfyin’ myself,” explained the +handmaiden, with a note of triumph in her +voice, “about that there cat. ’Ere’s where I +buried ’im, and ’ere’s where there ain’t no signs +of ’is dead body. ’E’s come back to ’aunt us, +that’s wot ’e ’as, and your uncle’ll be the +next.”</p> +<p>“Don’t be so foolish,” snapped Dorothy. +“You’ve forgotten the place, that’s all, and I +don’t wish to hear any more of this nonsense.”</p> +<p>“’Oo was it?” asked Mrs. Smithers, “as +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span> +come out of a warm bed at midnight to see as +if folks wot was diggin’ for cats found anythink? +’T warn’t me, Miss, that’s wot it +warn’t, and I take it that them as follers is +as nonsensical as them wot digs. Anyhow, +Miss, ’ere’s where ’e was buried, and ’ere’s +where ’e ain’t now. You can think wot you +likes, that’s wot you can.”</p> +<p>Claudius Tiberius suddenly materialised out +of the surrounding darkness, and after sniffing +at the edge of the hole, jumped in to investigate.</p> +<p>“You see that, Miss?” quavered Mrs. +Smithers. “’E knows where ’e’s been, and +’e knows where ’e ain’t now.”</p> +<p>“Mrs. Smithers,” said Dorothy, sternly, +“will you kindly fill up that hole and come +into the house and go to bed? I don’t want +to be kept awake all night.”</p> +<p>“You don’t need to be kept awake, Miss,” +said Mrs. Smithers, slowly filling up the hole. +“The worst is ’ere already and wot’s comin’ +is comin’ anyway, and besides,” she added, +as an afterthought, “there ain’t a blessed one +of ’em come ’ere at night since your uncle +fixed over the house.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='IX_ANOTHER' id='IX_ANOTHER'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span> +<h2>IX</h2> +<h3>Another</h3> +</div> + +<p>For the first time in her life, Mrs. Carr +fully comprehended the sensations of a +wild animal caught in a trap. In her present +painful predicament, she was absolutely helpless, +and she realised it. It was Harlan’s +house, as he had said, but so powerful and +penetrating was the personality of the dead +man that she felt as though it was still largely +the property of Uncle Ebeneezer.</p> +<p>The portrait in the parlour gave her no +light upon the subject, though she studied it +earnestly. The face was that of an old man, +soured and embittered by what Life had +brought him, who seemed now to have a +peculiarly malignant aspect. Dorothy fancied, +in certain morbid moments, that Uncle Ebeneezer, +from some safe place, was keenly relishing +the whole situation.</p> +<p>Upon her soul, too, lay heavily that ancient +Law of the House, which demands unfailing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span> +courtesy to the stranger within our gates. +Just why the eating of our bread and salt by +some undesired guest should exert any particular +charm of immunity, has long been an +open question, but the Law remains.</p> +<p>She felt, dimly, that the end was not yet—that +still other strangers were coming to the +Jack-o’-Lantern for indefinite periods. She +saw, now, why wing after wing had been +added to the house, but could not understand +the odd arrangement of the front windows. +Through some inner sense of loyalty to Uncle +Ebeneezer, she forebore to question either +Mrs. Smithers or Dick—two people who +could probably have given her some light on +the subject. She had gathered, however, +from hints dropped here and there, as well +as from the overpowering evidence of recent +events, that a horde of relatives swarmed each +Summer at the queer house on the hilltop and +remained until late Autumn.</p> +<p>Harlan said nothing, and nowadays Dorothy +saw very little of him. Most of the time +he was at work in the library, or else taking +long, solitary rambles through the surrounding +country. At meals he was moody and taciturn, +his book obliterating all else from his mind. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span></p> +<p>He doubtless knew, subconsciously, that +his house was disturbed by alien elements, +but he dwelt too securely in the upper regions +to be troubled by the obvious fact. Once in +the library, with every door securely bolted, +he could afford to laugh at the tumult outside, +if, indeed, he should ever become aware of its +existence. The children might make the very +air vocal with their howls, Elaine might have +hysterics, Mrs. Smithers render hymns in a +cracked, squeaky voice, and Dick whistle +eternally, but Harlan was in a strange new +country, with a beautiful lady, a company of +gallant knights, and a jester.</p> +<p>The rest was all unreal. He seemed to see +people through a veil, to hear what they said +without fully comprehending it, and to walk +through his daily life blindly, without any +sort of emotion. Worst of all, Dorothy +herself seemed detached and dream-like. He +saw that her face was white and her eyes sad, +but it affected him not at all. He had yet to +learn that in this, as in everything else, a price +must inevitably be paid, and that the sudden +change of all his loved realities to hazy visions +was the terrible penalty of his craft.</p> +<p>Yet there was compensation, which is also +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span> +inevitable. To him, the book was vital, +reaching down into the very heart of the +world. Fancy took his work, and, to the eyes +of its creator, made it passing fair. At times +he would sit for an hour or more, nibbling at +the end of his pencil, only negatively conscious, +like one who stares fixedly at a blank +wall. Presently, Elaine and her company +would come back again, and he would go on +with them, writing down only what he saw +and felt.</p> +<p>Chapter after chapter was written and +tossed feverishly aside. The words beat in +his pulses like music, each one with its own +particular significance. In return for his personal +effacement came moments of supremest +joy, when his whole world was aflame with +light, and colour, and sound, and his physical +body fairly shook with ecstasy.</p> +<p>Little did he know that the Cup was in his +hands, and that he was draining it to the very +dregs of bitterness. For this temporary intoxication, +he must pay in every hour of his +life to come. Henceforward he was set apart +from his fellows, painfully isolated, eternally +alone. He should have friends, but only for +the hour. The stranger in the street should +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span> +be the same to him as one he had known for +many years, and he should be equally ready, +at any moment, to cast either aside. With a +quick, merciless insight, like the knife of a surgeon +used without an anæsthetic, he should +explore the inmost recesses of every personality +with which he came in contact, involuntarily, +and find himself interested only +as some new trait or capacity was revealed. +Calm and emotionless, urged by some hidden +power, he should try each individual to see +of what he was made; observing the man +under all possible circumstances, and at times +enmeshing new circumstances about him. He +should sacrifice himself continually if by so +doing he could find the deep roots of the +other man’s selfishness, and, conversely, be +utterly selfish if necessary to discover the +other’s power of self-sacrifice.</p> +<p>Unknowingly, he had ceased to be a man +and had become a ferret. It was no light payment +exacted in return for the pleasure of writing +about Elaine. He had the ability to live in +any place or century he pleased, but he had +paid for it by putting his present reality upon +precisely the same footing. Detachment was +his continually. Henceforth he was a spectator +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span> +merely, without any particular concern +in what passed before his eyes. Some people +he should know at a glance, others in a week, +a month, or a year. Across the emptiness +between them, some one should clasp his +hand, yet share no more his inner life than +one who lies beside a dreamer and thinks +thus to know where the other wanders on +the strange trails of sleep.</p> +<p>In the dregs of the Cup lay the potential +power to cast off his present life as a mollusk +leaves his shell, and as completely forget it. +For Love, and Death, and Pain are only symbols +to him who is enslaved by the pen. +Moreover, he suffers always the pangs of an +unsatisfied hunger, the exquisite torture of an +unappeased and unappeasable thirst, for something +which, like a will-o’-the-wisp, hovers +ever above and beyond him, past the power +of words to interpret or express.</p> +<p>It is often reproachfully said that one +“makes copy” of himself and his friends—that +nothing is too intimately sacred to be +seized upon and dissected in print. Not so +long ago, it was said that a certain man +was “botanising on his mother’s grave,” a +pardonable confusion, perhaps, of facts and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span> +realities. The bitter truth is that the writer +lives his books—and not much else. From +title to colophon, he escapes no pang, +misses no joy. The life of the book is his +from beginning to end. At the close of it, +he has lived what his dream people have lived +and borne the sorrows of half a dozen entire +lifetimes, mercilessly concentrated into the few +short months of writing.</p> +<p>One by one, his former pleasures vanish. +Even the divine consolation of books is partly +if not wholly gone. Behind the printed +page, he sees ever the machinery of composition, +the preparation for climax, the repetition +in its proper place, the introduction and interweaving +of major and minor, of theme and +contrast. For the fine, glowing fancy of the +other man has not appeared in his book, and +to the eye of the fellow-craftsman only the +mechanism is there. Mask-like, the author +stands behind his Punch-and-Judy box, twitching +the strings that move his marionettes, +heedless of the fact that in his audience there +must be a few who know him surely for what +he is.</p> +<p>If only the transfiguring might of the Vision +could be put into print, there would be little +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span> +in the world save books. Happily heedless +of the mockery of it all, Harlan laboured on, +destined fully to sense his entire payment +much later, suffer vicariously for a few hours +on account of it, then to forget.</p> +<p>Dorothy, meanwhile, was learning a hard +lesson. Harlan’s changeless preoccupation +hurt her cruelly, but, woman-like, she considered +it a manifestation of genius and endeavoured +to be proud accordingly. It had +not occurred to her that there could ever be +anything in Harlan’s thought into which she +was not privileged to go. She had thought of +marriage as a sort of miraculous welding of +two individualities into one, and was perceiving +that it changed nothing very much; +that souls went on their way unaltered. She +saw, too, that there was no one in the wide +world who could share her every mood and +tense, that ultimately each one of us lives and +dies alone, within the sanctuary of his own +inner self, cheered only by some passing mood +of friend or stranger, which chances to chime +with his.</p> +<p>It was Dick who, blindly enough, helped +her over many a hard place, and quickened +her sense of humour into something upon +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span> +which she might securely lean. He was too +young and too much occupied with the obvious +to look further, but he felt that Dorothy +was troubled, and that it was his duty, as +a man and a gentleman, to cheer her up.</p> +<p>Privately, he considered Harlan an amiable +kind of a fool, who shut himself up needlessly +in a musty library when he might be outdoors, +or talking with a charming woman, or both. +When he discovered that Harlan had hitherto +earned his living by writing and hoped to +continue doing it, he looked upon his host +with profound pity. Books, to Dick, were +among the things which kept life from being +wholly pleasant and agreeable. He had gone +through college because otherwise he would +have been separated from his friends, and because +a small legacy from a distant relative, +who had considerately died at an opportune +moment, enabled him to pay for his tuition +and his despised books.</p> +<p>“I was never a pig, though,” he explained +to Dorothy, in a confidential moment. +“There was one chump in our class who +wanted to know all there was in the book, +and made himself sick trying to cram it in. +All of a sudden, he graduated. He left college +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span> +feet first, three on a side, with the class walking +slow behind him. I never was like that. I +was sort of an epicure when it came to knowledge, +tasting delicately here and there, and +never greedy. Why, as far back as when +I was studying algebra, I nobly refused to +learn the binomial theorem. I just read it +through once, hastily, like taking one sniff at +a violet, and then let it alone. The other fellows +fairly gorged themselves with it, but I +didn’t—I had too much sense.”</p> +<p>When Mr. Chester had been there a week, +he gave Dorothy two worn and crumpled +two-dollar bills.</p> +<p>“What’s this?” she asked, curiously. +“Where did you find it?”</p> +<p>“‘Find it’ is good,” laughed Dick. “I +earned it, my dear lady, in hard and uncongenial +toil. It’s my week’s board.”</p> +<p>“You’re not going to pay any board here. +You’re a guest.”</p> +<p>“Not on your life. You don’t suppose +I’m going to sponge my keep off anybody, +do you? I paid Uncle Ebeneezer board right +straight along and there’s no reason why I +shouldn’t pay you. You can put that away +in your sock, or wherever it is that women +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span> +keep money, or else I take the next train. If +you don’t want to lose me, you have to accept +four plunks every Monday. I’ve got lots of +four plunks,” he added, with a winning +smile.</p> +<p>“Very well,” said Dorothy, quite certain +that she could not spare Dick. “If it will +make you feel any better about staying, I’ll +take it.”</p> +<p>He had quickly made friends with Elaine, +and the three made a more harmonious group +than might have been expected under the circumstances. +With returning strength and +health, Miss St. Clair began to take more of +an interest in her surroundings. She gathered +the white clover blossoms in which Dorothy +tied up her pats of sweet butter, picked berries +in the garden, skimmed the milk, helped +churn, and fed the chickens.</p> +<p>Dick took entire charge of the cow, thus +relieving Mrs. Smithers of an uncongenial +task and winning her heartfelt gratitude. She +repaid him with unnumbered biscuits of his +favourite kind and with many a savoury +“snack” between meals. He also helped +Dorothy in many other ways. It was Dick +who collected the eggs every morning and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span> +took them to the sanitarium, along with such +other produce as might be ready for the market. +He secured astonishing prices for the +things he sold, and set it down to man’s superior +business ability when questioned by +his hostess. Dorothy never guessed that +most of the money came out of his own +pocket, and was charged up, in the ragged +memorandum book which he carried, to +“Elaine’s board.”</p> +<p>Miss St. Clair had never thought of offering +compensation, and no one suggested it to her, +but Dick privately determined to make good +the deficiency, sure that a woman married to +“a writing chump” would soon be in need +of ready money if not actually starving at the +time. That people should pay for what Harlan +wrote seemed well-nigh incredible. Besides, +though Dick had never read that “love +is an insane desire on the part of a man to pay +a woman’s board bill for life,” he took a definite +satisfaction out of this secret expenditure, +which he did not stop to analyse.</p> +<p>He brought back full price for everything he +took to the “repair-shop,” as he had irreverently +christened the sanitarium, though he +seldom sold much. On the other side of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span> +hill he had a small but select graveyard where +he buried such unsalable articles as he could +not eat. His appetite was capricious, and +Dorothy had frequently observed that when +he came back from the long walk to the sanitarium, +he ate nothing at all.</p> +<p>He established a furniture factory under a +spreading apple tree at a respectable distance +from the house, and began to remodel the +black-walnut relics which were evidence of +his kinsman’s poor taste. He took many a +bed apart, scraped off the disfiguring varnish, +sandpapered and oiled the wood, and put it +together in new and beautiful forms. He +made several tables, a cabinet, a bench, half +a dozen chairs, a set of hanging shelves, and +even aspired to a desk, which, owing to the +limitations of the material, was not wholly +successful.</p> +<p>Dorothy and Elaine sat in rocking-chairs under +the tree and encouraged him while he +worked. One of them embroidered a simple +design upon a burlap curtain while the other +read aloud, and together they planned a +shapely remodelling of the Jack-o’-Lantern. +Fortunately, the woodwork was plain, and +the ceilings not too high. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span></p> +<p>“I think,” said Elaine, “that the big living +room with the casement windows will be +perfectly beautiful. You couldn’t have anything +lovelier than this dull walnut with the +yellow walls.”</p> +<p>Whatever Mrs. Carr’s thoughts might be, +this simple sentence was usually sufficient to +turn the current into more pleasant channels. +She had planned to have needless partitions +taken out, and make the whole lower floor +into one room, with only a dining-room, kitchen, +and pantry back of it. She would +take up the unsightly carpets, over which impossible +plants wandered persistently, and +have them woven into rag rugs, with green +and brown and yellow borders. The floor +was to be stained brown and the pine woodwork +a soft, old green. Yellow walls and +white net curtains, with the beautiful furniture +Dick was making, completed a very charming +picture in the eyes of a woman who loved +her home.</p> +<p>Outspeeding it in her fancy was the finer, +truer living which she believed lay beyond. +Some day she and Harlan, alone once +more, with the cobwebs of estrangement +swept away, should begin a new and happier +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span> +honeymoon in the transformed house. When +the book was done—ah, when the book +was done! But he was not reading any part +of it to her now and would not let her begin +copying it on the typewriter.</p> +<p>“I’ll do it myself, when I’m ready,” he +said, coldly. “I can use a typewriter just as +well as you can.”</p> +<p>Dorothy sighed, unconsciously, for the +woman’s part is always to wait patiently +while men achieve, and she who has learned +to wait patiently, and be happy meanwhile, +has learned the finest art of all—the art of +life.</p> +<p>“Now,” said Dick, “that’s a peach of a +table, if I do say it as shouldn’t.”</p> +<p>They readily agreed with him, for it was +low and massive, built on simple, dignified +lines, and beautifully finished. The headboards +of three ponderous walnut beds and +the supporting columns of a hideous sideboard +had gone into its composition, thus +illustrating, as Dorothy said, that ugliness may +be changed to beauty by one who knows +how and is willing to work for it.</p> +<p>The noon train whistled shrilly in the distance, +and Dorothy started out of her chair. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span> +“She’s afraid,” laughed Dick, instantly comprehending. +“She’s afraid somebody is +coming on it.”</p> +<p>“More twins?” queried Elaine, from the +depths of her rocker. “Surely there can’t be +any more twins?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” answered Dorothy, vaguely +troubled. “Someway, I feel as though +something terrible were going to happen.”</p> +<p>Nothing happened, however, until after +luncheon, just as she had begun to breathe +peacefully again. Willie saw the procession +first and ran back with gleeful shouts to +make the announcement. So it was that +the entire household, including Harlan, formed +a reception committee on the front porch.</p> +<p>Up the hill, drawn by two straining horses, +came what appeared at first to be a pyramid +of furniture, but later resolved itself into the +component parts of a more ponderous bed +than the ingenuity of man had yet contrived. +It was made of black walnut, and was at least +three times as heavy as any of those in the +Jack-o’-Lantern. On the top of the mass was +perched a little old man in a skull cap, a slippered +foot in a scarlet sock airily waving at +one side. A bright green coil closely clutched +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span> +in his withered hands was the bed cord +appertaining to the bed—a sainted possession +from which its owner sternly refused to +part.</p> +<p>“By Jove!” shouted Dick; “it’s Uncle +Israel and his crib!”</p> +<p>Paying no heed to the assembled group, +Uncle Israel dismounted nimbly enough, and +directed the men to take his bed upstairs, +which they did, while Harlan and Dorothy +stood by helplessly. Here, under his profane +and involved direction, the structure was +finally set in place, even to the patchwork +quilt, fearfully and wonderfully made, which +surmounted it all.</p> +<p>Financial settlement was waved aside by +Uncle Israel as a matter in which he was not +interested, and it was Dick who counted out +two dimes and a nickel to secure peace. A +supplementary procession appeared with a +small, weather-beaten trunk, a folding bath-cabinet, +and a huge case which, from Uncle +Israel’s perturbation, evidently contained numerous +fragile articles of great value.</p> +<p>“Tell Ebeneezer,” wheezed the newcomer, +“that I have arrived.”</p> +<p>“Ebeneezer,” replied Dick, in wicked imitation +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span> +of the old man’s asthmatic speech, “has +been dead for some time.”</p> +<p>“Then,” creaked Uncle Israel, waving a +tremulous, bony hand suggestively toward +the door, “kindly leave me alone with my +grief.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='X_STILL_MORE' id='X_STILL_MORE'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span> +<h2>X</h2> +<h3>Still More</h3> +</div> + +<p>Uncle Israel, whose other name was +Skiles, adjusted himself to his grief in +short order. The sounds which issued from +his room were not those commonly associated +with mourning. Dick, fully accustomed +to various noises, explained them for the +edification of the Carrs, who at present were +sorely in need of edification.</p> +<p>“That’s the bath cabinet,” remarked Mr. +Chester, with the air of a connoisseur. “He’s +setting it up near enough to the door so that +if anybody should come in unexpectedly while +it’s working, the whole thing will be tipped +over and the house set on fire. Uncle Israel +won’t have any lock or bolt on his door for +fear he should die in the night. He relies +wholly on the bath cabinet and moral suasion. +Nobody knocks on doors here, anyway—just +goes in. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span></p> +<p>“That’s his trunk. He keeps it under the +window. The bed is set up first, then the +bath cabinet, then the trunk, and last, but not +least, the medicine chest. He keeps his entire +pharmacopœia on a table at the head of his +bed, with a candle and matches, so that if he +feels badly in the night, the proper remedy is +instantly at hand. He prepares some of his +medicines himself, but he isn’t bigoted about +it. He buys the rest at wholesale, and I’ll +eat my hat if he hasn’t got a full-sized bottle +of every patent medicine that’s on sale anywhere +in the United States.”</p> +<p>“How old,” asked Harlan, speaking for the +first time, “is Uncle Israel?”</p> +<p>“Something over ninety, I believe,” returned +Dick. “I’ve lost my book of vital +statistics, so I don’t know, exactly.”</p> +<p>“How long,” inquired Dorothy, with a +forced smile, “does Uncle Israel stay?”</p> +<p>“Lord bless you, my dear lady, Uncle Israel +stays all Summer. Hello—there are some +more!”</p> +<p>A private conveyance of uncertain age and +purposes drew up before the door. From it +dismounted a very slender young man of medium +height, whose long auburn hair hung +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156' name='page_156'></a>156</span> +over his coat-collar and at times partially obscured +his soulful grey eyes. It resembled the +mane of a lion, except in colour. He carried +a small black valise, and a roll of manuscript +tied with a badly soiled ribbon.</p> +<p>An old lady followed, stepping cautiously, +but still finding opportunity to scrutinise the +group in the doorway, peering sharply over +her gold-bowed spectacles. It was she who +paid the driver, and even before the two +reached the house, it was evident that they +were not on speaking terms.</p> +<p>The young man offered Mr. Chester a thin, +tremulous hand which lay on Dick’s broad +palm in a nerveless, clammy fashion. “Pray,” +he said, in a high, squeaky voice, “convey my +greetings to dear Uncle Ebeneezer, and inform +him that I have arrived.”</p> +<p>“I am at present holding no communication +with Uncle Ebeneezer,” explained Dick. +“The wires are down.”</p> +<p>“Where is Ebeneezer?” demanded the old +lady.</p> +<p>“Dead,” answered Dorothy, wearily; “dead, +dead. He’s been dead a long time. This is +our house—he left it to my husband and me.”</p> +<p>“Don’t let that disturb you a mite,” said +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span> +the old lady, cheerfully. “I like your looks a +whole lot, an’ I’d just as soon stay with you +as with Ebeneezer. I dunno but I’d ruther.”</p> +<p>She must have been well past sixty, but her +scanty hair was as yet untouched with grey. +She wore it parted in the middle, after an ancient +fashion, and twisted at the back into a +tight little knob, from which the ends of a +wire hairpin protruded threateningly. Dorothy +reflected, unhappily, that the whole thing +was done up almost tight enough to play a +tune on.</p> +<p>For the rest, her attire was neat, though +careless. One had always the delusion that +part or all of it was on the point of coming +off.</p> +<p>The young man was wiping his weak eyes +upon a voluminous silk handkerchief which had +evidently seen long service since its last washing. +“Dear Uncle Ebeneezer,” he breathed, +running his long, bony fingers through his hair. +“I cannot tell you how heavily this blow falls +upon me. Dear Uncle Ebeneezer was a distinguished +patron of the arts. Our country +needs more men like him, men with fine appreciation, +vowed to the service of the Ideal. +If you will pardon me, I will now retire to my +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span> +apartment and remain there a short time in +seclusion.”</p> +<p>So saying, he ran lightly upstairs, as one +who was thoroughly at home.</p> +<p>“Who in—” began Harlan.</p> +<p>“Mr. Harold Vernon Perkins, poet,” said +Dick. “He’s got his rhyming dictionary and +all his odes with him.”</p> +<p>“Without knowing,” said Dorothy, “I +should have thought his name was Harold +or Arthur or Paul. He looks it.”</p> +<p>“It wa’n’t my fault,” interjected the old +lady, “that he come. I didn’t even sense +that he was on the same train as me till I hired +the carriage at the junction an’ he clim’ in. He +said he might as well come along as we was +both goin’ to the same place, an’ it would save +him walkin’, an’ not cost me no more than ’t +would anyway.”</p> +<p>While she was speaking, she had taken off +her outer layer of drapery and her bonnet. +“I’ll just put these things in my room, my +dear,” she said to Dorothy, “an’ then I’ll +come back an’ talk to you. I like your looks +first-rate.”</p> +<p>“Who in—,” said Harlan, again, as the old +lady vanished into one of the lower wings. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span></p> +<p>“Mrs. Belinda something,” answered Dick. +“I don’t know who she’s married to now. +She’s had bad luck with her husbands.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Carr, deeply troubled, was leaning +against the wall in the hall, and Dick patted +her hand soothingly. “Don’t you fret,” he +said, cheerily; “I’m here to see you through.”</p> +<p>“That being the case,” remarked Harlan, +with a certain acidity in his tone, “I’ll go +back to my work.”</p> +<p>The old lady appeared again as Harlan +slammed the library door, and suggested that +Dick should go away.</p> +<p>“Polite hint,” commented Mr. Chester, not +at all disturbed. “See you later.” He went +out, whistling, with his cap on the back of his +head and his hands in his pockets.</p> +<p>“I reckon you’re a new relative, be n’t +you?” asked the lady guest, eyeing Dorothy +closely. “I disremember seein’ you before.”</p> +<p>“I am Mrs. Carr,” repeated Dorothy, mechanically. +“My husband, Harlan Carr, is +Uncle Ebeneezer’s nephew, and the house +was left to him.”</p> +<p>“Do tell!” ejaculated the other. “I +wouldn’t have thought it of Ebeneezer. I’m +Belinda Dodd, relict of Benjamin Dodd, deceased. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span> +How many are there here, my +dear?”</p> +<p>“Miss St. Clair, Mr. Chester, Mrs. Holmes +and her three children, Uncle Israel Skiles, and +you two, besides Mr. Carr, Mrs. Smithers, +and myself.”</p> +<p>“Is that all?” asked the visitor, in evident +surprise.</p> +<p>“All!” repeated Dorothy. “Isn’t that +enough?”</p> +<p>“Lord love you, my dear, it’s plain to be +seen that you ain’t never been here before. +Only them few an’ so late in the season, too. +Why, there’s Cousin Si Martin, an’ his wife, +an’ their eight children, some of the children +bein’ married an’ havin’ other children, an’ +Sister-in-law Fanny Wood with her invalid +husband, her second husband, that is, an’ Rebecca’s +Uncle James’s third wife with her two +daughters, an’ Rebecca’s sister’s second husband +with his new wife an’ their little boy, +an’ Uncle Jason an’ his stepson, the one that +has fits, an’ Cousin Sally Simmons an’ her +daughter, an’ the four little Riley children an’ +their Aunt Lucretia, an’ Step-cousin Betsey +Skiles with her two nieces, though I misdoubt +their comin’ this year. The youngest niece +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span> +had typhoid fever here last Summer for eight +weeks, an’ Betsey thinks the location ain’t +healthy, in spite of it’s bein’ so near the sanitarium. +She was threatenin’ to get the health +department or somethin’ after Ebeneezer an’ +have the drinkin’ water looked into, so’s they +didn’t part on the pleasantest terms, but in +the main we’ve all got along well together.</p> +<p>“If Betsey knowed Ebeneezer was dead, +she wouldn’t hesitate none about comin’, +typhoid or no typhoid. Mebbe it was her +fault some, for Ebeneezer wa’n’t to blame for +his drinkin’ water no more ’n I’d be. Our +minister used to say that there was no discipline +for the soul like livin’ with folks, year in +an’ year out hand-runnin’, an’ Betsey is naturally +that kind. Ebeneezer always lived plain, +but we’re all simple folks, not carin’ much for +style, so we never minded it. The air’s good +up here an’ I dunno any better place to spend +the Summer. My gracious! You be n’t sick, +be you?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know what to do,” murmured +Dorothy, her white lips scarcely moving; “I +don’t know what to do.”</p> +<p>“Well, now,” responded Mrs. Dodd, “I +can see that I’ve upset you some. Perhaps +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span> +you’re one of them people that don’t like to +have other folks around you. I’ve heard of +such, comin’ from the city. Why, I knew a +woman that lived in the city, an’ she said she +didn’t know the name of the woman next +door to her after livin’ there over eight +months,—an’ their windows lookin’ right into +each other, too.”</p> +<p>“I hate people!” cried Dorothy, in a passion +of anger. “I don’t want anybody here +but my husband and Mrs. Smithers!”</p> +<p>“Set quiet, my dear, an’ make your mind +easy. I’m sure Ebeneezer never intended his +death to make any difference in my spendin’ +the Summer here, especially when I’m fresh +from another bereavement, but if you’re in +earnest about closin’ your doors on your poor +dead aunt’s relations, why I’ll see what I +can do.”</p> +<p>“Oh, if you could!” Dorothy almost +screamed the words. “If you can keep any +more people from coming here, I’ll bless you +for ever.”</p> +<p>“Poor child, I can see that you’re considerable +upset. Just get me the pen an’ ink an’ +some paper an’ envelopes an’ I’ll set down +right now an’ write to the connection an’ tell +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span> +’em that Ebeneezer’s dead an’ bein’ of unsound +mind at the last has willed the house +to strangers who refuse to open their doors +to the blood relations of poor dead Rebecca. +That’s all I can do an’ I can’t promise that +it’ll work. Ebeneezer writ several times to +us all that he didn’t feel like havin’ no more +company, but Rebecca’s relatives was all of +a forgivin’ disposition an’ never laid it up +against him. We all kep’ on a-comin’ just +the same.”</p> +<p>“Tell them,” cried Dorothy her eyes unusually +bright and her cheeks burning, “that +we’ve got smallpox here, or diphtheria, or a +lunatic asylum, or anything you like. Tell +them there’s a big dog in the yard that won’t +let anybody open the gate. Tell them anything!”</p> +<p>“Just you leave it all to me, my dear,” said +Mrs. Dodd, soothingly. “On account of the +connection bein’ so differently constituted, +I’ll have to tell ’em all different. Disease +would keep away some an’ fetch others. +Betsey Skiles, now, she feels to turn her +hand to nursin’ an’ I’ve knowed her to go +miles in the dead of Winter to set up with a +stranger that had some disease she wa’n’t +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span> +familiar with. Dogs would bring others an’ +only scare a few. Just you leave it all to me. +There ain’t never no use in borrerin’ trouble +an’ givin’ up your peace of mind as security, +’cause you don’t never get the security back. +I’ve been married enough to know that +there’s plenty of trouble in life besides what’s +looked for, an’ it’ll get in, without your +holdin’ open the door an’ spreadin’ a mat +out with ‘Welcome’ on it. Did Ebeneezer +leave any property?”</p> +<p>“Only the house and furniture,” answered +Dorothy, feeling that the whole burden of the +world had been suddenly shifted to her young +shoulders.</p> +<p>“Rebecca had a big diamond pin,” said +Mrs. Dodd, after a brief silence, “that she +allers said was to be mine when she got +through with it. Ebeneezer give it to her for +a weddin’ present. You ain’t seen it layin’ +around, have you?”</p> +<p>“No, I haven’t seen it ‘laying around,’” +retorted Dorothy, conscious that she was +juggling with the truth.</p> +<p>“Well,” continued Mrs. Dodd, easily, nibbling +her pen holder, “when it comes to +light, just remember that it’s mine. I don’t +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span> +doubt it’ll turn up sometime. An’ now, my +dear, I’ll just begin on them letters. Cousin +Si Martin’s folks are a-packin’ an’ expectin’ to +get here next week. I suppose you’re willin’ +to furnish the stamps?”</p> +<p>“Willing!” cried Dorothy, “I should say +yes!”</p> +<p>Mrs. Dodd toiled long at her self-imposed +task, and, having finished it, went out into +the kitchen, where for an hour or more she +exchanged mortuary gossip with Mrs. Smithers, +every detail of the conversation being +keenly relished by both ladies.</p> +<p>At dinner-time, eleven people sat down to +partake of the excellent repast furnished by +Mrs. Smithers under the stimulus of pleasant +talk. Harlan was at the head, with Miss St. +Clair on his right and Mrs. Dodd on his left. +Next to Miss St. Clair was the poet, whose +deep sorrow did not interfere with his appetite. +The twins were next to him, then Mrs. +Holmes, then Willie, then Dorothy, at the +foot of the table. On her right was Dick, the +space between Dick and Mrs. Dodd being +occupied by Uncle Israel.</p> +<p>To a careless observer, it might have seemed +that Uncle Israel had more than his share of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span> +the table, but such in reality was not the case. +His plate was flanked by a goodly array of +medicine bottles, and cups and bowls of predigested +and patent food. Uncle Israel, as +Dick concisely expressed it, was “pie for the +cranks.”</p> +<p>“My third husband,” remarked Mrs. Dodd, +pleasantly, well aware that she was touching +her neighbour’s sorest spot, “was terribly +afflicted with stomach trouble.”</p> +<p>“The only stomach trouble I’ve ever had,” +commented Mr. Chester, airily spearing another +biscuit with his fork, “was in getting +enough to put into it.”</p> +<p>“Have a care, young man,” wheezed Uncle +Israel, warningly. “There ain’t nothin’ so +bad for the system as hot bread.”</p> +<p>“It would be bad for my system,” resumed +Dick, “not to be able to get it.”</p> +<p>“My third husband,” continued Mrs. Dodd, +disregarding the interruption, “wouldn’t +have no bread in the house at all. He et +these little straw mattresses, same as you’ve +got, so constant that he finally died from the +tic doleroo. Will you please pass me them +biscuits, Mis’ Carr?”</p> +<p>Mrs. Dodd was obliged to rise and reach +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span> +past Uncle Israel, who declined to be contaminated +by passing the plate, before she +attained her desired biscuit.</p> +<p>“Next time, Aunt Belinda,” said Dick, “I’ll +throw you one. Suffering Moses, what new +dope is that?”</p> +<p>A powerful and peculiarly penetrating odour +filled the room. Presently it became evident +that Uncle Israel had uncorked a fresh bottle +of medicine. Miss St. Clair coughed and +hastily excused herself.</p> +<p>“It’s time for me to take my pain-killer,” +murmured Uncle Israel, pouring out a tablespoonful +of a thick, brown mixture. “This +here cured a Congressman in less ’n half a +bottle of a gnawin’ pain in his vitals. I ain’t +never took none of it yet, but I aim to now.”</p> +<p>The vapour of it had already made the +twins cry and brought tears to Mrs. Dodd’s +eyes, but Uncle Israel took it clear and +smacked his lips over it enjoyably. “It +seems to be a searchin’ medicine,” he commented, +after an interval of silence. “I don’t +misdoubt that it’ll locate that pain that was +movin’ up and down my back all night last +night.”</p> +<p>Uncle Israel’s wizened old face, with its +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span> +fringe of white whisker, beamed with the joy +of a scientist who has made a new and important +discovery. He had a long, hooked +nose, and was painfully near-sighted, but +refused to wear glasses. Just now he sniffed +inquiringly at the open bottle of medicine. +“Yes,” he said, nodding his bald head sagely, +“I don’t misdoubt this here can locate it.”</p> +<p>“I don’t, either,” said Harlan, grimly, putting +his handkerchief to his nose. “Will you +excuse me, Dorothy?”</p> +<p>“Certainly.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Holmes took the weeping twins away +from the table, and Willie, his mentor gone, +began to eat happily with his fingers. The +poet rose and drew a roll of manuscript from +his coat pocket.</p> +<p>“This afternoon,” he said, clearing his +throat, “I employed my spare moments in +composing an ode to the memory of our +sainted relative, under whose hospitable roof +we are all now so pleasantly gathered. I will +read it to you.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Dodd hastily left the table, muttering +indistinctly, and Dick followed her. Willie +slipped from his chair, crawled under the +table, and by stealthily sticking a pin into +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span> +Uncle Israel’s ankle, produced a violent disturbance, +during which the pain-killer was +badly spilled. When the air finally cleared, +there was no one in the room but the poet, +who sadly rolled up his manuscript.</p> +<p>“I will read it at breakfast,” he thought. +“I will give them all the pleasure of hearing +it. Art is for the many, not for the few. I +must use it to elevate humanity to the Ideal.”</p> +<p>He went back to his own room to add +some final reverent touches to the masterpiece, +and to meditate upon the delicate +blonde beauty of Miss St. Clair.</p> +<p>From Mrs. Dodd, meanwhile, Dick had +gathered the pleasing purport of her voluminous +correspondence, and insisted on posting +all the letters that very night, though morning +would have done just as well. When he had +gone downhill on his errand of mercy, whistling +cheerily as was his wont, Mrs. Dodd +went into her own room and locked the door, +immediately beginning a careful search of the +entire apartment.</p> +<p>She scrutinised the walls closely, and rapped +softly here and there, listening intently for a +hollow sound. Standing on a chair, she felt +all along the mouldings and window-casings, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span> +taking unto herself much dust in the process. +She spent half an hour in the stuffy closet, investigating +the shelves and recesses, then she +got down on her rheumatic old knees and +crept laboriously over the carpet, systematically +taking it breadth by breadth, and paying +special attention to that section of it which +was under the bed.</p> +<p>“When you’ve found where anythin’ ain’t,” +she said to herself, “you’ve gone a long way +toward findin’ where ’t is. It’s just like +Ebeneezer to have hid it.”</p> +<p>She took down the pictures, which were +mainly family portraits, life-size, presented to +the master of the house by devoted relatives, +and rapidly unframed them. In one of them +she found a sealed envelope, which she eagerly +tore open. Inside was a personal communication +which, though brief, was very much +to the point.</p> +<p>“Dear Cousin Belinda,” it read, “I hope +you’re taking pleasure in your hunt. I have +kept my word to you and in this very room, +somewhere, is a sum of money which represents +my estimate of your worth, as nearly as +sordid coin can hope to do. It is all in cash, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span> +for greater convenience in handling. I trust +you will not spend it all in one store, and +that you will, out of your abundance, be generous +to the poor. It might be well to use a +part of it in making a visit to New York. +When you find this, I shall be out in the +cemetery all by myself, and very comfortable.</p> +<div class='ra'> +<p>“Yours, <span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Ebeneezer Judson.”</span></p> +</div> + +<p>“I knowed it,” she said to herself, excitedly. +“Ebeneezer was a hard man, but he always +kep’ his word. Dear me! What makes me +so trembly!”</p> +<p>She removed all the bedclothes and pounded +the pillows and mattress in vain, then turned +her attention to the furniture. It was almost +one o’clock when Mrs. Dodd finally retired, +worn in body and jaded in spirit, but still far +from discouraged.</p> +<p>“Ebeneezer must have mistook the room,” +she said to herself, “but how could he unless +his mind was failin’? I’ve had this now, +goin’ on ten year.”</p> +<p>In the night she dreamed of finding money +in the bureau, and got up to see if by chance +she had not received mysterious guidance +from an unknown source. There was money +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span> +in the bureau, sure enough, but it was only +two worn copper cents wrapped in many +thicknesses of old newspaper, and she went +unsuspiciously back to bed.</p> +<p>“He’s mistook the room,” she breathed, +drowsily, as she sank into troubled slumber, +“an’ to-morrer I’ll have it changed. It’s +just as well I’ve scared them others off, if so +be I have.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XI_MRS_DODD_S_THIRD_HUSBAND' id='XI_MRS_DODD_S_THIRD_HUSBAND'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span> +<h2>XI</h2> +<h3>Mrs. Dodd’s Third Husband</h3> +</div> + +<p>Insidiously, a single idea took possession +of the entire household. Mrs. Smithers +kept a spade near at hand and systematically +dug, as opportunity offered. Dorothy became +accustomed to an odorous lantern which stood +near the back door in the daytime and bobbed +about among the shrubbery at night.</p> +<p>There was definite method in the madness +of Mrs. Smithers, however, for she had once +seen the departed Mr. Judson going out to the +orchard with a tin box under his arm and her +own spade but partially concealed under his +long overcoat. When he came back, he was +smiling, which was so unusual that she forgot +all about the box, and did not observe whether +or not he had brought it back with him. +Long afterward, however, the incident assumed +greater significance.</p> +<p>“If I’d ’ave ’ad the sense to ’ave gone out +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span> +there the next day,” she muttered, “and ’ave +seen where ’e ’ad dug, I might be a rich +woman now, that’s wot I might. ’E was a +clever one, ’e was, and ’e’s ’id it. The old +skinflint wasn’t doin’ no work, ’e wasn’t, +and ’e lived on ’ere from year to year, a-payin’ +’is bills like a Christian gent, and it stands to +reason there’s money ’id somewheres. Findin’ +is keepin’, and it’s for me to keep my ’ead +shut and a sharp lookout. Them Carrs don’t +suspect nothink.”</p> +<p>She was only half right, however. Harlan, +lost in his book, was heedless of everything +that went on around him, but Mrs. Dodd’s +reference to the diamond pin, and her own +recollection of the money she had found in +the bureau drawer, began to work stealthily +upon Dorothy’s mind, surrounded, as she was, +by people who were continually thinking of +the same thing.</p> +<p>Then, too, their funds were getting low. +There was little to send to the sanitarium now, +for eleven people, as students of domestic +economics have often observed, eat more than +one or two. Dick was also affected by the +current financial depression, and at length +conceived the idea that Uncle Ebeneezer’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span> +worldly goods were somewhere on the premises.</p> +<p>Mrs. Holmes spent a great deal of time in +the attic, while the care-free children, utterly +beyond control, rioted madly through the +house. Dorothy discovered Mr. Perkins, the +poet, half-way up the parlour chimney, and +sat down to see what he would do when he +came out and found her there. He had seemed +somewhat embarrassed when he wiped the +soot from his face, but had quickly explained +that he was writing a poem on chimney-swallows +and had come to a point where original +research was essential.</p> +<p>Even Elaine, not knowing what she sought, +began to investigate, idly enough, the furniture +and hangings in her room, and Mrs. +Dodd, eagerly seizing opportunities, was forever +keen on the scent. Uncle Israel, owing +to the poor state of his health, was one of the +last to be affected by the surrounding atmosphere, +but when he caught the idea, he made +up for lost time.</p> +<p>He was up with the chickens, and invariably +took a long afternoon nap, so that, during the +night, there was bound to be a wakeful interval. +Ordinarily, he took a sleeping potion +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span> +to tide him over till morning, but soon decided +that a little mild exercise with some pleasant +purpose animating it, would be far better for +his nerves.</p> +<p>Mrs. Dodd was awakened one night by the +feeling that some one was in her room. A +vague, mysterious Presence gradually made +itself known. At first she was frightened, +then the Presence wheezed, and reassured +her. Across the path of moonlight that lay +on her floor, Uncle Israel moved cautiously.</p> +<p>He was clad in a piebald dressing-gown +which had been so patched with various materials +that the original fabric was uncertain. +An old-fashioned nightcap was on his head, +the tassel bobbing freakishly in the back, and +he wore carpet slippers.</p> +<p>Mrs. Dodd sat up in bed, keenly relishing +the situation. When he opened a bureau +drawer, she screamed out: “What are you +looking for?”</p> +<p>Uncle Israel started violently. “Money,” +he answered, in a shrill whisper, taken altogether +by surprise.</p> +<p>“Then,” said Mrs. Dodd, kindly, “I’ll get +right up and help you!”</p> +<p>“Don’t, Belinda,” pleaded the old man. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span> +“You’ll wake up everybody. I am a-walkin’ +in my sleep, I guess. I was a-dreamin’ of +money that I was to find and give to +you, and I suppose that’s why I’ve come +to your room. You lay still, Belinda, and +don’t tell nobody. I am a-goin’ right +away.”</p> +<p>Before she could answer in a way that +seemed suitable, he was gone, and the next +day he renewed his explanations. “I dunno, +Belinda, how I ever come to be a-walkin’ in +my sleep. I ain’t never done such a thing +since I was a child, and then only wunst. +How dretful it would have been if I had gone +into any other room and mebbe have been +shot or have scared some young and unprotected +female into fits. To think of me, with +my untarnished reputation, and at my age, +a-doin’ such a thing! You don’t reckon it +was my new pain-killer, do you?”</p> +<p>“I don’t misdoubt it had sunthin’ to do +with payin’,” returned Mrs. Dodd, greatly +pleased with her own poor joke, “an’, as you +say, it might have been dretful. But I am a +friend to you, Israel, an’ I don’t ’low to make +your misfortune public, but, by workin’ private, +help you overcome it.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span></p> +<p>“What air you a-layin’ out to do?” demanded +Uncle Israel, fearfully.</p> +<p>“I ain’t rightly made up my mind as yet, +Israel,” she answered, pleasantly enough, +“but I don’t intend to have it happen to you +again. Sunthin’ can surely be done that’ll +cure you of it.”</p> +<p>“Don’t, Belinda,” wheezed her victim; “I +don’t think I’ll ever have it again.”</p> +<p>“Don’t you fret about it, Israel, ’cause you +ain’t goin’ to have it no more. I’ll attend to +it. It ’s a most distressin’ disease an’ must +be took early, but I think I know how to +fix it.”</p> +<p>During her various investigations, she had +found a huge bunch of keys beneath a pile of +rubbish on the floor of a closet in an unoccupied +room. It was altogether possible, as she +told herself, that one of these keys should fit +the somnambulist’s door.</p> +<p>While Uncle Israel was brewing a fresh supply +of medicine on the kitchen stove, she +found, as she had suspected that one of them +did fit, and thereafter, every night, when +Uncle Israel had retired, she locked him in, +letting him out shortly after seven each morning. +When he remonstrated with her, she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span> +replied, triumphantly, that it was necessary—otherwise +he would never have known that +the door was locked.</p> +<p>On her first visit to “town” she made it +her business to call upon Lawyer Bradford and +inquire as to Mr. Judson’s last will and testament. +She learned that it did not concern +her at all, and was to be probated, in accordance +with the dead man’s instructions, at the +Fall term of court.</p> +<p>“Then, as yet,” she said, with a gleam of +satisfaction in her small, beady eyes, “they +ain’t holdin’ the house legal. Any of us has +the same right to stay as them Carrs.”</p> +<p>“That’s as you look at it,” returned Mr. +Bradford, squirming uneasily in his chair.</p> +<p>Try as she might, she could extract no further +information, but she at least had a bit of +knowledge to work on. She went back, +earnestly desiring quiet, that she might study +the problem without hindrance, but, unfortunately +for her purpose, the interior of the +Jack-o’-Lantern resembled pandemonium let +loose.</p> +<p>Willie was sliding down the railing part +of the time, and at frequent intervals coasting +downstairs on Mrs. Smithers’s tea tray, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span> +vocally expressing his pleasure with each trip. +The twins, seated in front of the library door, +were pounding furiously on a milk-pan, which +had not been empty when they dragged it +into the hall, but was now. Mrs. Smithers +was singing: “We have our trials here below, +Oh, Glory, Hallelujah,” and a sickening +odour from a fresh concoction of Uncle Israel’s +permeated the premises. Having irreverently +detached the false front from the keys of the +melodeon, Mr. Perkins was playing a sad, +funereal composition of his own, with all the +power of the instrument turned loose on it. +Upstairs, Dick was whistling, with shrill and +maddening persistence, and Dorothy, quite +helpless, sat miserably on the porch with her +fingers in her ears.</p> +<p>Harlan burst out of the library, just as Mrs. +Dodd came up the walk, his temper not improved +by stumbling over the twins and the +milk-pan, and above their united wails loudly +censured Dorothy for the noise and confusion. +“How in the devil do you expect me to +work?” he demanded, irritably. “If you +can’t keep the house quiet, I’ll go back to +New York!”</p> +<p>Too crushed in spirit to reply, Dorothy said +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span> +nothing, and Harlan whisked back into the +library again, barely escaping Mrs. Dodd.</p> +<p>“Poor child,” she said to Dorothy; “you +look plum beat out.”</p> +<p>“I am,” confessed Mrs. Carr, the quick +tears coming to her eyes.</p> +<p>“There, there, my dear, rest easy. I reckon +this is the first time you’ve been married, +ain’t it?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” returned Dorothy, forcing a pitiful +little smile.</p> +<p>“I thought so. Now, when you’re as +used to it as I be, you won’t take it so hard. +You may think men folks is all different, but +there’s a dretful sameness to ’em after they’ve +been through a marriage ceremony. Marriage +is just like findin’ a new penny on the +walk. When you first see it, it’s all shiny +an’ a’most like gold, an’ it tickles you a’most +to pieces to think you’re gettin’ it, but after +you’ve picked it up you see that what you’ve +got is half wild Indian, or mebbe more—I +ain’t never been in no mint. You may depend +upon it, my dear, there’s two sides to +all of us, an’ before marriage, you see the +wreath—afterwards a savage.</p> +<p>“I’ve had seven of ’em,” she continued, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span> +“an’ I know. My father give me a cemetery +lot for a weddin’ present, with a noble grey +marble monumint in it shaped like a octagon—leastways +that’s what a school-teacher what +boarded with us said it was, but I call it a +eight-sided piece. I’m speakin’ of my first +marriage now, my dear. My father never +give me no weddin’ present but the once. An’ +I can’t never marry again, ’cause there’s a +husband lyin’ now on seven sides of the monumint +an’ only one place left for me. I was +told once that I could have further husbands +cremationed an’ set around the lot in vases, +but I don’t take to no such heathenish custom +as that.</p> +<p>“So I’ve got to go through my declinin’ +years without no suitable companion an’ I +call it hard, when one’s so used to marryin’ +as what I be.”</p> +<p>“If they’re all savages,” suggested Dorothy, +“why did you keep on marrying?”</p> +<p>“Because I hadn’t no other way to get my +livin’ an’ I was kinder in the habit of it. +There’s some little variety, even in savages, +an’ it’s human natur’ to keep on a-hopin.’ +I’ve had ’em stingy an’ generous, drunk an’ +sober, peaceful an’ disturbin’. After the first +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span> +few times, I learned to take real pleasure +out’n their queer notions. When you’ve +learned to enjoy seein’ your husband make a +fool of himself an’ have got enough self-control +not to tell him he’s doin’ it, nor to let him see +where your pleasure lies, you’ve got marryin’ +down to a fine point.</p> +<p>“The third time, it was, I got a food +crank, an’ let me tell you right now, my +dear, them’s the worst kind. A man what’s +queer about his food is goin’ to be queerer +about a’most everything else. Give me any +man that can eat three square meals a day an’ +enjoy ’em, an’ I’ll undertake to live with him +peaceful, but I don’t go to the altar again with +no food crank, if I know it.</p> +<p>“It was partly my own fault, too, as I see +later. I’d seen him a-carryin’ a passel of +health food around in his pocket an’ a-nibblin’ +at it, but I supposed it was because the poor +creeter had never had no one to cook proper +for him, an’ I took a lot of pleasure out of +thinkin’ how tickled he’d be when I made +him one of my chicken pies.</p> +<p>“After we was married, we took a honeymoon +to his folks, an’ I’ll tell you right now, +my dear, that if there was more honeymoons +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span> +took beforehand to each other’s folks, there’d +be less marryin’ done than what there is. +They was all a-eatin’ hay an’ straw an’ oats just +like the dumb creeters they disdained, an’ a-carryin’ +wheat an’ corn around in their pockets +to piece out with between greens.</p> +<p>“So the day we got home, never knowin’ +what I was a-stirrin’ up for myself, I turned +in an’ made a chicken an’ oyster pie, an’ it +couldn’t be beat, not if I do say it as shouldn’t. +The crust was as soft an’ flaky an’ brown an’ +crisp at the edges as any I ever turned out, an’ +the inside was all chicken an’ oysters well-nigh +smothered in a thick, creamy yellow +gravy.</p> +<p>“Well, sir, I brung in that pie, an’ I set it +on the table, an’ I chirped out that dinner was +ready, an’ he come, an’—my dear! You +never saw such goins’-on in all your born +days! Considerin’ that not eatin’ animals +makes people’s dispositions mild an’ pleasant, +it was sunthin’ terrible, an’ me all the time as +innercent as a lamb!</p> +<p>“I can’t begin to tell you the things my +new-made husband said to me. If chickens +an’ oysters was human, I’ll bet they’d have +sued him for slander. He said that oysters +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span> +was ‘the scavengers of the sea’—yes’m, +them’s his very words, an’ that chickens was +even worse. He went on to tell me how +they et worms an’ potato bugs an’ beetles an’ +goodness knows what else, an’ that he wa’n’t +goin’ to turn the temple of his body into no +slaughter-house. He asked me if I desired to +eat dead animals, an’ when he insisted on an +answer, I told him I certainly shouldn’t care +to eat ’em less’n they <i>was</i> dead, and from +then on it was worse ’n ever.</p> +<p>“He said that no dead animal was goin’ to +be interred in the insides of him or his lawful +wife, an’ he was goin’ to see to it. It come +out then that he’d never tasted meat an’ +hadn’t rightly sensed what he was missin’.</p> +<p>“Well, my dear, some women would have +took the wrong tack an’ would have argyfied +with him. There’s never no use in argyfyin’ +with a husband, an’ never no need to, ’cause +if you’re set on it, there’s all the rest of the +world to choose from. When he’d talked +himself hoarse an’ was beginnin’ to calm +down again, I took the floor.</p> +<p>“‘Say no more,’ says I, calm an’ collected-like. +‘This here is your house an’ the things +you’re accustomed to eatin’ can be cooked in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span> +it, no matter what they be. If I don’t know +how to put the slops together, I reckon I can +learn, not being a plum idjit. If you want +baked chicken feed and boiled hay, I’m here +to bake ’em and boil ’em for you. All you +have to do is to speak once in a polite manner +and it’ll be done. I must insist on the politeness, +howsumever,’ says I. ‘I don’t propose to +live with any man what gets the notion a +woman ceases to be a lady when she marries +him. A creeter that thinks so poor of himself +as that ain’t fit to be my husband,’ says I, +‘nor no other decent woman’s.’</p> +<p>“At that he apologised some, an’ when a +husband apologises, my dear, it’s the same as +if he’d et dirt at your feet. ‘The least said +the soonest mended,’ says I, an’ after that, he +never had nothin’ to complain of.</p> +<p>“But I knowed what his poor, cranky system +needed, an’ I knowed how to get it into +him, especially as he’d never tasted meat in +all his life. From that time on, he never saw +no meat on our table, nor no chickens, nor +sea scavengers, nor nothin’, but all day, +while he was gone, I was busy with my soup +pot, a-makin’ condensed extracts of meat for +flavourin’ vegetables an’ sauces an’ so on. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span></p> +<p>“He took mightily to my cookin’ an’ frequently +said he’d never et such exquisite victuals. +I’d make cream soups for him, an’ in +every one, there’d be over a cupful of solid +meat jelly, as rich as the juice you find in the +pan when you cook a first-class roast of beef. +I’d stew potatoes in veal stock, and cook rice +slow in water that had had a chicken boiled +to rags in it. Once I put a cupful of raw +beef juice in a can of tomatoes I was cookin’ +and he et a’most all of ’em.</p> +<p>“As he kep’ on havin’ more confidence in +me, I kep’ on usin’ more an’ more, an’ a-usin’ +oyster liquor for flavourin’ in most everything +durin’ the R months. Once he found nearly +a bushel of clam-shells out behind the house +an’ wanted to know what they was an’ what +they was doin’ there. I told him the fish +man had give ’em to me for a border for my +flower beds, which was true. I’d only paid +for the clams—there wa’n’t nothin’ said about +the shells—an’ the juice from them clams +livened up his soup an’ vegetables for over a +week. There wa’n’t no day that he didn’t +have the vital elements of from one to four +pounds of meat put in his food, an’ all the +time, he was gettin’ happier an’ healthier an’ +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span> +more peaceful to live with. When he died, +he was as mild as a spring lamb with mint +sauce on it.</p> +<p>“Now, my dear, some women would have +told him what they was doin’, either after he +got to likin’ the cookin’ or when he was on +his death-bed an’ couldn’t help himself, but I +never did. I own that it took self-control +not to do it, but I’d learned my lesson from +havin’ been married twicet before an’ never +havin’ fit any to speak of. I had to take my +pleasure from seein’ him eat a bowl of rice +that had a whole chicken in it, exceptin’ only +the bones and fibres of its mortal frame, an’ a-lappin’ +up mebbe a pint of tomato soup that +was founded on eight nice pork chops. I’m +a-tellin’ you all this merely to show you my +point. Every day, Henry was makin’ a blame +fool of himself without knowin’ it. He’d +prattle by the hour of slaughter-houses an’ +human cemeteries an’ all the time he’d be +honin’ for his next meal.</p> +<p>“He used to say as how it was dretful +wicked to kill the dumb animals for food, an’ I +allers said that there was nothin’ to hinder his +buyin’ as many as he could afford to an’ savin’ +their lives by pennin’ ’em up in the back yard, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span> +an’ a-feedin’ ’em the things they liked best to +eat till they died of old age or sunthin’. I +told him they was all vegetarians, the same as +he was, an’ they could live together peaceful +an’ happy. I even pointed out that it was his +duty to do it, an’ that if all believers would do +the same, the dread slaughter-houses would +soon be a thing of the past, but I ain’t never +seen no food crank yet that’s advanced that +far in his humanity.</p> +<p>“I never told him a single word about it, +nor even hinted it to him, nor told nobody +else, though I often felt wicked to think I was +keepin’ so much pleasure to myself, but my +time is comin’.</p> +<p>“When I’m dead an’ have gone to heaven, +the first thing I’m goin’ to do is to hunt up +Henry. They say there ain’t no marriage nor +givin’ in marriage up there, but I reckon there’s +seven men there that’ll at least recognise their +wife when they see her a-comin’ in. I’m goin’ +to pick up my skirts an’ take off my glasses, +so’s I’ll be all ready to skedaddle, for I expect +to leave my rheumatiz behind me, my dear, +when I go to heaven—leastways, no place +will be heaven for me that’s got rheumatiz in +it—an’ then I’m goin’ to say: ‘Henry, in all +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span> +the four years you was livin’ with me, you +was eatin’ meat, an’ you never knowed it. +You’re nothin’ but a human cemetery.’ Oh, +my dear, it’s worth while dyin’ when you +know you’re goin’ to have pleasure like that +at the other end!”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XII_HER_GIFT_TO_THE_WORLD' id='XII_HER_GIFT_TO_THE_WORLD'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span> +<h2>XII</h2> +<h3>Her Gift to the World</h3> +</div> + +<p>“I regret, my dear madam,” said Lawyer +Bradford, twisting uneasily in his chair, +“that I can offer you no encouragement +whatsoever. The will is clear and explicit in +every detail, and there are no grounds for a +contest. I am, perhaps, trespassing upon the +wishes of my client in giving you this information, +but if you are remaining here with +the hope of pecuniary profit, you are remaining +here unnecessarily.”</p> +<p>He rose as though to indicate that the interview +was at an end, but Mrs. Holmes was +not to be put away in that fashion. Her eyes +were blazing and her weak chin trembled +with anger.</p> +<p>“Do you mean to tell me,” she demanded, +“that Ebeneezer voluntarily died without +making some sort of provision for me and +my helpless little children?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span></p> +<p>“Your distinguished relation,” answered +Mr. Bradford, slowly, “certainly died voluntarily. +He announced the date of his death +some weeks before it actually occurred, and +superintended the making of his own coffin. +He wrote out minute directions for his obsequies, +had his grave dug, and his shroud +made, burned his papers, rearranged his +books, made his will—and was found dead +in his bed on the morning of the day set for +his departure. A methodical person,” muttered +the old man, half to himself; “a most +methodical and systematic person.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Holmes shuddered. She was not ordinarily +a superstitious woman, but there was +something uncanny in this open partnership +with Death.</p> +<p>“There was a diamond pin,” she suggested, +moodily, “worth, I should think, +some fifteen or sixteen hundred dollars. +Ebeneezer gave it to dear Rebecca on their +wedding day, and she always said it was +to be mine. Have you any idea where +it is?”</p> +<p>Mr. Bradford fidgeted. “If it was intended +for you,” he said, finally, “it will be given +to you at the proper time, or you will be +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span> +directed to its location. Mrs. Judson died, +did she not, about three weeks after their +marriage?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” snapped Mrs. Holmes, readily perceiving +the line of his thought, “and I saw +her twice in those three weeks. Both times +she spoke of the pin, which she wore constantly, +and said that if anything happened to +her, she wanted me to have it, but that old +miser hung on to it.”</p> +<p>“Madam,” said Mr. Bradford, a faint flush +mounting to his temples as he opened the +office door, “you are speaking of my Colonel, +under whom I served in the war. He was +my best friend, and though he is dead, it is +still my privilege to protect him. I bid you +good afternoon!”</p> +<p>She did not perceive until long afterward +that she had practically been ejected from the +legal presence. Even then, she was so intent +upon the point at issue that she was not +offended, as at another time she certainly +would have been.</p> +<p>“He’s lying,” she said to herself, “they’re +all lying. There’s money hidden in that +house, and I know it, and what’s more, I’m +going to have it!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span></p> +<p>She had searched her own rooms on the +night of her arrival, but found nothing, and +the attic, so far, had yielded her naught save +discouragement and dust. “To think,” she +continued, mentally, “that after two of my +children were born here and named for them, +that we are left in this way! I call it a shame, +a disgrace, an outrage!”</p> +<p>Her anger swiftly cooled, however, as she +went into the house, and her fond sight rested +upon her darlings. Willie had a ball and had +already broken two of the front windows. +The small Rebecca was under the sofa, tempering +the pleasure of life for Claudius Tiberius, +while young Ebeneezer, having found a +knife somewhere, was diligently scratching +the melodeon.</p> +<p>“Just look,” said Mrs. Holmes, in delighted +awe, as Dorothy entered the room. “Don’t +make any noise, or you will disturb Ebbie. +He is such a sensitive child that the sound of +a strange voice will upset him. Did you ever +see anything like those figures he is drawing +on the melodeon? I believe he’s going to be +an artist!”</p> +<p>Crushed as she was in spirit by her uncongenial +surroundings, Dorothy still had enough +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span> +temper left to be furiously angry. In these +latter days, however, she had gained largely +in self-control, and now only bit her lips +without answering.</p> +<p>But Mrs. Holmes would not have heard +her, even if she had replied. A sudden yowl +from the distressed Claudius impelled Dorothy +to move the sofa and rescue him.</p> +<p>“How cruel you are!” commented Mrs. +Holmes. “The idea of taking Rebbie’s plaything +away from her! Give it back this +instant!”</p> +<p>Mrs. Carr put the cat out and returned with +a defiant expression on her face, which roused +Mrs. Holmes to action. “Willie,” she commanded, +“go out and get the kitty for your +little sister. There, there, Rebbie, darling, +don’t cry any more! Brother has gone to get +the kitty. Don’t cry!”</p> +<p>But “brother” had not gone. “Chase it +yourself,” he remarked, coolly. “I’m going +out to the barn.”</p> +<p>“Dear Willie’s individuality is developing +every day,” Mrs. Holmes went on, smoothly. +“There, there, Rebbie, don’t cry any more. +Go and tell Mrs. Smithers to give you a big +piece of bread with lots of butter and jam on +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span> +it. Tell her mamma said so. Run along, +that’s a nice little girl.”</p> +<p>Rude squares, triangles, and circles appeared +as by magic on the shining surface +of the melodeon, the young artist being not +at all disturbed by the confusion about +him.</p> +<p>“I am blessed in my children,” Mrs. +Holmes went on, happily. “I often wonder +what I have done that I should have so perfect +a boy as Willie for my very own. Everybody +admires him so that I dwell in constant +fear of kidnappers.”</p> +<p>“I wouldn’t worry,” said Dorothy, with +ill-concealed sarcasm. “Anybody who took +him would bring him back inside of two +hours.”</p> +<p>“I try to think so,” returned the mother, +with a deep sigh. “Willie’s indomitable +will is my deepest comfort. He gets it from +my side of the family. None of the children +take after their father at all. Ebbie was a +little like his father’s folks at first, but I soon +got it out of him and made him altogether +like my people. I do not think anybody +could keep Willie away from me except by +superior physical force. He absolutely adores +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span> +his mother, as my other children do. You +never saw such beautiful sentiment as they +have. The other day, now, when I went +away and left Rebbie alone in my apartment, +she took down my best hat and put it on. +The poor little thing wanted to be near her +mother. Is it not touching?”</p> +<p>“It is indeed,” Dorothy assented, dryly.</p> +<p>“My children have never been punished,” +continued Mrs. Holmes, now auspiciously +launched upon her favourite theme. “It has +never been necessary. I rule them entirely +through love, and they are so accustomed to +my methods that they bitterly resent any interference +by outsiders. Why, just before we +came here, Ebbie, young as he is, put out the +left eye of a woman who tried to take his dog +away from him. He did it with his little fist +and with apparently no effort at all. Is it not +wonderful to see such strength and power of +direction in one so young? The woman was +in the hospital when we came away, and I +trust by this time, she has learned not to interfere +with Ebbie. No one is allowed to +interfere with my children.”</p> +<p>“Apparently not,” remarked Mrs. Carr, +somewhat cynically. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span></p> +<p>“It is beautiful to be a mother—the most +beautiful thing on earth! Just think how +much I have done for the world!” Her sallow +face glowed with the conscious virtue bestowed +by one of the animal functions upon +those who have performed it.</p> +<p>“In what way?” queried Mrs. Carr, wholly +missing the point.</p> +<p>“Why, in raising Willie and Ebbie and +Rebbie! No public service can for a moment +be compared with that! All other things sink +into insignificance beside the glorious gift of +maternity. Look at Willie—a form that a +sculptor might dream of for a lifetime and +never hope to imitate—a head that already has +inspired great artists! The gentleman who +took Willie’s last tintype said that he had +never seen such perfect lines, and insisted on +taking several for fear something should happen +to Willie. He wanted to keep some of +them for himself—it was pathetic, the way he +pleaded, but I made him sell me all of them. +Willie is mine and I have the first right to his +tintypes. And a lady once painted Willie at +his play in black and white and sent it to one +of the popular weeklies. I have no doubt +they gave her a fortune for it, but it never +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span> +occurred to her to give us anything more than +one copy of the paper.”</p> +<p>“Which paper was it?”</p> +<p>“One of the so-called comic weeklies. +You know they publish superb artistic things. +I think they are doing a wonderful work in +educating the masses to a true appreciation of +art. One of the wonderful parts of it was +that Willie knew all about it and was not in +the least conceited. Any other child would +have been set up at being a model for a great +artist, but Willie was not affected at all. He +has so much character!”</p> +<p>At this point the small Rebecca entered, +dragging her doll by one arm, and munching +a thick slice of bread, thinly coated with +molasses.</p> +<p>“I distinctly said jam,” remarked Mrs. +Holmes. “Servants are so heedless. I do +not know that molasses is good for Rebbie. +What would you think, Mrs. Carr?”</p> +<p>“I don’t think it will hurt her if she doesn’t +get too much of it.”</p> +<p>“There’s no danger of her getting too +much of it. Mrs. Smithers is too stingy for +that. Why, only yesterday, Willie told me +that she refused to let him dip his dry bread +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span> +in the cream, and gave him a cup of plain +milk instead. Willie knows when his system +needs cream and I want him to have all the +nourishment he can get. The idea that she +should think she knew more about it than +Willie! She was properly punished for it, +however. I myself saw Willie throw a stick +of stove wood at her and hit her foolish head +with it. I think Willie is going to be a soldier, +a commander of an army. He has so +much executive ability and never misses what +he aims at.</p> +<p>“Rebbie, don’t chew on that side, darling; +remember your loose tooth is there. Mamma +doesn’t want it to come out.”</p> +<p>“Why?” asked Dorothy, with a gleam of +interest.</p> +<p>“Because I can’t bear to have her little baby +teeth come out and make her grow up! I +want to keep her just as she is. I have all my +children’s teeth, and some day I am going to +have them set into a beautiful bracelet. Look +at that! How generous and unselfish of +Rebbie! She is trying to share her bread +with her doll. I believe Rebbie is going to +be a philanthropist, or a college-settlement +worker. See, she is trying to give the doll +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span> +the molasses—the very best part of it. Did +you ever see such a beautiful spirit in one so +young?”</p> +<p>Before Mrs. Carr could answer, young +Ebeneezer had finished his wood carving and +had grabbed his protesting twin by the hair.</p> +<p>“There, there, Rebbie,” soothed the mother, +“don’t cry. Brother was only loving little +sister. Be careful, Ebbie. You can take hold +of sister’s hair, but not too hard. They love +each other so,” she went on. “Ebbie is +really sentimental about Rebbie. He loves to +touch and stroke her glorious blonde hair. +Did you ever see such hair as Rebbie’s?”</p> +<p>It came into Mrs. Carr’s mind that “Rebbie’s” +hair looked more like a plate of cold-slaw than +anything else, but she was too wise to put +the thought into words.</p> +<p>Willie slid down the railing and landed in +the hall with a loud whoop of glee. “How +beautiful to hear the sounds of childish mirth,” +said Mrs. Holmes. “How——”</p> +<p>From upstairs came a cry of “Help! Help!”</p> +<p>Muffled though the voice was, it plainly +issued from Uncle Israel’s room, and under +the impression that the bath cabinet had +finally set the house on fire, Mrs. Carr ran +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span> +hastily upstairs, followed closely by Mrs. +Holmes, who was flanked at the rear by the +grinning Willie and the interested twins.</p> +<p>From a confused heap of bedding, Uncle +Israel’s scarlet ankles waved frantically. “Help! +Help!” he cried again, his voice being almost +wholly deadened by the pillows, which had +fallen on him after the collapse.</p> +<p>Dorothy helped the trembling old man to +his feet. He took a copious draught from the +pain-killer, then sat down on his trunk, much +perturbed.</p> +<p>Investigation proved that the bed cord had +been cut in a dozen places by some one working +underneath, and that the entire structure +had instantly caved in when Uncle Israel had +crept up to the summit of his bed and lain +down to take his afternoon nap. When questioned, +Willie proudly admitted that he had +done it.</p> +<p>“Go down and ask Mrs. Smithers for the +clothes-line,” commanded Dorothy, sternly.</p> +<p>“I won’t,” said Willie, smartly, putting his +hands in his pockets.</p> +<p>“You had better go yourself, Mrs. Carr,” +suggested Mrs. Holmes. “Willie is tired. +He has played hard all day and needs rest. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span> +He must not on any account over-exert himself, +and, besides, I never allow any one else +to send my children on errands. They obey +me and me alone.”</p> +<p>“Go yourself,” said Willie, having gathered +encouragement from the maternal source.</p> +<p>“I’ll go,” wheezed Uncle Israel. “I can’t +sleep in no other bed. Ebeneezer’s beds is +all terrible drafty, and I took two colds at +once sleepin’ in one of ’em when I knowed +better ’n to try it.” He tottered out of the +room, the very picture of wretchedness.</p> +<p>“Was it not clever of Willie?” whispered +Mrs. Holmes, admiringly, to Dorothy. “So +much ingenuity—such a fine sense of humor!”</p> +<p>“If he were my child,” snapped Dorothy, +at last losing her admirable control of a tempestuous +temper, “he’d be soundly thrashed +at least three times a week!”</p> +<p>“I do not doubt it,” replied Mrs. Holmes, +contemptuously. “These married old maids, +who have no children of their own, are always +wholly out of sympathy with a child’s +nature.”</p> +<p>“When I was young,” retorted Mrs. Carr, +“children were not allowed to rule the entire +household. There was a current superstition +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span> +to the effect that older people had some +rights.”</p> +<p>“And yet,” Mrs. Holmes continued, meditatively, +“as the editor of <i>The Ladies’ Own</i> +so pertinently asks, what is a house for if +not to bring up a child in? The purpose of +architecture is defeated, where there are no +children.”</p> +<p>Uncle Israel, accompanied by Dick, hobbled +into the room with the clothes-line. Mrs. +Holmes discreetly retired, followed by her +offspring, and, late in the afternoon, when +Dorothy and Dick were well-nigh fagged out, +the structure was in place again. Tremulously +the exhausted owner lay down upon +it, and asked that his supper be sent to his +room.</p> +<p>By skilful manœuvring with Mrs. Smithers, +Dick compelled the proud-spirited Willie +to take up Uncle Israel’s tray and wait for it. +“I’ll tell my mother,” whimpered the sorrowful +one.</p> +<p>“I hope you will,” replied Dick, significantly; +but for some reason of his own, Willie +neglected to mention it.</p> +<p>At dinner-time, Mr. Perkins drew a rolled +manuscript, tied with a black ribbon, from his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span> +breast pocket, and, without preliminary, proceeded +to read as follows:</p> +<p>TO THE MEMORY OF EBENEEZER JUDSON</p> +<table summary='poetry' style='margin:0 auto'><tr><td> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>A face we loved has vanished,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>A voice we adored is now still,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>There is no longer any music</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>In the tinkling rill.</p> +<br /> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>His hat is empty of his head,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>His snuff-box has no sneezer,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>His cane is idle in the hall</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>For gone is Ebeneezer.</p> +<br /> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>Within the house we miss him,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>Let fall the sorrowing tear,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>Yet shall we gather as was our wont</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>Year after sunny year.</p> +<br /> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>He took such joy in all his friends</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>That he would have it so;</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>He left his house to relatives</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>But none of us need go.</p> +<br /> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>In fact, we’re all related,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>Sister, friend, and brother;</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>And in this hour of our grief</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>We must console each other.</p> +<br /> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>He would not like to have us sad,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>Our smiles were once his pleasure</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>And though we cannot smile at him,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>His memory is our treasure.</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span></div> +<p>When he had finished, there was a solemn +silence, which was at last relieved by Mrs. +Dodd. “Poetry broke out in my first husband’s +family,” she said, “but with sulphur +an’ molasses an’ quinine an’ plenty of wet-sheet +packs it was finally cured.”</p> +<p>“You do not understand,” said the poet, +indulgently. “Your aura is not harmonious +with mine.”</p> +<p>“Your—what?” demanded Mrs. Dodd, +pricking up her ears.</p> +<p>“My aura,” explained Mr. Perkins, flushing +faintly. “Each individuality gives out a +spiritual vapour, like a cloud, which surrounds +one. These are all in different colours, +and the colours change with the thoughts we +think. Black and purple are the gloomy, +morose colours; deep blue and the paler shades +show a sombre outlook on life; green is more +cheerful, though still serious; yellow and +orange show ambition and envy, and red and +white are emblematic of all the virtues—red +of the noble, martial qualities of man and +white of the angelic disposition of woman,” +he concluded, with a meaning glance at +Elaine, who had been much interested all +along. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span></p> +<p>“What perfectly lovely ideas,” she said, in +a tone which made Dick’s blood boil. “Are +they original with you, Mr. Perkins?”</p> +<p>The poet cleared his throat. “I cannot +say that they are wholly original with me,” +he admitted, reluctantly, “though of course I +have modified and amplified them to accord +with my own individuality. They are doing +wonderful things now in the psychological +laboratories. They have a system of tubes so +finely constructed that by breathing into one +of them a person’s mental state is actually +expressed. An angry person, breathing into +one of these finely organised tubes, makes a +decided change in the colour of the vapour.”</p> +<p>“Humph!” snorted Mrs. Dodd, pushing +back her chair briskly. “I’ve been married +seven times, an’ I never had to breathe into +no tube to let any of my husbands know +when I was mad!”</p> +<p>The poet crimsoned, but otherwise ignored +the comment. “If you will come into the +parlour just as twilight is falling,” he said to +the others, “I will gladly recite my ode on +Spring.”</p> +<p>Subdued thanks came from the company, +though Harlan excused himself on the score +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span> +of his work, and Mrs. Holmes was obliged to +put the twins to bed. When twilight fell, no +one was at the rendezvous but Elaine and the +poet.</p> +<p>“It is just as well,” he said, in a low tone. +“There are several under dear Uncle Ebeneezer’s +roof who are afflicted with an inharmonious +aura. With yours only am I in full +accord. It is a great pleasure to an artist to +feel such beautiful sympathy with his work. +Shall I say it now?”</p> +<p>“If you will,” murmured Elaine, deeply +honoured by acquaintance with a real poet.</p> +<p>Mr. Perkins drew his chair close to hers, +leaned over with an air of loving confidence, +and began:</p> +<table summary='poetry' style='margin:0 auto'><tr><td> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>Spring, oh Spring, dear, gentle Spring,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>My poet’s garland do I bring</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>To lay upon thy shining hair</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>Where rests a wreath of flowers so fair.</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>There is a music in the brook</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>Which answers to thy tender look</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>And in thy eyes there is a spell</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>Of soft enchantment too sweet to tell.</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>My heart to thine shall ever turn</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>For thou hast made my soul to burn</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>With rapture far beyond——</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>Elaine screamed, and in a twinkling was on +her chair with her skirts gathered about her. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span> +It was only Claudius Tiberius, dressed in Rebecca’s +doll’s clothes, scooting madly toward +the front door, but it served effectually to +break up the entertainment.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XIII_A_SENSITIVE_SOUL' id='XIII_A_SENSITIVE_SOUL'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span> +<h2>XIII</h2> +<h3>A Sensitive Soul</h3> +</div> + +<p>Uncle Israel was securely locked in +for the night, and was correspondingly +restless. He felt like a caged animal, and +sleep, though earnestly wooed, failed to come +to his relief. A powerful draught of his usual +sleeping potion had been like so much water, +as far as effect was concerned.</p> +<p>At length he got up, his lifelong habit of +cautious movement asserting itself even here, +and with tremulous, withered hands, lighted +his candle. Then he put on his piebald dressing-gown +and his carpet slippers, and sat on +the declivity of his bed, blinking at the light, +as wide awake as any owl.</p> +<p>Presently it came to him that he had not as +yet made a thorough search of his own apartment, +so he began at the foundation, so to +speak, and crawled painfully over the carpet, +paying special attention to the edges. Next, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span> +he fingered the baseboards carefully, rapping +here and there, as though he expected some +significant sound to penetrate his deafness. +Rising, he went over the wall systematically, +and at length, with the aid of a chair, +reached up to the picture-moulding. He had +gone nearly around the room, without any +definite idea of what he was searching for, +when his questioning fingers touched a small, +metallic object.</p> +<p>A smile of childlike pleasure transfigured +Uncle Israel’s wizened old face. Trembling, +he slipped down from the chair, falling over +the bath cabinet in his descent, and tried the +key in the lock. It fitted, and the old man +fairly chuckled.</p> +<p>“Wait till I tell Belinda,” he muttered, +delightedly. Then a crafty second thought +suggested that it might be wiser to keep +“Belinda” in the dark, lest she might in some +way gain possession of the duplicate key.</p> +<p>“Lor’,” he thought, “but how I pity them +husbands of her’n. Bet their graves felt good +when they got into ’em, the hull seven graves. +What with sneerin’ at medicines and things a +person eats, it must have been awful, not to +mention stealin’ of keys and a-lockin’ ’em +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span> +in nights. S’pose the house had got afire, +where’d I be now?” Grasping his treasure +closely, Uncle Israel blew out his candle and +tottered to bed, thereafter sleeping the sleep +of the just.</p> +<p>Mrs. Dodd detected subdued animation in +his demeanour when he appeared at breakfast +the following morning, and wondered what +had occurred.</p> +<p>“You look ’s if sunthin’ pleasant had happened, +Israel,” she began in a sprightly +manner.</p> +<p>“Sunthin’ pleasant has happened,” he returned, +applying himself to his imitation coffee +with renewed vigour. “I disremember +when I’ve felt so good about anythin’ before.”</p> +<p>“Something pleasant happens every day,” +put in Elaine. The country air had made +roses bloom on her pale cheeks. Her blue +eyes had new light in them, and her golden +hair fairly shone. She was far more beautiful +than the sad, frail young woman who had +come to the Jack-o’-Lantern not so many +weeks before.</p> +<p>“How optimistic you are!” sighed Mr. +Perkins, who was eating Mrs. Smithers’s crisp, +hot rolls with a very unpoetic appetite. “To +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span> +me, the world grows worse every day. It is +only a few noble souls devoted to the Ideal +and holding their heads steadfastly above the +mire of commercialism that keep our so-called +civilisation from becoming an absolute hotbed +of greed—yes, a hotbed of greed,” he repeated, +the words sounding unexpectedly well.</p> +<p>“Your aura seems to have a purple tinge +this morning,” commented Dorothy, slyly.</p> +<p>“What’s a aura, ma?” demanded Willie, +with an unusual thirst for knowledge.</p> +<p>“Something that goes with a soft person, +Willie, dear,” responded Mrs. Holmes, quite +audibly. “You know there are some people +who have no backbone at all, like the jelly-fish +we saw at the seashore the year before dear +papa died.”</p> +<p>“I’ve knowed folks,” continued Mrs. Dodd, +taking up the wandering thread of the discourse, +“what was so soft when they was +little that their mas had to carry ’em around +in a pail for fear they’d slop over and spile +the carpet.”</p> +<p>“And when they grew up, too,” Dick +ventured.</p> +<p>“Some people,” said Harlan, in a polite attempt +to change the conversation, “never +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span> +grow up at all. Their minds remain at a fixed +point. We all know them.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” sighed Mrs. Dodd, looking straight +at the poet, “we all know them.”</p> +<p>At this juncture the sensitive Mr. Perkins +rose and begged to be excused. It was the +small Ebeneezer who observed that he took a +buttered roll with him, and gratuitously gave +the information to the rest of the company.</p> +<p>Elaine flushed painfully, and presently excused +herself, following the crestfallen Mr. +Perkins to the orchard, where, entirely unsuspected +by the others, they had a trysting-place. +At intervals, they met, safely screened +by the friendly trees, and communed upon +the old, idyllic subject of poetry, especially as +represented by the unpublished works of +Harold Vernon Perkins.</p> +<p>“I cannot tell you, Mr. Perkins,” Elaine began, +“how deeply I appreciate your fine, uncommercial +attitude. As you say, the world +is sordid, and it needs men like you.”</p> +<p>The soulful one ran his long, bony fingers +through his mane of auburn hair, and assented +with a pleased grunt. “There are few, Miss +St. Clair,” he said, “who have your fine discernment. +It is almost ideal.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span></p> +<p>“Yet it seems too bad,” she went on, “that +the world-wide appreciation of your artistic +devotion should not take some tangible form. +Dollars may be vulgar and sordid, as you say, +but still, in our primitive era, they are our +only expression of value. I have even heard +it said,” she went on, rapidly, “that the +amount of wealth honestly acquired by any +individual was, after all, only the measure of +his usefulness to his race.”</p> +<p>“Miss St. Clair!” exclaimed the poet, deeply +shocked; “do I understand that you are actually +advising me to sell a poem?”</p> +<p>“Far from it, Mr. Perkins,” Elaine reassured +him. “I was only thinking that by having +your work printed in a volume, or perhaps in +the pages of a magazine, you could reach a +wider audience, and thus accomplish your +ideal of uplifting the multitude.”</p> +<p>“I am pained,” breathed the poet; “inexpressibly +pained.”</p> +<p>“Then I am sorry,” answered Elaine. “I +was only trying to help.”</p> +<p>“To think,” continued Mr. Perkins, bitterly, +“of the soiled fingers of a labouring +man, a printer, actually touching these fancies +that even I hesitate to pen! Once I saw the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216' name='page_216'></a>216</span> +fair white page of a book that had been +through that painful experience. You never +would have known it, my dear Miss St. Clair—it +was actually filthy!”</p> +<p>“I see,” murmured Elaine, duly impressed, +“but are there not more favourable conditions?”</p> +<p>“I have thought there might be,” returned +the poet, after a significant silence, “indeed, +I have prayed there might be. In some little +nook among the pines, where the brook for +ever sings and the petals of the apple blossoms +glide away to fairyland upon its shining surface, +while butterflies float lazily here and +there, if reverent hands might put the flowering +of my genius into a modest little book—I +should be tempted, yes, sorely tempted.”</p> +<p>“Dear Mr. Perkins,” cried Elaine, ecstatically +clapping her hands, “how perfectly glorious +that would be! To think how much +sweetness and beauty would go into the book, +if that were done!”</p> +<p>“Additionally,” corrected Mr. Perkins, with +a slight flush.</p> +<p>“Yes, of course I mean additionally. One +could smell the apple blossoms through the +printed page. Oh, Mr. Perkins, if I only had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span> +the means, how gladly would I devote my all +to this wonderful, uplifting work!”</p> +<p>The poet glanced around furtively, then +drew closer to Elaine. “I may tell you,” he +murmured, “in strict confidence, something +which my lips have never breathed before, +with the assurance that it will be as though +unsaid, may I not?”</p> +<p>“Indeed you may!”</p> +<p>“Then,” whispered Mr. Perkins, “I am +living in that hope. My dear Uncle Ebeneezer, +though now departed, was a distinguished +patron of the arts. Many a time have I read +him my work, assured of his deep, though unexpressed +sympathy, and, lulled by the rhythm +of our spoken speech, he has passed without +a jar from my dreamland to his own. I know +he would never speak of it to any one—dear +Uncle Ebeneezer was too finely grained for +that—but still I feel assured that somewhere +within the walls of that sorely afflicted house, +a sum of—of money—has been placed, in +the hope that I might find it and carry out this +beautiful work.”</p> +<p>“Have you hunted?” demanded Elaine, her +eyes wide with wonder.</p> +<p>“No—not hunted. I beg you, do not use +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218' name='page_218'></a>218</span> +so coarse a word. It jars upon my poet’s +soul with almost physical pain.”</p> +<p>“I beg your pardon,” returned Elaine, +“but——”</p> +<p>“Sometimes,” interrupted the poet, in a +low tone, “when I have felt especially near +to Uncle Ebeneezer’s spirit, I have barely +glanced in secret places where I have felt he +might expect me to look for it, but, so far, I +have been wholly unsuccessful, though I know +that I plainly read his thought.”</p> +<p>“Some word—some clue—did he give you +none?”</p> +<p>“None whatever, except that once or twice +he said that he would see that I was suitably +provided for. He intimated that he intended +me to have a sum apportioned to my deserts.”</p> +<p>“Which would be a generous one; but +now—Oh, Mr. Perkins, how can I help you?”</p> +<p>“You have never suspected, have you,” +asked Mr. Perkins, colouring to his temples, +“that the room you now occupy might once +have been my own? Have no poet’s dreams, +lingering in the untenanted spaces, claimed +your beauteous spirit in sleep?”</p> +<p>“Oh, Mr. Perkins, have I your room? I +will so gladly give it up—I——” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span></p> +<p>The poet raised his hand. “No. The place +where you have walked is holy ground. Not +for the world would I dispossess you, but——”</p> +<p>A meaning look did the rest. “I see,” said +Elaine, quickly guessing his thought, “you +want to hunt in my room. Oh, Mr. Perkins, +I have thoughtlessly pained you again. Can +you ever forgive me?”</p> +<p>“My thoughts,” breathed Mr. Perkins, “are +perhaps too finely phrased for modern speech. +I would not trespass upon the place you have +made your own, but——”</p> +<p>There was a brief silence, then Elaine understood. +“I see,” she said, submissively, “I will +hunt myself. I mean, I will glance about in the +hope that the spirit of Uncle Ebeneezer may +make plain to me what you seek. And——”</p> +<p>“And,” interjected the poet, quite practical +for the moment, “whatever you find is mine, +for it was once my room. It is only on +account of Uncle Ebeneezer’s fine nature and +his constant devotion to the Ideal that he did +not give it to me direct. He knew it would +pain me if he did so. You will remember?”</p> +<p>“I will remember. You need not fear to +trust me.”</p> +<p>“Then let us shake hands upon our +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span> +compact.” For a moment, Elaine’s warm, +rosy hand rested in the clammy, nerveless palm +of Harold Vernon Perkins. “Last night,” he +sighed, “I could not sleep. I was distressed +by noises which appeared to emanate from +the apartment of Mr. Skiles. Did you hear +nothing?”</p> +<p>“Nothing,” returned Elaine; “I sleep very +soundly.”</p> +<p>“The privilege of unpoetic souls,” commented +Mr. Perkins. “But, as usual, my +restlessness was not without definite and +beautiful result. In the still watches of the +night, I achieved a—poem.”</p> +<p>“Read it,” cried Elaine, rapturously. “Oh, +if I might hear it!”</p> +<p>Thus encouraged, Mr. Perkins drew a roll +from his breast pocket. A fresh blue ribbon +held it in cylindrical form, and the drooping +ends waved in careless, artistic fashion.</p> +<p>“As you might expect, if you knew about +such things,” he began, clearing his throat, +and all unconscious of the rapid approach of +Mr. Chester, “it is upon sleep. It is done +in the sonnet form, a very beautiful measure +which I have made my own. I will read it +now. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221' name='page_221'></a>221</span></p> +<table summary='poetry' style='margin:0 auto'><tr><td> +<p style='text-align: center;'>“SONNET ON SLEEP</p> +<br /> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>“O Sleep, that fillst the human breast with peace,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>When night’s dim curtains swing from out the West,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>In what way, in what manner, could we rest</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>Were thy beneficent offices to cease?</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>O Sleep, thou art indeed the snowy fleece</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>Upon Day’s lamb. A welcome guest</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>That comest alike to palace and to nest</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>And givest the cares of life a glad release.</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>O Sleep, I beg thee, rest upon my eyes,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>For I am weary, worn, and sad,—indeed,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>Of thy great mercies have I piteous need</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>So come and lead me off to Paradise.”</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>His voice broke at the end, not so much +from the intrinsic beauty of the lines as from +perceiving Mr. Chester close at hand, grinning +like the fabled pussy-cat of Cheshire, except +that he did not fade away, leaving only the grin.</p> +<p>Elaine felt the alien presence and looked +around. Woman-like, she quickly grasped +the situation.</p> +<p>“I have been having a rare treat, Mr. Chester,” +she said, in her smoothest tones. “Mr. +Perkins has very kindly been reading to me his +beautiful <i>Sonnet on Sleep</i>, composed during a +period of wakefulness last night. Did you +hear it? Is it not a most unusual sonnet?”</p> +<p>“It is, indeed,” answered Dick, dryly. “I +never before had the privilege of hearing one +that contained only twelve lines. Dante and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222' name='page_222'></a>222</span> +Petrarch and Shakespeare and all those other +ducks put fourteen lines in every blamed sonnet, +for good measure.”</p> +<p>Hurt to the quick, the sensitive poet walked +away.</p> +<p>“How can you speak so!” cried Elaine, +angrily. “Is not Mr. Perkins privileged to +create a form?”</p> +<p>“To create a form, yes,” returned Dick, +easily, “but not to monkey with an old one. +There’s a difference.”</p> +<p>Elaine would have followed the injured one +had not Dick interfered. He caught her hand +quickly, a new and unaccountable lump in his +throat suddenly choking his utterance. “I +say, Elaine,” he said, huskily, “you’re not +thinking of hooking up with that red-furred +lobster, are you?”</p> +<p>“I do not know,” responded Elaine, with +icy dignity, “what your uncouth language +may mean, but I tolerate no interference whatever +with my personal affairs.” In a moment +she was gone, and Dick watched the slender, +pink-clad figure returning to the house with +ill-concealed emotion.</p> +<p>All Summer, so far, he and Elaine had been +good friends. They had laughed and joked +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span> +and worked together in a care-free, happy-go-lucky +fashion. The arrival of Mr. Perkins +and his sudden admiration of Elaine had crystallised +the situation. Dick knew now what +caused the violent antics of his heart—a peaceful +and well-behaved organ which had never +before been so disturbed by a woman.</p> +<p>“I’ve got it,” said Dick, to himself, deeply +shamed. “Moonlight, poetry, mit-holding, +and all the rest of it. Never having had it before, +it’s going hard with me. Why in the +devil wasn’t I taught to write doggerel when +I was in college? A fellow don’t stand any +show nowadays unless he’s a pocket edition +of Byron.”</p> +<p>He went on through the orchard at a +run, instinctively healing a troubled mind by +wearying the body. At the outer edge of it, +he paused.</p> +<p>Suspended by a singularly strong bit of +twine, a small, grinning skull hung from the +lower branch of an apple tree, far out on the +limb. “Cat’s skull,” thought Dick. “Wonder +who hung it up there?”</p> +<p>He lingered, idly, for a moment or two, +then observed that a small patch of grass +directly underneath it was of that season’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224' name='page_224'></a>224</span> +growth. His curiosity fully awake, he determined +to dig a bit, though he had dug fruitlessly +in many places since he came to the +Jack-o’-Lantern.</p> +<p>“Uncle couldn’t do anything conventional,” +he said to himself, “and I’m pretty +sure he wouldn’t want any of his relations to +have his money. Here goes, just for luck!”</p> +<p>He went back to the barn for the spade, +which already had fresh earth on it—the +evidence of an early morning excavation privately +made by Mrs. Smithers in a spot where +she had dreamed gold was hidden. He went +off to the orchard with it, whistling, his progress +being furtively watched with great interest +by the sour-faced handmaiden in the +kitchen.</p> +<p>Back in the orchard again, he worked +feverishly, possessed by a pleasant thrill of +excitement, somewhat similar to that conceivably +enlivening the humdrum existence +of Captain Kidd. Dick was far from surprised +when his spade struck something hard, +and, his hands trembling with eagerness, he +lifted out a tin box of the kind commonly +used for private papers.</p> +<p>It was locked, but a twist of his muscular +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span> +hands sufficed to break it open. Then he +saw that it was a spring lock, and that, with +grim, characteristic humour, Uncle Ebeneezer +had placed the key inside the box. There +were papers there—and money, the coins +and bills being loosely scattered about, and +the papers firmly sealed in an envelope addressed +“To Whom it May Concern.”</p> +<p>Dick counted the coins and smoothed out +the bills, more puzzled than he had ever been +in his life. He was tempted to open the envelope, +but refrained, not at all sure that he +was among those whom it concerned. For +the space of half an hour he stood there, +frowning, then he laughed.</p> +<p>“I’ll just put it back,” he said to himself. +“It’s not for me to monkey with Uncle +Ebeneezer’s purposes.”</p> +<p>He buried the box in its old place, and +even cut a bit of sod from a distant part of +the orchard to hide the traces of his work. +When all was smooth again, he went back +to the barn, swinging the spade carelessly +but no longer whistling.</p> +<p>“The old devil,” he muttered, with keen +appreciation. “The wise old devil!”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XIV_MRS_DODD_S_FIFTH_FATE' id='XIV_MRS_DODD_S_FIFTH_FATE'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span> +<h2>XIV</h2> +<h3>Mrs. Dodd’s Fifth Fate</h3> +</div> + +<p><i>Morning lay fair upon the land, and yet +the Lady Elaine was weary. Like a drooping +lily she swayed in her saddle, sick at heart +and cast down. Earnestly her company of +gallant knights strove to cheer her, but in +vain. Even the merry quips of the fool in +motley, who still rode at her side, brought no +smile to her beautiful face.</i></p> +<p><i>Presently, he became silent, his heart deeply +troubled because of her. An hour passed so, +and no word was spoken, then, timidly enough, +he ventured another jest.</i></p> +<p><i>The Lady Elaine turned. “Say no more, +fool,” she commanded, “but get out thy +writing tablet and compose me a poem. I +would fain hear something sad and tender in +place of this endless folly.”</i></p> +<p><i>Le Jongleur bowed. “And the subject, +Princess?”</i> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227' name='page_227'></a>227</span></p> +<p><i>Elaine laughed bitterly. “Myself,” she +cried. “Why not? Myself, Elaine, and this +foolish quest of mine!”</i></p> +<p><i>Then, for a space, there was silence upon +the road, since the fool, with his writing tablet, +had dropped back to the rear of the +company, and the gallant knights, perceiving +the mood of their mistress, spoke not.</i></p> +<p><i>At noon, when the white sun trembled at +the zenith, Le Jongleur urged his donkey forward, +and presented to Elaine a glorious rose +which he had found blooming at the wayside.</i></p> +<p><i>“The poem is finished, your highness,” he +breathed, doffing his cap, “but ’tis all unworthy, +so I bring thee this rose also, that +something in my offering may of a certainty +be sweet.”</i></p> +<p><i>He would have put the scroll into her hand, +but she swerved her palfrey aside. “Read +it,” she said, impatiently; “I have no mind +to try my wits with thy poor scrawls.”</i></p> +<p><i>So, with his voice trembling, and overwhelmed +with self-consciousness, the fool read +as follows:</i></p> +<table summary='poetry' style='margin:0 auto'><tr><td> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>The vineyards, purple with their bloom,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>Elaine, hast thou forgotten?</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>The maidens in thy lonely room,</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span></div> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>Thy tapestry on silent loom—</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 1.47em;'>But hush! Where is Elaine?</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>Elaine, hast thou forgotten?</p> +<br /> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>Thy castle in the valley lies,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>Elaine, hast thou forgotten?</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>Where swift the homing swallow flies</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>And in the sunset daylight dies—</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 1.47em;'>But hush! Where is Elaine?</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>Elaine, hast thou forgotten?</p> +<br /> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>Night comes at last on dreamy wings,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>Elaine, hast thou forgotten?</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>’Mid gleaming clouds the pale moon swings,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>Thy taper light a faint star brings,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 1.47em;'>But hush! Where is Elaine?</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>Elaine, hast thou forgotten?</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>Harlan had never written any poetry before, +but it had always seemed easy. Now, +as he read the verses over again, he was +tremendously satisfied with his achievement. +Unconsciously, he had modelled it upon an +exquisite little bit by some one else, which +had once been reprinted beneath a “story” +of his own when he was on the paper. He +read it aloud, to see how it sounded, and was +more pleased than ever with the swing of the +verse and the music of the words. “It’s +pretty close to art,” he said to himself, “if it +isn’t the real thing.”</p> +<p>Just then the luncheon bell rang, and he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span> +went out to the midday “gab-fest,” as +he inwardly characterised it. The meal proceeded +to dessert without any unusual disturbance, +then the diminutive Ebeneezer +threw the remnants of his cup of milk into +his mother’s face, and was carried off, +howling, to be spanked. Like many other +mothers, Mrs. Holmes resented her children’s +conduct when it incommoded her, but not +otherwise, and though milk baths are said +to be fine for the complexion, she was not +altogether pleased with the manner of application.</p> +<p>Amid the vocal pyrotechnics from the +Holmes apartments, Harlan escaped into the +library, but his poem was gone. He searched +for it vainly, then sat down to write it over +before he should forget it. This done, he +went on with Elaine and her adventures, and +presently forgot all about the lost page.</p> +<p>“Don’t that do your heart good?” inquired +Mrs. Dodd, of Dorothy, inclining her +head toward Mrs. Holmes’s door.</p> +<p>“Be it ever so humble,” sang Dick, strolling +out of the room, “there’s no place like +Holmes’s.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Carr admitted that her ears were not +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span> +yet so calloused but that the sound gave her +distinct pleasure.</p> +<p>“If that there little limb of Satan had have +throwed his milk in anybody else’s face,” +went on Mrs. Dodd, “all she’d have said +would have been: ‘Ebbie, don’t spill your +nice milk. That’s naughty.’”</p> +<p>Her imitation of the fond mother’s tone and +manner was so wickedly exact that Dorothy +laughed heartily. The others had fled to a +more quiet spot, except Willie and Rebecca, +who were fighting for a place at the keyhole +of their mother’s door. Finally, Willie gained +possession of the keyhole, and the ingenious +Rebecca, lying flat on her small stomach, +peered under the door, and obtained a pleasing +view of what was going on inside.</p> +<p>“Listen at that!” cried Mrs. Dodd, her +countenance fairly beaming with innocent +pleasure. “I’m gettin’ most as much good +out of it as I would from goin’ to the circus. +Reckon it’s a slipper, for it sounds just like +little Jimmie Young’s weepin’ did the night I +come home from my fifth honeymoon.</p> +<p>“That’s the only time,” she went on, +reminiscently, “as I was ever a step-ma to +children what wasn’t growed up. You’d +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span> +think a woman as had been married four +times afore would have knowed better ’n to +get her fool head into a noose like that, but +there seems to be only one way for folks to +learn things, an’ that’s by their own experience. +If we could only use other folks’ experience, +this here world would be heaven +in about three generations, but we’re so constituted +that we never believe fire ’ll burn till +we poke our own fingers into it to see. Other +folks’ scars don’t go no ways at all toward +convincin’ us.</p> +<p>“You read lots of novels about the sorrers +of step-children, but I ain’t never come up +with no epic as yet portrayin’ the sufferin’s of +a step-ma. If I had a talent like your husband’s +got, I’ll be blest if I wouldn’t do it. +What I went through with them children +aged me ten years in less ’n three.</p> +<p>“It was like this,” she prattled on. “I’d +never seen a one of ’em, they livin’ far away +from their pa, as was necessary if their pa was +to get any peace an’ happiness out ’n life, an’ +that lyin’ creeter I married told me there was +only three. My dear, there was eight, an’ +sixteen ordinary young ones couldn’t have +been no worse. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span></p> +<p>“Our courtin’ was done mainly in the cemetery. +I’d just laid my fourth away in his +proper place an’ had the letterin’ all cut nice +on his side of the monumint, an’ I was doin’ +the plantin’ on the grave when I met my +fate—my fifth fate, I’m speakin’ of now. I +allers aimed to do right by my husbands when +they was dead no less ’n when they was livin’, +an’ I allers planted each one’s favourite +flower on his last restin’-place, an’ planted it +thick, so ’s when the last trump sounded an’ +they all riz up, there wouldn’t be no one of +’em that could accuse me of bein’ partial.</p> +<p>“Some of the flowers was funny for a +graveyard. One of ’em loved sunflowers, an’ +when blossomin’-time come, you could see a +spot of light in my lot clear from the gate +when you went in, an’ on sunny days even +from quite a piece outside.</p> +<p>“Geraniums was on the next grave, red +an’ pink together, as William loved to see ’em, +an’ most fittin’ an’ appropriate. He was a +queer-lookin’ man, William was, all bald except +for a little fringe of red hair around his +head, an’ his bald spot gettin’ as pink as anythin’ +when he got mad. I never could abide +red an’ pink together, so I did my best not to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span> +rile him; but la sakes, my dear, red-haired +folks is that touchy that you never can tell +what’s goin’ to rile ’em an’ what ain’t. +Some innercent little remark is as likely to set +’em off as anythin’ else. All the time it’s like +carryin’ a light into a fireworks place. Drop +it once an’ the air ’ll be full of sky-rockets, +roman candles, pinwheels, an’ set pieces till +you’re that dazed you don’t know where +you’re livin’. Don’t never take no red-haired +one, my dear, if you’re anyways set on +peace. I never took but one, but that was +enough to set me dead against the breed.</p> +<p>“Well, as I was a-sayin’, James begun to +woo me in the cemetery. Whenever you see +a man in a cemetery, my dear, you can take +it for granted that he’s a new-made widower. +After the first week or two, he ain’t got no +time to go to no grave, he’s so busy lookin’ +out for the next one. When I see James a-waterin’ +an’ a-weedin’ on the next lot to +mine, therefore, I knowed his sorrer was +new, even though the band of crape on his +hat was rusty an’ old.</p> +<p>“Bein’ fellow-mourners, in a way, we +struck up kind of a melancholy friendship, an’ +finally got to borrerin’ water from each other’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span> +sprinklin’ cans an’ exchangin’ flower seeds an’ +slips, an’ even hull plants. That old deceiver +told me it was his first wife that was a-lyin’ +there, an’ showed me her name on the monumint. +She was buried in her own folks’ lot, +an’ I never knowed till it was too late that his +own lot was plum full of wives, an’ this here +was a annex, so to speak. I dunno how I +come to be so took in, but anyways, when +James’s grief had subsided somewhat, we +decided to travel on the remainin’ stretch +through this vale of tears together.</p> +<p>“He told me he had a beautiful home in +Taylorville, but was a-livin’ where he was +so ’s to be near the cemetery an’ where he +could look after dear Annie’s grave. The +sentiment made me think all the more of him, +so ’s I didn’t hesitate, an’ was even willin’ to +be married with one of my old rings, to save +the expense of a new one. James allers was +thrifty, an’ the way he put it, it sounded quite +reasonable, so ’s that’s how it comes, my +dear, that in spite of havin’ had seven husbands, +I’ve only got six weddin’-rings.</p> +<p>“I put each one on when its own proper +anniversary comes around an’ wear it till the +next one, when I change again, though for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span> +one of the rings it makes only one day, because +the fourth and seventh times I was +married so near together. That sounds queer, +my dear, but if you think it over, you’ll see +what I mean. It’s fortunate, too, in a way, +’cause I found out by accident years afterward +that my fourth weddin’-ring come out +of a pawn-shop, an’ I never took much joy +out of wearin’ it. Bein’ just alike, I wore +another one mostly, even when Samuel was +alive, but he never noticed. Besides, I reckon +’t wouldn’t make no difference, for a man +that’ll go to a pawn-shop for a weddin’-ring +ain’t one to make a row about his wife’s +changin’ it. When I spoke sharp to him +about it, he snickered, an’ said it was appropriate +enough, though to this day I’ve never +figured out precisely just what the old serpent +meant by it.</p> +<p>“Well, as I was sayin’, my dear, the minister +married us in good an’ proper form, an’ +I must say that, though I’ve had all kinds of +ceremonies, I take to the ’Piscopal one the +most, in spite of havin’ been brought up +Methodis’, an’ hereafter I’ll be married by it +if the occasion should arise—an’ we drove +over to Taylorville. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span></p> +<p>“The roads was dretful, but bein’ experienced +in marriage, I could see that it wasn’t +that that was makin’ James drop the whip, +an’ pull back on the lines when he wanted the +horses to go faster, an’ not hear things I was +a-sayin’ to him. Finally, I says, very distinct: +‘James, dear, how many children did you say +you had?’</p> +<p>“‘Eight,’ says he, clearin’ his throat proud +and haughty like.</p> +<p>“‘You’re lyin’,’ says I, ‘an’ you know +you’re lyin’. You allers told me you had +three.’</p> +<p>“‘I was speakin’ of those by my first +wife,’ says he. ‘My other wives all left one +apiece. Ain’t I never told you about ’em? I +thought I had,’ he went on, speakin’ quick, +‘but if I haven’t, it ’s because your beauty +has made me forget all the pain an’ sorrer of +the past.’</p> +<p>“With that he clicked to the horses so +sudden that I was near threw out of the rig, +but it wasn’t half so bad as the other jolt +he’d just give me. For a long time I didn’t +say nothin’, an’ there’s nothin’ that makes a +man so uneasy as a woman that don’t say +nothin’, my dear, so you just write that down +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span> +in your little book, an’ remember it. It’ll +come in handy long before you’re through +with your first marriage an’ have begun on +your second. Havin’ been through four, I +was well skilled in keepin’ my mouth shut, +an’ I never said a word till we drove into the +yard of the most disconsolate-lookin’ premises +I ever seen since I was took to the poorhouse +on a visit.</p> +<p>“‘James,’ says I, cool but firm, ‘is this +your magnificent residence?’</p> +<p>“‘It is,’ says he, very soft, ‘an’ it is here +that I welcome my bride. Have you ever +seen anythin’ like this view?’</p> +<p>“‘No,’ says I, ‘I never have’; an’ it was +gospel truth I was speakin’, too, for never before +had I been to a place where the pigsty +was in front.</p> +<p>“‘It is a wonderful view,’ says I, sarcastic +like, ‘but before I linger to admire it more, I +would love to look upon the scenery inside +the house.’</p> +<p>“When we went in, I thought I was either +dreamin’ or had got to Bedlam. The seven +youngest children was raisin’ particular Cain, +an’ the oldest, a pretty little girl of thirteen, +was doin’ her best to quiet ’em. There was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238' name='page_238'></a>238</span> +six others besides what had been accounted +for, but I soon found that they belonged to a +neighbour, an’ was just visitin’ to relieve the +monotony.</p> +<p>“The woman James had left takin’ care of +’em had been gone two weeks an’ more, with +a month’s wages still comin’ to her, which +James never felt called on to pay, on account +of her havin’ left without notice. James was +dretful thrifty. The youngest one was puttin’ +the cat into the water-pitcher, an’ as soon as +I found out what his name was, I called him +sharp by it an’ told him to quit. He put his +tongue out at me as sassy as you please, an’ +says: ‘I won’t.’</p> +<p>“Well, my dear, I didn’t wait to hear no +more, but I opened my satchel an’ took out +one of my slippers an’ give that child a lickin’ +that he’ll remember when he’s a grandparent. +‘Hereafter,’ says I, ‘when I tell you +to do anythin’, you’ll do it. I’ll speak kind +the first time an’ firm the second, and the +third time the whole thing will be illustrated +so plain that nobody can’t misunderstand it. +Your pa has took me into a confidence game,’ +says I, speakin’ to all the children, ‘but I was +never one to draw back from what I’d put +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239' name='page_239'></a>239</span> +my hand to, an’ I aim to do right by you if +you do right by me. You mind,’ says I, +‘an’ you won’t have no trouble; an’ the same +thing,’ says I to James, ‘applies to you.’</p> +<p>“I felt sorry for all those poor little motherless +things, with a liar for a pa, an’ all the +time I lived there, I tried to make up to ’em +what I could, but step-mas have their sorrers, +my dear, that’s what they do, an’ I ain’t +never seen no piece about it in the paper yet, +either.</p> +<p>“If you’ll excuse me now, my dear, I’ll +go to my room. It’s just come to my mind +now that this here is one of my anniversaries, +an’ I’ll have to look up the facts in my family +Bible, an’ change my ring.”</p> +<p>At dinner-time the chastised and chastened +twin appeared in freshly starched raiment. +His eyes were swollen and his face flushed, but +otherwise his recent painful experience had remarkably +improved him. He said “please” +and “thank you,” and did not even resent it +when Willie slyly dropped a small piece of +watermelon down his neck.</p> +<p>“This afternoon,” said Elaine, “Mr. Perkins +composed a beautiful poem. I know it +is beautiful, though I have not yet heard it. I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240' name='page_240'></a>240</span> +do not wish to be selfish in my pleasure, so I +will ask him to read it to us all.”</p> +<p>The poet’s face suddenly became the colour +of his hair. He dropped his napkin, and +swiftly whispered to Elaine, while he was +picking it up, that she herself was the subject +of the poem.</p> +<p>“How perfectly charming,” said Elaine, +clearly. “Did you hear, Mrs. Carr? Poor +little, insignificant me has actually inspired a +great poem. Oh, do read it, Mr. Perkins? +We are all dying to hear it!”</p> +<p>Fairly cornered, the poet muttered that he +had lost it—some other time—wait until to-morrow—and +so on.</p> +<p>“No need to wait,” said Dick, with an ironical +smile. “It was lost, but now is found. +I came upon it myself, blowing around unheeded +under the library window, quite like a +common bit of paper.”</p> +<p>Mr. Perkins was transfixed with amazement, +for his cherished poem was at that +minute in his breast pocket. He clutched at +it spasmodically, to be sure it was still safe.</p> +<p>Very different emotions possessed Harlan, +who choked on his food. He instinctively +guessed the worst, and saw his home in lurid +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span> +ruin about him, but was powerless to avert +the catastrophe.</p> +<p>“Read it, Dick,” said Mrs. Dodd, kindly. +“We are all a-perishin’ to hear it. I can’t +eat another bite until I do. I reckon it’ll +sound like a valentine,” she concluded, with a +malicious glance at Mr. Perkins.</p> +<p>“I have taken the liberty,” chuckled Dick, +“of changing a word or two occasionally, to +make better sense of it, and of leaving out +some lines altogether. Every one is privileged +to vary an established form.” Without +further preliminary, he read the improved +version.</p> +<table summary='poetry' style='margin:0 auto'><tr><td> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>“The little doggie sheds his coat,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>Elaine, have you forgotten?</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>What is it goes around a button?</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>I thought you knew that simple thing,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>But ideas in your head take wing.</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>Elaine, have you forgotten?</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>The answer is a goat.</p> +<br /> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>“How much is three times humpty-steen?</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>Elaine, have you forgotten?</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>Why does a chicken cross the road?</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>Who carries home a toper’s load?</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>You are so very stupid, dear!</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 1.47em;'>Elaine, have you forgotten?</p> +<br /> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>“You think a mop of scarlet hair</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>And pale green eyes——”</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242' name='page_242'></a>242</span></div> +<p>“That will do,” said Miss St. Clair, crisply. +“Mr. Perkins, may I ask as a favour that you +will not speak to me again?” She marched +out with her head high, and Mr. Perkins, +wholly unstrung, buried his face in his napkin.</p> +<p>Harlan laughed—a loud, ringing laugh, such +as Dorothy had not heard from him for +months, and striding around the table, he +grasped Dick’s hand in tremendous relief.</p> +<p>“Let me have it,” he cried, eagerly. “Give +me all of it!”</p> +<p>“Sure,” said Dick, readily, passing over +both sheets of paper.</p> +<p>Harlan went into the library with the composition, +and presently, when Dick was walking +around the house and saw bits of torn +paper fluttering out of the open window, a +light broke through his usual density.</p> +<p>“Whew!” he said to himself. “I’ll be +darned! I’ll be everlastingly darned! Idiot!” +he continued, savagely. “Oh, if I could only +kick myself! Poor Dorothy! I wonder if +she knows!”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XV_TREASURETROVE' id='XV_TREASURETROVE'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span> +<h2>XV</h2> +<h3>Treasure-Trove</h3> +</div> + +<p>The August moon swung high in the +heavens, and the crickets chirped unbearably. +The luminous dew lay heavily +upon the surrounding fields, and now and +then a stray breeze, amid the overhanging +branches of the trees that lined the roadway, +aroused in the consciousness of the single +wayfarer a feeling closely akin to panic. When +he reached the summit of the hill, he was +trembling violently.</p> +<p>In the dooryard of the Jack-o’-Lantern, he +paused. It was dark, save for a single round +window. In an upper front room a night-lamp, +turned low, gave one leering eye to the +grotesque exterior of the house.</p> +<p>With his heart thumping loudly, Mr. Bradford +leaned against a tree and divested himself +of his shoes. From a package under his arm, +he took out a pair of soft felt slippers, the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span> +paper rattling loudly as he did so. He put +them on, hesitated, then went cautiously up +the walk.</p> +<p>“In all my seventy-eight years,” he thought, +“I have never done anything like this. If I +had not promised the Colonel—but a promise +to a dying man is sacred, especially when he +is one’s best friend.”</p> +<p>The sound of the key in the lock seemed +almost like an explosion of dynamite. Mr. +Bradford wiped the cold perspiration from his +forehead, turned the door slowly upon its +squeaky hinges, and went in, feeling like a +burglar.</p> +<p>“I am not a burglar,” he thought, his hands +shaking. “I have come to give, not to take +away.”</p> +<p>Fearfully, he tiptoed into the parlour, expecting +at any moment to arouse the house. +Feeling his way carefully along the wall, and +guided by the moonlight which streamed in +at the side windows, he came to the wing +occupied by Mrs. Holmes and her exuberant +offspring. Here he stooped, awkwardly, and +slipped a sealed and addressed letter under +the door, heaving a sigh of relief as he got +away without having wakened any one. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245' name='page_245'></a>245</span></p> +<p>The sounds which came from Mrs. Dodd’s +room were reassuringly suggestive of sleep. +Hastily, he slipped another letter under her +door, then made his way cautiously to the +kitchen. The missive intended for Mrs. +Smithers was left on the door-mat outside, +for, as Mr. Bradford well knew, the +ears of the handmaiden were uncomfortably +keen.</p> +<p>At the foot of the stairs he hesitated again, +but by the time he reached the top, his heart +had ceased to beat audibly. He tiptoed down +the corridor to Uncle Israel’s room, then, further +on, to Dick’s. The letter intended for +Mr. Perkins was slipped under Elaine’s door, +Mr. Bradford not being aware that the poet +had changed his room. Having safely accomplished +his last errand, the tension relaxed, +and he went downstairs with more assurance, +his pace being unduly hastened by a subdued +howl from one of the twins.</p> +<p>Bidding himself be calm, he got to the front +door, and drew a long breath of relief as he +closed it noiselessly. There was a light in +Mrs. Holmes’s room now, and Mr. Bradford +did not wish to linger. He gathered up his +shoes and fairly ran downhill, arriving at his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span> +office much shaken in mind and body, nearly +two hours after he had started.</p> +<p>“I do not know,” he said to himself, “why +the Colonel should have been so particular as +to dates and hours, but he knew his own business +best.” Then, further in accordance with +his instructions, he burned a number of letters +which could not be delivered personally.</p> +<p>If Mr. Bradford could have seen the company +which met at the breakfast table the following +morning, he would have been amply +repaid for his supreme effort of the night before, +had he been blessed with any sense of humour +at all. The Carrs were untroubled, and Elaine +appeared as usual, except for her haughty indifference +to Mr. Perkins. She thought he +had written a letter to himself and slipped it +under her door, in order to compel her to +speak to him, but she had tactfully avoided +that difficulty by leaving it on his own threshold. +Dick’s eyes were dancing and at intervals +his mirth bubbled over, needlessly, as +every one else appeared to think.</p> +<p>“I doesn’t know wot folks finds to laugh +at,” remarked Mrs. Smithers, as she brought +in the coffee; “that’s wot I doesn’t. It’s a +solemn time, I take it, when the sheeted spectres +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span> +of the dead walks abroad by night, that’s +wot it is. It’s time for folks to be thinkin’ +about their immortal souls.”</p> +<p>This enigmatical utterance produced a startling +effect. Mr. Perkins turned a pale green +and hastily excused himself, his breakfast +wholly untouched. Mrs. Holmes dropped +her fork and recovered it in evident confusion. +Mrs. Dodd’s face was a bright scarlet and appeared +about to burst, but she kept her lips +compressed into a thin, tight line. Uncle Israel +nodded over his predigested food. “Just +so,” he mumbled; “a solemn time.”</p> +<p>Eagerly watching for an opportunity, Mrs. +Holmes dived into the barn, and emerged, +cautiously, with the spade concealed under +her skirts. She carried it into her own apartment +and hid it under Willie’s bed. Mrs. +Smithers went to look for it a little later, and, +discovering that it was unaccountably missing, +excavated her own private spade from beneath +the hay. During the afternoon, the poet was +observed lashing the fire-shovel to the other +end of a decrepit rake. Uncle Israel, after a +fruitless search of the premises, actually went +to town and came back with a bulky and awkward +parcel, which he hid in the shrubbery. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span></p> +<p>Meanwhile, Willie had gone whimpering +to Mrs. Dodd, who was in serious trouble of +her own. “I’m afraid,” he admitted, when +closely questioned.</p> +<p>“Afraid of what?” demanded his counsellor, +sharply.</p> +<p>“I’m afraid of ma,” sobbed Willie. “She’s +a-goin’ to bury me. She’s got the spade hid +under my bed now.”</p> +<p>Sudden emotion completely changed Mrs. +Dodd’s countenance. “There, there, Willie,” +she said, stroking him kindly. “Where is +your ma?”</p> +<p>“She’s out in the orchard with Ebbie and +Rebbie.”</p> +<p>“Well now, deary, don’t you say nothin’ +at all to your ma, an’ we’ll fool her. The +idea of buryin’ a nice little boy like you! You +just go an’ get me that spade an’ I’ll hide it +in my room. Then, when your ma asks for +it, you don’t know nothin’ about it. See?”</p> +<p>Willie’s troubled face brightened, and presently +the implement was under Mrs. Dodd’s +own bed, and her door locked. Much relieved +in his mind and cherishing kindly sentiments +toward his benefactor, Willie slid down the +banisters, unrebuked, the rest of the afternoon. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249' name='page_249'></a>249</span></p> +<p>Meanwhile Mrs. Dodd sat on the porch and +meditated. “I’d never have thought,” she +said to herself, “that Ebeneezer would intend +that Holmes woman to have any of it, but +you never can tell what folks’ll do when their +minds gets to failin’ at the end. Ebeneezer’s +mind must have failed dretful, for I know he +didn’t make no promise to her, same as he +did to me, an’ if she don’t suspect nothin’, +what did she go an’ get the spade for? Dretful +likely hand it is, for spirit writin’.”</p> +<p>Looking about furtively to make sure that +she was not observed, Mrs. Dodd drew out +of the mysterious recesses of her garments, +the crumpled communication of the night before. +It was dated, “Heaven, August 12th,” +and the penmanship was Uncle Ebeneezer’s +to the life.</p> +<p>“Dear Belinda,” it read. “I find myself +at the last moment obliged to change my +plans. If you will go to the orchard at exactly +twelve o’clock on the night of August +13th, you will find there what you seek. Go +straight ahead to the ninth row of apple trees, +then seven trees to the left. A cat’s skull +hangs from the lower branch, if it hasn’t +blown down or been taken away. Dig here +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span> +and you will find a tin box containing what I +have always meant you to have.</p> +<p>“I charge you by all you hold sacred to +obey these directions in every particular, and +unless you want to lose it all, to say nothing +about it to any one who may be in the house.</p> +<p>“I am sorry to put you to this inconvenience, +but the limitations of the spirit +world cannot well be explained to mortals. I +hope you will make a wise use of the money +and not spend it all on clothes, as women are +apt to do.</p> +<p>“In conclusion, let me say that I am very +happy in heaven, though it is considerably +more quiet than any place I ever lived in before. +I have met a great many friends here, +but no relatives except my wife. Farewell, +as I shall probably never see you again.</p> +<p>“Yours,</p> +<div class='ra'> +<p><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>“Ebeneezer Judson.</span></p> +</div> + +<p>“P.S. All of your previous husbands are +here, in the sunny section set aside for martyrs. +None of them give you a good reputation.</p> +<div class='ra'> +<p>“E. J.”</p> +</div> + +<p>“Don’t it beat all,” muttered Mrs. Dodd to +herself, excitedly. “Here was Ebeneezer at +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span> +my door last night, an’ I never knowed it. +Sakes alive, if I had knowed it, I wouldn’t +have slep’ like I did. Here comes that Holmes +hussy. Wonder what she knows!”</p> +<p>“Do you believe in spirits, Mrs. Dodd?” +inquired Mrs. Holmes, in a careless tone that +did not deceive her listener.</p> +<p>“Depends,” returned the other, with an +evident distaste for the subject.</p> +<p>“Do you believe spirits can walk?”</p> +<p>“I ain’t never seen no spirits walk, but I’ve +seen folks try to walk that was full of spirits, +and there wa’n’t no visible improvement in +their steppin’.” This was a pleasant allusion +to the departed Mr. Holmes, who was currently +said to have “drunk hisself to death.”</p> +<p>A scarlet flush, which mounted to the roots +of Mrs. Holmes’s hair, indicated that the shot +had told, and Mrs. Dodd went to her own +room, where she carefully locked herself in. +She was determined to sit upon her precious +spade until midnight, if it were necessary, to +keep it.</p> +<p>Mrs. Smithers was sitting up in bed with +the cold perspiration oozing from every pore, +when the kitchen clock struck twelve sharp, +quick strokes. The other clocks in the house +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252' name='page_252'></a>252</span> +took up the echo and made merry with it. +The grandfather’s clock in the hall was the +last to strike, and the twelve deep-toned notes +boomed a solemn warning which, to more +than one quaking listener, bore a strong suggestion +of another world—an uncanny world +at that.</p> +<p>“Guess I’ll go along,” said Dick to himself, +yawning and stretching. “I might just +as well see the fun.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Smithers, with her private spade and +her odorous lantern, was at the spot first, +closely seconded by Mrs. Dodd, in a voluminous +garment of red flannel which had +seen all of its best days and not a few of its +worst. Trembling from head to foot, came +Mrs. Holmes, carrying a pair of shears, which +she had snatched up at the last moment when +she discovered the spade was missing. Mr. +Perkins, fully garbed, appeared with his improvised +shovel. Uncle Israel, in his piebald +dressing-gown, tottered along in the rear, +bearing his spade, still unwrapped, his bedroom +candle, and a box of matches. Dick +surveyed the scene from a safe, shadowy +distance, and on a branch near the skull, +Claudius Tiberius was stretched at full length, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253' name='page_253'></a>253</span> +purring with a loud, resonant purr which +could be heard from afar.</p> +<p>After the first shock of surprise, which was +especially keen on the part of Mrs. Dodd, +when she saw Uncle Israel in the company, +Mrs. Smithers broke the silence.</p> +<p>“It’s nothink more nor a wild-goose +chase,” she said, resentfully. “A-gettin’ us +all out’n our beds at this time o’ night! It’s +a sufferin’ and dyin’ shame, that’s wot it is, +and if sperrits was like other folks, ’t wouldn’t +’ave happened.”</p> +<p>“Sarah,” said Mrs. Dodd, firmly, “keep +your mouth shut. Israel, will you dig?”</p> +<p>“We’ll all dig,” said Mrs. Holmes, in the +voice of authority, and thereafter the dirt flew +briskly enough, accompanied by the laboured +breathing of perspiring humanity.</p> +<p>It was Uncle Israel’s spade that first touched +the box, and, with a cry of delight, he stooped +for it, as did everybody else. By sheer force +of muscle, Mrs. Dodd got it away from him.</p> +<p>“This wrangle,” sighed Mr. Perkins, “is +both unseemly and sordid. Let us all agree +to abide by dear Uncle Ebeneezer’s last bequests.”</p> +<p>“There won’t be no desire not to abide by +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254' name='page_254'></a>254</span> +’em,” snorted Mrs. Smithers, “wot with cats +as can’t stay buried and sheeted spectres of +the dead a-walkin’ through the house by +night!”</p> +<p>By this time, Mrs. Dodd had the box open, +and a cry of astonishment broke from her +lips. Several heads were badly bumped in +the effort to peep into the box, and an unprotected +sneeze from Uncle Israel added to the +general unpleasantness.</p> +<p>“You can all go away,” cried Mrs. Dodd, +shrilly. “There’s two one-dollar bills here, +two quarters, an’ two nickels an’ eight pennies. +’T aint nothin’ to be fit over.”</p> +<p>“But the letter,” suggested Mr. Perkins, +hopefully. “Is there not a letter from dear +Uncle Ebeneezer? Let us gather around the +box in a reverent spirit and listen to dear +Uncle Ebeneezer’s last words.”</p> +<p>“You can read ’em,” snapped Mrs. Holmes, +“if you’re set on hearing.”</p> +<p>Uncle Israel wheezed so loudly that for the +moment he drowned the deep purr of Claudius +Tiberius. When quiet was restored, Mr. +Perkins broke the seal of the envelope and +unfolded the communication within. Uncle +Israel held the dripping candle on one side +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span> +and Mrs. Smithers the smoking lantern on the +other, while near by, Dick watched the midnight +assembly with an unholy glee which, +in spite of his efforts, nearly became audible.</p> +<p>“How beautiful,” said Mr. Perkins, “to +think that dear Uncle Ebeneezer’s last words +should be given to us in this unexpected but +original way.”</p> +<p>“Shut up,” said Mrs. Smithers, emphatically, +“and read them last words. I’m +gettin’ the pneumony now, that’s wot I +am.”</p> +<p>“You’re the only one,” chirped Mrs. Dodd, +hysterically. “The money in this here box +is all old.” It was, indeed. Mr. Judson +seemed to have purposely chosen ragged bills +and coins worn smooth.</p> +<p>“‘Dear Relations,’” began Mr. Perkins. +“‘As every one of you have at one time or +another routed me out of bed to let you in +when you have come to my house on the +night train, and always uninvited——’”</p> +<p>“I never did,” interrupted Mrs. Holmes. +“I always came in the daytime.”</p> +<p>“Nobody ain’t come at night,” explained +Mrs. Smithers, “since ’e fixed the ’ouse over +into a face. One female fainted dead away +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span> +when ’er started up the hill and see it a-winkin’ +at ’er, yes sir, that’s wot ’er did!”</p> +<p>“‘It seems only fitting and appropriate,’” +continued Mr. Perkins, “‘that you should all +see how it seems.’” The poet wiped his +massive brow with his soiled handkerchief. +“Dear uncle!” he commented.</p> +<p>“Yes,” wheezed Uncle Israel, “‘dear uncle!’ +Damn his stingy old soul,” he added, with +uncalled-for emphasis.</p> +<p>“It gives me pleasure to explain in this +fashion my disposal of my estate,” the reader +went on, huskily.</p> +<p>“Of all the connection on both sides, there +is only one that has never been to see me, +unless I’ve forgotten some, and that is my +beloved nephew, James Harlan Carr.”</p> +<p>“Him,” creaked Uncle Israel. “Him, as +never see Ebeneezer.”</p> +<p>“He has never,” continued the poet, with +difficulty, “rung my door bell at night, nor +eaten me out of house and home, nor written +begging letters—” this phrase was well-nigh +inaudible—“nor had fits on me——”</p> +<p>Here there was a pause and all eyes were +fastened upon Uncle Israel.</p> +<p>“’T wa’n’t a fit!” he screamed. “It was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257' name='page_257'></a>257</span> +a involuntary spasm brought on by takin’ +two searchin’ medicines too near together. +’T wa’n’t a fit!”</p> +<p>“Nor children——”</p> +<p>“The idea!” snapped Mrs. Holmes. “Poor +little Ebbie and Rebbie had to be born somewhere.”</p> +<p>“Nor paralysis——”</p> +<p>“That was Cousin Si Martin,” said Mrs. +Dodd, half to herself. “He was took bad +with it in the night.”</p> +<p>“He has never come to spend Christmas +with me and remained until the ensuing dog +days, nor sent me a crayon portrait of himself”—Mr. +Perkins faltered here, but nobly +went on—“nor had typhoid fever, nor finished +up his tuberculosis, nor cut teeth, nor +set the house on fire with a bath cabinet——”</p> +<p>At this juncture Uncle Israel was so overcome +with violent emotion that it was some +time before the reading could proceed.</p> +<p>“Never having come into any kind of relations +with my dear nephew, James Harlan +Carr,” continued Mr. Perkins, in troubled +tones, “I have shown my gratitude in this +humble way. To him I give the house and +all my furniture, my books and personal effects +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span> +of every kind, my farm in Hill County, two +thousand acres, all improved and clear of incumbrance, +except blooded stock,——”</p> +<p>“I never knowed ’e ’ad no farm,” interrupted +Mrs. Smithers.</p> +<p>“And the ten thousand and eighty-four +dollars in the City Bank which at this writing +is there to my credit, but will be duly transferred, +and my dear Rebecca’s diamond pin to +be given to my beloved nephew’s wife when +he marries. It is all in my will, which my +dear friend Jeremiah Bradford has, and which +he will read at the proper time to those +concerned.”</p> +<p>“The old snake!” shrieked Mrs. Holmes.</p> +<p>“Further,” went on the poet, almost past +speech by this time, “I direct that the remainder +of my estate, which is here in this +box, shall be divided as follows:</p> +<p>“Eight cents each to that loafer, Si Martin, +his lazy wife, and their eight badly brought-up +children, with instructions to be generous +to any additions to said children through matrimony +or natural causes; Fanny Wood and +that poor, white-livered creature she married, +thereby proving her own idiocy if it needed +proof; Uncle James’s cross-eyed third wife +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span> +and her two silly daughters; Rebecca’s sister’s +scoundrelly second husband, with his +foolish wife and their little boy with a face +like a pug dog; Uncle Jason, who has needed +a bath ever since I knew him—I want he +should spend his legacy for soap—and his epileptic +stepson, whose name I forget, though +he lived with me five years hand-running; +lying Sally Simmons and her half-witted +daughter; that old hen, Belinda Dodd; that +skunk, Harold Vernon Perkins, who never +did a stroke of honest work in his life till he +began to dig for this box; monkey-faced Lucretia +and the four thieving little Riley children, +who are likely to get into prison when they +grow up; that human undertaker’s waggon, +Betsey Skiles, and her two impudent nieces; +that grand old perambulating drug store, Israel +Skiles; that Holmes fool with the three +reprints of her ugliness—eight cents apiece, +and may you get all possible good out of it.</p> +<p>“Dick Chester, however, having always +paid his board, and tried to be a help to me in +several small ways, and in spite of having +lived with me eight Summers or more without +having been asked to do so, gets two +thousand two hundred and fifty dollars which +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span> +is deposited for him in the savings department +of the Metropolitan Bank, plus the three hundred +and seventy dollars he paid me for board +without my asking him for it. Sarah Smithers, +being in the main a good woman, though +sharp-tongued at times, and having been faithful +all the time my house has been full of lowdown +cusses too lazy to work for their living, +gets twelve hundred and fifty dollars which is +in the same bank as Dick’s. The rest of you +take your eight cents apiece and be damned. +You can get the money changed at the store. +If any have been left out, it is my desire that +those remembered should divide with the +unfortunate.</p> +<p>“If you had not all claimed to be Rebecca’s +relatives, you would have been kicked out of +my house years ago, but since writing this, I +have seen Rebecca and made it right with +her. It was not her desire that I should be +imposed upon.</p> +<p>“Get out of my house, every one of you, +before noon to-morrow, and the devil has my +sincere sympathy when you go to live with +him and make hell what you have made my +house ever since Rebecca’s death. <span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Get out!!!</span></p> +<div class='ra'> +<p>“<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Ebeneezer Judson.</span>”</p> +</div> + +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261' name='page_261'></a>261</span></div> +<p>The letter was badly written and incoherent, +yet there could be no doubt of its +meaning, nor of the state of mind in which +it had been penned. For a moment, there +was a tense silence, then Mrs. Dodd tittered +hysterically.</p> +<p>“We thought diamonds was goin’ to be +trumps,” she observed, “an’ it turned out to +be spades.”</p> +<p>Uncle Israel wheezed again and Mrs. Smithers +smacked her lips with intense satisfaction. +Mrs. Holmes was pale with anger, and, under +cover of the night, Dick sneaked back to his +room, shame-faced, yet happy. Claudius +Tiberius still purred, sticking his claws into +the bark with every evidence of pleasure.</p> +<p>“I do not know,” said Mr. Perkins, sadly, +running his fingers through his mane, +“whether we are obliged to take as final +these vagaries of a dying man. Dear Uncle +Ebeneezer could not have been sane when he +penned this cruel letter. I do not believe it +was his desire to have any of us go away before +the usual time.” Under cover of these forgiving +sentiments, he pocketed all the money +in the box.</p> +<p>“Me neither,” said Mrs. Dodd. “Anyhow, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262' name='page_262'></a>262</span> +I’m goin’ to stay. No sheeted spectre can’t +scare me away from a place I’ve always stayed +in Summers, ’specially,” she added, sarcastically, +“when I’m remembered in the will.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Smithers clucked disagreeably and went +back to the house. Uncle Israel looked after +her with dismay. “Do you suppose,” he +queried, in falsetto, “that she’ll tell the +Carrs?”</p> +<p>“Hush, Israel,” replied Mrs. Dodd. “She +can’t tell them Carrs about our diggin’ all night +in the orchard, ’cause she was here herself. +They didn’t get no spirit communication +an’ they won’t suspect nothin’. We’ll just +stay where we be an’ go on ’s if nothin’ had +happened.”</p> +<p>Indeed, this seemed the wisest plan, and, +shivering with the cold, the baffled ones filed +back to the Jack-o’-Lantern. “How did you +get out, Israel?” whispered Mrs. Dodd, as +they approached the house.</p> +<p>The old man snickered. It was the only +moment of the evening he had thoroughly enjoyed. +“The same spirit that give me the +letter, Belinda,” he returned, pleasantly, “also +give me a key. You didn’t think I had no +flyin’ machine, did you?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263' name='page_263'></a>263</span></p> +<p>“Humph” grunted Mrs. Dodd. “Spirits +don’t carry no keys!”</p> +<p>At the threshold they paused, the sensitive +poet quite unstrung by the night’s adventure. +From the depths of the Jack-o’-Lantern came +a shrill, infantile cry.</p> +<p>“Is that Ebbie,” asked Mrs. Dodd, “or +Rebbie?”</p> +<p>Mrs. Holmes turned upon her with suppressed +fury. “Don’t you ever dare to allude +to my children in that manner again,” she +commanded, hoarsely.</p> +<p>“What is their names?” quavered Uncle +Israel, lighting his candle.</p> +<p>“Their names,” returned Mrs. Holmes, with +a vast accession of dignity, “are Gladys Gwendolen +and Algernon Paul! Good night!”</p> +<p>Just before dawn, a sheeted spectre appeared +at the side of Sarah Smither’s bed, and +swore the trembling woman to secrecy. It +was long past sunrise before the frightened +handmaiden came to her senses enough to recall +that the voice of the apparition had been +strangely like Mrs. Dodd’s.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XVI_GOOD_FORTUNE' id='XVI_GOOD_FORTUNE'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264' name='page_264'></a>264</span> +<h2>XVI</h2> +<h3>Good Fortune</h3> +</div> + +<p>The next morning, Harlan and Dorothy ate +breakfast by themselves. There was +suppressed excitement in the manner of Mrs. +Smithers, who by this time had quite recovered +from her fright, and, as they readily saw, +not wholly of an unpleasant kind. From time +to time she tittered audibly—a thing which +had never happened before.</p> +<p>“It’s just as if a tombstone should giggle,” +remarked Harlan. His tone was low, but +unfortunately, it carried well.</p> +<p>“Tombstone or not, just as you like,” responded +Mrs. Smithers, as she came in with +the bacon. “I’d be careful ’ow I spoke disrespectfully +of tombstones if I was in your +places, that’s wot I would. Tombstones is +kind to some and cussed to others, that’s wot +they are, and if you don’t like the monument +wot’s at present in your kitchen, you know +wot you can do.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265' name='page_265'></a>265</span></p> +<p>After breakfast, she beckoned Dorothy into +the kitchen, and “gave notice.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Mrs. Smithers,” cried Dorothy, almost +moved to tears, “please don’t leave me +in the lurch! What should I do without you, +with all these people on my hands? Don’t +think of such a thing as leaving me!”</p> +<p>“Miss Carr,” said Mrs. Smithers, solemnly, +with one long bony finger laid alongside of +her hooked nose, “’t ain’t necessary for you +to run no Summer hotel, that’s what it ain’t. +These ’ere all be relations of your uncle’s wife +and none of his’n except by marriage. Wot’s +more, your uncle don’t want ’em ’ere, that’s +wot ’e don’t.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Smithers’s tone was so confident that +for the moment Dorothy was startled, remembering +yesterday’s vague allusion to “sheeted +spectres of the dead.”</p> +<p>“What do you mean?” she demanded.</p> +<p>“Miss Carr,” returned Mrs. Smithers, with +due dignity, “ever since I come ’ere, I’ve +been invited to shut my ’ead whenever I +opened it about that there cat or your uncle +or anythink, as you well knows. I was never +one wot was fond of ’avin’ my ’ead shut +up.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266' name='page_266'></a>266</span></p> +<p>“Go on,” said Dorothy, her curiosity fully +alive, “and tell me what you mean.”</p> +<p>“You gives me your solemn oath, Miss, +that you won’t tell me to shut my ’ead?” +queried Mrs. Smithers.</p> +<p>“Of course,” returned Dorothy, trying to +be practical, though the atmosphere was +sepulchral enough.</p> +<p>“Well, then, you knows wot I told you +about that there cat. ’E was kilt by your +uncle, that’s wot ’e was, and your uncle +couldn’t never abide cats. ’E was that feared +of ’em ’e couldn’t even bury ’em when they +was kilt, and one of my duties, Miss, as long +as I lived with ’im, was buryin’ of cats, and +until this one, I never come up with one wot +couldn’t stay buried, that’s wot I ’aven’t.</p> +<p>“’E ’ated ’em like poison, that’s wot ’e did. +The week afore your uncle died, he kilt this +’ere cat wot’s chasin’ the chickens now, and +I buried ’im with my own hands, but could ’e +stay buried? ’E could not. No sooner is +your uncle dead and gone than this ’ere cat +comes back, and it’s the truth, Miss Carr, for +where ’e was buried, there ain’t no sign of a +cat now. Wot’s worse, this ’ere cat looks +per-cisely like your uncle, green eyes, white +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267' name='page_267'></a>267</span> +shirt front, black tie and all. It’s enough to +give a body the shivers to see ’im a-settin’ on +the kitchen floor lappin’ up ’is mush and milk, +the which your uncle was so powerful fond of.</p> +<p>“Wot’s more,” continued Mrs. Smithers, +in tones of awe, “I’ll a’most bet my immortal +soul that if you’ll dig in the cemetery where +your uncle was buried good and proper, you +won’t find nothin’ but the empty coffin and +maybe ’is grave clothes. Your uncle’s been +livin’ with us all along in that there cat,” she +added, triumphantly. “It’s ’is punishment, +for ’e couldn’t never abide ’em, that’s wot ’e +couldn’t.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Carr opened her mouth to speak, then, +remembering her promise, took refuge in +flight.</p> +<p>“’Er’s scared,” muttered Mrs. Smithers, +“and no wonder. Wot with cats as can’t +stay buried, writin’ letters and deliverin’ ’em +in the dead of night, and a purrin’ like mad +while blamed fools digs for eight cents, most +folks would be scared, I take it, that’s wot +they would.”</p> +<p>Dorothy was pale when she went into the +library where Harlan was at work. He +frowned at the interruption and Dorothy +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268' name='page_268'></a>268</span> +smiled back at him—it seemed so normal +and sane.</p> +<p>“What is it, Dorothy?” he asked, not +unkindly.</p> +<p>“Oh—just Mrs. Smithers’s nonsense. She’s +upset me.”</p> +<p>“What about, dear?” Harlan put his work +aside readily enough now.</p> +<p>“Oh, the same old story about the cat and +Uncle Ebeneezer. And I’m afraid——”</p> +<p>“Afraid of what?”</p> +<p>“I know it’s foolish, but I’m afraid she’s +going to dig in the cemetery to see if Uncle +Ebeneezer is still there. She thinks he’s in +the cat.”</p> +<p>For the moment, Harlan thought Dorothy +had suddenly lost her reason, then he laughed +heartily.</p> +<p>“Don’t worry,” he said, “she won’t do +anything of the kind, and, besides, what if +she did? It’s a free country, isn’t it?”</p> +<p>“And—there’s another thing, Harlan.” +For days she had dreaded to speak of it, but +now it could be put off no longer.</p> +<p>“It’s—it’s money,” she went on, unwillingly. +“I’m afraid I haven’t managed +very well, or else it’s cost so much for everything, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span> +but we’re—we’re almost broke, Harlan,” +she concluded, bravely, trying to smile.</p> +<p>Harlan put his hands in his pockets and +began to walk back and forth. “If I can only +finish the book,” he said, at length, “I think +we’ll be all right, but I can’t leave it now. +There’s only two more chapters to write, and +then——”</p> +<p>“And then,” cried Dorothy, her beautiful +belief in him transfiguring her face, “then +we’ll be rich, won’t we?”</p> +<p>“I am already rich,” returned Harlan, +“when you have such faith in me as that.”</p> +<p>For a moment the shimmering veil of estrangement +which so long had hung between +them, seemed to part, and reveal soul to soul. +As swiftly the mood changed and Dorothy +felt it first, like a chill mist in the air. Neither +dreamed that with the writing of the first +paragraph in the book, the spell had claimed +one of them for ever—that cobweb after cobweb, +of gossamer fineness, should make a +fabric never to be broken; that on one side of +it should stand a man who had exchanged his +dreams for realities and his realities for dreams, +and on the other, a woman, blindly hurt, +eternally straining to see beyond the veil. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270' name='page_270'></a>270</span></p> +<p>“What can we do?” asked Harlan, unwontedly +practical for the nonce.</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” said Dorothy. “There are +the diamonds, you know, that we found. I +don’t care for any diamonds, except the one +you gave me. If we could sell those——”</p> +<p>“Dorothy, don’t. I don’t believe they’re +ours, and if they were, they shouldn’t be +sold. You should keep them.”</p> +<p>“My engagement ring, then,” suggested +Dorothy, her lips trembling. “That’s ours.”</p> +<p>“Don’t be foolish,” said Harlan, a little +roughly. “I’ll finish this and then we’ll see +what’s to be done.”</p> +<p>Feeling her dismissal, Dorothy went out, +and, all unknowingly, straight into the +sunshine.</p> +<p>Elaine was coming downstairs, fresh and +sweet as the morning itself. “Am I too late +to have any breakfast, Mrs. Carr?” she asked, +gaily. “I know I don’t deserve any.”</p> +<p>“Of course you shall have breakfast. I’ll +see to it.”</p> +<p>Elaine took her place at the table and Dorothy, +reluctant to put further strain on the frail +bond that anchored Mrs. Smithers to her +service, brought in the breakfast herself. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271' name='page_271'></a>271</span></p> +<p>“You’re so good to me,” said the girl, +gratefully, as Dorothy poured out a cup of +steaming coffee. “To think how beautiful +you’ve been to me, when I never saw either +one of you in my whole life, till I came here +ill and broken-hearted! See what you’ve +made of me—see how well and strong I +am!”</p> +<p>Swiftly, Dorothy bent and kissed Elaine, a +strange, shadowy cloud for ever lifted from +her heart. She had not known how heavy it +was nor how charged with foreboding, until it +was gone.</p> +<p>“I want to do something for you,” Elaine +went on, laughing to hide the mist in her +eyes, “and I’ve just thought what I can do. +My mother had some beautiful old mahogany +furniture, just loads of it, and some wonderful +laces, and I’m going to divide with you.”</p> +<p>“No, you’re not,” returned Dorothy, +warmly. She felt that Elaine had already +given her enough.</p> +<p>“It isn’t meant for payment, Mrs. Carr,” +the girl went on, her big blue eyes fixed upon +Dorothy, “but you’re to take it from me just +as I’ve taken this lovely Summer from you. +You took in a stranger, weak and helpless and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272' name='page_272'></a>272</span> +half-crazed with grief, and you’ve made her +into a happy woman again.”</p> +<p>Before Dorothy could answer, Dick lounged +in, frankly sleepy. “Second call in the dining +car?” he asked, taking Mrs. Dodd’s place, +across the table from Elaine.</p> +<p>“Third call,” returned Dorothy, brightly, +“and, if you don’t mind, I’ll leave you two to +wait on yourselves.” She went upstairs, her +heart light, not so much from reality as from +prescience. “How true it is,” she thought, +“that if you only wait and do the best you +can, things all work out straight again. I’ve +had to learn it, but I know it now.”</p> +<p>“Bully bunch, the Carrs,” remarked Dick, +pushing his cup to Elaine.</p> +<p>“They’re lovely,” she answered, with +conviction.</p> +<p>The sun streamed brightly into the dining-room +of the Jack-o’-Lantern and changed its +hideousness into cheer. Seeing Elaine across +from him, gracefully pouring his coffee, affected +Dick strangely. Since the day before, he +had seen clearly something which he must do.</p> +<p>“I say, Elaine,” he began, awkwardly. +“That beast of a poem I read the other +day——” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273' name='page_273'></a>273</span></p> +<p>Her face paled, ever so slightly. “Yes?”</p> +<p>“Well, Perkins didn’t write it, you know,” +Dick went on, hastily. “I did it myself. +Or, rather I found it, blowing around, outside, +just as I said, and I fixed it.”</p> +<p>At length he became restless under the calm +scrutiny of Elaine’s clear eyes. “I beg your +pardon,” he continued.</p> +<p>“Did you think,” she asked, “that it was +nice to make fun of a lady in that way?”</p> +<p>“I didn’t think,” returned Dick, truthfully. +“I never thought for a minute that it was +making fun of you, but only of that—that pup, +Perkins,” he concluded, viciously.</p> +<p>“Under the circumstances,” said Elaine, +ignoring the epithet, “the silence of Mr. Perkins +has been very noble. I shall tell him +so.”</p> +<p>“Do,” answered Dick, with difficulty. +“He’s ambling up to the lunch-counter +now.” Mr. Chester went out by way of the +window, swallowing hard.</p> +<p>“I have just been told,” said Miss St. Clair to +the poet, “that the—er—poem was not written +by you, and I apologise for what I said.”</p> +<p>Mr. Perkins bowed in acknowledgment. +“It is a small matter,” he said, wearily, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274' name='page_274'></a>274</span> +running his fingers through his hair. It was, +indeed, compared with deep sorrow of a penetrating +kind, and a sleepless night, but Elaine +did not relish the comment.</p> +<p>“Were—were you restless in the night?” +she asked, conventionally.</p> +<p>“I was. I did not sleep at all until after +four o’clock, and then only for a few moments.”</p> +<p>“I’m sorry. Did—did you write anything?”</p> +<p>“I began an epic,” answered the poet, +touched, for the moment, by this unexpected +sympathy. “An epic in blank verse, on +‘Disappointment.’”</p> +<p>“I’m sure it’s beautiful,” continued Elaine, +coldly. “And that reminds me. I have +hunted through my room, in every possible +place, and found nothing.”</p> +<p>A flood of painful emotion overwhelmed +the poet, and he buried his face in his hands. +In a flash, Elaine was violently angry, though +she could not have told why. She marched +out of the dining-room and slammed the door. +“Delicate, sensitive soul,” she said to herself, +scornfully. “Wants people to hunt for money +he thinks may be hidden in his room, and yet +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275' name='page_275'></a>275</span> +is so far above sordidness that he can’t hear it +spoken of!”</p> +<p>Seeing Mr. Chester pacing back and forth +moodily at some distance from the house, +Elaine rushed out to him. “Dick,” she cried, +“he <i>is</i> a lobster!”</p> +<p>Dick’s clouded face brightened. “Is he?” +he asked, eagerly, knowing instinctively +whom she meant. “Elaine, you’re a brick!” +They shook hands in token of absolute agreement +upon one subject at least, and the girl’s +right hand hurt her for some little time +afterward.</p> +<p>Left to himself, Mr. Perkins mused upon +the dread prospect before him. For years he +had calculated upon a generous proportion +of his Uncle Ebeneezer’s estate, and had even +borrowed money upon the strength of his +expectations. These debts now loomed up +inconveniently.</p> +<p>The vulgar, commercial people from whom +Mr. Perkins had borrowed filthy coin were +quite capable of speaking of the matter, and +in an unpleasant manner at that. The fine +soul of Mr. Perkins shrank from the ordeal. +He had that particular disdain of commercialism +which is inseparable from the incapable +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276' name='page_276'></a>276</span> +and unsuccessful, and yet, if the light of his +genius were to illuminate a desolate world, +Mr. Perkins must have money.</p> +<p>He might even have to degrade himself by +coarse toil—and hitherto, he had been too +proud to work. The thought was terrible. +Pegasus hitched to the plough was nothing +compared with the prospect of Mr. Perkins +being obliged to earn three or four dollars a +week in some humble, common capacity.</p> +<p>Then a bright idea came to his rescue. +“Mr. Carr,” he thought, “the gentleman who +is now entertaining me—he is doing my own +kind of work, though of course it is less fine +in quality. Perhaps he would like the opportunity +of going down to posterity as the +humble Mæcenas of a new Horace.”</p> +<p>Borne to the library in the rush of this attractive +idea, Mr. Perkins opened the door, +which Harlan had forgotten to lock, and without +in any way announcing himself, broke in +on Harlan’s chapter.</p> +<p>“What do you mean?” demanded the +irate author. “What business have you butting +in here like this? Get out!”</p> +<p>“I—” stammered Mr. Perkins.</p> +<p>“Get out!” thundered Harlan. It sounded +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277' name='page_277'></a>277</span> +strangely like the last phrase of “dear Uncle +Ebeneezer’s last communication,” and, trembling, +the disconsolate poet obeyed. He fled +to his own room as a storm-tossed ship to its +last harbour, and renewed the composition of +his epic on “Disappointment,” for which, by +this time, he had additional material.</p> +<p>Harlan went back to his work, but the +mood was gone. The living, radiant picture +had wholly vanished, and in its place was a +heap of dead, dry, meaningless words. “Did +I write it?” asked Harlan, of himself, “and +if so, why?”</p> +<p>Like the mocking fantasy of a dream as seen +in the instant of waking, Elaine and her company +had gone, as if to return no more. Only +two chapters were yet to be written, and he +knew, vaguely, what Elaine was about to do +when he left her, but his pen had lost the +trick of writing.</p> +<p>Deeply troubled, Harlan went to the window, +where the outer world still had the curious +appearance of unreality. It was as though +a sheet of glass were between him and the +life of the rest of the world. He could see +through it clearly, but the barrier was there, +and must always be there. Upon the edge +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278' name='page_278'></a>278</span> +of this glass, the light of life should break and +resolve itself into prismatic colours, of which +he should see one at a time, now and then +more, and often a clear, pitiless view of the +world should give him no colour at all.</p> +<p>Presently Lawyer Bradford came up the hill, +dressed for a formal call. In a flash it brought +back to Harlan the day the old man had first +come to the Jack-o’-Lantern, when Dorothy +was a happy girl with a care-free boy for a +husband. How much had happened since, +and how old and grey the world had grown!</p> +<p>“I desire to see the distinguished author, +Mr. Carr,” the thin, piping voice was saying +at the door, “upon a matter of immediate +and personal importance. And Mrs. Carr +also, if she is at leisure. Privacy is absolutely +essential.”</p> +<p>“Come into the library,” said Harlan, from +the doorway. Another interruption made +no difference now. Dorothy soon followed, +much mystified by the way in which Mrs. +Smithers had summoned her.</p> +<p>Remembering the inopportune intrusion of +Mr. Perkins, Harlan locked the door. “Now, +Mr. Bradford,” he said, easily, “what is it?”</p> +<p>“I should have told you before,” began the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279' name='page_279'></a>279</span> +old lawyer, “had not the bonds of silence +been laid upon me by one whom we all revere +and who is now past carrying out his own +desires. The house is yours, as my letters of +an earlier date apprised you, and the will is to +be probated at the Fall term of court.</p> +<p>“Your uncle,” went on Mr. Bradford, unwillingly, +“was a great sufferer from—from +relations,” he added, lowering his voice to a +shrill whisper, “and he has chosen to revenge +himself for his sufferings in his own way. +Of this I am not at liberty to speak, though +no definite silence was required of me later +than yesterday.</p> +<p>“There is, however, a farm of two thousand +acres, all improved, which is still to come +to you, and a sum of money amounting to +something over ten thousand dollars, in the +bank to your credit. The multitudinous duties +in connection with the practice of my profession +have prevented me from making myself +familiar with the exact amount.</p> +<p>“And,” he went on, looking at Dorothy, +“there is a very beautiful diamond pin, the +gift of my lamented friend to his lovely young +wife upon the day of the solemnisation of their +nuptials, which was to be given to the wife of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280' name='page_280'></a>280</span> +Mr. Judson’s nephew when he should marry. +It is sewn in a mattress in the room at the end +of the north wing.”</p> +<p>The earth whirled beneath Dorothy’s feet. +At first, she had not fully comprehended what +Mr. Bradford was saying, but now she realised +that they had passed from pinching poverty +to affluence—at least it seemed so to her. +Harlan was not so readily confused, but none +the less, he, too, was dazed. Neither of them +could speak.</p> +<p>“I should be grateful,” the old man was +saying, “if you would ask Mr. Richard Chester +and Mrs. Sarah Smithers to come to my +office at their earliest convenience. I will not +trespass upon their valuable time at present.”</p> +<p>There was a long silence, during which Mr. +Bradford cleared his throat, and wiped his +glasses several times. “The farm has always +been held in my name,” he continued, “to +protect our lamented friend and benefactor +from additional disturbance. If—if the relations +had known, his life would have been +even less peaceful than it was. A further farm, +valued at twelve thousand dollars, and also +held in my name, is my friend’s last gift to +me, as I discovered by opening a personal +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281' name='page_281'></a>281</span> +letter which was to be kept sealed until this +morning. I did not open it until late in the +morning, not wishing to show unseemly +eagerness to pry into my friend’s affairs. I +am too much affected to speak of it—I feel +his loss too keenly. He was my Colonel—I +served under him in the war.”</p> +<p>A mist filled the old man’s eyes and he +fumbled for the door-knob. Harlan found it +for him, turned the key, and opened the door. +Mrs. Dodd, Mrs. Holmes, Mrs. Smithers, and +the suffering poet were all in the hall, their +attitudes plainly indicating that they had been +listening at the door, but something in Mr. +Bradford’s face made them huddle back into +the corner, ashamed.</p> +<p>Feeling his way with his cane, he went to +the parlour door, where he stood for a moment +at the threshold, his streaming eyes +fixed upon the portrait over the mantel. The +simple dignity of his grief forbade a word +from any one. At length he straightened himself, +brought his trembling hand to his forehead +in a feeble military salute, and, wiping +his eyes, tottered off downhill.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XVII_THE_LADY_ELAINE_KNOWS_HER_HEART' id='XVII_THE_LADY_ELAINE_KNOWS_HER_HEART'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282' name='page_282'></a>282</span> +<h2>XVII</h2> +<h3>The Lady Elaine knows her Heart</h3> +</div> + +<p><i>It was on a dark and stormy midnight, when +the thunders boomed and the dread fury of +the lightnings scarred the overhanging cliffs, +that the Lady Elaine at last came to know her +heart.</i></p> +<p><i>She was in a cave, safe from all but the +noise of the storm. A cheery fire blazed at +her door, and her bed within was made soft +with pine boughs and skins. For weeks they +had journeyed here and there, yet there had +been no knight in whose face Elaine could find +what she sought.</i></p> +<p><i>As she lay on her couch, she reflected upon +the faithful wayfarers who had travelled with +her, who had ever been gentle and courtly, +saving her from all annoyance and all harm. +Yet above them all, there was one who, from +the time of their starting, had kept vigilant +guard. He was the humblest of them all, but +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283' name='page_283'></a>283</span> +it was he who made her rest in shady places by +the wayside when she herself scarce knew that +she was weary; had given her cool spring water +in a cup cunningly woven of leaves before she +had realised her thirst; had brought her berries +and strange, luscious fruits before she had +thought of hunger; and who had cheered her, +many a time, when no one else had guessed +that she was sad.</i></p> +<p><i>Outside, he was guarding her now, all heedless +of the rain. She could see him dimly in +the shadow, then, all at once, more clearly in +the firelight. His head was bowed and his +arms folded, yet in the strong lines of his +body there was no hint of weariness. Well +did the Lady Elaine know that until Dawn spun +her web of enchantment upon the mysterious +loom of the East, he would march sleeplessly +before her door, replenishing the fire, listening +now and then for her deep breathing, +and, upon the morrow, gaily tell her of his +dreams.</i></p> +<p><i>Dreams they were, indeed, but not the dreams +of sleep. Upon these midnight marchings, +her sentinel gave his wandering fancy free +rein. And because of the dumb pain in his +heart, these fancies were all the merrier; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284' name='page_284'></a>284</span> +more golden with the sun of laughter, more +gemmed with the pearl of tears.</i></p> +<p><i>Proud-hearted, yet strangely homesick, the +Lady Elaine was restless this night. “I must +go back,” she thought, “to the Castle of Content, +where my dear father would fain have +his child again. And yet I dread to go back +with my errand undone, my quest unrewarded.</i></p> +<p><i>“What is it,” thought Elaine, in sudden +self-searching, “that I seek? What must +this man be, to whom I would surrender the +keeping of my heart? What do I ask that is +so hard to find?</i></p> +<p><i>“Am I seeking for a god? Nay, surely not, +but only for a man. Valorous he must be, indeed, +but not in the lists—’tis not a soldier, +for I have seen them by the hundred since +I left my home in the valley. ’Tis not a +model for the tapestry weaver that my heart +would have, for I have seen the most beautiful +youths of my country since I came forth upon +my quest.</i></p> +<p><i>“Some one, perchance,” mused the Lady +Elaine, “whose beauty my eyes alone should +perceive, whose valour only I should guess +before there was need to test it. Some one great +of heart and clean of mind, in whose eyes +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285' name='page_285'></a>285</span> +there should never be that which makes a +woman ashamed. Some one fine-fibred and +strong-souled, not above tenderness when a +maid was tired. One who should make a +shield of his love, to keep her not only from +the great hurts but from the little ones as +well, and yet with whom she might fare +onward, shoulder to shoulder, as God meant +mates should fare.</i></p> +<p><i>“Surely ’tis not so unusual, this thing that +I ask—only an honest man with human faults +and human virtues, transfigured by a great +love. And why is it that in this quest of mine, +I have found him not?”</i></p> +<p><i>“Princess,” said a voice at her doorway, +“thou art surely still awake. The storm is +lessening and there is naught to fear. I pray +thee, try to sleep. And if there is aught I +can do for thee, thou knowest thou hast only +to speak.”</i></p> +<p><i>From the warm darkness where she lay, +Elaine saw his face with the firelight upon it, +and all at once she knew.</i></p> +<p><i>“There is naught,” she answered, with +what he thought was coldness. “I bid thee +leave me and take thine own rest.”</i></p> +<p><i>“As thou wilt,” he responded, submissively, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286' name='page_286'></a>286</span> +but though the sound was now faint +and far away, she still could hear him walking +back and forth, keeping his unremitting +guard.</i></p> +<p><i>So it was that at last Love came to the Lady +Elaine. She had dreamed of some fair +stranger, into whose eyes she should look and +instantly know him for her lord, never guessing +that her lord had gone with her when she +left the Castle of Content. There was none +of those leaps of the heart of which one of +the maids at the Castle had read from the +books while the others worked at the tapestry +frames. It was nothing new, but only a light +upon something which had always been, and +which, because of her own blindness, she had +not seen.</i></p> +<p><i>All through this foolish journey, Love had +ridden beside the Lady Elaine, asking nothing +but the privilege of serving her; demanding +only the right to give, to sacrifice, to shield. +And at last she knew.</i></p> +<p><i>The doubting in her heart was for ever +stilled and in its place was a great peace. +There was an unspeakable tenderness and a +measureless compassion, so wide and so deep +that it sheltered all the world. For, strangely +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287' name='page_287'></a>287</span> +enough, the love of the many comes first +through the love of the one.</i></p> +<p><i>The Lady Elaine did not need to ask whether +he loved her, for, unerringly, she knew. Mated +past all power of change, they two were one +henceforward, though seas should roll between. +Mated through suffering as well, for, in this +new bond, as the Lady Elaine dimly perceived, +there was great possibility of hurt. Yet there +was no end or no beginning; it simply was, and +at last she knew.</i></p> +<p><i>At length, she slept. When she awoke the +morning was fair upon the mountains, but +still he paced back and forth before her door. +Rising, she bathed her face in the cool water +he had brought her, braided her glorious +golden hair, changed her soiled habit for a +fresh robe of white satin traced with gold, +donned her red embroidered slippers, and +stepped out into the sunrise, shading her eyes +with her hand until they grew accustomed to +the dawn.</i></p> +<p><i>“Good morrow, Princess,” he said. +“We——”</i></p> +<p><i>Of a sudden, he stopped and fled like a +wild thing into the forest, for by her eyes, he +saw what was in her heart, and his hot words, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288' name='page_288'></a>288</span> +struggling for utterance, choked him. “At +last,” he breathed, with his clenched hands +on his breast; “at last—but no, ’tis another +dream of mine that I dare not believe.”</i></p> +<p><i>His senses reeled, for love comes not to a +man as to a woman, but rather with the sound +of trumpets and the glare of white light. The +cloistered peace that fills her soul rests seldom +upon him, and instead he is stirred with high +ambition and spurred on to glorious achievement. +For to her, love is the end of life; to +him it is the means.</i></p> +<p><i>The knights thought it but another caprice +when the Lady Elaine gave orders to return to +the Castle of Content, at once, and by the +shortest way—all save one of them. With +his heart rioting madly through his breast, he +knew, but he did not dare to look at Elaine. +He was as one long blinded, who suddenly sees +the sun.</i></p> +<p><i>So it was that though he still served her, he +rode no longer by her side, and Elaine, hurt +at first, at length understood, and smiled +because of her understanding. All the way +back, the Lady Elaine sang little songs to herself, +and, the while she rode upon her palfrey, +touched her zither into gentle harmonies. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289' name='page_289'></a>289</span> +After many days, they came within sight of +the Castle of Content.</i></p> +<p><i>As before, it was sunset, and the long light +lay upon the hills, while the valley was in +shadow. Purple were the vineyards, heavy +with their clustered treasure, over which the +tiny weavers had made their lace, and purple, +too, were the many-spired cliffs, behind which +the sunset shone.</i></p> +<p><i>A courier, riding swiftly in advance, had +apprised the Lord of the Castle of Content +of the return of the Lady Elaine, and the +maids from the tapestry room, and the keeper +of the wine-cellar, and the stable-boys, and +the candle-makers, and the light-bearers all +rushed out, heedless of their manners, for, +one and all, they loved the Lady Elaine, and +were eager to behold their beautiful mistress +again.</i></p> +<p><i>But the Lord of the Castle of Content, speaking +somewhat sternly, ordered them one and +all back to their places, and, shamefacedly, +they obeyed. “I would not be selfish,” he +muttered to himself, “but surely, Elaine is +mine, and the first gleam of her beauty belongs +of right to these misty old eyes of mine, that +have long strained across the dark for the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290' name='page_290'></a>290</span> +first hint of her coming. Of a truth her +quest has been long.”</i></p> +<p><i>So it came to pass that when the company +reached the road that led down into the valley, +the Lord of the Castle of Content was on +the portico alone, though he could not have +known that behind every shuttered window of +the Castle, a humble servitor of Elaine’s was +waiting anxiously for her coming.</i></p> +<p><i>As before, Elaine rode at the head, waving +her hand to her father, while the cymbals +and the bugles crashed out a welcome. She +could not see, but she guessed that he was +there, and in return he waved a tremulous +hand at her, though well he knew that in the +fast gathering twilight, the child of his heart +could not see the one who awaited her.</i></p> +<p><i>One by one, as they came in single file down +the precipice, the old man counted them, much +astonished to see that there was no new member +of the company—that as many were coming +back as had gone away. For the moment his +heart was glad, then he reproached himself +bitterly for his selfishness, and was truthfully +most tender toward Elaine, because she had +failed upon her quest.</i></p> +<p><i>The light gleamed capriciously upon the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291' name='page_291'></a>291</span> +bauble of the fool, which he still carried, +though now it hung downward from his +saddle, foolishly enough. “A most merry +fool,” said the Lord of Content to himself. +“I was wise to insist upon his accompanying +this wayward child of mine.”</i></p> +<p><i>Wayward she might be, yet her father’s +eyes were dim when she came down into the +valley, where there was no light save the +evening star, a taper light at an upper window +of the Castle, and her illumined face.</i></p> +<p><i>“How hast thou fared upon thy quest, +Elaine?” he asked in trembling tones, when +at last she released herself from his eager +embrace. He dreaded to hear her make known +her disappointment, yet his sorrow was all for +her, and not in the least for himself.</i></p> +<p><i>“I have found him, father,” she said, the +gladness in her voice betraying itself as surely +as the music in a stream when Spring sets it +free again, “and, forsooth, he rode with me +all the time.”</i></p> +<p><i>“Which knight hast thou chosen, Elaine?” +he asked, a little sadly.</i></p> +<p><i>“No knight at all, dear father. I have +found my knight in stranger guise than in +armour and shield. He bears no lance, save +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_292' name='page_292'></a>292</span> +for those who would injure me.” And then, +she beckoned to the fool.</i></p> +<p><i>“He is here, my father,” she went on, her +great love making her all unconscious of the +shame she should feel.</i></p> +<p><i>“Elaine!” thundered her father, while +the fool hung his head, “hast thou taken +leave of thy senses? Of a truth, this is a +sorry jest thou hast chosen to greet me with +on thy return.”</i></p> +<p><i>“Father,” said Elaine, made bold by the +silent pressure of the hand that secretly +clasped hers, “’tis no jest. If thou art +pained, indeed I am sorry, but if thou choosest +to banish me, then this night will I go gladly +with him I have chosen to be my lord. The +true heart which Heaven has sent for me beats +beneath his motley, and with him I must go. +Dear father,” cried Elaine, piteously, “do +not send us away!”</i></p> +<p><i>The stern eyes of the Lord of the Castle of +Content were fixed upon the fool, and in +the gathering darkness they gleamed like live +coals. “And thou,” he said, scornfully; +“what hast thou to say?”</i></p> +<p><i>“Only this,” answered the fool; “that the +Princess has spoken truly. We are mated by +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_293' name='page_293'></a>293</span> +a higher law than that of thy land or mine, +and ’tis this law that we must obey. If thou +sayest the word, we will set forth to my country +this very night, though we are both weary with +much journeying.”</i></p> +<p><i>“Thy land,” said the Lord of the Castle, +with measureless contempt, “and what land +hast thou? Even the six feet of ground thou +needest for a grave must be given thee at the +last, unless, perchance, thou hast a handful +of stolen earth hidden somewhere among thy +other jewels!”</i></p> +<p><i>“Your lordship,” cried the fool, with a +clear ring in his voice, “thou shall not speak +so to the man who is to wed thy daughter. I +had not thought to tell even her till after the +priests had made us one, but for our own protection, +I am stung into speech.</i></p> +<p><i>“Know then, that I am no fool, but a Prince +of the House of Bernard. My acres and my +vineyards cover five times the space of this +little realm of thine. Chests of gold and +jewels I have, storehouses overflowing with +grain and fine fabrics, three castles and a +royal retinue. Of a truth, thou art blind +since thou canst see naught but the raiment. +May not a Prince wear motley if he chooses, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294' name='page_294'></a>294</span> +thus to find a maid who will love him for +himself alone?”</i></p> +<p><i>“Prince Bernard,” muttered the Lord of +Content, “the son of my old friend, whom I +have long dreamed in secret shouldst wed my +dear daughter Elaine! Your Highness, I beg +you to forgive me, and to take my hand.”</i></p> +<p><i>But Prince Bernard did not hear, nor see +the outstretched hand, for Elaine was in his +arms for the first time, her sweet lips close on +his. “My Prince, oh my Prince,” she murmured, +when at length he set her free; “my +eyes could not see, but my heart knew!”</i></p> +<p><i>So ended the Quest of the Lady Elaine.</i></p> +<p>With a sigh, Harlan wrote the last words +and pushed the paper from him, staring +blankly at the wall and seeing nothing. His +labour was at an end, all save the final copying, +and the painstaking daily revision which +would take weeks longer. The exaltation he +had expected to be conscious of was utterly +absent; instead of it, he had a sense of loss, +of change.</p> +<p>His surroundings seemed hopelessly sordid +and ugly, now that the glow was gone. All +unknowingly, when Harlan pencilled: “The +End,” in fanciful letters at the bottom of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_295' name='page_295'></a>295</span> +last page, he had had practically his last joy of +his book. The torturing process of revision +was to take all the life out of it. Sentences +born of surging emotion would seem vapid +and foolish when subjected to the cold, critical +eye of his reason, yet he knew, dimly, that he +must not change it too much.</p> +<p>“I’ll let it get cool,” he thought, “before I +do anything more to it.”</p> +<p>Yet, now, it was difficult to stop working. +The rented typewriter, with its enticing +bank of keys, was close at hand. A thousand +sheets of paper and a box of carbon waited in +the drawer of Uncle Ebeneezer’s desk. His +worn <i>Thesaurus of English Words and +Phrases</i> was at his elbow. And they were +poor. Then Harlan laughed, for they were no +longer poor, and he had wholly forgotten it.</p> +<p>There was a step upon the porch outside, +then Dorothy came into the hall. She paused +outside the library door for a moment, ostensibly +to tie her shoe, but in reality to listen. +A wave of remorseful tenderness overwhelmed +Harlan and he unlocked the door. +“Come in,” he said, smiling. “You needn’t +be afraid to come in any more. The book is +all done.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_296' name='page_296'></a>296</span></p> +<p>“O Harlan, is it truly done?” There +was no gladness in her voice, only relief. +Doubt was in every intonation of her sentence; +incredulity in every line of her body.</p> +<p>With this pitiless new insight of his, Harlan +saw how she had felt for these last weeks and +became very tenderly anxious not to hurt her; +to shield his transformed self from her quick +understanding.</p> +<p>“Really,” he answered. “Have I been a +beast, Dorothy?”</p> +<p>The question was so like the boy she used +to know that her heart leaped wildly, then +became portentously still.</p> +<p>“Rather,” she admitted, grudgingly, from +the shelter of his arms.</p> +<p>“I’m sorry. If you say so, I’ll burn it. +Nothing is coming between you and me.” +The words sounded hollow and meaningless, +as he knew they were.</p> +<p>She put her hand over his mouth. “You +won’t do any such thing,” she said. Dorothy +had learned the bitterness of the woman’s +part, to stand by, utterly lonely, and dream, +and wait, while men achieve.</p> +<p>“Can I read it now?” she asked, timidly.</p> +<p>“You couldn’t make it out, Dorothy. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_297' name='page_297'></a>297</span> +When it’s all done, and every word is just as +I want it, I’ll read it to you. That will be +better, won’t it?”</p> +<p>“Can Dick come, too?” She asked the +question thoughtlessly, then flushed as Harlan +took her face between his hands.</p> +<p>“Dorothy, did you know Dick before we +were married?”</p> +<p>“Why, Harlan! I never saw him in all my +life till the day he came here. Did you think +I had?”</p> +<p>Harlan only grunted, but she understood, +and, in return, asked her question. “Did +you write the book about Elaine?” she began, +half ashamed.</p> +<p>“Dear little idiot,” said Harlan, softly. +“I’d begun the book before she came or +before I knew she was coming. I never saw +her till she came to live with us. You’re +foolish, dearest, don’t you think you are?”</p> +<p>He was swiftly perceiving the necessity of +creating a new harmony to take the place +of that old one, now so strangely lost.</p> +<p>“There are two of us,” returned Dorothy, +with conviction, wiping her eyes.</p> +<p>“I wish you’d ask me things,” said Harlan, +a little later. “I’m no mind reader. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_298' name='page_298'></a>298</span> +And, besides, the seventh son of a seventh +son, born with a caul, and having three +trances regularly every day after meals, never +could hope to understand a woman unless +she was willing to help him out a little, +occasionally.”</p> +<p>Which, after all, was more or less true.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XVIII_UNCLE_EBENEEZER_S_DIARY' id='XVIII_UNCLE_EBENEEZER_S_DIARY'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_299' name='page_299'></a>299</span> +<h2>XVIII</h2> +<h3>Uncle Ebeneezer’s Diary</h3> +</div> + +<p>Harlan had taken his work upstairs, +that the ceaseless clatter of the typewriter +might not add to the confusion which +normally prevailed in the Jack-o’-Lantern. +Thus it happened that Dorothy was able to +begin her long-cherished project of dusting, +rearranging, and cataloguing the books.</p> +<p>There is a fine spiritual essence which exhales +from the covers of a book. Shall one +touch a copy of Shakespeare with other than +reverent hands, or take up his Boswell without +a smile? Through the worn covers and +broken binding the master-spirit still speaks, +no less than through the centuries which lie +between. The man who had the wishing +carpet, upon which he sat and wished and +was thence immediately transported to the +ends of the earth, was not possessed of a finer +magic than one who takes his Boswell in his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_300' name='page_300'></a>300</span> +hands and then, for a golden quarter of an +hour, lives in a bygone London with Doctor +Johnson.</p> +<p>When the book-lover enters his library, no +matter what storm and tumult may be in his +heart, he has come to the inmost chamber of +Peace. The indescribable, musty odour which +breathes from the printed page is fragrant incense +to him who loves his books. In unseemly +caskets his treasures may be hidden, +yet, when the cover is reverently lifted, the +jewels shine with no fading light. The old, +immortal beauty is still there, for any one who +seeks it in the right way.</p> +<p>Dorothy had two willing assistants in Dick +and Elaine. One morning, immediately after +breakfast, the three went to the library and +locked the door. Outside, the twins rioted +unheeded and the perennially joyous Willie +capered unceasingly. Mr. Perkins, gloomy +and morose, wrote reams of poetry in his +own room, distressed beyond measure by the +rumble of the typewriter, but too much cast +down to demand that it be stopped.</p> +<p>Mrs. Dodd and Mrs. Holmes, closely united +through misfortune, were well-nigh inseparable +now, while Mrs. Smithers, still sepulchral, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_301' name='page_301'></a>301</span> +sang continually in a loud, cracked voice, +never by any chance happening upon the +right note. As Dorothy said, when there are +only eight tones in the octave, it would seem +that sometime, somewhere, a warbler must +coincide for a brief interval with the tune, +but as Dick further commented, industry +and patience can do wonders when rightly +exercised.</p> +<p>Uncle Israel’s midnight excursion to the +orchard had given him a fresh attack of a +familiar and distressing ailment to which he +always alluded as “the brown kittys.” Fortunately, +however, the cure for asthma and +bronchitis was contained in the same quart +bottle, and needed only to be heated in +order to work upon both diseases simultaneously.</p> +<p>Elaine rolled up the sleeves of her white +shirt-waist, and turned in her collar, thereby +producing an effect which Dick privately considered +distractingly pretty. Dorothy was enveloped +from head to foot in a voluminous blue +gingham apron, and a dust cap, airily poised +upon her smooth brown hair, completed a +most becoming costume. Dick, having duly +obtained permission, took off his coat and put +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_302' name='page_302'></a>302</span> +on his hat, after which the library force was +ready for action.</p> +<p>“First,” said Dorothy, “we’ll take down +all the books.” It sounded simple, but it +took a good share of the day to do it, and +the clouds of dust disturbed by the process +produced sneezes which put Uncle Israel’s +feeble efforts to shame. When dusting the +shelves, after they were empty, Elaine came +upon a panel in the wall which slid back.</p> +<p>“Here’s a secret drawer!” she cried, in +wild delight. “How perfectly lovely! Do +you suppose there’s anything in it?”</p> +<p>Dorothy instantly thought of money and +diamonds, but the concealed treasure proved +to be merely a book. It was a respectable +volume, however, at least as far as size was +concerned, for Elaine and Dorothy together +could scarcely lift it.</p> +<p>It was a leather-bound ledger, of the most +ponderous kind, and was fastened with a lock +and key. The key, of course, was missing, +but Dick soon pried open the fastening.</p> +<p>All but the last few pages in the book were +covered with fine writing, in ink which was +brown and faded, but still legible. It was +Uncle Ebeneezer’s penmanship throughout, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_303' name='page_303'></a>303</span> +except for a few entries at the beginning, in +a fine, flowing feminine hand, which Dorothy +instantly knew was Aunt Rebecca’s.</p> +<p>“On the night of our wedding,” the book +began, “we begin this record of our lives, +for until to-day we have not truly lived.” +This was signed by both. Then, in the +woman’s hand, was written a description +of her wedding-gown, which was a simple +white muslin, made by herself. Her ornaments +were set down briefly—only a wreath +of roses in her hair, a string of coral beads, +and the diamond brooch which was at that +moment in Dorothy’s jewel-box.</p> +<p>For three weeks there were alternate entries, +then suddenly, without date, were two words +so badly written as to be scarcely readable: +“She died.” For days thereafter was only +this: “I cannot write.” These simple words +were the key to a world of pain, for the pages +were blistered with a man’s hot tears.</p> +<p>Then came this: “She would want me to +go on writing it, so I will, though I have no +heart for it.”</p> +<p>From thence onward the book proceeded +without interruption, a minute and faithful +record of the man’s inner life. Long extracts +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_304' name='page_304'></a>304</span> +copied from books filled page after page of +this strange diary, interspersed with records +of business transactions, of letters received +and answered, of wages paid, and of the +visits of Jeremiah Bradford.</p> +<p>“We talked long to-night upon the immortality +of the soul,” one entry ran. “Jeremiah +does not believe it, but I must—or die.”</p> +<p>Dick soon lost interest in the book, and +finding solitary toil at the shelves uncongenial, +went out, whistling. Elaine and Dorothy +read on together, scarcely noting his absence.</p> +<p>The book had begun in the Spring. Early +in June was chronicled the arrival of “a +woman calling herself Cousin Elmira, blood +relation of my Rebecca. Was not aware +my Rebecca had a blood relation named +Elmira, but there is much in the world that I +do not know.”</p> +<p>According to the diary, Cousin Elmira had +remained six weeks and had greatly distressed +her unwilling host. “Women are peculiar,” +Uncle Ebeneezer had written, “all being +possessed of the devil, except my sainted +Rebecca, who was an angel if there ever +was one.</p> +<p>“Cousin Elmira is a curious woman. To-day +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_305' name='page_305'></a>305</span> +she desired to know what had become of +my Rebecca’s wedding garments, her linen +sheets and table-cloths. Answered that I did +not know, and immediately put a lock upon +the chest containing them. Have always been +truthful up to now, but Rebecca would not +desire to have any blood relation handling her +sheets. Of this I am sure.</p> +<p>“Aug. 9. To-day came Cousin Silas Martin +and his wife to spend their honeymoon. +Much grieved to hear of Rebecca’s death. +Said she had invited them to spend their +honeymoon with her when they married. +Did not know of this, but our happiness was +of such short duration that my Rebecca did +not have time to tell me of all her wishes. +Company is very hard to bear, but I would do +much for my Rebecca.</p> +<p>“Aug. 10. This world can never be perfect +under any circumstances, and trials are +the common lot of humanity. We must all +endeavour to bear up under affliction. Sarah +Smithers is a good woman, most faithful, and +does not talk a great deal, considering her +sex. Not intending any reflection upon my +Rebecca, whose sweet voice I could never +hear too often. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_306' name='page_306'></a>306</span></p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>“Aug. 20. Came Uncle Israel Skiles with +a bad cough. Thinks the air of Judson +Centre must be considered healthy as they are +to build a sanitarium here. Did not know of +the sanitarium.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>“Aug. 22. Came Cousin Betsey Skiles to +look after Uncle Israel. Uncle Israel not +desiring to be looked after has produced some +disturbance in my house.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>“Aug. 23. Cousin Betsey Skiles and Cousin +Jane Wood, the latter arriving unexpectedly +this morning, have fought, and Cousin Jane +has gone away again. Had never met Cousin +Jane Wood.</p> +<p>“Aug. 24. Was set upon by Cousin Silas +Martin, demanding to know whether his wife +was to be insulted by Cousin Betsey Skiles. +Answered that I did not know.</p> +<p>“Aug. 25. Was obliged to settle a dispute +between Sarah Smithers and Cousin Betsey +Skiles. Decided in favour of S. S., thereby +angering B. S. Uncle Israel accidentally +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_307' name='page_307'></a>307</span> +spilled his tonic on Cousin Betsey’s clean +apron. Much disturbance in my house.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>“Aug. 28. Cousin Silas Martin and wife +went away, telling me they could no longer +live with Cousin Betsey Skiles. B. S. is +unpleasant, but has her virtues.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>“Sept. 5. Uncle Israel thinks air of Judson +Centre is now too chilly for his cough. Does +not like his bed, considering it drafty. Says +Sarah Smithers does not give him nourishing +food.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>“Sept. 8. Uncle Israel has gone.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>“Sept. 10. Cousin Betsey Skiles has gone +to continue looking after Uncle Israel. Sarah +Smithers and myself now alone in peace.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>All that Winter, the writing was of books, +interspersed with occasional business details. +In the Spring, the influx of blood relations +began again and continued until Fall. The +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_308' name='page_308'></a>308</span> +diary revealed the gradual transformation of a +sunny disposition into a dark one, of a man +with gregarious instincts into a wild beast +asking only for solitude. Additions to the +house were chronicled from time to time, +with now and then a pathetic comment upon +the futility of the additions.</p> +<p>Once there was this item: “Would go +away for ever were it not that this was my +Rebecca’s home. Where we had hoped to +be so happy, there is now a great emptiness +and unnumbered Relations. How shall I endure +Relations? Still they are all of her blood, +though the most gentle blood does seem to +take strange turns.”</p> +<p>Again: “Do not think my Rebecca would +desire to have all her kin visit her at once. +Still, would do anything for my Rebecca. +Have ordered five more beds.”</p> +<p>As the years went by, the bitterness became +more and more apparent. Long before +the end, the record was frankly profane, and +saddest of all was the evidence that under the +stress of annoyance the great love for “my +Rebecca” was slowly, but surely, becoming +tainted. From simple profanity, Uncle Ebeneezer +descended into blasphemous comment, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_309' name='page_309'></a>309</span> +modified at times by remorseful tenderness +toward the dead.</p> +<p>“To-day,” he wrote, “under pressure of +my questioning, Sister-in-law Fanny Wood +admitted that Rebecca had never invited her +to come and see her. Asked Sister-in-law +why she was here. Responded that Rebecca +would have asked her if she had lived. Perhaps +others have surmised the same. Fear +of late I may have been unjust to my +Rebecca.”</p> +<p>Later on, “my Rebecca” was mentioned +but rarely. She became “my dear companion,” +“my wife,” or “my partner.” The +building of wings and the purchase of additional +beds by this time had become a +permanent feature, though, as the writer admitted, +it was “a roundabout way.”</p> +<p>“The easiest way would be to turn all out. +Forgetting my duty to the memory of my +dear companion, and sore pressed by many +annoyances, did turn out Cousin Betsey +Skiles, who forgave me for it without being +so requested, and remained.</p> +<p>“Trains to Judson Centre,” he wrote, +at one time, “have been most grievously +changed. One arrives just after breakfast, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_310' name='page_310'></a>310</span> +the other at three in the morning. Do not +understand why this is, and anticipate new +trouble from it.”</p> +<p>The entries farther on were full of +“trouble,” being minute and intimate portrayals +of the emotions of one roused from +sleep at three in the morning to admit undesired +guests, interlarded with pardonable profanity. +“Seems that house might be altered +in some way, but do not know. Will consult +with Jeremiah.”</p> +<p>After this came the record of an interview +with the village carpenter, and rough sketches +of proposed alterations. “Putting in new +window in middle and making two upper +windows round instead of square, with new +porch-railing and two new narrow windows +downstairs will do it. House fortunately +planned by original architect for such alteration. +Taking down curtains and keeping +lights in windows nights should have some +effect, though much doubt whether anything +would affect Relations.”</p> +<p>Soon afterward the oppressed one chronicled +with great glee how a lone female, +arriving on the night train, was found half-dead +from fright by the roadside in the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_311' name='page_311'></a>311</span> +morning. “House <i>is</i> fearsome,” wrote Uncle +Ebeneezer, with evident relish. “Have been +to Jeremiah’s of an evening and, returning, +found it wonderful to behold.”</p> +<p>Presently, Dorothy came to an intimate analysis +of some of the uninvited ones at present +under her roof. The poet was given a full +page of scathing comment, illustrated by rude +caricatures, which were so suggestive that +even Elaine thoroughly enjoyed them.</p> +<p>Pleased with his contribution to literature, +Uncle Ebeneezer had written a long and +keenly comprehensive essay upon each relation. +These bits of vivid portraiture were +numbered in this way: “Relation Number 8, +Miss Betsey Skiles, Claiming to be Cousin.” +At the end of this series was a very beautiful +tribute to “My Dearly Beloved Nephew, +James Harlan Carr, Who Has Never Come to +See Me.”</p> +<p>Frequently, thereafter, came pathetic references +to “Dear Nephew James,” “Unknown +Recipient of an Old Man’s Gratitude,” “Discerning +and Admirable James,” and so on.</p> +<p>One entry ran as follows: “Have been approached +this season by each Relation present +in regard to disposal of my estate. Will fix +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_312' name='page_312'></a>312</span> +surprise for all Relations before leaving to join +my wife. Shall leave money to every one, +though perhaps not as much as each expects. +Jeremiah advises me to leave something to +each. Laws are such, I believe, that no one +remembered can claim more. Desire to be +just, but strongly incline to dear Nephew +James.”</p> +<p>On the last page of all was a significant +paragraph. “Dreamed of seeing my Rebecca +once more, who told me we should be +together again April 7th. Shall make all arrangements +for leaving on that day, and +prepare Surprises spoken of. Shall be very +quiet in my grave with no Relations at hand, +but should like to hear and see effect of Surprise. +Jeremiah will attend.”</p> +<p>The last lines were written on April sixth. +“To-morrow I shall join my loved Rebecca +and leave all Relations here to fight by themselves. +Do not fear Death, but shudder at +Relations. Relations keep life from being +pleasant. Did not know my Rebecca was +possessed of such numbers nor of such kinds, +but forgive her all. Shall see her to-morrow.”</p> +<p>Then, on the line below, in a hand that did +not falter, was written: “The End.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_313' name='page_313'></a>313</span></p> +<p>Dorothy wiped her eyes on a corner of +Elaine’s apron, for Uncle Ebeneezer had been +found dead in his bed on the morning of +April seventh. “Elaine,” she said, “what +would you do?”</p> +<p>“Do?” repeated Elaine. “I’d strike one +blow for poor old Uncle Ebeneezer! I’d order +every single one of them out of the house +to-morrow!”</p> +<p>“To-night!” cried Dorothy, fired with high +resolve. “I’ll do it this very night! Poor +old Uncle Ebeneezer! Our sufferings have +been nothing, compared to his.”</p> +<p>“Are you going to tell Mr. Carr?” asked +Elaine, wonderingly.</p> +<p>“Tell him nothing,” rejoined Dorothy, with +spirit. “He’s got some old fogy notions about +your house being a sacred spot where everybody +in creation can impose on you if they +want to, just because it is your house. I +suppose he got it by being related to poor old +uncle.”</p> +<p>“Do I have to go, too?” queried Elaine, +rubbing her soft cheek against Dorothy’s.</p> +<p>“Not much,” answered Mrs. Carr, with a +sisterly embrace. “You’ll stay, and Dick ’ll +stay, and that old tombstone in the kitchen +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_314' name='page_314'></a>314</span> +will stay, and so will Claudius Tiberius, but +the rest—MOVE!”</p> +<p>Consequently, Elaine looked forward to the +dinner-hour with mixed anticipations. Mr. +Perkins, Uncle Israel, Mrs. Dodd, and Mrs. +Holmes each found a note under their plates +when they sat down. Uncle Israel’s face relaxed +into an expression of childlike joy when +he found the envelope addressed to him. +“Valentine, I reckon,” he said, “or mebbe +it’s sunthin’ from Santa Claus.”</p> +<p>“Queer acting for Santa Claus,” snorted +Mrs. Holmes, who had swiftly torn open her +note. “Here we are, all ordered away from +what’s been our home for years, by some +upstart relations who never saw poor, dear +uncle. Are you going to keep boarders?” +she asked, insolently, turning to Dorothy.</p> +<p>“No longer,” returned that young woman, +imperturbably. “I have done it just as long +as I intend to.”</p> +<p>Harlan was gazing curiously at Dorothy, +but she avoided his eyes, and continued to +eat as though nothing had happened. Dick, +guessing rightly, choked, and had to be excused. +Elaine’s cheeks were flushed and her +eyes sparkled, the flush deepening when Mrs. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_315' name='page_315'></a>315</span> +Dodd inquired where <i>her</i> valentine was. Mr. +Perkins was openly dejected, and Mrs. Dodd, +receiving no answer to her question, compressed +her thin lips into a forced silence.</p> +<p>But Uncle Israel was moved to protesting +speech. “’T is queer doin’s for Santa Claus,” +he mumbled, pouring out a double dose of +his nerve tonic. “’T ain’t such a thing as +he’d do, even if he was drunk. Turnin’ a +poor old man outdoor, what ain’t got no +place to go exceptin’ to Betsey’s, an’ nobody +can’t live with Betsey. She’s all the time +mad at herself on account of bein’ obliged to +live with such a woman as she be. Summers +I’ve allers stayed here an’ never made +no trouble. I’ve cooked my own food an’ +brought most of it, an’ provided all my own +medicines, an’ even took my bed with me, +goin’ an’ comin’. Ebeneezer’s beds is all terrible +drafty—I took two colds to once sleepin’ +in one of ’em—an’ at my time of life ’t ain’t +proper to change beds. Sleepin’ in a drafty +bed would undo all the good of bein’ near +the sanitarium. Most likely I’ll have a fever +or sunthin’ now an’ die.”</p> +<p>“Shut up, Israel,” said Mrs. Dodd, abruptly. +“You ain’t goin’ to die. It wouldn’t +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_316' name='page_316'></a>316</span> +surprise me none if you had to be shot on the +Day of Judgment before you could be resurrected. +Folks past ninety-five that’s pickled +in patent medicine from the inside out, ain’t +goin’ to die of no fever.”</p> +<p>“Ninety-six, Belinda,” said the old man, +proudly. “I’ll be ninety-six next week, an’ +I’m as young as I ever was.”</p> +<p>“Then,” rejoined Mrs. Dodd, tartly, “what +you want to look out for is measles an’ +chicken-pox, to say nothin’ of croup.”</p> +<p>“Come, Gladys Gwendolen and Algernon +Paul,” interrupted Mrs. Holmes, in a high +key; “we must go and pack now, to go +away from dear uncle’s. Dear uncle is dead, +you know, and can’t help his dear ones being +ordered out of his house by upstarts.”</p> +<p>“What’s a upstart, ma?” inquired Willie.</p> +<p>“People who turn their dead uncle’s relations +out of his house in order to take boarders,” +returned Mrs. Holmes, clearly.</p> +<p>“Mis’ Carr,” said Mrs. Dodd, sliding up +into Dick’s vacant place, “have I understood +that you want me to go away to-morrow?”</p> +<p>“Everybody is going away to-morrow,” +returned Dorothy, coldly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_317' name='page_317'></a>317</span></p> +<p>“After all I’ve done for you?” persisted +Mrs. Dodd.</p> +<p>“What have you done for me?” parried +Dorothy, with a pleading look at Elaine.</p> +<p>“Kep’ the others away,” returned Mrs. +Dodd, significantly.</p> +<p>“Uncle Ebeneezer does not want any of +you here,” said Dorothy, after a painful +silence. The impression made by the diary +was so vividly present with her that she +felt as though she were delivering an actual +message.</p> +<p>Much to her surprise, Mrs. Dodd paled and +left the room hastily. Uncle Israel tottered +after her, leaving his predigested food untouched +on his plate and his imitation coffee +steaming malodorously in his cup. Mr. Perkins +bowed his head upon his hands for a +moment; then, with a sigh, lightly dropped +out of the open window. The name of Uncle +Ebeneezer seemed to be one to conjure with.</p> +<p>“Dorothy,” said Harlan, “might an obedient +husband modestly inquire what you have +done?”</p> +<p>“Elaine and I found Uncle Ebeneezer’s +diary to-day,” explained Dorothy, “and the +poor old soul was nagged all his life by +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_318' name='page_318'></a>318</span> +relatives. So, in gratitude for what he’s +done for us, I’ve turned ’em out. I know +he’d like to have me do it.”</p> +<p>Harlan left his place and came to Dorothy, +where, bending over her chair, he kissed her +tenderly. “Good girl,” he said, patting her +shoulder. “Why in thunder didn’t you do +it months ago?”</p> +<p>“Isn’t that just like a man?” asked Dorothy, +gazing after his retreating figure.</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” answered Elaine, with a +pretty blush, “but I guess it is.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XIX_VARIOUS_DEPARTURES' id='XIX_VARIOUS_DEPARTURES'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_319' name='page_319'></a>319</span> +<h2>XIX</h2> +<h3>Various Departures</h3> +</div> + +<p>“Algernon Paul,” called Mrs. Holmes, +shrilly, “let the kitty alone!”</p> +<p>Every one else on the premises heard the +command, but “Algernon Paul,” perhaps because +he was not yet fully accustomed to +his new name, continued forcing Claudius +Tiberius to walk about on his fore feet, the +rest of him being held uncomfortably in the +air by the guiding influence.</p> +<p>“Algernon!” The voice was so close +this time that the cat was freed by his persecutor’s +violent start. Seeing that it was only +his mother, Algernon Paul attempted to recover +his treasure again, and was badly +scratched by that selfsame treasure. Whereupon +Mrs. Holmes soundly cuffed Claudius +Tiberius “for scratching dear little Ebbie, I +mean Algernon Paul,” and received a bite or +two on her own account. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_320' name='page_320'></a>320</span></p> +<p>“Come, Ebbie, dear,” she continued, “we +are going now. We have been driven away +from dear uncle’s. Where is sister?”</p> +<p>“Sister” was discovered in the forbidden +Paradise of the chicken-coop, and dragged +out, howling. Willie, not desiring to leave +“dear uncle’s,” was forcibly retrieved by Dick +from the roof of the barn.</p> +<p>Mr. Harold Vernon Perkins had silently +disappeared in the night, but no one feared +foul play. “He’ll be waitin’ at the train, I +reckon,” said Mrs. Dodd, “an’ most likely +composin’ a poem on ‘Departure’ or else +breathin’ into a tube to see if he’s mad.”</p> +<p>She had taken her dismissal very calmly +after the first shock. “A woman what’s +been married seven times, same as I be,” she +explained to Dorothy, “gets used to bein’ +moved around from place to place. My sixth +husband had the movin’ habit terrible. No +sooner would we get settled nice an’ comfortable +in a place, an’ I got enough acquainted to +borrow sugar an’ tea an’ molasses from my new +neighbours, than Thomas would decide to move, +an’ more ’n likely, it’d be to some new town +where there was a great openin’ in some new +business that he’d never tried his hand at yet. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_321' name='page_321'></a>321</span></p> +<p>“My dear, I’ve been the wife of a undertaker, +a livery-stable keeper, a patent medicine +man, a grocer, a butcher, a farmer, an’ a +justice of the peace, all in one an’ the same +marriage. Seems ’s if there wa’n’t no business +Thomas couldn’t feel to turn his hand to, an’ +he knowed how they all ought to be run. If +anybody was makin’ a failure of anythin’, +Thomas knowed just why it was failin’ an’ I +must say he ought to know, too, for I never +see no more steady failer than Thomas.</p> +<p>“They say a rollin’ stone never gets no +moss on it, but it gets worn terrible smooth, +an’ by the time I ’d moved to eight or ten different +towns an’ got as many as ’leven houses +all fixed up, the corners was all broke off ’n +me as well as off ’n the furniture. My third +husband left me well provided with furniture, +but when I went to my seventh altar, I didn’t +have nothin’ left but a soap box an’ half a +red blanket, on account of havin’ moved +around so much.</p> +<p>“I got so’s I’d never unpack all the things +in any one place, but keep ’em in their dry-goods +boxes an’ barrels nice an’ handy to go +on again. When the movin’ fit come on +Thomas, I was always in such light marchin’ +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_322' name='page_322'></a>322</span> +order that I could go on a day’s notice, an’ +that’s the way we usually went. I told him +once it’d be easier an’ cheaper to fit up a +prairie schooner such as they used to cross the +plains in, an’ then when we wanted to move, +all we’d have to do would be to put a dipper of +water on the fire an’ tell the mules to get ap, +but it riled him so terrible that I never said +nothin’ about it again, though all through my +sixth marriage, it seemed a dretful likely +notion.</p> +<p>“A woman with much marryin’ experience +soon learns not to rile a husband when ’t ain’t +necessary. Sometimes I think the poor creeters +has enough to contend with outside without +bein’ obliged to fight at home, though it +does beat all, my dear, what a terrible exertion +’t is for most men to earn a livin’. None +of my husbands was ever obliged to fight at +home an’ I take great comfort thinkin’ how +peaceful they all was when they was livin’ +with me, an’ how peaceful they all be now, +though I think it’s more ’n likely that Thomas +is a-sufferin’ because he can’t move no more +at present.”</p> +<p>Her monologue was interrupted by the arrival +of the stage, which Harlan had gladly ordered. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_323' name='page_323'></a>323</span> +Mrs. Holmes and the children climbed +into it without vouchsafing a word to anybody, +but Mrs. Dodd shook hands all around +and would have kissed both Dorothy and +Elaine had they not dodged the caress.</p> +<p>“Remember, my dear,” said Mrs. Dodd to +Dorothy; “I don’t bear you no grudge, +though I never was turned out of no place +before. It’s all in a lifetime, the same as +marryin’, and if I should ever marry again an’ +have a home of my own to invite you to, you +an’ your husband’ll be welcome to come and +stay with me as long as I’ve stayed with you, +or longer, if you felt ’twas pleasant, an’ I’d +try to make it so.”</p> +<p>The kindly speech made Dorothy very +much ashamed of herself, though she did not +know exactly why, and Gladys Gwendolen, +with a cherubic smile, leaned out of the stage +window and waved a chubby hand, saying: +“Bye bye!” Mrs. Holmes alone seemed +hard and unforgiving, as she sat sternly upright, +looking neither to the right nor the left.</p> +<p>“Rather unusual, isn’t it?” whispered +Elaine, as the ponderous vehicle turned into +the yard, “to see so many of one’s friends +going on the stage at once?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_324' name='page_324'></a>324</span></p> +<p>“Not at all,” chuckled Dick. “Everybody +goes on the stage when they leave the +Carrs.”</p> +<p>“Good bye, Belinda,” yelled Uncle Israel, +putting his flannel bandaged head out of one +of the round upper windows. He had climbed +up on a chair to do it. “I don’t reckon I’ll +ever hear from you again exceptin’ where +Lazarus heard from the rich man!”</p> +<p>“Don’t let that trouble you, Israel,” +shrieked Mrs. Dodd, piercingly. “I take it +the rich man was diggin’ for eight cents in +Satan’s orchard, an’ didn’t have no time to +look up his friends.”</p> +<p>The rejoinder seemed not to affect Uncle +Israel, but it sent Dick into a spasm of merriment +from which he recovered only when +Harlan pounded him on the back.</p> +<p>“Come on,” said Harlan, “it’s not time to +laugh yet. We’ve got to pack Uncle Israel’s +bed.”</p> +<p>Uncle Israel was going on the afternoon +train, and in another direction. He sat on his +trunk and issued minute instructions, occasionally +having the whole thing taken apart +to be put together in a different kind of a parcel. +As an especial favour, Dick was allowed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_325' name='page_325'></a>325</span> +to crate the bath cabinet, though as a rule, no +profane hands were permitted to touch this +instrument of health. Uncle Israel himself +arranged his bottles, and boxes, and powders; +a hand-satchel containing his medicines for +the journey and the night.</p> +<p>“I reckon,” he said, “if I take a double +dose of my pain-killer, this noon, an’ a double +dose of my nerve tonic just before I get on the +cars, I c’n get along with these few remedies +till I get to Betsey’s, where I’ll have to take a +full course of treatment to pay for all this +travellin’. The pain-killer bottle an’ the nerve +tonic bottle is both dretful heavy, in spite of +bein’ only half full.”</p> +<p>“How would it do,” suggested Harlan, +kindly, “to pour the nerve tonic into the pain-killer, +and then you’d have only one bottle to +carry. You mix them inside, anyway.”</p> +<p>“You seem real intelligent, nephew,” +quavered Uncle Israel. “I never knowed I +had no such smart relations. As you say, I +mix ’em in my system anyway, an’ it can’t +do no harm to do it in the bottle first.”</p> +<p>No sooner said than done, but, strangely +enough, the mixture turned a vivid emerald +green, and had such a peculiarly vile odour +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_326' name='page_326'></a>326</span> +that even Uncle Israel refused to have anything +further to do with it.</p> +<p>“I shouldn’t wonder but what you’d done +me a real service, nephew,” continued Uncle +Israel. “Here I’ve been takin’ this, month +after month, an’ never suspectin’ what it was +doin’ in my insides. I’ve suspicioned for +some time that the pain-killer wan’t doin’ me +no good, an’ I’ve been goin’ to try Doctor +Jones’s Squaw Remedy, anyhow. I shouldn’t +wonder if my whole insides was green instead +of red as they orter be. The next time I go to +the City, I’m goin’ to take this here compound +to the healin’ emporium where I bought it, an’ +ask ’em what there is in it that paints folk’s +insides. ’Tain’t nothin’ more ’n green paint.”</p> +<p>The patient was so interested in this new +development that he demanded a paint-brush +and experimented on the porch railing, where +it seemed, indeed, to be “green paint.” In +getting a nearer view, he touched his nose to +it and acquired a bright green spot on the tip +of that highly useful organ. Desiring to test +it by every sense, he next put his ear down to +the railing, as though he expected to hear the +elements of the compound rushing together +explosively. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_327' name='page_327'></a>327</span></p> +<p>“My hearin’ is bad,” he explained. “I +wish you’d listen to this here a minute or +two, nephew, an’ see if you don’t hear +sunthin’.” But Harlan, with his handkerchief +pressed tightly to his nose, politely declined.</p> +<p>“I don’t feel,” continued Uncle Israel, tottering +into the house, “as though a poor, +sick man with green insides instead of red +orter be turned out. Judson Centre is a terrible +healthy place, or the sanitarium wouldn’t +have been built here, an’ travellin’ on the cars +would shake me up considerable. I feel as +though I was goin’ to be took bad, an’ as if I +ought not to go. If somebody’ll set up my bed, +I’ll just lay down on it an’ die now. Ebeneezer +would be willin’ for me to die in his house, I +know, for he’s often said it’d be a reel +pleasure to him to pay my funeral expenses +if I c’d only make up my mind to claim ’em, +an’,” went on the old man pitifully, “I feel to +claim ’em now. Set up my bed,” he wheezed, +“an’ let me die. I’m bein’ took bad.”</p> +<p>He was swiftly reasoning himself into abject +helplessness when Dick came valiantly to +the rescue. “I’ll tell you what, Uncle Israel,” +he said, “if you’re going to be sick, and of +course you know whether you are or not, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_328' name='page_328'></a>328</span> +we’ll just get a carriage and take you over to +the sanitarium. I’ll pay your board there for +a week, myself, and by that time we’ll know +just what’s the matter with you.”</p> +<p>The patient brightened amazingly at the +mention of the sanitarium, and was more +than willing to go. “I’ve took all kinds of +treatment,” he creaked, “but I ain’t never +been to no sanitarium, an’ I misdoubt whether +they’ve ever had anybody with green insides.</p> +<p>“I reckon,” he added, proudly, “that that +wanderin’ pain in my spine’ll stump ’em some +to know what it is. Even in the big store +where they keep all kinds of medicines, there +couldn’t nobody tell me. I know what disease +’tis, but I won’t tell nobody. A man knows +his own system best an’ I reckon them smart +doctors up at the sanitarium ’ll be scratchin’ +their heads over such a complicated case as I +be. Send my bed on to Betsey’s but write +on it that it ain’t to be set up till I come. +’Twouldn’t be worth while settin’ it up at +the sanitarium for a week, an’ I’m minded to +try a medical bed, anyways. I ain’t never +had none. Get the carriage, quick, for I feel +an ailment comin’ on me powerful hard every +minute.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_329' name='page_329'></a>329</span></p> +<p>“Suppose,” said Harlan, in a swift aside, +“that they refuse to take the patient? What +shall we do then?”</p> +<p>“We won’t discuss that,” answered Dick, +in a low tone. “My plan is to leave the patient, +drive away swiftly, and, an hour or so +later, walk back and settle with the head of +the repair shop for a week’s mending in +advance.”</p> +<p>Harlan laughed gleefully, at which Uncle +Israel pricked up his ears. “I’m in on the +bill,” he continued; “we’ll go halves on the +mending.”</p> +<p>“Laughin’” said Uncle Israel, scornfully, +“at your poor old uncle what ain’t goin’ to +live much longer. If your insides was all +turned green, you wouldn’t be laughin’—you’d +be thinkin’ about your immortal souls.”</p> +<p>It was late afternoon when the bed was +finally dumped on the side track to await the +arrival of the freight train, being securely covered +with a canvas tarpaulin to keep it from +the night dew and stray, malicious germs, +seeking that which they might devour. Uncle +Israel insisted upon overseeing this job himself, +so that he did not reach the sanitarium +until almost nightfall. Dick and Harlan were +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_330' name='page_330'></a>330</span> +driving, and they shamelessly left the patient +at the door of the Temple of Healing, with his +crated bath cabinet, his few personal belongings, +and his medicines.</p> +<p>Turning back at the foot of the hill, they +saw that the wanderer had been taken in, +though the bath cabinet still remained outside.</p> +<p>“Mean trick to play on a respectable institution,” +observed Dick, lashing the horses into +a gallop, “but I’ll go over in the morning and +square it with ’em.”</p> +<p>“I’ll go with you,” volunteered Harlan. +“It’s just as well to have two of us, for we +won’t be popular. The survivor can take +back the farewell message to the wife and +family of the other.”</p> +<p>He meant it for a jest, but even in the gathering +darkness, he could see the dull red mounting +to Dick’s temples. “I’ll be darned,” +thought Harlan, seeing the whole situation +instantly. Then, moved by a brotherly impulse, +he said, cheerfully: “Go in and win, +old man. Good luck to you!”</p> +<p>“Thanks,” muttered Dick, huskily, “but it’s +no use. She won’t look at me. She wants +a nice lady-like poet, that’s what she wants.”</p> +<p>“No, she doesn’t,” returned Harlan, with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_331' name='page_331'></a>331</span> +deep conviction. “I don’t claim to be a specialist, +but when a man and a poet are entered +for the matrimonial handicap, I’ll put my +money on the man, every time.”</p> +<p>Dick swiftly changed the subject, and began +to speculate on probable happenings at the +sanitarium. They left the conveyance in the +village, from whence it had been taken, and +walked uphill.</p> +<p>Lights gleamed from every window of the +Jack-o’-Lantern, but the eccentric face of the +house had, for the first time, a friendly aspect. +Warmth and cheer were in the blinking eyes +and the grinning mouth, though, as Dick said, +it seemed impossible that “no pumpkin seeds +were left inside.”</p> +<p>Those who do not believe in personal influence +should go into a house which uninvited +and undesired guests have regretfully left. +Every alien element had gone from the house +on the hill, yet the very walls were still vocal +with discord. One expected, every moment, +to hear Uncle Israel’s wheeze, the shrill, spiteful +comment of Mrs. Holmes, or a howl from +one of the twins.</p> +<p>“What shall we do,” asked Harlan, “to +celebrate the day of emancipation?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_332' name='page_332'></a>332</span></p> +<p>“I know,” answered Dorothy, with a little +laugh. “We’ll burn a bed.”</p> +<p>“Whose bed?” queried Dick.</p> +<p>“Mr. Perkins’s bed,” responded Elaine, +readily. The tone of her voice sent a warm +glow to Dick’s heart, and he went to work at +the heavy walnut structure with more gladness +than exercise of that particular kind had ever +given him before.</p> +<p>Harlan rummaged through the cellar and +found a bottle of Uncle Ebeneezer’s old port, +which, for some occult reason, had hitherto +escaped. Mrs. Smithers, moved to joyful +song, did herself proud in the matter of fried +chicken and flaky biscuit. Dorothy had taken +all the leaves out of the table, so that now it +was cosily set for four, and placed a battered +old brass candlestick, with a tallow candle in +it, in the centre.</p> +<p>“Seems like living, doesn’t it?” asked +Harlan. Until now, he had not known how +surely though secretly distressed he had been +by Aunt Rebecca’s persistent kin. Claudius +Tiberius apparently felt the prevailing cheerfulness, +and purred vigorously, in Elaine’s lap.</p> +<p>Afterward, they made a fire in the parlour, +even though the night was so warm that they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_333' name='page_333'></a>333</span> +were obliged to have all the windows open, +and, inspired by the portrait of Uncle Ebeneezer, +discussed the peculiarities of his self-invited +guests.</p> +<p>The sacrificial flame arising from the poet’s +bed directed the conversation to Mr. Perkins +and his gift of song. Dick, though feeling +more deeply upon the subject than any of the +rest, was wise enough not to say too much.</p> +<p>“I found something under his mattress,” +remarked Dick, when the conversation flagged, +“while I was taking his blooming crib apart +to chop it up. I guess it must be a poem.”</p> +<p>He drew a sorely flattened roll from his +pocket, and slipped off the crumpled blue +ribbon. It was, indeed, a poem, entitled +“Farewell.”</p> +<p>“I thought he might have been polite +enough to say good bye,” said Dorothy. +“Perhaps it was easier to write it.”</p> +<p>“Read it,” cried Elaine, her eyes dancing. +“Please do!”</p> +<p>So Dick read as follows:</p> +<table summary='poetry' style='margin:0 auto'><tr><td> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>All happy times must reach an end</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>Sometime, someday, somewhere,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>A great soul seldom has a friend</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>Anyway or anywhere.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_334' name='page_334'></a>334</span></div> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>But one devoted to the Ideal</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>Must pass these things all by,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>His eyes fixed ever on his Art,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>Which lives, though he must die.</p> +<br /> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>Amid the tide of cruel greed</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>Which laps upon our shore,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>No one takes thought of the poet’s need</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>Nor how his griefs may pour</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>Upon his poor, devoted head</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>And his sad, troubled heart;</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>But all these things each one must take,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>Who gives his life to Art.</p> +<br /> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>His crust of bread, his tick of straw</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>His enemies deny,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>And at the last his patron saint</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>Will even pass him by;</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>The wide world is his resting place,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>All o’er it he may roam,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>And none will take the poet in,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>Or offer him a home.</p> +<br /> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>The tears of sorrow blind him now,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>Misunderstood is he,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>But thus great souls have always been,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>And always they will be;</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>His eyes fixed ever on the Ideal</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>Will be there till he die,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>To-night he goes, but leaves a poem</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.73em;'>To say good bye, good bye!</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>“Poor Mr. Perkins,” commented Dorothy, +softly.</p> +<p>“Yes,” mimicked Harlan, “poor Mr. Perkins. +I don’t see but what he’ll have to work +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_335' name='page_335'></a>335</span> +now, like any plain, ordinary mortal, with no +‘gift’.”</p> +<p>“What is the Ideal, anyway?” queried +Elaine, looking thoughtfully into the embers +of the poet’s bedstead.</p> +<p>“That’s easy,” answered Dick, not without +evident feeling. “It’s whatever Mr. +Perkins happens to be doing, or trying to do. +He fixes it for the rest of us.”</p> +<p>“I think,” suggested Dorothy, after a momentary +silence, “that the Ideal consists in +minding your own business and gently, but +firmly, assisting others to mind theirs.”</p> +<p>All unknowingly, Dorothy had expressed +the dominant idea of the dead master of the +house. She fancied that the pictured face +over the mantel was about to smile at her. +Dorothy and Uncle Ebeneezer understood each +other now, and she no longer wished to have +the portrait moved.</p> +<p>Before they separated for the night, Dick +told them all about the midnight gathering in +the orchard, which he had witnessed from +afar, and which the others enjoyed beyond his +expectations.</p> +<p>“That’s what uncle meant,” said Elaine, +“by ‘fixing a surprise for relations.’” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_336' name='page_336'></a>336</span> +“I don’t blame him,” observed Harlan, +“not a blooming bit. I wish the poor old +duck could have been here to see it. Why +wasn’t I in on it?” he demanded of Dick, +somewhat resentfully. “When anything like +that was going on, why didn’t you take me +in?”</p> +<p>“It wasn’t for me to interfere with his +doings,” protested Dick, “but I do wish you +could have seen Uncle Israel.”</p> +<p>At the recollection he went off into a spasm +of merriment which bid fair to prove fatal. +The rest laughed with him, not knowing just +what it was about, such was the infectious +quality of Dick’s mirth.</p> +<p>“They’ve all gone,” laughed Elaine, happily, +taking her bedroom candle from Dorothy’s +hand, “they’ve all gone, every single +one, and now we’re going to have some good +times.”</p> +<p>Dick watched her as she went upstairs, the +candlelight shining tenderly upon her sweet +face, and thus betrayed himself to Dorothy, +who had suspected for some time that he +loved Elaine.</p> +<p>“Oh Lord!” grumbled Dick to himself, +when he was safely in his own room. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_337' name='page_337'></a>337</span> +“Everybody knows it now, except her. I’ll +bet even Sis Smithers and the cat are dead +next to me. I might as well tell her to-morrow +as any time, the result will be just the +same. Better do it and have it over with. +The cat’ll tell her if nobody else does.”</p> +<p>But that night, strangely enough, Claudius +Tiberius disappeared, to be seen or heard of +no more.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XX_THE_LOVE_OF_ANOTHER_ELAINE' id='XX_THE_LOVE_OF_ANOTHER_ELAINE'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_338' name='page_338'></a>338</span> +<h2>XX</h2> +<h3>The Love of Another Elaine</h3> +</div> + +<p>When Dick and Harlan ventured up to +the sanitarium, they were confronted +by the astonishing fact that Uncle Israel was, +indeed, ill. Later developements proved that +he was in a measure personally responsible +for his condition, since he had, surreptitiously, +in the night, mixed two or three medicines of +his own brewing with the liberal dose of a +different drug which the night nurse gave him, +in accordance with her instructions.</p> +<p>Far from being unconscious, however, +Uncle Israel was even now raging violently +against further restraint, and demanding to be +sent home before he was “murdered.”</p> +<p>“He’s being killed with kindness,” whispered +Dick, “like the man who was run over +by an ambulance.”</p> +<p>Harlan arranged for Uncle Israel to stay +until he was quite healed of this last complication, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_339' name='page_339'></a>339</span> +and then wrote out the address of +Cousin Betsey Skiles, with which Dick was +fortunately familiar. “And,” added Dick, “if +he’s troublesome, crate him and send him by +freight. We don’t want to see him again.”</p> +<p>Less than a week later, Uncle Israel and his +bed were safely installed at Cousin Betsey’s, +and he was able to write twelve pages of +foolscap, fully expressing his opinion of Harlan +and Dick and the sanitarium staff, and +Uncle Ebeneezer, and the rest of the world in +general, conveying it by registered mail to +“J. H. Car & Familey.” The composition +revealed an astonishing command of English, +particularly in the way of vituperation. Had +Uncle Israel known more profanity, he undoubtedly +would have incorporated it in the +text.</p> +<p>“It reminds me,” said Elaine, who was +permitted to read it, “of a little coloured boy +we used to know. A playmate quarrelled +with him and began to call him names, using +all the big words he had ever heard, regardless +of their meaning. When his vocabulary was +exhausted, our little friend asked, quietly: ‘Is +you froo?’ ‘Yes,’ returned the other, ‘I’s +froo.’ ‘Well then,’ said the master of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_340' name='page_340'></a>340</span> +situation, calmly, turning on his heel, ‘all +those things what you called me, you is.’”</p> +<p>“That’s right,” laughed Dick. “All those +things Uncle Israel has called us, he is, but it +makes him a pretty tough old customer.”</p> +<p>A blessed peace had descended upon the +house and its occupants. Harlan’s work was +swiftly nearing completion, and in another +day or two, he would be ready to read the +neatly typed pages to the members of his +household. Dorothy could scarcely wait to +hear it, and stole many a secret glance at the +manuscript when Harlan was out of the house. +Lover-like, she expected great things from it, +and she saw the world of readers, literally, at +her husband’s feet. So great was her faith in +him that she never for an instant suspected +that there might possibly be difficulty at the +start—that any publisher could be wary of +this masterpiece by an unknown.</p> +<p>The Carrs had planned to remain where +they were until the book was finished, then +to take the precious manuscript, and go forth +to conquer the City. Afterward, perhaps, a +second honeymoon journey, for both were +sorely in need of rest and recreation.</p> +<p>Elaine was going with them, and Dorothy +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_341' name='page_341'></a>341</span> +was to interview the Personage whose private +secretary she had once been, and see if that +position or one fully as desirable could not be +found for her friend. Also, Elaine was to +make her home with the Carrs. “I won’t +let you live in a New York boarding house,” +said Dorothy warmly, “as long as we’ve any +kind of a roof over our heads.”</p> +<p>Dick had discovered that, as he expressed +it, he must “quit fooling and get a job.” +Hitherto, Mr. Chester had preferred care-free +idleness to any kind of toil, and a modest sum, +carefully hoarded, represented to Dick only +freedom to do as he pleased until it gave out. +Then he began to consider work again, but as +he seldom did the same kind of work twice, he +was not particularly proficient in any one line.</p> +<p>Still, Dick had no false ideas about labour. +At college he had canvassed for subscription +books, solicited life and fire insurance, swept +walks, shovelled snow, carried out ashes, and +even handled trunks for the express company, +all with the same cheerful equanimity. His +small but certain income sufficed for his tuition +and other necessary expenses, but for board at +Uncle Ebeneezer’s and a few small luxuries, +he was obliged to work. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_342' name='page_342'></a>342</span></p> +<p>Just now, unwonted ambition fired his soul. +“It’s funny,” he mused, “what’s come over +me. I never hankered to work, even in my +wildest moments, and yet I pine for it this +minute—even street-sweeping would be welcome, +though that sort of thing isn’t going to +be much in my line from now on. With the +start uncle’s given me, I can surely get along +all right, and, anyhow, I’ve got two hands, +two feet, and one head, all good of their kind, +so there’s no call to worry.”</p> +<p>Worrying had never been among Dick’s +accomplishments, but he was restless, and +eager for something to do. He plunged into +furniture-making with renewed energy, inspired +by the presence of Elaine, who with +her book or embroidery sat in her low rocker +under the apple tree and watched him at his +work.</p> +<p>Quite often she read aloud, sometimes a +paragraph, now and then an entire chapter, to +which Dick submitted pleasantly. He loved +the smooth, soft cadence of Elaine’s low voice, +whether she read or spoke, so, in a way, it +did not matter. But, one day, when she had +read uninterruptedly for over an hour, Dick +was seized with a violent fit of coughing. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_343' name='page_343'></a>343</span></p> +<p>“I say,” he began, when the paroxysm had +ceased; “you like books, don’t you?”</p> +<p>“Indeed I do—don’t you?”</p> +<p>“Er—yes, of course, but say—aren’t you +tired of reading?”</p> +<p>“Not at all. You needn’t worry about me. +When I’m tired, I’ll stop.”</p> +<p>She was pleased with his kindly thought +for her comfort, and thereafter read a great +deal by way of reward. As for Dick, he +burned the midnight candle over many a book +which he found inexpressibly dull, and skilfully +led the conversation to it the next day. +Soon, even Harlan was impressed by his wide +knowledge of literature, though no one noted +that about books not in Uncle Ebeneezer’s +library, Dick knew nothing at all.</p> +<p>Dorothy spent much of her time in her own +room, thus forcing Dick and Elaine to depend +upon each other for society. Quite often she +was lonely, and longed for their cheery chatter, +but sternly reminded herself that she was +being sacrificed in a good cause. She built +many an air castle for them as well as for herself, +furnishing both, impartially, with Elaine’s +old mahogany and the simple furniture Dick +was making out of Uncle Ebeneezer’s relics. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_344' name='page_344'></a>344</span></p> +<p>By this time the Jack-o’-Lantern was nearly +stripped of everything which might prove +useful, and they were burning the rest of it in +the fireplace at night. “Varnished hardwood,” +as Dick said, “makes a peach of a +blaze.”</p> +<p>Meanwhile Harlan was labouring steadfastly +at his manuscript. The glowing fancy from +which the book had sprung was quite gone. +Still, as he cut, rearranged, changed, interlined, +reconstructed and polished, he was not +wholly unsatisfied with his work. “It may +not be very good,” he said to himself, “but +it’s the best I can do—now. The next will +be better, I’m sure.” He knew, even then, +that there would be a “next one,” for the +eternal thirst which knows no quenching had +seized upon his inmost soul.</p> +<p>Hereafter, by an inexplicably swift reversion, +he should see all life as literature, and literature +as life. Friends and acquaintances should +all be, in his inmost consciousness, ephemeral. +And Dorothy—dearly as he loved her, was +separated from him as by a veil.</p> +<p>Still, as he worked, he came gradually to a +better adjustment, and was very tenderly anxious +that Dorothy should see no change in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_345' name='page_345'></a>345</span> +him. He had not yet reached the point, however, +where he would give it all up for the sake +of finding things real again, if only for an hour.</p> +<p>Day after day, his work went on. Sometimes +he would spend an hour searching for a +single word, rightly to express his meaning. +Page after page was re-copied upon the typewriter, +for, with the nice conscience of a good +workman, Harlan desired a perfect manuscript, +at least in mechanical details.</p> +<p>Finally, he came to the last page and printed +“The End” in capitals with deep satisfaction. +“When it’s sandpapered,” he said to himself, +“and the dust blown off, I suppose it +will be done.”</p> +<p>The “sandpapering” took a week longer. +At the end of that time, Harlan concluded that +any manuscript was done when the writer +had read it carefully a dozen times without +making a single change in it. On a Saturday +night, just as the hall clock was booming +eleven, he pushed it aside, and sat staring +blankly at the wall for a long time.</p> +<p>“I don’t know what I’ve got,” he thought, +“but I’ve certainly got two hundred and fifty +pages of typed manuscript. It should be good +for something—even at space rates.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_346' name='page_346'></a>346</span></p> +<p>After dinner, Sunday, he told them that the +book was ready, and they all went out into +the orchard. Dick was resigned, Elaine pleasantly +excited, Dorothy eager and aflame with +triumphant pride, Harlan self-conscious, and, +in a way, ashamed.</p> +<p>As he read, however, he forgot everything +else. The mere sound of the words came +with caressing music to his ears. At times +his voice wavered and his hands trembled, +but he kept on, until it grew so dark that he +could no longer see.</p> +<p>They went into the house silently, and Dick +touched a match to the fire already laid in the +fireplace, while Dorothy lighted the candles +and the reading lamp. The afterglow faded +and the moon rose, yet still they rode with +Elaine and her company, through mountain +passes and over blossoming fields, past many +dangers and strange happenings, and ever +away from the Castle of Content.</p> +<p>Harlan’s deep, vibrant voice, now stern, +now tender, gave new meaning to his work. +His secret belief in it gave it a beauty which +no one else would ever see. Dorothy, listening +so intently that it was almost pain, never +took her eyes from his face. In that hour, if +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_347' name='page_347'></a>347</span> +Harlan could have known it, her woman’s +soul was kneeling before his, naked and +unashamed.</p> +<p>Dick privately considered the whole thing +more or less of a nuisance, but the candlelight +touched Elaine’s golden hair lovingly, +and the glow from the fire seemed to rest +caressingly upon her face. All along, he saw +a clear resemblance between his Elaine and +the lady of the book, also, more keenly, a +closer likeness between himself and the fool +who rode at her side.</p> +<p>When Harlan came to the song which the +fool had written, and which he had so shamelessly +revised and read aloud at the table, Dick +seriously considered a private and permanent +departure, like the nocturnal vanishing of Mr. +Perkins, without even a poem for farewell.</p> +<p>Elaine, lost in the story, was heedless of her +surroundings. It was only at the last chapter +that she became conscious of self at all. Then, +suddenly, in her turn, she perceived a parallel, +and quivered painfully with a new emotion.</p> +<p><i>“Some one, perchance,” mused the Lady +Elaine, “whose beauty my eyes alone should +perceive, whose valour only I should guess +before there was need to test it. Some one +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_348' name='page_348'></a>348</span> +great of heart and clean of mind, in whose +eyes there should never be that which makes a +woman ashamed. Some one fine-fibred and +strong-souled, not above tenderness when a +maid was tired. One who should make a +shield of his love, to keep her not only from +the great hurts but from the little ones as well, +and yet with whom she might fare onward, +shoulder to shoulder, as God meant mates +should fare.”</i></p> +<p>Like the other Elaine, she saw who had +served her secretly, asking for no recognition; +who had always kept watch over her so unobtrusively +and quietly that she never guessed +it till now. Like many another woman, +Elaine had dreamed of her Prince as a paragon +of beauty and perfection, with unconscious +vanity deeming such an one her true +mate. Now her story-book lover had gone +for ever, and in his place was Dick; sunny-hearted, +mischievous, whistling, clear-eyed +Dick, who had laughed and joked with her +all Summer, and now—must never know.</p> +<p>In a fierce agony of shame, she wondered +if he had already guessed her secret—if she +had betrayed it to him before she was conscious +of it herself; if that was why he had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_349' name='page_349'></a>349</span> +been so kind. Harlan was reading the last +page, and Elaine shaded her face with her +hand, determined, at all costs, to avoid Dick, +and to go away to-morrow, somewhere, +anywhere.</p> +<p><i>But Prince Bernard did not hear</i>, read +Harlan, <i>nor see the outstretched hand, for +Elaine was in his arms for the first time, +her sweet lips close on his. “My Prince, Oh, +my Prince,” she murmured, when at length +he set her free; “my eyes did not see but my +heart knew!”</i></p> +<p><i>So ended the Quest of the Lady Elaine.</i></p> +<p>The last page of the manuscript fluttered, +face downward, upon the table, and Dorothy +wiped her eyes. Elaine’s mouth was parched, +but she staggered to her feet, knowing that +she must say some conventional words of +congratulation to Harlan, then go to her own +room.</p> +<p>Blindly, she put out her hand, trying to +speak; then, for a single illuminating instant, +her eyes looked into Dick’s.</p> +<p>With a little cry, Elaine fled from the room, +overwhelmed with shame. In a twinkling, +she was out of the house, and flying toward +the orchard as fast as her light feet would +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_350' name='page_350'></a>350</span> +carry her, her heart beating wildly in her +breast.</p> +<p>By the sure instinct of a lover, Dick knew +that his hour had come. He dropped out of the +window and overtook her just as she reached +her little rocking-chair, which, damp with the +Autumn dew, was still under the apple tree.</p> +<p>“Elaine!” cried Dick, crushing her into his +arms, all the joy of youth and love in his +voice. “Elaine! My Elaine!”</p> +<p>“The audience,” remarked Harlan, in an +unnatural tone, “appears to have gone. Only +my faithful wife stands by me.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Harlan,” answered Dorothy, with a +swift rush of feeling, “you’ll never know till +your dying day how proud and happy I am. +It’s the very beautifullest book that anybody +ever wrote, and I’m so glad! Mrs. Shakespeare +could never have been half as pleased +as I am! I——,” but the rest was lost, for +Dorothy was in his arms, crying her heart +out for sheer joy.</p> +<p>“There, there,” said Harlan, patting her +shoulders awkwardly, and rubbing his rough +cheek against her tear-wet face; “it wasn’t +meant to make anybody cry.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_351' name='page_351'></a>351</span></p> +<p>“Why can’t I cry if I want to?” demanded +Dorothy, resentfully, between sobs. Harlan’s +voice was far from even and his own eyes +were misty as he answered: “Because you +are my own darling girl and I love you, that’s +why.”</p> +<p>They sat hand in hand for a long time, +looking into the embers of the dying fire, in +the depths of that wedded silence which +has no need of words. The portraits of Uncle +Ebeneezer and Aunt Rebecca seemed fully in +accord, and, though mute, eloquent with +understanding.</p> +<p>“He’d be so proud,” whispered Dorothy, +looking up at the stern face over the mantel, +“if he knew what you had done here in his +house. He loved books, and now, because of +his kindness, you can always write them. +You’ll never have to go back on the paper +again.”</p> +<p>Harlan smiled reminiscently, for the hurrying, +ceaseless grind of the newspaper office +was, indeed, a thing of the past. The dim, +quiet room was his, not the battle-ground of +the street. Still, as he knew, the smell of +printer’s ink in his nostrils would be like the +sound of a bugle to an old cavalry horse, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_352' name='page_352'></a>352</span> +even now, he would not quite trust himself to +walk down Newspaper Row.</p> +<p>“I love Uncle Ebeneezer and Aunt Rebecca,” +went on Dorothy, happily. “I love +everybody. I’ve love enough to-night to +spare some for the whole world.”</p> +<p>“Dear little saint,” said Harlan, softly, “I +believe you have.”</p> +<p>The clock struck ten and the fire died down. +A candle flickered in its socket, then went +out. The chill Autumn mist was rising, and +through it the new moon gleamed faintly, like +veiled pearl.</p> +<p>“I wonder,” said Harlan, “where the rest +of the audience is? If everybody who reads +the book is going to disappear suddenly and +mysteriously, I won’t be the popular author +that I pine to be.”</p> +<p>“Hush,” responded Dorothy; “I think +they are coming now. I’ll go and let them +in.”</p> +<p>Only a single candle was burning in the +hall, and when Dorothy opened the door, it +went out suddenly, but in that brief instant, +she had seen their glorified faces and understood +it all. The library door was open, and +the dimly lighted room seemed like a haven of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_353' name='page_353'></a>353</span> +refuge to Elaine, radiantly self-conscious, and +blushing with sweet shame.</p> +<p>“Hello,” said Dick, awkwardly, with a tremendous +effort to appear natural, “we’ve +just been out to get a breath of fresh air.”</p> +<p>It had taken them two hours, but Dorothy +was too wise to say anything. She only +laughed—a happy, tender, musical little laugh. +Then she impulsively kissed them both, +pushed Elaine gently into the library, and +went back into the parlour to tell Harlan.</p> +<div class='ce'> +<p>THE END</p> +</div> + +<!-- generated by ppgen.rb version: 2.26 --> +<!-- timestamp: Tue Sep 16 19:58:22 -0500 2008 --> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's At the Sign of the Jack O'Lantern, by Myrtle Reed + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AT THE SIGN OF THE JACK O'LANTERN *** + +***** This file should be named 26673-h.htm or 26673-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/6/7/26673/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://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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