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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/28538-8.txt b/28538-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..19f3b9a --- /dev/null +++ b/28538-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5744 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Bookful of Girls, by Anna Fuller + + +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: A Bookful of Girls + + +Author: Anna Fuller + + + +Release Date: April 8, 2009 [eBook #28538] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BOOKFUL OF GIRLS*** + + +E-text prepared by Roger Frank and the Project Gutenberg Online +Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net) + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 28538-h.htm or 28538-h.zip: + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/8/5/3/28538/28538-h/28538-h.htm) + or + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/8/5/3/28538/28538-h.zip) + + + + + +A BOOKFUL OF GIRLS + +by + +ANNA FULLER + + * * * * * + + By Anna Fuller + + A Literary Courtship + A Venetian June + Peak and Prairie + Pratt Portraits + Later Pratt Portraits + One of the Pilgrims + Katherine Day + A Bookful of Girls + + The Thunderhead Lady + By Anna Fuller and Brian Read + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: "Suddenly a new sound reached her ear."] + +A BOOKFUL OF GIRLS + +by + +ANNA FULLER + +Author of "Pratt Portraits," "Katherine Day," etc. + +Illustrated + + + + + + + +G. P. Putnam's Sons +New York and London + +The Knickerbocker Press + +Copyright, 1905 +by +Anna Fuller + +The Knickerbocker Press, New York + + + + +TO + +S. E. R. + +THE YOUNGEST OF ALL MY FRIENDS + + + + +CONTENTS + + PAGE + + Blythe Halliday's Voyage 1 + + Artful Madge 63 + + The Ideas of Polly 130 + + Nannie's Theatre Party 196 + + Olivia's Sun-Dial 219 + + Bagging a Grandfather 242 + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + PAGE + + "Suddenly a new sound reached her ear." _Frontispiece_ + + "Eleanor's eyes had wandered to the high, broad + north window." 80 + + "Mufty hastily established himself across her + shoulder." 142 + + "All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this + little hand." 201 + + "Please ma'am, will ye gimme a bowkay?" 227 + + "'Good afternoon, Grandfather,' was the + apparition's cheerful greeting." 255 + + + + +BLYTHE HALLIDAY'S VOYAGE + +CHAPTER I + +THE CROW'S NEST + + +"You never told me how you happened to name her Blythe." + +The two old friends, Mr. John DeWitt and Mrs. Halliday, were reclining +side by side in their steamer-chairs, lulled into a quiescent mood by +the gentle, scarcely perceptible, motion of the vessel. It was an +exertion to speak, and Mrs. Halliday replied evasively, "Do you like +the name?" + +"For Blythe,--yes. But I don't know another girl who could carry it +off so well. Tell me how it happened." + +Then Blythe's mother reluctantly gathered herself together for a +serious effort, and said: "It was the old Scotch nurse who did it. She +called her 'a blythe lassie' before she was three days old. We had +been hesitating between Lucretia for Charles's mother and Hannah for +mine, and we compromised on Blythe!" + +Upon which the speaker, allowing her eyes to close definitively, took +on the appearance of gentle inanition which characterised nine-tenths +of her fellow-voyagers, ranged side by side in their steamer-chairs +along the deck. + +They had passed the Azores, that lovely May morning, and were headed +for Cape St. Vincent,--the good old _Lorelei_ lounging along at her +easiest gait, the which is also her rapidest. For there is nothing +more deceptive than a steamer's behaviour on a calm day when the sea +offers no perceptible resistance to the keel. + +Here and there an insatiable novel-reader held a paper-covered volume +before his nose, but more often the book had slid to the deck, to be +picked up by Gustav, the prince of deck-stewards, and carefully tucked +in among the wraps of the unconscious owner. + +Just now, however, Gustav was enjoying a moment of unaccustomed +respite from activity, for his most exacting beneficiaries were not +sufficiently awake to demand a service of him. He had administered +_bouillon_ and lemonade and cracked ice by the gallon; he had +scattered sandwiches and ginger cookies broadcast among them; he had +tenderly inquired of the invalids, "'Ow you feel?" and had cheerfully +pronounced them, one and all, to be "mush besser"; and now he himself +was, for a fleeting moment, the centre of interest in the one tiny +eddy of animation on the whole length of the deck. + +Just aft of the awning, in the full sunshine, he was engaged in +"posing," with the sheepish air of a person having his photograph +taken, while a fresh, comely girl of sixteen stood, kodak in hand, +waiting for his attitude to relax. Half a dozen spectators, elderly +men and small boys, stood about making facetious remarks, but Gustav +and his youthful "operator" were too much in earnest to pay them much +heed. + +Blythe Halliday was usually very much in earnest; by which is not to +be inferred that she was of an alarmingly serious cast of mind. Her +earnestness took the form of intense satisfaction in the matter in +hand, whatever that might be, and she had found life a succession of +delightful experiences, of which this one of an ocean voyage was +perhaps the most delectable of all. + +In one particular Blythe totally disagreed with her mother; for Mrs. +Halliday had declared, on one of the first universally unbecoming days +of the voyage, that it was a mystery how all the agreeable people got +to Europe, since so few of them were ever to be discovered on an ocean +steamer! Whereas Blythe, for her part, had never dreamed that there +were so many interesting persons in the world as were to be discovered +among their fellow-voyagers. + +Was not the big, bluff Captain himself, with his unfathomable +sea-craft and his autocratic power, a regular old Viking such as you +might read of in your history books, but would hardly expect to meet +with in the flesh? And was there not a real Italian Count, elderly +but impressive, who had dealings with no one but his valet, the latter +being a nimble personage with a wicked eye who seemed to possess the +faculty of starting up through the deck as if summoned by a species of +wireless telegraphy? Best of all, was not Blythe's opposite neighbour +at the Captain's table a shaggy, keen-eyed Englishman, figuring on the +passenger-list as "Mr. Grey," but who was generally believed to be no +less a personage than Hugh Dalton, the famous poet, travelling +incognito? + +This latter gentleman was more approachable than the Count, and had +taken occasion to tell Blythe some very wonderful tales, besides still +further endearing himself to her by listening with flattering +attention to such narratives as she was pleased to relate for his +benefit. Indeed, they were rapidly becoming fast friends and she was +seriously contemplating a snap-shot at his expense. + +Mr. Grey, meanwhile, had joined the group in the sunshine, where he +stood, pipe in mouth, with his hands thrust deep into the pockets of +his reefer, regarding Gustav's awkwardness with kindly amusement. + +"There they go, those energetic young persons!" Mr. De Witt observed, +a few minutes later, as Blythe and the Englishman walked past, in +search of the Captain, whom Mr. Grey had suggested as the next subject +for photographic prowess. "Do you suppose that really is Dalton?" + +Mr. De Witt spoke with entire disregard of the fact that Mrs. Halliday +appeared to be slumbering tranquilly. And indeed an interrupted nap is +so easily made good on shipboard that Blythe used sometimes to beg her +mother to try and "fall awake" for a minute! + +On this occasion, as she walked past with the alleged poet, she +remarked: "Even Mr. De Witt can't keep Mamma awake on shipboard, and +she isn't a bit of a sleepy person on dry land." + +By way of response, Mr. Grey turned to contemplate the line of +steamer-chairs, billowy with voluminous wraps, saying: "Doesn't the +deck look like a sea becalmed? See! Those are the waves, too lazy to +break!" + +"How funny the ocean would look if the waves forgot to turn over!" +Blythe exclaimed, glancing across the gently undulating surface of the +sea. "I don't suppose they've kept still one single instant in +millions of years!" + +"Not since the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters," her +companion returned, with quiet emphasis; and Blythe felt surer than +ever that he really was the great poet whom people believed him to +be. + +A moment later they had stormed the bridge, where they two, of all the +ship's company, were pretty sure of a welcome. They found the Captain +standing, with his sextant at his eye, the four gold stripes on his +sleeve gleaming gaily in the sunshine. Evidently things were going +right, for the visitors and their daring proposal were most graciously +received. + +The fine old sea-dog stood like a man to be shot at; and as Blythe +faced him, kodak in hand, the breeze playing pranks with her hair and +blowing her golf-cape straight back from her shoulders, it was all so +exhilarating that before she knew it she had turned her little camera +upon the supposed Hugh Dalton himself, who made an absurd grimace and +told her to "let her go!" + +It was always a delightful experience for Blythe to stand on the +bridge and watch the ship's officers at their wonderful work of +guiding the great sea-monster across the pathless deep. Here was the +brain of the ship, as Mr. Grey had once pointed out, and to-day, when +a sailor suddenly appeared above the gangway and, touching his hat, +received a curt order,--"That is one of the nerves of the vessel," her +companion said. "It carries the message of the brain to the furthest +parts of the body." + +"And I suppose the eyes are up there," Blythe returned, glancing at +the "crow's nest," half-way up the great forward mast, where the two +lookouts were keeping their steady watch. + +"Yes," he rejoined, "that must be why they always have a pair of +them,--so as to get a proper focus. _Nicht wahr, Herr Capitän?_" + +And the little fiction was explained to the Captain, who grew more +genial than ever under the stimulus of such agreeable conversation. + +"_Ja wohl!_" he agreed, heartily; "_Ja wohl!_"--which was really quite +an outburst of eloquence for Captain Seemann. + +"If I couldn't be captain," Blythe announced, "I think I should choose +to be lookout." + +"How is dat?" the Captain inquired. + +"It must be the best place of all, away up above everything and +everybody." + +"And you would like to go up dare?" + +"Of course I should!" + +"And you would not be afraid?" + +"Not I!" + +Upon which the Captain, in high good-humour, declared, "I belief +you!" + +After that he fell to speaking German with Mr. Grey, and Blythe moved +to the end of the bridge, and stood looking down upon the steerage +passengers, where they were disporting themselves in the sun on the +lower deck. + +They were a motley crew, and she never tired of watching them, as they +sat about in picturesque groups, singing or playing games, or lay +stretched on the deck, fast asleep. + +Somewhat apart from the others was a woman with a little girl whom +Blythe had not before observed. The child lay on a bright shawl, her +head against the woman's knee, her dark Italian eyes gazing straight +up into the luminous blue of the sky. There was a curiously high-bred +look in the pale features, young and unformed as they were, and Blythe +wondered how such a child as that came to belong to the stout, +middle-aged woman who did not herself seem altogether out of place in +the rough steerage. + +At this point in her meditations, a quiet, matter-of-fact voice struck +her ear, and, turning, she found that Mr. Grey had come up behind +her. + +"The Captain says he will have the 'crow's nest' lowered and let you +go up in it if you like," was the startling announcement which roused +her from her revery. + +"Oh, you are making fun!" she protested. + +"I don't wonder you think so, but he seems quite in earnest, and I can +tell you it's the chance of a lifetime!" + +"I should think it was!" she gasped. "Oh, tell him he's an angel with +wings! And please, _please_ don't let him change his mind while I run +and ask Mamma!" With which Blythe vanished down the gangway, her +golf-cape rising straight up around her head as the draught took it. + +We may well believe that such a prospect as that drove from her mind +all speculations as to the steerage passengers, and that even the +thought of the little girl with the wonderful eyes did not again visit +her in the few hours intervening. + +Yet when, that afternoon at eight-bells, she passed with Mr. Grey down +the steep gangway to the steerage deck, which they were obliged to +traverse on their way to the forecastle, and they came upon the +little creature lying, with upturned face, against the woman's knee, +Blythe felt a sharp pang of compunction and pity. The child looked +even more pathetic than when seen from above, and the young girl +involuntarily stooped in passing, and touched the wan little cheek. +Whereupon one of those ineffable smiles which are the birthright of +Italians lighted the little face, and the small hand was lifted with +so captivating a gesture that Blythe, clasping it in her own, dropped +on her knees beside the child. + +"Is it your little girl?" she asked, looking up into the face of the +woman, whose marked unlikeness to the child was answer enough. + +"No, no, Signorina," the woman protested. "She is my little +Signorina." + +"And you are taking her to Italy?" + +"_Si, Signorina; alla bella Italia_!" + +Then the lips of the little girl parted with a still more radiant +smile, and she murmured, "_Alla bella Italia_!" + +A moment later, Blythe and her companion had passed on and up to the +forward deck where, climbing a short ladder to the railing of the +"crow's nest," they dropped lightly down into this most novel of +elevators. There was a shrill whistle from the boatswain, the waving +of white handkerchiefs where Mrs. Halliday and Mr. DeWitt stood, +forward of the wheel-house, to watch the start; then the big windlass +began to turn, the rope was "paid out," and the slow, rather creaky +journey up the mast had begun. + +It was a perfect day for the adventure. The ship was not rolling at +all, the little motion to be felt being a gentle tilt from stem to +stern which manifested itself at long intervals in the slightest +imaginable dip of the prow. And presently the ascent was accomplished, +and the "crow's nest" once more clung in its accustomed place against +the mast,--forty feet up in the air, according to Mr. Grey's +reckoning. + +As they looked across the great sea the horizon seemed to have receded +to an incalculable distance, and the airs that came to them across +that broad expanse, unsullied by the faintest trace of man or his +works, were purer than are often vouchsafed to mortals. Blythe felt +her heart grow big with the sense of space and purity, and this +wonderful swift passage through the upper air. Involuntarily she took +off her hat to get the full sweep of the breeze upon her forehead. + +Suddenly, a new sound reached her ear,--a small, remote, confidential +kind of voice, that seemed to arrive from nowhere in particular. + +"It's the Captain, hailing us through his megaphone," her companion +remarked; and, glancing down, far down, in the direction of the +bridge, Blythe beheld the Captain, looking curiously attenuated in the +unusual perspective, standing with a gigantic object resembling a +cornucopia raised to his lips. + +"You like it vare you are?" quoth the uncanny voice, not loud, but +startlingly near. + +And Blythe nodded her head and waved her hat in vigorous assent. + +The great ship stretched long and narrow astern, the main deck shut in +with awnings through which the huge smokestacks rose, and the +wide-mouthed ventilators crooked their necks. Along either outer edge +of the awnings a line of lifeboats showed, tied fast in their +high-springing davits, while from the mouth of the yellow +ship's-funnels black masses of smoke floated slowly and heavily +astern. The _Lorelei_ swam the water like a wonderful white aquatic +bird, leaving upon the quiet sea a long snowy track of foam. + +On a line with their lofty perch a sailor swung spider-like among the +network of sheets and halyards that clung about the mainmast, its +meshes clearly defined against the pure blue of the sky, while below +there, on the bridge, the big brass nautical instruments gleamed, and +the caps of the Captain and his lieutenants showed white in the sun. +As Blythe glanced down and away from this stirring outlook, she could +just distinguish among the dark figures of the steerage the small +white face of the child upturned toward the sky; and again a sharp +pang took her, a feeling that the little creature did not belong +among those rough men and women. No wonder that the beautiful Italian +eyes always sought the sky; it was their only refuge from sordid +sights. + +"I suppose the woman meant that the child was her little mistress; did +she not?" Blythe asked abruptly. + +"That was what I understood." + +"It's probably a romance; don't you think so?" and Blythe felt that +she was applying to a high authority for information on such a head. + +"Looks like it," the great authority opined. "I think we shall have to +investigate the case." + +"Oh, will you? And you speak Italian so beautifully!" + +"How do you know that?" + +"Oh, I'm sure of it! It sounds so exactly like the hand-organ men!" + +"Look here, Miss Blythe," the poet protested, "you must not flatter a +modest man like that. My daughter would say you were turning my +head." + +"Oh, I rather think your daughter knows that it's not the kind of head +to be turned," Blythe answered easily. She was beginning to feel as +if she had known this famous personage all her life. + +"I shall tell her that," said he. + +Presently one-bell sounded a faint tinkle far below, and the big +megaphone inquired whether they wanted to come down, and was assured +that they did not. And all the while during their voyage through the +air, which was prolonged for another half-hour, the two good comrades +were weaving romances about the little girl; and with a curious +confidence, as if, forsooth, they could conjure up what fortunes they +would out of that vast horizon toward which the good ship was bearing +them on. + +At last the time came for them to go below, and they reluctantly +signalled to the sailors, grouped about the deck in patient +expectation. Upon which the windlass was set going, and slowly and +creakingly the "crow's nest" was lowered from its airy height. + +The two aëronauts found the steerage still populous with queer +figures, and the atmosphere seemed more unsavoury than ever after +their sojourn among the upper airs. To their disappointment, however, +the woman and her Signorina were nowhere to be seen. Blythe and Mr. +Grey looked for them in every corner of the deck, but no trace of them +was to be found, and Blythe mounted the gangway to their own deck with +much of the reluctance which she often felt in submitting to an +interruption in a serial story. + +They found Mrs. Halliday amusing herself with a glass of cracked ice, +giving casual attention the while to a very long story told by a +garrulous fellow-passenger in a wadded hood. + +"Oh, Mamma," Blythe cried, perching upon the extension foot of her +mother's chair, "why didn't you and Mr. DeWitt stay longer? And how +did it happen that nobody else got wind of it? I don't believe a +single person knows what we've been about! And oh! we have had such a +glorious time! It was like being a bird! Only that little girl in the +steerage oughtn't to be there, and Mr. Grey and I are going to see +what can be done about it, and----" + +The wadded hood had fallen silent, and now its wearer rose, with an +air of resignation, and carried her tale to another listener, while +Mr. Grey also moved away, leaving Blythe to tell her own story. + +They were great friends, Mrs. Halliday and this only child of hers, +and well they might be; for, as Blythe had informed Mr. Grey early in +their acquaintance; "Mamma and I are all there are of us." + +As she sat beside this best of friends,--having dropped into the chair +left vacant by the wadded hood,--Blythe lived over again every +experience and sensation of that eventful afternoon, and with the +delightful sense of sharing it with somebody who understood. And, +since the most abiding impression of all had been her solicitude for +the little steerage passenger, she found no difficulty in arousing her +mother to an almost equal interest in the child's fate. + +And presently, when the cornet player passed them, with the air of +short-lived importance which comes to a ship's cornet three times a +day, and, stationing himself well aft, played the cheerful little tune +which heralds the approaching dinner-hour, Blythe slipped her hand +into her mother's and said: + +"We'll do something about that little girl; won't us, Mumsey?" + +Upon which Mrs. Halliday, rising, and patting the rosy cheek which she +used to call the "apple of her eye," said: + +"I shouldn't wonder if us did, Blythe." + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE LITTLE SIGNORINA + + +Blythe lay awake a long time that night, thinking, not of the bridge +nor of the "crow's nest," not of the Captain nor of the supposed Hugh +Dalton, but of the child in the steerage. How stifling it must be down +there to-night! It was hot and airless enough here, where Blythe had a +stateroom to herself,--separated from her mother's by a narrow +passageway, and where the port-holes had been open all day. Now, to be +sure, they were closed; for the sea was rising, and already the spray +dashed against the thick glass. Oh, how must it be in the steerage! +And how did it happen that that nice woman had been obliged to take +her little Signorina in such squalid fashion to _la bella Italia_? + +Blythe fell asleep with the sound of creaking timbers in her ears, as +the good ship strained against the rising sea, and when the clear note +of the cornet, playing the morning hymn, roused her from her dreams, +the roaring of wind and waves sent her thoughts with a shock of pity +to the little steerage passenger shut up below. For with such a sea as +this the waves must be sweeping the lower deck, and there could be no +release for the poor little prisoner. + +"Vhy you not report that veather from the lookout?" the Captain asked +with mock severity as Blythe appeared at the breakfast table. + +The racks were on, and the knives and forks had begun their +time-honoured minuet within their funny little fences. The amateur +"lookout" glanced across the table at her friend and ally the poet, +who nodded encouragingly as she answered: + +"Oh, we knew the Captain knew all about it!" + +"You think de Capitän know pretty much eferything, _wie es scheint_!" +was the reply, uttered in so deep a guttural that Blythe knew the old +Viking did not take very seriously the "bit of weather" that seemed to +her so violent. In fact, he owned as much before he had finished his +second cup of coffee. + +Yet when she came up the companionway after breakfast, she found a +stout rope stretched across the deck from stanchion to stanchion to +hold on by, the steamer chairs all tied fast to the rail that runs +around the deckhouse, and every preparation made for rough weather. + +It was not what a sailor would have called a storm, but the sea was +changed enough from the smiling calm of yesterday. Not many passengers +were on deck, half a dozen, only, reclining in their chairs in the lee +of the deckhouse, close reefed in their heavy wraps; while here and +there a pair of indefatigable promenaders lurched and slid along the +heaving deck arm in arm, or clung to any chance support in a desperate +effort to keep their footing. + +Blythe had to buffet her way lustily as she turned a corner to +windward. Holding her golf-cape close about her and jamming her felt +hat well down on her head, she made her way to the narrow passageway +forward of the wheel-house where one looks down into the steerage. The +waves were dashing across the deck, which was deserted excepting for +one or two dark-browed men crouched under shelter of the forecastle. + +There was a light, drizzling rain, and now and then the spray struck +against her face. Blythe looked up at the "crow's nest," which was +describing strange geometrical figures against the sky. The lookouts +in their oil-coats did not seem in the least to mind their erratic +passage through space. She wished it were eight-bells and time for +them to change watch; it was always such fun to see them running up +the ladder, hand over hand, their quick, monkey-like figures +silhouetted against the sky. + +How nobly the great ship forged ahead against an angry sea, climbing +now to the crest of a big wave, and giving a long, shuddering shake +of determination before plunging down into a black, swirling hollow! +And how the wind and the waters bellowed together! + +The Captain was on the bridge in his rubber coat and sou'-wester. He +had said this would not last long, and he had stopped for a second cup +of coffee before leaving the table. All the same, Blythe would not +have ventured to accost him now, even if he had passed her way. + +Presently she returned under shelter of the awning and let Gustav tuck +her up in her chair to dry off. And Mr. DeWitt came and sat down +beside her and instructed her in the delectable game of "Buried +Cities," in which she became speedily so proficient that, taking her +cue from the lettering on one of the lifeboats, she discovered the +city of Bremen lying "buried" in "the som_bre men_ace of the sea!" + +After a while, Gustav appeared before them, bearing a huge tray of +_bouillon_ and sandwiches, with which he was striking the most +eccentric angles; and Blythe discovered that she was preposterously +hungry. And while her nose was still buried in her cup, she espied +over its rim a pair of legs planted well apart, in the cause of +equilibrium, and the big, pleasant voice of Mr. Grey made itself heard +above wind and sea, saying, "Guess where I've been." + +"In the smoking-room," was the prompt reply. + +"Guess again." + +"On the bridge,--only you wouldn't dare!" + +"Once more." + +"Oh, I know," Blythe cried, setting her thick cup down on the deck, +and tumbling off her chair in a snarl of steamer-rugs; "You've been +down in the steerage finding out about the little Signorina!" + +"Who told you?" + +"You did! You looked so pleased with yourself! Oh, do tell me all +about her!" + +"Well, I've had a long talk with the woman. Shall we walk up and +down?" + +And off they went, with that absence of ceremony which characterises +life on shipboard, leaving Mr. DeWitt to bury his cities all unaided +and unapplauded. Then, as the two walked up and down,--literally up +and down, for the ship was pitching a bit, and sometimes they were +labouring up-hill, and sometimes they were running down a steep +incline,--as they walked up and down Mr. Grey told his story. + +The woman, Giuditta, had confided to him all she knew, and he had +surmised more. Giuditta had known the family only since the time, +three years ago, when she had been called in to take care of the +little Cecilia during the illness of the Signora. The father had been +a handsome good-for-nothing, who had got shot in a street row in +that quarter of New York known as "Little Italy." He was +nothing,--_niente_, _niente_;--but the Signora! Oh, if the gentleman +could but have known the Signora, so beautiful, so patient, so sad! +Giuditta had stayed with her and shared her fortunes, which were +all, alas! misfortunes,--and had nursed her through a long +decline. But never a word had she told of her own origin,--the +beautiful Signora,--nor had her father's name ever passed her lips. +Had she known that she was dying, perhaps then, for the child's +sake, she might have forgotten her pride. But she was always +thinking she should get well,--and then, one day, she died! + +There was very little left,--only a few dollars; but among the squalid +properties of the pitiful little stage where the poor young thing had +enacted the last act of her tragedy, was one picture, a _Madonna_, +with the painter's name, G. Bellini, just decipherable. It was a +little picture, twelve inches by sixteen, in a dingy old frame, and +not a pretty picture at that. But a kind man, a dealer in antiquities, +had given Giuditta one hundred dollars for it. "Think of that, +Signore! One hundred dollars for an ugly little black picture no +bigger than that!" + +"I suppose," Mr. Grey remarked, as they stood balancing themselves at +an angle of many degrees,--"I suppose that the picture was +genuine,--else the man would hardly have paid one hundred dollars for +it." + +"And would it be worth more than that?" + +"A trifle," he replied, rather grimly. "Somewhere among the +thousands." + +"But why should they have kept such a picture when they were so poor? +Why didn't they sell it?" + +"That would hardly have occurred to them. It was evidently a family +heirloom that the girl had taken with her because she loved it. I +doubt if she guessed its value. A Bellini! A Giovanni Bellini, in a +New York tenement house! Think of it! And now I suppose some +millionaire has got it. Likely enough somebody who doesn't know enough +to buy his own pictures! Horrible idea! Horrible!" and Mr. Grey strode +along, all but snorting with rage at the thought. + +"But tell me more about the little girl," Blythe entreated, wishing +the wind wouldn't blow her words out of her mouth so rudely. "Her name +is Cecilia, you say?" + +"Yes; Cecilia. Dopo is the name they went by, but the nurse doesn't +think it genuine. Her idea is that her Signora was the daughter of +some great family, and got herself disowned by marrying an opera +singer who subsequently made a fiasco and dropped his name with his +fame. She doesn't think Dopo ever was a family name. It means 'after,' +you know, and they may have adopted it for its ironical +significance." + +"And the poor lady died and never told!" Blythe panted, as they toiled +painfully up-hill with the rain beating in their faces. + +"Yes, and--look out! hold tight!" for suddenly the slant of the deck +was reversed, and they came coasting down to an impromptu seat on a +bench. + +"It seems," Mr. Grey went on, when they had resumed their somewhat +arduous promenade,--"it seems the woman, Giuditta, is quite alone in +the world and has been longing to get back to Italy. So she easily +persuaded herself that she could find the child's family and establish +her in high life. Giuditta has an uncommonly high idea of high life," +he added. "I think she imagines that somebody in a court train and a +coronet will come to meet her Signorina at the pier in Genoa. Poor +things! There'll be a rude awakening!" + +"But we won't let it be rude!" Blythe protested. "We must do something +about it. Can't you think of anything to do?" + +They were standing now, clinging to the friendly rope stretched across +the deck, shoulder high. + +"Giuditta's plan," Mr. Grey replied, "is the naïve one of appealing to +the Queen about it. And, seriously, I think it may be worth while to +ask the American Minister to make inquiries. For there is, of course, +a bare chance that the family may be known at Court. In the +meantime----" + +"In the meantime," Blythe interposed, "we've got to get her out of the +steerage!" + +"But how?" + +"Oh, Mamma will arrange that. We'll just make a cabin passenger of +her, and I can take her in with me in my stateroom. Oh! how happy she +will be, lying in my steamer chair, with that dear Gustav to wait on +her! I must go down at once and get Mamma to say yes!" + +"And you think she will?" + +"I know she will! She is always doing nice things. If you really knew +her you wouldn't doubt it!" And with that the young optimist vanished +in her accustomed whirl of golf-cape. + +If faith can move mountains, it is perhaps no wonder that the implicit +and energetic faith of which Blythe Halliday was possessed proved +equal to the removal of a small child from one quarter to another of +the big ship. The three persons concerned in bringing about the change +were easily won over; for Mrs. Halliday was quite of Blythe's mind in +the matter, Mr. Grey had little difficulty in bringing the Captain to +their point of view, while, as for Giuditta, she hailed the event as +the first step in the transformation of her small Signorina into the +little "great lady" she was born to be. + +Accordingly, close upon luncheon time, when the sun was just breaking +through the clouds, and the sea, true to the Captain's prediction, was +already beginning to subside, the tiny Signorina was carried, in the +strong arms of Gustav, up the steep gangway by the wheel-house, where +Blythe and her mother, Mr. DeWitt and the poet, to say nothing of +Captain Seemann himself, formed an impromptu reception committee for +her little ladyship. + +As the child was set on her feet at the head of the gangway, she +turned to throw a kiss down upon her faithful Giuditta, and then, +without the slightest hesitation, she placed her hand in Blythe's, and +walked away with her. + +That evening there was a dance on board the _Lorelei_; for it had been +but the fringe of a storm which they had crossed, and the sea was +again taking on its long, easy swell. + +The deck presented a festal appearance for the occasion. Rows of +Japanese lanterns were strung from side to side against the white +background of awning and deckhouse, and the flags of many nations +lent their gay colours to the pretty scene. The ship's orchestra was +in its element, playing with a "go" and rhythm which seemed caught +from the pulsing movement of the ship itself. + +As Blythe, with Mr. DeWitt, who had been a famous dancer in his day, +led off the Virginia Reel, she wondered how it would strike the +sailors of a passing brig,--this gay apparition of light and music, +riding the great, dark, solemn sea. + +The dance itself was rather a staid, middle-aged affair, for Blythe +was the only young girl on board, and none but the youngest or the +surest-footed could put much spirit into a dance where the law of +gravitation was apparently changing base from moment to moment. Blythe +and her partner, however, took little account of the moving floor +beneath their feet, or the hesitating demeanour of their companions. +One after another, even the most reluctant and self-distrustful of the +revellers found themselves caught up into active participation in the +figure. + +In a quiet corner of the deck sat Mrs. Halliday, with little Cecilia +beside her, snugly stowed away in a nest of steamer-rugs; for they +could not bear to take her below, out of the fresh, invigorating air. +Their little guest spoke hardly any English, but, although Mrs. +Halliday was under the impression that she herself spoke Italian, the +child seemed more conversable in Blythe's company than in that of any +one else, not excepting Mr. Grey, about whose linguistic +accomplishments there could be no question. + +Accordingly when, the Virginia Reel being finished, Blythe came and +sat on the foot of the little girl's chair, they fell into an animated +conversation, each in her own tongue. And presently, during a pause in +the music, the Italian Count chanced to pass their way, and, stopping +in his solitary promenade, appeared to give ear to their talk. + +Suddenly he stooped, and, looking into the animated face of the child, +inquired in his own tongue; "What is thy name, little one?" + +But when the pure, liquid, childish voice answered "Cecilia Dopo," he +merely lifted his hat and, bowing ceremoniously, passed on. + +Mr. Grey, who had watched the little scene from a distance, joined the +group a moment later and, taking a vacant chair beside Mrs. Halliday, +remarked: + +"I think we shall have to cultivate the old gentleman. He might be +induced to lend a hand in behalf of this young person. They are both +Florentines," he added, thoughtfully, "and Florentine society is not +large." + +"Then you really believe the nurse is right about the child?" Mrs. +Halliday asked. + +"Oh, I shouldn't dare say that the mother was a great lady," he +returned; "but there is certainly something high-bred about the little +thing." + +"They often have that air," Mrs. Halliday demurred,--"even the beggar +children." + +"Yes; to our eyes. But, do you know, I rather think the Italians +themselves can tell the difference. I would rather trust Giuditta's +judgment than my own. Besides," he added, after a long pause, during +which he had been watching the expressive face of the child. +"Besides,--there's that Giovanni Bellini. That sort of thing doesn't +often stray into low society." + +At this juncture the tall Italian moved again into their +neighbourhood, and stood, at a point where the awning had been drawn +back, gazing, with a preoccupied air, out to sea. + +Rising from his seat, Mr. Grey approached him, remarking abruptly, and +with a jerk of the head toward Cecilia, "Florentine, is she not?" + +"_Sicuro_," was the grave reply; upon which the Count moved away, to +be seen no more that evening. + +As the Englishman rejoined them after this laconic interview, Blythe +greeted him with a new theory. + +"Do you know," she said, "I used to think the Count was haughty and +disagreeable, but I have changed my mind." + +"That only shows how susceptible you good Republicans are to any sign +of attention from the nobility," was the teasing reply. + +"Perhaps you are right," Blythe returned, with the fair-mindedness +which distinguished her. "You know I never saw a titled person before, +excepting one red-headed English Lord, who hadn't any manners. I've +often thought I should like, of all things, to know a King or Queen +really well!" + +"You don't say so!" Mr. Grey laughed. "And what's your opinion now, of +the old gentleman, since he deigned to interrupt your conversation?" + +"I believe he is unhappy." + +"What makes you think so?" + +"There's an unhappy look away back in his eyes. I never looked in +before,--and then----" + +"And then----?" + +"There's something about his voice." + +"Yes; Tuscan, you know." + +"Oh, is that it? Well, any way, I like him!" + +"If that's the case, perhaps you could make better headway with him +than I." + +"But I don't speak Italian." + +"Perhaps you speak French." + +"I know my conjugations," was the modest admission. + +"And I'm sure he would be enchanted to hear them," Mr. Grey laughed, +as the orchestra struck into the familiar music of the Lancers, +causing him to beat a retreat into the smoking-room. + +And while Blythe danced gaily and heartily with a boy somewhat younger +than herself, and not quite as tall, her little protégée fell into a +deep sleep. And presently, the dance being over, the faithful Gustav +carried her down to Blythe's stateroom, where she was snugly tucked +away in the gently rocking cradle of the lower berth. + +As for Blythe, thus relegated to the upper berth, she entered promptly +into an agreeable dreamland, where she found herself speaking Italian +fluently, and where she discovered, to her extreme satisfaction, that +the Queen of Italy was her bosom friend! + + + + +CHAPTER III + +A NEW DAWN + + +It was pretty to see the little Signorina revive under the favouring +influences of prosperity; and indeed the soft airs of the southern +seas were never sweeter nor more caressing than those which came to +console our voyagers for their short-lived storm. + +Life was full of interest and excitement for the little girl. The +heavy lassitude of her steerage days had fallen from her, and already +that first morning a delicate glow of returning vigour touched the +little cheek. + +"She's picking up, isn't she?" Mr. DeWitt remarked, as he joined +Blythe and the child at the head of the steerage gangway, where the +little one was throwing enthusiastic kisses and musical Italian +phrases down upon the hardly less radiant Giuditta. + +"Oh, yes!" was the confident reply. "She's a different child since her +saltwater bath and her big bowl of oatmeal. Mamma says she really has +a splendid physique, only she was smothering down there in the +steerage." + +Then Mr. DeWitt stooped and, lifting the child, set her on the +railing, where she could get a better view of her faithful friend +below. + +"There! How do you like that?" he inquired. + +Upon which the little girl, finding herself unexpectedly on a level +with Blythe's face, put up her tiny hand and stroked her cheek. + +"Like-a Signorina," she remarked with apparent irrelevance. + +"Oh! You do, do you? Well, she's a nice girl." + +"Nice-a girl-a," the child repeated, adding a vowel, Italian fashion, +to each word. + +Then, with an appreciative look into the pleasant, whiskered +countenance, whose owner was holding her so securely on her +precarious perch, she pressed her little hand gently against his +waistcoat, and gravely remarked, "Nice-a girl-a, _anche il Signore_!" + +"So! I'm a nice girl too, am I?" the old gentleman replied, much +elated with the compliment. + +And Giuditta, down below, perceiving that her Signorina was making new +conquests, snatched her bright handkerchief from her head, and waved +it gaily; whereupon a score of the steerage passengers, seized with +her enthusiasm, waved their hats and handkerchiefs and shouted; +"_Buon' viaggio, Signorina! Buon' viaggio_!" + +And the little recipient of this ovation became so excited that she +almost jumped out of the detaining arms of Mr. DeWitt, who, being of a +cautious disposition, made haste to set her down again; upon which +they all walked aft, under the big awning. + +"She makes friends easily," Mr. Grey remarked, later in the morning, +as he and Blythe paused a moment in their game of ring-toss. The +child was standing, clinging to the hand of a tall woman in black, a +grave, silent Southerner who had hitherto kept quite to herself. + +"Yes," Blythe rejoined, "but she is fastidious. She will listen to no +blandishments from any one whom she doesn't take a fancy to. That +good-natured, talkative Mr. Distel has been trying all day to get her +to come to him, but she always gives him the slip." And Blythe, in her +preoccupation, proceeded to throw two rings out of three wide of the +mark. + +"Has the Count taken any more notice of her?" Mr. Grey inquired, +deftly tossing the smallest of all the rings over the top of the +post. + +"Apparently not; but she takes a great deal of notice of him. See, +she's watching him now. I should not be a bit surprised if she were to +speak to him of her own accord one of these days." + +"There are not many days left," her companion remarked. "The Captain +says we shall make Cape St. Vincent before night." + +"Oh, how fast the voyage is going!" Blythe sighed. + +Yet, sorry as she would be to have the voyage over, no one was more +enchanted than Blythe when Cape St. Vincent rose out of the sea, +marking the end of the Atlantic passage. It was just at sundown, and +the beautiful headland, bathed in a golden light, stood, like the +mystic battlements of a veritable "Castle in Spain," against a +luminous sky. + +"Mamma," Blythe asked, "did you ever see anything more beautiful than +that?" + +They were standing at the port railing, with the little girl between +them, watching the great cliffs across the deep blue sea. + +"Nothing more beautiful than that seen through your eyes, Blythe." + +"I believe you do see it through my eyes, Mumsey," Blythe answered, +thoughtfully, "just as I am getting to see things through Cecilia's +eyes. I never realised before how things open up when you look at them +that way." + +And Mrs. Halliday smiled a quiet, inward smile that Blythe understood +with a new understanding. + +They took little Cecilia ashore with them at Gibraltar the next +morning, and again Blythe experienced the truth of her new theory. + +It was our heroine's first glimpse of Europe, and no delectable detail +of their hour's drive, no exotic bloom, no strange Moorish costume, no +enchanting vista of cliff or sea, was lost upon her. Yet she felt that +even her enthusiasm paled before the deep, speechless ecstasy of the +little Cecilia. It was as if, in the tropical glow and fragrant +warmth, the child were breathing her native air,--as if she had come +to her own. + +On their return, as the grimy old tug which had carried them across +the harbour came alongside the big steamer, the child suddenly +exclaimed, "_Ecco, il Signore!_" and, following the direction of her +gesture, their eyes met those of the Count looking down upon them. He +instantly moved away, and they had soon forgotten him, in the +pleasurable excitement of bestowing upon Giuditta the huge, hat-shaped +basket filled with fruit which they had brought for her. + +Later in the day, as they weighed anchor and sailed out from the +shadow of the great Rock, Blythe found herself standing with Mr. Grey +at the stern-rail of their own deck, watching the face of the mighty +cliff as it changed with the varying perspective. + +"Oh! I wish I were a poet or an artist or something!" she cried. + +"Would you take that monstrous fortress for a subject?" he asked. + +"Yes, and I should do something so splendid with it that nobody would +dare to be satirical!" and she glanced defiantly at her companion, +whose good-humoured countenance was wrinkling with amusement. + +"Let us see," he said. "How would this do?" And he gravely repeated +the following: + + "There once was a fortress named Gib, + Whose manners were haughty and-- + +What rhymes with Gib?" + +"Glib!" Blythe cried. + +"Good! + + Whose manners were haughty and glib. + If you tried to get in, + She replied with a grin,-- + +Quick! Give me another rhyme for Gib." + +"Rib!" Blythe suggested, audaciously. + +"Excellent, excellent! Rib! Now, how does it go? + + There once was a fortress named Gib, + Whose manners were haughty and glib! + If you tried to get in, + She replied, with a grin, + 'I'm Great Britain's impregnable rib!' + +Rather neat! Don't you think?" + +"O Mr. Grey!" Blythe cried. "You've got to write that in my +voyage-book! It's the----" + +At that moment, a gesture from her companion caused her to turn and +look behind her. There, only a few feet from where they were standing, +but with his back to them, was the Count, sitting on one of the long, +stationary benches fastened against the hatchway, while just at his +knees stood little Cecilia. She was balancing herself with some +difficulty on the gently swaying deck, holding out for his acceptance +a small bunch of violets, which one of the market-women at Gibraltar +had bestowed upon her. + +As he appeared to hesitate: "_Prendili!_" she cried, with pretty +wilfulness. Upon which he took the little offering, and lifted it to +his face. + +The child stood her ground resolutely, and presently, "Put me up!" she +commanded, still in her own sweet tongue. + +Obediently he lifted her, and placed her beside him on the seat, where +she sat clinging with one little hand to the sleeve of his coat to +keep from slipping down, with the gentle dip of the vessel. + +The two sat, for a few minutes, quite silent, gazing off toward the +African coast, and Blythe and her companion drew nearer, filled with +curiosity as to the outcome of the interview. + +Presently the child looked up into the Count's face and inquired, with +the pretty Tuscan accent which sounded like an echo of his own +question on the evening of the dance: + +"What is thy name?" + +"Giovanni Battista Allamiraviglia." + +Cecilia repeated after him the long, musical name, without missing a +syllable, and with a certain approving inflection which evidently had +an ingratiating effect upon the many-syllabled aristocrat; for he +lifted his carefully gloved hand and passed it gently over the little +head. + +The child took the caress very naturally, and when, presently, the +hand returned to the knee, she got possession of it, and began +crossing the kid fingers one over the other, quite undisturbed by the +fact that they invariably fell apart again as soon as she loosed her +hold. + +At this juncture the two eavesdroppers moved discreetly away, and +Blythe, leaving her fellow-conspirator far behind, flew to her +mother's side, crying: + +"O Mumsey! She's simply winding him round her finger, and there's +nothing he won't be ready to do for us now!" + +"Yes, dear; I'm delighted to hear it," Mrs. Halliday replied, with +what Blythe was wont to call her "benignant and amused" expression. +"And after a while you will tell me what you are talking about!" + +But Blythe, nothing daunted, only appealed to Mr. Grey, who had just +caught up with her. + +"You agree with me, Mr. Grey; don't you?" she insisted. + +"Perfectly, and in every particular. Mrs. Halliday, your daughter and +I have been eavesdropping, and we have come to confess." + +Whereupon Blythe dropped upon the foot of her mother's chair, Mr. Grey +established himself in the chair adjoining, and they gave their +somewhat bewildered auditor the benefit of a few facts. + +"I really believe," the Englishman remarked, in conclusion,--"I really +believe that haughty old dago can help us if anybody can. And when +your engaging young protégée has completed her conquest,--to-morrow, +it may be, or the day after, for she's making quick work of +it,--we'll see what can be done with him." + +And, after all, what could have been more natural than the attraction +which, from that time forth, manifested itself between the Count and +his small countrywoman? If the little girl, in making her very marked +advances, had been governed by the unwavering instinct which always +guided her choice of companions, the old man, for his part, could not +but find refreshment, after his long, solitary voyage, in the pretty +Tuscan prattle of the child. Most Italians love children, and the +Count Giovanni Battista Allamiraviglia appeared to be no exception to +his race. + +The two would sit together by the hour, absorbed, neither in the +lovely sights of this wonderful Mediterranean voyage, nor in the +movements of those about them, but simply and solely in one another. + +"She's telling her own story better than we could do," Mr. Grey used +to say. + +It was now no unusual thing to see the child established on the old +gentleman's knee, and once Blythe found her fast asleep in his arms. +But it was not until the very last day of the voyage that the most +wonderful thing of all occurred. + +The sea was smooth as a lake, and all day they had been sailing the +length of the Riviera. All day people had been giving names to the +gleaming white points on the distant, dreamy shore,--Nice, Mentone, +San Remo,--names fragrant with association even to the mind of the +young traveller, who knew them only from books and letters. + +Blythe and the little girl were sitting, somewhat apart from the +others, on the long bench by the hatchway where Cecilia had first laid +siege to the Count's affections, and Blythe was allowing the child to +look through the large end of her field-glass,--a source of endless +entertainment to them both. Suddenly Cecilia gave a little shriek of +delight at the way her good friend, Mr. Grey, dwindled into a pigmy; +upon which the Count, attracted apparently by her voice, left his +chair and came and sat down beside them. + +As he lifted his hat, with a polite "_Permetta, Signorina_," Blythe +noticed, for the first time on the whole voyage, that he was without +his gloves. Perhaps the general humanising of his attitude, through +intercourse with the child, had caused him to relax this little point +of punctilio. + +Cecilia, meanwhile, had promptly climbed upon his knee, and now, +laying hold of one of the ungloved hands, she began twisting a large +seal ring which presented itself to her mind as a pleasing novelty. +Presently her attention seemed arrested by the device of the seal, and +she murmured softly, "_Fideliter_." + +Blythe might not have distinguished the word as being Latin rather +than Italian, had she not been struck by the change of countenance in +the wearer of the ring. He turned to her abruptly, and asked, in +French: + +"Does she read?" + +"No," Blythe answered, thankful that she was not obliged to muster her +"conjugations" for the emergency! + +There was a swift interchange of question and answer between the old +man and the child, of which Blythe understood but little. She heard +Cecilia say "Mamma," in answer to an imperative question; the words +"_orologio_" and "_perduto_" were intelligible to her. She was sure +that the crest and motto formed the subject of discussion, and it was +distinctly borne in upon her that the same device--a mailed hand and +arm with the word _Fideliter_ beneath it--had been engraved on a lost +watch which had belonged to the child's mother. But it was all surmise +on her part, and she could hardly refrain from shouting aloud to Mr. +Grey, standing over there, in dense unconsciousness, to come quickly +and interpret this exasperating tongue, which sounded so pretty, and +eluded her understanding so hopelessly. + +The mind of the Count seemed to be turning in the same direction, for, +after a little, he arose abruptly, and, setting the child down beside +Blythe, walked straight across the deck to the Englishman, whom he +accosted so unceremoniously that Blythe's sense of wonders unfolding +was but confirmed. + +The two men turned and walked away to a more secluded part of the +deck, where they remained, deep in conversation, for what seemed to +Blythe a long, long time. She felt as if she must not leave her seat, +lest she miss the thread of the plot,--for a plot it surely was, with +its unravelling close at hand. + +At last she saw the two men striding forward in the direction of the +steerage, and with a conspicuous absence of that aimlessness which +marks the usual promenade at sea. + +The little girl was again amusing herself with the glasses, and, as +the two arbiters of her destiny passed her line of vision, she laughed +aloud at their swiftly diminishing forms. Impelled by a curious +feeling that the child must take some serious part in this crucial +moment of her destiny, Blythe quietly took the glasses from her and +said, as she had done each night when she put her little charge to +bed: + +"Will you say a little prayer, Cecilia?" + +And the child, wondering, yet perfectly docile, pulled out the little +mother-of-pearl rosary that she always wore under her dress, and +reverently murmured one of the prayers her mother had taught her. +After which, as if beguiled by the association of ideas into thinking +it bedtime, she curled herself up on the bench, and, with her head in +Blythe's lap, fell fast asleep. + +And Blythe sat, lost in thought, absently stroking the little head, +until suddenly Mr. Grey appeared before her. + +"You have been outrageously treated, Miss Blythe," he declared, +seating himself beside her, "but I had to let the old fellow have his +head." + +"Oh, don't tell me anything, till we find Mamma," Blythe cried. "It's +all her doing, you know,--letting me have Cecilia up here," and, +gently rousing the sleeper, she said, "Come, Cecilia. We are going to +find the Signora." + +"And you consider it absolutely certain?" Mrs. Halliday asked, when +Mr. Grey had finished his tale. She was far more surprised than +Blythe, for she had had a longer experience of life, to teach her a +distrust in fairy-stories. + +"There does not seem a doubt. The child's familiarity with the crest +was striking enough, but that Bellini _Madonna_ clinches it. And then, +Giuditta's description of both father and mother seems to be +unmistakable." + +"Oh! To think of his finding the child that he had never heard of, +just as he had given up the search for her mother!" Blythe exclaimed. + +Cecilia was again playing happily with the glasses, paying no heed to +her companions. + +"The strangest thing of all to me," Mrs. Halliday declared, "is his +relenting toward his daughter after all these years." + +"You must not forget that Fate had been pounding him pretty hard," Mr. +Grey interposed. "When a man loses in one year two of his children, +and the only grandchild he knows anything about, it's not surprising +that he should soften a bit toward the only child he has left." + +They were still discussing this wonderful subject, when, half an hour +later, the tall figure of the Count emerged from the companionway. As +he bent his steps toward the other side of the deck he was visible +only to the child, who stood facing the rest of the group. She +promptly dropped the glasses upon Blythe's knee, and crying, "_Il +Signore!_" ran and took hold of his hand; whereupon the two walked +away together and were not seen for a long, long time. + +Then Blythe and Mr. Grey went up on the bridge and told the Captain. +No one else was to know--not even Mr. DeWitt--until after they had +landed, but the Captain was certainly entitled to their confidence. + +"For," Blythe said, "you know, Captain Seemann, it never would have +happened if you had not sent us up in the crow's nest that day." + +Upon which the Captain, beaming his brightest, and letting his cigar +go out in the damp breeze for the sake of making his little speech, +declared: + +"I know one thing! It would neffer haf happen at all, if I had sent +anybody else up in the crow's nest but just Miss Blythe Halliday with +her bright eyes and her kind heart!" + +And Blythe was so overpowered by this tremendous compliment from the +Captain of the _Lorelei_ that she had not a word to say for herself. + +That evening Mr. Grey inscribed his nonsense-verse in Blythe's book; +and not that only, for to those classic lines he added the following: + +"The above was composed in collaboration with his esteemed +fellow-passenger, Miss Blythe Halliday, by Hugh Dalton, _alias_ 'Mr. +Grey.'" + +It was, of course, a great distinction to own such an autograph as +that; yet somehow the kind, witty Mr. Grey had been so delightful just +as he was, that Blythe hardly felt as if the famous name added so very +much to her satisfaction in his acquaintance. + +"I knew it all the time," she declared, quietly; "but it didn't make +any difference." + +"That's worth hearing," said Hugh Dalton. + + * * * * * + +They parted from the little Cecilia at sunrise, but with promises on +both sides of a speedy meeting among the hills of Tuscany. + +The old Count, with the child's hand clasped in his, paused as he +reached the gangway, at the foot of which the triumphant Giuditta was +awaiting them, and pointed toward the rosy east which was flushing the +beautiful bay a deep crimson. + +"Signorina," he said in his careful French, made more careful by his +effort to control his voice,--"Signorina, it is to you that I owe a +new dawn,--to you and to your honoured mother." + +Then, as Mr. DeWitt and Mr. Grey approached, to tell them that +everything was in readiness for them to land, Blythe turned, with the +light of the sunrise in her face, and said, under her breath, so that +only her mother could hear: + +"O Mumsey! How beautiful the world is, with you and me right in the +very middle of it!" + + + + +ARTFUL MADGE + +CHAPTER I + +THE PRIZE CONTEST + + +"Artful Madge" was the very flippant name by which Madge Burtwell's +brother Ned had persisted in calling her from the time when, at the +age of sixteen, she gained reluctant permission to become a student at +the Art School. + +"Not that we have any objection to art," Mrs. Burtwell was wont to +explain in a deprecatory tone; "only we should have preferred to have +Madge graduate first, before devoting herself to a mere +accomplishment. It seems a little like putting the trimming on a dress +before sewing the seams up," she would add; "I did it once when I was +a girl, and the dress always had a queer look." + +But Mrs. Burtwell, though firm in her own opinions, was something of +a philosopher in her attitude toward the contrary-minded, and even +where her own children were concerned she never allowed her influence +to degenerate into tyranny. When she found Madge, at the age of +sixteen, more eager than ever before to study art, and nothing else, +she told her husband that they might as well make up their minds to +it, and, at the word, their minds were made up. For Mr. Burtwell was +the one entirely and unreasoningly tractable member of Mrs. Burtwell's +flock; in explanation of which fact he was careful to point out that +only a mature mind could appreciate the true worth of Mrs. Burtwell's +judgment. + +The Burtwells were people of small means and of correspondingly modest +requirements. They lived in an unfashionable quarter of the city, kept +a maid-of-all-work, sent their children to the public schools, and got +their books from the Public Library. Having no expensive tastes, they +regarded themselves as well-to-do and envied no one. + +If Madge Burtwell's eyes had been a whit less clear, or her nature a +thought less guileless, Ned would not have been so enchanted with his +new name for her. Indeed, a few years ago she had been described by an +only half-appreciative friend as "a splendid girl without a mite of +tact," and if she had succeeded in somewhat softening the asperity of +her natural frankness, there was enough of it left to lend a delicate +shade of humour to the name. + +Artful Madge, then, was a student at the Art School, and a very +promising one at that. At the end of three years she had made such +good progress that she was promoted to painting in the Portrait Class, +and since her special friend and crony, Eleanor Merritt, was also a +member of that class, Madge considered her cup of happiness full. Not +that there were not visions in plenty of still better things to come, +but they seemed so far in the future that they hardly took on any +relation with the actual present. Madge and Eleanor dreamed of Europe, +of the old masters and of the great Paris studios, but it is a +question whether the fulfillment of any dream could have made them +happier than they were to-day. Certain it is, that, as they stood side +by side in the great barren studio, clad in their much-bedaubed, +long-sleeved aprons, and working away at a portrait head, they had +little thought for anything but the task in hand. The one vital matter +for the moment was the mixing and applying of their colours, and, in +their eagerness to reproduce the exact contour of a cheek, or the +precise shadow of an unbeautiful nose, they would hardly have +transferred their attention from the most ill-favoured model to the +last and greatest Whistler masterpiece. + +The girls at the Art School had got hold of Ned's name for his sister +and adopted it with enthusiasm. + +"If you want to know the truth, ask Artful Madge," was a very common +saying among them. + +"Artful Madge says it's a good likeness, anyhow!" modest little Minnie +Drayton would maintain, when hard pressed by the teasing of the older +girls. + +The incongruity of the name seemed somehow to throw into brighter +relief the peculiar sincerity of its bearer's character, and by the +time it was generally adopted among the students Madge Burtwell's +popularity was established. + +It was well that Madge was a favourite, for in certain respects she +was the worst sinner in the class. To begin with, her palette was the +very largest in the room, and the most plentifully besmeared with +colours, and woe to the girl who ventured too near it! As Madge stood +before her easel, tall and fair and earnest, painting with an ardour +and concentration which was all too sure to beguile her into her +besetting sin of "exaggerating details," she wielded both brush- and +palette-arm with a genial disregard of consequences. Nor could one +count upon her confining her activities to one location. Like all the +students, she was in the habit of backing away from her natural +anchorage from time to time, the better to judge of her work, and not +one of them all had such a fatal tendency to come up against an +unoffending easel in the rear, sending canvas and paint-tubes rattling +upon the floor. + +Instantly she would drop upon her knees, overcome with contrition, and +help collect the scattered treasures, giving many a jar or joggle to +neighbouring easels in the process. + +"It's a shame, Miss Folsom!" she would cry, struggling to her feet +again, still clutching her beloved palette, which seemed fairly to +rain colours on every surrounding object. "It's a shame! But if you +will just cast your eye upon that thing of mine, you will perceive +that it was the recklessness of desperation. Look at it! There's not a +value in it!" + +Artful Madge was always forgiven, and no one ever thought of calling +her awkward, and when, in the early autumn, a Saturday sketching club +was organised, it was christened "The Artful Daubers" in honor of +Madge, and she was unanimously elected president. + +The girls were not in the habit of paying much attention to chance +visitors who came in from time to time and made the perilous passage +among the easels, and lucky was the "parent" or "art-patron" who +escaped without a streak of colour on some portion of his raiment. +When Mrs. Oliver Jacques looked in upon them one memorable morning in +February no premonition of great things to come stirred the company; +only indifferent glances were directed upon her by the few who deigned +to observe her at all. And this pleased Mrs. Oliver Jacques very much +indeed. + +Yet, if the girls had paused to consider,--a thing which they never +did when there was a model on the platform,--they would have been +aware that their visitor was a person of importance in the world of +Art, for importance in no other world would have secured to her the +personal escort of Mr. Salome, the adored teacher of their class. Yet +Mrs. Jacques was a charming little old lady who would have commanded +attention on her own merits in any less preoccupied assembly than +that of the studio. Her exceedingly bright eyes and her exceedingly +white hair seemed to accentuate her animation of manner; there was so +much sparkle in her face that even her silence did not lack point. + +She had accomplished her tortuous passage among the easels without +meeting with any mishaps in the shape of Cremnitz-white or +crimson-lake. She had paused occasionally and had bestowed a critical +nod upon the one "blocked-in" countenance, or had drawn her brows +together questioningly over a study in which the nose had a +startlingly finished appearance in a still sketchy environment, but +not until she had successfully avoided the last easel, planted at an +erratic angle just where the unwary would be sure to stub his toe, did +she make any remark. + +"A lot of them, aren't there?" she observed. + +"Yes, the school is pretty full," Mr. Salome replied. "In fact, we're +a little bothered for room." + +"Any imagination among them?" + +"Well, as to that, it's rather early to form an opinion. Our aim just +now is to keep them to facts. Some of them," the artist added with a +smile, "are rather too much inclined to draw upon their imagination. +Now there is one girl there who is, humanly speaking, certain to paint +the model's hair jet-black, or as black as paint can be made. And yet, +you see, there is not a black thread in it." + +"I wonder whether you would object to my making an experiment?" Mrs. +Jacques asked, abruptly. + +And from that seemingly unpremeditated question of Mrs. Jacques', and +from the consultation that ensued, grew the Prize Contest, destined to +be famous in the annals of the school. + +When, on that very afternoon, the students were assembled for the +occasion, they had not yet had time to adjust their minds to the +magnitude of the interests involved. Yet the conditions were simple +enough. That student who should, in the space of two hours, produce +the best composition illustrative of "Hope" was to receive a prize of +five hundred dollars! The conviction prevailed among them that the +vivacious little old lady with the white hair could be none other than +the fairy godmother of nursery lore, and it was only too delightful to +find that agile and beneficent myth interesting herself in the cause +of Art. + +When once the class was fairly launched upon its new emprise, a change +in the usual aspect of things became apparent. In the first place, +most of the students were seated; for, in a task of pure composition, +there was no occasion either for standing or for "prowling,"--the term +familiarly applied to the sometimes disastrous backward and forward +movements of which mention has been made, and which ordinarily gave so +much action to the scene. Furthermore, the use of watercolor, as +lending itself more readily than oils to rapid execution, deprived the +scene of one of its most picturesque features,--namely, the +brilliant-hued palette which, with its similarity to a shield, was +wont to lend its bearer an Amazonian air, not lost upon the class +caricaturists. Subdued, however, and almost "lady-like" as the +appearance of the class had become, hardly half an hour had passed +before the genial spirit of creation had so taken possession of the +assembly as to cast a glow and glamour of its own upon it. Here and +there, to be sure, might still be seen an anxious, intent young face +with eyes fixed upon vacancy, or an idle, if somewhat begrimed and +parti-coloured hand, fiercely clutching a dejected head; but nearly +all were already busily at work, eagerly painting, or as eagerly +obliterating strokes too hastily made. The subject, hackneyed as it +certainly is, had pleased and stimulated the girls. There was a +mingled vagueness and familiarity in its suggestion which puzzled them +and spurred them on at the same time. + +Among the most impetuous workers, almost from the outset, was Artful +Madge. She had instantly conceived of Hope as a vague, beckoning +figure, which was to take its significance from the multitude and +variety of its followers. She chose a large sheet of paper and +quickly sketched in the upper left-hand corner a very indefinite hint +of a winged, luminous something,--it might have been an angel or a +bird or a cloud, seen from a great distance, against a somewhat +threatening sky. Without defining the form at all she very cleverly +produced an impression of receding motion;--she ventured even to hope +that there was something alluring in the motion. That, however, must +be made unmistakably clear through the pursuing figures with which she +proposed to fill the foreground. + +She glanced at Eleanor, who had not yet mixed a colour. + +"What are you waiting for?" she asked. + +"I don't seem ready to begin," said Eleanor, in an absent tone of +voice. + +"Have you got an idea?" + +"I think so." + +"Then do hurry up and go ahead, or you'll get left." + +Madge sat a moment, looking straight before her. + +"What are you going to put in there?" asked Eleanor. + +"What I want is all the people in the world," Madge replied, with +perfect gravity. "But there is not room for them." + +A moment later she was working furiously, with hot cheeks and shining +eyes and breath coming faster and faster. + +First she would have a soldier. Madge had always loved a soldier; her +father had been one in the great and splendid days before she was +born. Yes, a soldier must come first. And forthwith a very sketchy +warrior stepped, with a very martial air, upon the paper. Then an +artist ought to come next;--only she could not think of any way of +indicating his calling without the aid of some conventional emblem. A +mere look of inspiration might belong to a poet or a preacher as well +as to an artist. Besides which, she was by no means sure that she knew +how to paint a look of inspiration. And then it came to her that, +unless she could paint just that, her picture must be a failure; and +so she fell upon it, and began sketching in figures of old and young, +rich and poor, trying only to put into each face the eager, upward +look which should focus all, in spirit as well as in actual direction, +upon the flying, luminous figure. In some attempts she succeeded and +in some she failed. There was one old woman, with abnormally deep +wrinkles, and shoulders somewhat out of drawing, whose face had caught +a curiously inspired look; Madge did not dare touch her again for fear +of losing it. Her artist, on the other hand, the young man with the +ideal brow and very large eyes, grew more and more inane and +expressionless the more eagerly his creator worked at him. + +On the whole, the production as a two-hour composition by a three-year +student was rather good than bad. When time was called Madge felt +pretty sure that she should not win the prize; she had undertaken too +much, both for the occasion and for her own ability. And yet it was +borne in upon her to-day that she was going to make a better artist +than she had ever before dared hope. + +So absorbed had she been in her own work, that she had completely +forgotten Eleanor, and had not even been aware that her friend had +begun painting an hour ago. Now she turned to her with compunction in +her heart. Eleanor held her finished sketch in her hand, but her eyes +had wandered to the high, broad north window which was one great sheet +of radiant blue sky. + +Eleanor's composition was very simple, but extremely well done, and in +the glance Madge was able to give it before the sketches were handed +in she saw that it was delicately suggestive. It represented a curving +shore, a quiet sea, and a saffron sky,--no sails on the sea, no clouds +in the sky. Upon the shore stood a solitary pine-tree, almost denuded +of branches, and against the tree leaned the slender figure of a +youth, looking dreamily across the sea to the horizon, where the +saffron colour was tinged with gold. That was all, but Madge felt sure +that it was enough; and, as she thought about it, she felt herself +very small and crude and confused, and she was conscious of a +perfectly calm and dispassionate wish to tear her own sketch in two. +She did not do so, however. There was no irritation, nor envy, nor +even displeasure, in her mind. She had not supposed that either she or +Eleanor could do anything so good as that sketch,--since one of them +could, why, that was just so much clear gain. + +A moment later the studio was in a tumult. The sketches had been +handed over to the three judges, who had gone into instant +consultation over them. Mrs. Jacques had decreed, with characteristic +decision, that the judges were bound to be as prompt as the +competitors, and the award was promised within half an hour. What +wonder if the usual tumult of dispersion was increased tenfold by the +excitement of the occasion? The voices were pitched in a higher key, +the easels clattered more noisily than ever, there was a more lively +movement among the many-hued aprons, as they were pulled off and +consigned with many a shake and a flourish to their respective pegs. + +[Illustration: "Eleanor's eyes had wandered to the high, broad north +window."] + +"What did you paint?" asked one high voice, whose owner was +enthusiastically shaking the water from her paint-brush all over the +floor. + +"I painted you--working for the prize." + +"Not really!" + +"Yes, really! You were just at the right angle for it, and you did +look so hopeful!" + +"You can't make me believe you played such a shabby trick upon me, +Mary Downing!" + +"Shabby! If you knew how good-looking you were at a three-eighths' +angle you would be grateful to me! You did have such an inspired look +for a little while,--before you got disgusted, and began to wash +out." + +"Jane Rhoades did an awfully pretty thing--a white bird with a boy +running after it. But I felt perfectly certain that the little wretch +had a gun in his other hand!" + +"What a fiery head you gave your angel, Mattie Stiles! He looked like +Loge in _Rheingold!_" + +"I don't care," said Mattie, in a tone of voice that showed that she +did care very much indeed. "I do like red hair, and we haven't had a +chance to paint any all winter." + +"Red hair wouldn't make Titians of us," sighed Miss Isabella Ricker, +who was of a despondent temperament. + +"It wouldn't be any hindrance, anyhow!" Mattie insisted. + +Meanwhile the half-hour was drawing to a close. A general air of rough +order had descended upon the studio. The girls were sitting or +standing about in groups, their remarks getting more disjointed and +irrelevant as the nervousness of anticipation grew upon them. Madge +and Eleanor had found a seat on the steps of the platform. The former +was making a pencil sketch of Miss Isabella Ricker, who had abandoned +herself to dejection in a remote corner of the room. Madge looked up +suddenly, and found that Eleanor was watching her work. + +"Your thing is very interesting," she remarked, in a reserved tone, +which, nevertheless, sent the colour mounting slowly up her friend's +sensitive cheek. They both understood that no more commendatory +adjective than "interesting" was to be found in the art-student's +vocabulary. + +"You're partial, Madge." + +"Not a bit of it. But I know an interesting thing when I see it. If +you win the prize," she asked abruptly, "what shall you do with the +money?" + +"If you go to the moon next week, what shall you do with the green +cheese?" Eleanor retorted, with an unprecedented outburst of sarcasm. + +"I think you might answer my question," said Madge; and at that +instant the door opened and a hush fell upon the room. + +The suspense was not painfully prolonged. The Curator of the Art +Museum, who had been associated with Mrs. Jacques and Mr. Salome as +judge, stepped upon the platform, from which Madge and Eleanor had +precipitately retreated, and made the following announcement: + +"We have, on the whole," he said, "been very well pleased with the +work we have had to consider. In fact, several of the sketches were +better than anything we had looked for. Nevertheless our decision was +not a difficult one, and our choice is unanimous. The prize which Mrs. +Jacques has had the originality and the generosity to offer has been +awarded to Mary Eleanor Merritt." + + * * * * * + +"And now will you answer my question?" + +Madge and Eleanor were walking home together through the light snow +which had just begun to fall. They had been curiously shy of speaking, +and, before the silence was broken, a pretty wreath of snow had formed +itself about the rim of each of their black felt hats, while little +ribbons of it were decorating the folds of their garments. + +"What are you going to do with your green cheese?" + +"I shall go to Paris next autumn," said Eleanor, tightly clasping the +check which she held inside her muff. + +"That's what I thought," said Madge; and if her eyes grew a trifle red +and moist it was perhaps natural enough, since the snow was flying +straight into them. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE MINIATURE + + +"What makes you keep looking at me, Eleanor Merritt? You're not a bit +of a good model!" + +Thus reproved, Eleanor once more fixed her eyes upon a very bad +oil-portrait of Great-grandfather Burtwell, an elderly man of a wooden +countenance, in stock and choker, surmounting an expanse of black +broadcloth which occupied two-thirds of the canvas. + +The girls were established in what was known as the spare-room of the +Burtwell house, which, with its north light and usual freedom from +visitors made a very good studio. Madge was painting a miniature of +Eleanor. The diminutive size of her undertaking was causing her a good +deal of embarrassment, and she was consequently inclined to be rather +severe with her sitter. + +"You know I am not going to have many more chances of looking at you +for a year to come," Eleanor urged, in a tone of meek dejection. + +"And I can't see you, even now," Madge persisted, "if you don't turn +more toward the light." + +There was silence again for some minutes, while Madge painted steadily +on. Difficult as was this new task which she had set herself, she was +captivated with it. However the miniature might turn out as a +likeness, she felt sure that each stroke of her brush was making a +prettier picture of it. The eyes already had the real Eleanor look, +and the hair was "pretty nice." The mouth was troublesome, to be sure, +and to-day she did not feel inspired to improve it, and had turned her +attention to less important details. + +"You've got such a pretty ear!" she remarked presently, as she touched +its outermost rim with a hair line, cocking her head to one side, the +while, in a very professional manner; "Did you ever notice what a +pretty ear you have?" + +"Better be careful how you talk about it," Eleanor laughed, "for fear +it should begin to burn!" + +The artist looked in some trepidation at the feature in question, but +its soft hue did not deepen. She took the precaution, however, to +change the subject; to one which she often chose, indeed, for the sake +of the animation it brought into the pretty face of her model. +Eleanor's "repose" sometimes bothered her. + +"What shall you do the first day in Paris?" Madge asked. + +"I shall write to you." + +"Good gracious! You won't write to me before you have seen the +Louvre!" + +"I shall write to you the very first minute. And then I shall write +again that same evening, and tell you whether there really is a +Louvre! If there shouldn't be one, you know, I shouldn't feel so like +a pig in being there without you!" + +"You needn't feel like a pig, as far as that goes," said Madge. "I +couldn't have gone to Paris if I had won the prize." + +"Why not?" + +"Well, I had it out with Father this morning. He says it's not a mere +matter of money; that if he and Mother thought well of my going, they +could manage it." + +"O Madge! Can't you make them think well of it?" + +"I'm afraid not. Father never did really believe in my going in for +art, and I think he believes in it less now than he ever did. He says +I've been at it for three years, and I haven't painted a pretty +picture yet. And he says he doesn't see what good it's going to do me +in after-life; that if I marry I sha'n't keep it up, and there +wouldn't be any good in my trying to;--which is, of course a mistake, +only I can't make him believe that it is,--and he says that if I don't +marry, I've got to earn my living sooner or later." + +"Why, but that's just it, Madge! You're going to be able to earn your +living! You're sure to!" + +But Madge was again engrossed in her work. The afternoon would soon +draw to a close, and if she wished to carry out her designs upon that +ear it behooved her to stop talking. Though her little picture was an +oval of three inches by four, it had cost her more strokes than any +canvas of ten times the size had ever done. And Eleanor was to sail in +a fortnight! + +At last the light began to fade, and Madge knew that she must stop. + +"What do you suppose Father said to me this morning?" she asked, as +she washed out her brushes and put her paint-box in order. + +"I can't imagine." + +"Well, he said that when any good judge thought my pictures worth +paying for in good hard cash, it would be time to think of sending me +'traipsing over the world with my paint-pot.' He said that if I would +come to him with a fifty-dollar bill of my own earning he should begin +to think there was some sense in my art-talk." + +"Did he really say that? Why, Madge, who knows?" + +Madge had shut up her paint-box and moved to the window, where she was +gloomily looking down into her neighbours' backyards. + +"If you mean Noah's Dove," she said, "You might as well give him up. +He's come back for the thirteenth time." + +Now "Noah's Dove" was the name which Madge had bestowed upon a small +bundle of pen-and-ink sketches which she had been sending about to the +illustrated papers for two or three months past, and which had earned +their name by the persistency with which they had found their way back +again. The girls had both thought them funny and original; indeed +Eleanor, with the partiality of one's best friend, did not hesitate to +pronounce them better than many of the things that got accepted. Up to +this time, however, no editor had seemed disposed to recognise their +merits, and they had been repeatedly and ignominiously rejected. + +"But you'll keep on sending them, won't you, Madge?" Eleanor +insisted. + +"Of course I shall, as long as there is a picture-paper left in the +country; though the postage does cost an awful lot!" + +The sun had set, and a tinge of rosy colour was spreading across the +northern sky behind the chimneys. The girls stood silent for a moment, +watching the colour deepen, while a wistful look came into Eleanor's +face. + +"After all, Madge," she said; "it must be nice to have somebody think +for you, even when he doesn't think the way you want him to." + +"Oh, of course, Father's a dear. I don't suppose I would swap him off, +even for Paris!" + +"I wish I could even remember my father or my mother, or anybody that +really belonged to me!" Eleanor said; then, feeling that she was +making an appeal for sympathy, a thing which she was principled +against doing, she turned her eyes away from the tender, beguiling +colour behind the chimneys, and looked, instead, at the big oil +portrait on the wall. "It's something to have even a painted +grandfather of your own!" she declared. + +"How I should love to give you mine!" laughed Madge. "He's such a +horrible daub, and I should so like to have the frame when it comes +time to exhibit! You would not insist upon having him in a frame, +would you, Nell?" + +Presently the girls went down-stairs together and Eleanor stayed to +tea, and told the family all about her Paris plans, and how she felt +like a pig to be going without Madge. And all the time, as she talked +to these kindly, sympathetic people, it seemed to her that Madge was +even more to be envied than she; and she wished she knew how to say so +in an acceptable manner. But Eleanor found as much difficulty as most +of us do, in expressing our best and truest thoughts, and so the +Burtwell family never knew what a heart-warming impression they had +made upon their guest. + +Eleanor had lived for the past three years with a married cousin, a +daughter of the not particularly congenial or affectionate Aunt Sarah, +now deceased, who had brought her up from babyhood. The gentle, +sensitive girl, with the artistic temperament, had never been happy +with her cousin, though the latter was far from suspecting the fact. +Mrs. Hamilton Hicks was fond of Eleanor, or imagined herself to be so, +and she always gave her young cousin her due share of credit, in view +of the fact that they had "never had any words together." +Nevertheless, she had acceded very readily to the Paris plan, and had +herself taken pains to find a suitable chaperon for the young +traveller. + +The result was, that on the fifteenth of September Eleanor went forth +into the great world in company with a lively and voluble Frenchwoman, +a lady whom she had seen but twice before in her life, who had +promised to establish her in a good private family in Paris. And since +Mrs. Hamilton Hicks had negotiated the arrangement, its success was a +foregone conclusion. + +When Madge left the railway station after bidding Eleanor good-bye, +and stepped out into the crowded city thoroughfare, the world seemed +to her very empty and desolate, in spite of the multitude of her +fellow-creatures who jostled against her. She could think of nothing +but Eleanor, standing on the platform of the car as the train moved +out of the station, and she was desperately sorry to have lost the +last sight of her friend's tearful face, because of a curious blur +that had come over her own eyes at the moment. At the recollection, +she mechanically put her hand into her pocket in search of the +miniature which she usually carried about with her. She had left it at +home lest she should lose it in the crowded railway station. It gave +her a pang not to find it, and she made up her mind then and there +that she would never go without it again. + +The moment she reached her own room she seized the picture and had a +good look at it. She had placed it in the inner gilt rim of an old +daguerreotype, which set it off very nicely. She had discarded the +hard leather daguerreotype case, as being too clumsy to carry about in +her pocket, and in its place had made a sort of pocket-book of red +morocco which was a sufficient protection for the glass, in her +careful keeping. + +She had never liked the picture so well as she did to-day, for she +thought of it now for the first time, not as a work of art, but as a +likeness, and imperfect as it was, even from that point of view, it +gave her very great pleasure to look at it. Yes, decidedly, she must +always have it by her hereafter; and she slipped it into her pocket +while she made herself ready for tea. + +But supposing she should have her pocket picked! A pickpocket, she +reflected, might, in the hastiness which must always characterise his +operations, mistake the little leather case for a purse, and then--how +should she ever get the precious miniature back again? "Not that he +would want to keep it," she said to herself, as she took it out once +more for a parting look,--"unless he should lose his heart to that +ear!"--and she regarded the tiny pink object with pardonable pride. +But with the best intentions in the world, how would he be able to +restore it? She must put her address in the case; that would be a +simple matter. + +An hour later, the family were gathered about the great round table in +the pleasant sitting-room, pursuing their various avocations by the +light of an excellent argand burner. Mr. Burtwell was reading his +evening paper, imparting occasional choice bits to his wife and his +eldest daughter, Julia, who were dealing with a heap of mending. The +two younger children were playing lotto, while Ned was having a +hand-to-hand tussle with his Cicero, a foeman likely to prove worthy +of his steel. + +Madge had taken out a sheet of paper, with a view to inscribing her +address upon it. The mere act of doing so had called up to her mind so +vivid an impression of the thief for whose information it was +destined, that she suddenly felt impelled to address to him a few +words of admonition. With an agreeable sense of the absurdity of her +performance, she began a letter to this figment of her imagination, +and this is what she wrote: + + * * * * * + +"DEAR PICKPOCKET, + +"For, as I shall never leave this miniature about anywhere, you must +be a pickpocket if it falls into your hands. To begin with, then; it +is not a good miniature at all, and there is no use in your trying to +sell it. In fact, it is a very bad miniature, as you will see if you +know anything about such things, which you probably don't. But it is +very valuable to me, and so I hope you will return it to me as soon as +you find out how bad it is. You probably won't want to bring it +yourself,--I'm sure I should not think you would!--but you can +perfectly well send it by express, and you can let them collect +charges on delivery, unless you think that, under the circumstances, +you ought to prepay them. My address is, + + Miss Margaret Burtwell," etc. + + * * * * * + +Madge read over her production with an amusement and satisfaction +which quite filled, for the moment, the aching void of which she had +been so painfully conscious. The letter occupied but one-half the +sheet, and, as the young artist's eye fell upon the blank third page, +she was seized with an irresistible impulse to draw a picture on it. + +The figure of the pickpocket was by this time so vivid to her mind, +that she began making a pen-and-ink sketch of him, as a dark-browed +villain in the act of rifling the pocket of a very haughty young woman +proceeding along the street with an air of extreme self-consciousness. +The drawing was on a very small scale, and when it was finished to her +satisfaction there was still half the page unoccupied. Madge hastily +wrote under the sketch the words: "The Crime," and a moment later she +was engrossed in the execution of a still more dramatic design, +representing the criminal in the hands of two stalwart policemen, +being ignominiously dragged through the street toward a sort of +mediæval fortress, with walls some twenty feet thick, upon which was +inscribed in enormous characters, "JAIL." Still more action was given +the drawing by the introduction of two or three small and gleeful +ragamuffins, dancing a derisive war-dance behind the captive, and of +two dogs of doubtful lineage, barking like mad on the outskirts of the +group. Under this picture was inscribed, "The Consequences of Crime," +and at the bottom of the page appeared the words, "Behold and +tremble!" + +"What's Artful Madge up to?" asked Ned, as he closed his Latin +Dictionary with a bang. + +"Writing a letter," Madge replied, composedly. + +"To the Prize Pig?" + +"The what?" + +"The Prize Pig! You know Eleanor said she felt like a pig to be going +to Paris without you, and as she got the prize----" + +"You impudent boy!" + +"Not in the least. I'm only witty." + +"Witty!" + +"Yes,--I've heard wit defined as the unexpected." + +"The dictionary doesn't define it so, and good manners don't define +impudence as wit." + +"We're not discussing impudence, we're discussing wit. And I know +positively that wit is defined as the unexpected." + +"Let's have your authority," said Mr. Burtwell, who had not heard the +first part of the discussion. + +"Let us see what the dictionary says," suggested Julia, who was the +scholar of the family. + +"Very well; and what will you bet that I'm not right?" + +"We don't bet in this family," said Mr. Burtwell, with decision. + +"Oh, well, that's only a form of speech. What will you do for me, +Madge, if I'm right?" + +"I'll put you into an allegorical sketch." + +"Good! I always wondered that you didn't make use of such good +material in the artful line!" + +The wire dictionary-stand, containing the portly form of Webster +Unabridged, was instantly brought up to the light, and there was half +a minute's silence while Ned turned the leaves. + +"Score me one!" he shouted, in high glee. "Listen to Webster! 'Wit. 3. +Felicitous association of objects not usually connected, so as to +produce a pleasant surprise.' Quite at your service, my artful +relative, whenever you would like a sitting!" + +"I protest! You haven't won!" + +"Haven't won, indeed! I leave it to the gentlemen of the jury. Is not +the name of Prize Pig for Miss Eleanor Merritt a 'felicitous +association of objects not usually connected'?" + +"No! The association is infelicitous, and consequently it does not +produce a 'pleasant surprise.'" + +The family listened with the amused tolerance with which they usually +left such discussions to the two chief wranglers. + +"I maintain," insisted Ned, "that the association of objects is +felicitous, and must be, because it was instituted by Miss Eleanor +Merritt herself. She won the prize, and she said she was a pig." + +"But it doesn't produce a pleasant surprise," Madge objected. + +"I beg your pardon! It _has_ produced a pleasant surprise, as I can +testify, for I have experienced it myself. What is your verdict, +Mother?" + +"My verdict is, that it's a pity, as I always thought it was, that you +are not to be a lawyer, and that Madge can't do better than practise +her drawing by making the allegorical sketch." + +That Mrs. Burtwell should be on Ned's side was a foregone conclusion, +and Madge appealed to her father. + +"Father, is calling Eleanor Merritt a prize pig a form of wit?" + +"Pretty poor wit I should call it!" + +"Father is on my side!" shouted Ned. "He says it's poor wit, which is +only one way of saying that it is wit!" + +"Can wit be poor?" asked Julia. + +"Father says it can." + +"Then it isn't wit!" Madge protested. + +"I should like to know why not. Old Mr. Tanner is a poor man, but he's +a man for all that, and votes at elections for the highest bidder. +And your logic's poor, but I suppose you'd call it logic!" + +"I have an idea!" cried Madge. "I'm going to make my fortune out of +you! I'm going to make a pair of excruciatingly funny pictures of you! +The first shall be called _The Student and Logic_, and the second +shall be called _Logic and the Student!_ In the first the student +shall be patting Logic on the head, and in the second,--oh, it's an +inspiration!" + +And forthwith Madge seized a large sheet of paper and began work. + +"I'm not sure that this won't be the beginning of a series," she +declared. "When it's finished I shall send it to a funny paper and get +fifty dollars for it,--and when I have got fifty dollars for it, +Father will send me to Paris; won't you, Daddy, dear?" + +"What's that? What's that?" asked Mr. Burtwell. + +"When I get fifty dollars,--_or more!_--for my Student, you will send +me to Europe!" + +"Oh, yes! And when you're Queen of England I shall be presented at +Court! Listen to what the paper says: 'The Honourable Jacob Luddington +and family have just returned from an extensive foreign tour. The two +Miss Luddingtons were presented at the Court of St. James, where their +exceptional beauty and elegance are said to have made a marked +impression.' Good for the Honourable Jacob! His father was my father's +chore-man, and here are his daughters hobnobbing with crowned heads!" + +From which digression it is fair to conclude that Mr. Burtwell did not +attach any great importance to his daughter's question or to his own +answer. But Madge put away the promise in the safest recesses of her +memory as carefully as she had tucked the letter to her "dear +pickpocket" inside the red morocco pocket-book. It seemed as if the +one were likely to be called for about as soon as the other,--"which +means never at all!" she said to herself, with a profound sigh. + +"The throes of creation have begun," Ned chuckled; and then, as he +watched his sister's business-like proceedings, marvelling the while +at what he secretly considered her quite phenomenal skill, he let +himself be sufficiently carried away by enthusiasm to remark, "I say, +Madge, you're no fool at that sort of thing, if you _are_ a girl!" + + + + +CHAPTER III + +NOAH'S DOVE + + +"I really think, Miss Burtwell, you might be a little more careful," +Miss Isabella Ricker wailed, in a tone of hopeless remonstrance. It +was the third time that morning that Madge had knocked against her +easel, and human nature could bear no more. + +"I think so too," said Madge, in a voice as dejected as her victim's +own. "If I only knew how to prowl more intelligently, I would, I truly +would." + +"Tie yourself to your own easel," suggested Delia Smith; "then that +will have to go first." + +"You're a good one to talk!" cried Mary Downing. "You've upset my +things twice this very morning!" + +"Put those two behind each other," Josephine Wilkes suggested. "It +will be a lesson to them." + +"And who's going to sit behind the rear one?" somebody asked. + +"Harriet Wells," Delia Smith proposed. "Mr. Salome said 'very good' to +her this morning; she must be proof against adversity." + +"No one is proof against adversity," Madge declared, in a tragic tone; +but her remark passed unheeded. The girls were already at work again, +and nothing short of another wreck was likely to distract their +attention. The scrape of a palette-knife, the tread of a prowler, or +the shoving of a chair to one side, were the only sounds audible in +the room, excepting when the occasional roar of an electric car or the +rattle of a passing waggon came in at the open window. It was the +first warm day in April. + +Artful Madge's sententious observation with regard to adversity was +the fruit of bitter experience. Misfortune's arrows had been raining +thick and fast about her, and although she was holding her ground +against them very well, she felt that adversity was a subject on which +she was fitted to speak with authority. + +In the first place, her Student series was proving to be quite as much +of a Noah's Dove as the first set of sketches which had so signally +failed to find a permanent roosting-place in an inhospitable world. +Only yesterday the familiar parcel had made its appearance on the +front-entry table, that table which, for a year past, she had never +come in sight of without a quicker beating of the heart. If she ever +did have a bit of success, she often reflected, that piece of +ancestral mahogany was likely to be the first to know of it. How often +she had dreamed of the small business envelope, addressed in an +unfamiliar hand, which might one day appear there! It would be half a +second before she should take in the meaning of it. Then would come a +premonitory thrill, instantly justified by a glance at the upper +left-hand corner of the envelope, where the name of some great +periodical would seem literally blazoned forth, however small the +type in which it was printed. And then,--oh, then! the tearing open of +the envelope, the unfolding of the sheet with trembling fingers, the +check! Would it be for $10 or $15 or even $25, and might there be a +word of editorial praise or admonition? Foolish, foolish dreams! And +there was that hideous parcel, which she was getting to hate the very +sight of! As she squeezed a long rope of burnt-sienna upon her +palette, she made up her mind that she would wait a week before +exposing herself to another disappointment. Perhaps the Student would +improve with keeping, like violins and old masters. Certainly if he +was anything like his prototype he needed maturing. + +Meanwhile the model's mouth was proving as troublesome to paint as +Eleanor's had been, and as Madge grew more and more perplexed with the +problem of it she thought of the miniature with a fresh pang. For she +had lost it! Three days ago it had somehow slipped from her +possession. Had she left it lying on the table in the Public Library? +Nobody there had seen anything of it. But on the very day of her loss +she had been at the Library, examining the current numbers of all the +illustrated papers, in the hope of gleaning some hint as to editorial +tastes. She remembered reading Eleanor's last letter there, the letter +in which her friend had written that she was to have two years more of +Paris. She had read the letter through twice, and then she had taken +out the miniature and had a good look at it. To think of Eleanor, +having two more years of Paris! And it had all come about so simply! +She had merely persuaded her cousin, Mr. Hicks, to advance a few +hundred dollars till she should be of age and at liberty to sell a +bond. + +"There isn't anybody that believes in me," Madge had told herself; and +then she had thought of something that Mr. Salome had said to her a +few days ago, something that she would have considered it very +unbecoming to repeat, even to Eleanor, but the memory of which, thus +suddenly recalled, had filled her with such hopefulness that she had +sped homeward to the mahogany table almost with a conviction of +success. Was it in that sudden rush of hopefulness, so mistaken, alas, +so groundless, that she had left the little morocco case lying about? +Or had she pulled it out of her pocket with her handkerchief? Or had +she really had her pocket picked? + +What wonder that in the stress of anxious speculation she was making +bad work of her painting! This would never do! She took a long stride +backwards, and over went Miss Ricker's long-suffering easel, prone +upon the floor, carrying with it a neighbouring structure of similar +unsteadiness, which was, however, happily empty, save for a couple of +jam-pots filled with turpentine and oil! These plunged with headlong +impetuosity into space, forming little rivers of stickiness, as they +rolled half-way across the room. Everybody rushed to the rescue, while +Miss Ricker gazed upon the catastrophe with stony displeasure. + +By a miracle, the canvas, though "butter-side-down," had escaped +unscathed. Not until she was assured of this did the culprit speak. + +"I'm a disgrace to the class," she said, "and expulsion is the only +remedy. Tell Mr. Salome that I have forfeited every right to +membership, and it's quite possible that I may never exaggerate +another detail as long as I live." + +"Time's up in two minutes," Mary Downing remarked, in her +matter-of-fact voice, as she dabbed some yellow-ochre upon her +subject's chin. "I rather think you'll come back to-morrow." + +"But I do think it's somebody's else turn to work behind her," said +Josephine Wilkes. + +Miss Ricker gave a faint, assenting smile. + +"I think Miss Ricker is very much indebted to Artful Madge," Harriet +Wells declared. "There isn't another girl in the class who could have +knocked that easel over without damaging the picture." + +"Practice makes perfect," some one observed; and then, time being +called, everybody began talking at once, and wit and wisdom were +alike lost upon the company. + +But Artful Madge was not to be lightly consoled. + +"Mother," she said, that same afternoon, as she came into the little +sitting-room over the front entry, where her mother was stitching on +the sewing-machine, "I think I should like to do something useful. I'm +kind of tired of art." + +Madge had been helping wash the luncheon dishes, and was beginning to +wonder whether her talents were not, perhaps, of a purely domestic +order. + +"I should think you _would_ be tired of it!" said Mrs. Burtwell, in +perfect good faith, as she snipped the thread at the end of a seam. +"How you can make up your mind to spend all your days bedaubing your +clothes with those nasty paints passes my comprehension." + +"But sometimes I daub the canvas," Madge protested, with unwonted +meekness, as she drew a grey woollen sock over her hand, and pounced +upon a small hole in the toe; and at that very instant, which Madge +was whimsically regarding as a possible turning-point in her career, +the doorbell rang. + +"A gintleman to see you, Miss," said Nora, a moment later, handing +Madge a card. + +"To see me?" asked Madge, incredulously, as she read the name, "Mr. +Philip Spriggs! Are you sure he didn't ask for Father?" + +But Nora was quite clear that she had not made a mistake. + +"Who is it, Madge?" Mrs. Burtwell queried. + +"It's probably a book agent," said Madge, as she went down-stairs to +the parlour, rather begrudging the interruption to her darning bout. + +Standing by the window, hat in hand, was an elderly man of a somewhat +severe cast of countenance, as unsuggestive as possible, in his +general appearance, of the comparatively frivolous name which a +satirical fate had bestowed upon him. + +As Madge entered the room he observed, without advancing a step toward +her: "You are Miss Burtwell, I suppose. I came to answer your letter +in person." + +"My letter?" asked Madge, with a confused impression that something +remarkable was going forward. + +"Yes; this one,"--and he drew from his pocket the red morocco +miniature case. + +"Oh!" cried Madge, "how glad I am to have it!--and how kind you are to +bring it!--and, oh! that dreadful letter!" + +The three aspects of the case had chased each other in rapid +succession through her mind, and each had got its-self expressed in +turn. + +Mr. Spriggs did not relax a muscle of his face. + +"I found this on a table in the Public Library," he stated. "Your +directions were so explicit that I could do no less than be guided by +them." + +There was something so solemn, almost judicial, about her guest that +Madge became quite awestruck. + +"Won't you please take a seat?" she begged, humbly. "I think I could +apologise better if you were to sit down." + +"Then you consider that there is occasion to apologise?" he asked, +taking the proffered chair, and resting his hat upon the floor. + +"Indeed, yes!" said Madge. "It's perfectly dreadful to think of the +letter having fallen into the hands of any one so--" and she broke +short off. + +"So what?" asked Mr. Spriggs. + +"Why, so dignified and so--very different from--" but again she found +herself unable to finish her sentence. + +"From a 'dear pickpocket?'" he suggested. + +"Did I say 'dear pickpocket'?" cried Madge in consternation. "I didn't +know I said 'dear.'" + +"I suppose you desired to make a favourable impression, in order to +get your picture back. There are some very good points about the +picture," he remarked, as he took it out of the case and examined it. +"There's a good deal of drawing in it, and considerable colour." + +"Do you know about pictures?" asked Madge with eager interest. + +"Not much. I've heard more or less art-jargon in my day; that's all." + +Madge looked at him suspiciously. + +"I am sure you will agree with me that I don't know much," he +continued, "when I tell you that I prefer your pen-and-ink work to the +miniature. 'The Consequences of Crime' is full of humour; and I have +been given to understand that you can't produce an effect without +skill,--what you would probably dignify with the name of technique. +The second small boy on the right is not at all bad." + +"You do know about art!" cried Madge. "I rather think you must be an +artist." + +Mr. Spriggs did not exactly change countenance; he only looked as if +he were either trying to smile or trying not to. Madge wished she +could make out just what were the lines and shadows in his face that +produced this singular expression. + +"Have you never thought of doing anything for the papers?" he asked. + +"Thought of it! I've spent four dollars and sixty-one cents in postage +within the last ten months, and he always comes back to the ark!" + +"'He'? Comes back where?" + +"To the ark. I call the package 'Noah's Dove' because it never finds a +place to roost." + +"The original dove did, after a while." Mr. Spriggs spoke as if he +were taking the serious, historical view of the incident. "I imagine +yours will, one of these days. Have you got anything you could show +me?" + +"Would you really care to see?" + +"I can't tell till you show me," he said cautiously; but this time +there was something so very like a smile among the stern features that +Madge could see just what the line was that produced it. + +She flew to her room, and seized Noah's Dove, and in five minutes that +much-travelled bird had spread his wings,--all six of them,--for the +delectation of this mysterious critic. + +Madge watched him, as he leaned back in his chair and examined the +sketches. He seemed inclined to take his time over them, and she felt +sure that her Student had never before been so seriously considered. + +At last Mr. Spriggs laid the drawings upon the table and fixed his +thoughtful gaze upon the artist. His contemplation of her countenance +was prolonged a good many seconds, yet Madge did not feel in the least +self-conscious; it never once occurred to her that this severe old +gentleman was thinking of anything but her Student. She found herself +taking a very low view of her work, and quite ready to believe that +perhaps, after all, those unappreciative editors knew what they were +about. + +"Have you ever sent these to the _Gay Head?_" her visitor inquired +casually. + +"Oh, no! I should not dare send anything to the _Gay Head!_" + +"Why not?" + +"Why! Because it's the best paper in the country. It would never look +at my things." + +"It certainly won't if you never give it a chance. You had better try +it," he went on, in a tone that carried a good deal of weight. "You +know they can do no worse than return it; and I should think, myself, +that the _Gay Head_ was quite as well worth expending postage-stamps +on as any other paper. Mind; I don't say they'll take your +things,--but it's worth trying for. By the way," he added as he rose +to go; "I wouldn't send No. 5 if I were you; it's a chestnut." + +He had picked up his hat and stood on his feet so unexpectedly that +Madge was afraid he would escape her without a word of thanks. + +"Oh, please wait just a minute," she begged. "I haven't told you a +single word of how grateful I am. I feel somehow as if,--as if,--_the +worst were over!_" This time Mr. Spriggs smiled broadly. + +"And you will send Noah's Dove to the _Gay Head?_" + +"Yes, I will, because you advise me to. But you mustn't think I'm +conceited enough to expect him to roost there." + +And that very evening the dove spread his wings,--only five of them +now,--and set forth on the most ambitious flight he had yet ventured +upon. + +In the next few days Madge found her thoughts much occupied with +speculations regarding her mysterious visitor; everything about him, +his name, his errand, both the matter and the manner of his speech, +roused and piqued her curiosity. It was clear that he knew a great +deal about art. And yet, if he were an artist, she would certainly +be familiar with his name. Whatever his calling, he was sure to +be distinguished. Those judicial eyes would be severe with any +work more pretentious than that of a mere student; that firm, +discriminating hand,--she had been struck with the way he handled her +sketches,--would never have signed a poor performance. Perhaps it was +Elihu Vedder in disguise,--or Sargent, or Abbey! Since the descent of +the fairy-godmother upon the class a year ago, no miracle seemed +impossible. And yet, the miracle which actually befell would have +seemed, of all imaginable ones, the most incredible. It took place, +too, in the simplest, most unpremeditated manner, as miracles have a +way of doing. + +One evening, about a week after the return of the miniature, the +family were gathered together as usual about the argand burner. It was +a warm evening, and Ned, who was to devote his energies to the cause +of electrical science, when once he was delivered from the thraldom of +the classics, had made some disparaging remarks about the heat +engendered by gas. + +"By the way," said Mr. Burtwell, "that, reminds me! I have a letter +for you, Madge. I met the postman just after I left the door this +noon, and he handed me this with my gas bill. Who's your New York +correspondent?" + +"I'm sure I don't know," said Madge, with entire sincerity, for it was +far too early to look for any word from the _Gay Head_. + +The letter had the appearance of a friendly note, being enclosed in a +square envelope, undecorated with any business address. Madge opened +it, and glanced at the signature, which was at the bottom of the first +page. The blood rushed to her face as her eye fell upon the name: +"Philip Spriggs, Art Editor of the _Gay Head_." + +She read the letter very slowly, with a curious feeling that this was +a dream, and she must be careful not to wake herself up. This was what +she read: + + * * * * * + +"MY DEAR MISS BURTWELL, + +"We like Noah's Dove as much as I thought we should. We shall hope to +get him out some time next year. Can't you work up the pickpocket +idea? That small boy, the second one from the right, is nucleus enough +for another set. In fact, it is the small-boy element in your Student +that makes him original--and true to life. We think that you have the +knack, and count upon you for better work yet. We take pleasure in +handing you herewith a check for this. + + "Yours truly, + "PHILIP SPRIGGS." + + * * * * * + +The check was a very plain one on thin yellow paper, not in the least +what she had looked for from a great publishing-house; but the amount +inscribed in the upper left-hand corner of the modest slip of paper +seemed to her worthy the proudest traditions of the _Gay Head_ itself. +The check was for sixty dollars. + +As Madge gradually assured herself that she was awake, the first +sensation that took shape in her mind was the very ridiculous one of +regret that the mahogany table should have been deprived of its +legitimate share in this great event. And then she remembered that it +was her father himself who had handed her the letter. + +She was still wondering how she should break the news to him, when she +found herself giving an odd little laugh, and asking, "Father, what is +your favourite line of ocean steamers?" + +Mr. Burtwell, who had really felt no special curiosity as to his +daughter's correspondent, was once more immersed in his evening paper. +He looked up, at her words, as all the family did, and was struck by +the expression of her face. + +"What makes you ask that?" he demanded sharply. + +"Because I know you always keep your promises, and--there's a letter +you might like to read." + +Mr. Burtwell took the letter, frowning darkly, a habit of his when he +was puzzled or anxious. He read the letter through twice, and then he +examined the check. He did not speak at once. There was something so +portentous in this deliberation, and something so very like emotion in +his kind, sensible face, that even Ned was awed into respectful +silence. + +At last Mr. Burtwell turned his eyes to his daughter's face, where +everything, even suspense itself, seemed arrested, and said, in a +matter-of-fact tone: + +"I think you had better go by the North German Lloyd. Shall you start +this week?" + +"Oh, you darling!" cried Madge, throwing her arms about her father's +neck, regardless of letter and check, which, being still in his +hands, were called upon to bear the brunt of this attack; "How can I +ever make up my mind to leave you?" + + + + +THE IDEAS OF POLLY + +CHAPTER I + +DAN'S PLIGHT + + +"_Well_, Mis' Lapham, I _am_ sorry to hear it, I _must_ say! It _doos_ +seem's though you'd _had_ your share of affliction!" + +Mrs. Henry Dodge always emphasised a great many of her words, which +habit gave to her remarks an impression of peculiar sincerity and +warmth; a perfectly correct impression, too, it must be admitted. Her +needle, moreover, being quite as energetic as her tongue, she was a +valuable member of the sewing-circle, at which function she was now +assisting with much spirit. + +Mrs. Lapham accepted this tribute to her many trials with becoming +modesty. She was a dull, colourless woman whose sole distinction lay +in the visitations of affliction, and it is not too much to affirm +that she was proud of them. She was sewing, not too rapidly, on a very +long seam, which occupation was typical of her course of life. She +sighed heavily in response to her neighbour's words of sympathy, and +said: + +"It did seem hard that it should have been Dan, just as he was +beginning to be a help to his uncle, and all. But I s'pose we'd ought +to have been prepared for it." + +"There's been quite a pause in the death-roll," the Widow Criswell +observed. She was engaged in sewing a button on a boy's jacket with a +black thread. + +"How long is it since Eliza went?" asked Miss Louisa Bailey, pursuing +the widow's train of thought. + +"Seven years this month. She began to cough at Christmas, and by +Washington's Birthday she was in her grave." + +"And Jane? They didn't go very far apart, did they?" + +"No, Jane died eleven months before Eliza; and their mother went three +years before that, and their father when Dan was a baby; that's goin' +on sixteen years." + +"_Well_, you _have_ had a hard time, I _will_ say!" exclaimed Mrs. +Dodge. "Your Martha losing her little girl, and John's wife breaking +her collar-bone, and all, and now _this_ to be gone through with! I +_should_ think you'd feel _discouraged_!" + +"I do; real discouraged. But I s'pose it's no more than I'd ought to +expect, with such an inheritance." + +"Have there been many cases of lung-trouble on your side of the +family, Mrs. Lapham?" Miss Bailey inquired with respectful interest. + +"No; Sister Fitch was the first case." + +For a few seconds, conversation languished, and only the snip of Mrs. +Royce's scissors could be heard, and the soft rustle of cotton cloth. +The sewing-circle was going on in the church vestry where there was a +faint odour from the kerosene lamps, which had just been lighted. The +Widow Criswell was the first to break the silence. + +"Polly ain't showed no symptoms yet, has she?" she asked, testing one +of the buttons as if sceptical of her thread. + +"Well, no; not yet. But then Dan seemed as smart as anybody six months +ago, and just look at him to-day!" + +The mental eyes of a score of women were turned upon Dan, as he was +daily seen, round-shouldered and hollow-chested, toiling along the +snowy country roads to and from school, coughing as he went. The topic +was not an uncongenial one to the members of the sewing-circle, who +had really very little to talk about. So absorbed were they, indeed, +in the discussion of poor Dan's fate, and of the long list of +casualties that had preceded it, that no one noticed the entrance of a +young girl, rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed, who had come to help with +the supper. There was an air of peculiar freshness about her, and as +she stood in her blue dress and white apron near the door, her ruddy +brown hair shining in the lamp-light, the effect was like the opening +of a window in a close room. Her step was arrested in the act of +coming forward, and, as she paused to listen, the pretty colour was +quite blotted out of her cheeks. + +"I don't think Dan's will be a lingering case," Mrs. Lapham was +saying. "The lingering cases are the most trying." + +Polly stood motionless. Was it true then, that which she had dreaded, +that which she had shrunk from facing? Was it more than a cold that +Dan had got? Was Dan really ill? Her Dan? Really ill? Her heart was +beating like a trip-hammer, but no one seemed to hear it. + +"Queer that the doctors don't find any cure for lung-trouble," Mrs. +Royce was saying. "Seems as though there must be some way of stopping +it, if you could only find it out." + +"Have you tried Kinderling's Certain Cure?" asked Mrs. Dodge. "They do +say that it's _very_ efficacious." + +"Well, no," said Mrs. Lapham; "I don't hold much to medicines myself; +but if I did I should think it just a wilful waste to try them for +Dan. The boy's doomed, to begin with, and there's no help for it." + +"There _is_ a help for it, there _shall_ be a help for it!" cried a +voice, vibrating with youthful energy and emotion. "I don't see how +you can talk so, Aunt Lucia! Dan _isn't_ doomed! he _sha'n't_ die! I +won't _let_ him die!" + +The women looked at Polly and then they looked at one another, fairly +abashed by the girl's spirit; all, that is, excepting Aunt Lucia, who +was not impressionable enough to feel anything but the superficial +rudeness of Polly's outbreak. + +"That'll do, Polly," she said, with a spiritless severity. "This is no +place for a display of temper." + +The colour had come back into the girl's face now, and there were hot +tears in her eyes. She turned without a word and left the room, nor +was she seen again among the waitresses who came to hand the tea. + +Polly was rather ashamed of having run away from the sewing-circle, +and she had serious thoughts of going back. It was the first time in +her life that she had allowed herself to be routed by circumstances; +but somehow she felt as if she could not find it in her heart to hand +about tea and seed-cakes, sandwiches and quince-preserve, to people +who could think such dreadful thoughts of Dan. And then, besides, she +knew what a pleasant surprise it would be for Dan to have her all to +himself for an evening. Uncle Seth would be sure to go for his weekly +game of checkers with Deacon White, and she could help Dan with his +algebra and Latin, and see that he was warm and "comfy," and perhaps +find that he did not cough so much as he did the evening before. + +They had a very cozy evening, she and Dan, just as she had planned it +in every particular but one, namely, the cough. There was no +improvement in that since the night before, and for the first time the +boy spoke of it. + +"I say, Polly! Isn't it stupid, the way this cold hangs on? Do you +remember how long it is since I caught it?" + +"Why, no, Dan. It does seem a good while, doesn't it? I guess it must +be about over by this time. Don't you know how suddenly those things +go?" + +Dan, who was on his way to bed, had stopped, close to the air-tight +stove, to warm his hands. + +"I wish it were summer, Polly," he said, with a wistful look in his +great black eyes that cut Polly to the heart. "It's been such a cold +winter; and a fellow gets kind of tired of barking all the time." + +"It'll be spring before you know it, Dan, you see if it isn't, and +you'll forget you ever had a cold in your life." + +And when, half an hour later, the evening was over, and Polly was safe +in her bed, she buried her head in her pillow and cried herself to +sleep. + +But tears and bewailings were not a natural resource with Polly, whose +forte was action. Her first thought in the morning was: what should +she do about it? Something must be done, of course, and she was the +only one to do it. What it was she had not the faintest idea, but +then it was her business to find out. Here was she, eighteen years +old, strong and hearty, and with good practical common sense, the +natural guardian and protector of her younger brother. It was time she +bestirred herself! + +As a first step, she got up with the sun and dressed herself, and then +she slipped down-stairs to the parlour where such of her father's +books as had been rescued from auction were lodged; her father had +been the village doctor. All the medical works had been sold, and many +other volumes besides, but among those remaining was an old +encyclopædia which had proved to Polly a mine of information on many +subjects. As she took down the third volume, she heard a portentous +_Meaouw!_ and there, outside the window, stood Mufty, the grey cat, +rubbing himself against the frosty pane. Polly opened the window and +Mufty sprang in, bringing a puff of frosty air in his wake. Without so +much as a word of thanks he walked over to the stove. Finding it, +however, cold, as only an empty air-tight stove can be cold, he +strolled, with a disengaged air, beneath which lurked a very distinct +intention, toward the only warm object in the room, namely, Polly in +her woollen gown. She had the volume open on the table before her, and +was deep in its perusal, murmuring as she read. + +"Appears to have committed its ravages from the earliest time," Polly +read, "and its distribution is probably universal, though far from +equal." + +At this point Mufty lifted himself lightly in the air, after the +manner peculiar to cats, and landed in Polly's lap. After switching +his tail across her eyes once or twice, and rubbing himself against +the book in rather a disturbing way, he at last settled down, and +began purring vigorously in token of satisfaction. The room was very +cold, and Polly, without interrupting her reading, was glad to bury +her hands in the thick fur. Presently the colour in her cheeks grew +brighter and her breath came quicker. There _was_ a way, after all! +People had been saved, people a good deal sicker than Dan,--saved by +a change of climate. What could be simpler? Just to pick Dan up and +carry him off! And such fun, too! + +"Mufty," she whispered, excitedly, "Mufty, what should you say to Dan +and me going away and never coming back again?" + +"_Brrrrr, brrrrr_," quoth Mufty. + +"I knew you would approve! You know how necessary it is, and you think +it best to do it; don't you, Mufty?" + +"_Brrrr, brrrrrrrrrr_," quoth Mufty, again. + +"O Mufty, what a darling you are, to approve! And there isn't really +any one's opinion that I care more about!" + +She got up and went to the window, while Mufty, not to be dislodged, +hastily established himself across her shoulder, his fore paws well +down her back, his tail contentedly waving before her eyes. The +picture which he thus turned his back upon was a wintry one. + +"Cold morning, isn't it, Mufty?" said Polly. "No kind of a climate for +a delicate person." + +"_Brrrr, brrrrrr!_" Mufty was digging a claw into her shoulder to +adjust himself more comfortably. + +"Ow!" cried Polly. Then, lifting him down: "Mufty, you're a very +intelligent cat, and I haven't a doubt that your judgment is as +penetrating as your claws. All the same, I guess you'd better get down +and come with me and help Susan get the breakfast. Don't you hear her +shaking down the kitchen stove?" + +Whereupon Mufty, finding himself dropped upon the coldly unsympathetic +ingrain carpet, desisted from further encouraging remarks. + +Polly was a schoolgirl still, though she was nearing the dignity of +graduation. She had no special taste for study, but she cherished the +Yankee reverence for education, and although it was not quite clear to +her how Latin declensions and algebraic symbols were to help her in +after-life, she committed them to memory with a very good grace, and +enjoyed all the satisfaction of work for work's sake. + +It happened, therefore, that the pursuit of learning interfered for +several hours with the far more important object which she had at +heart to-day; and it was not until two o'clock that she found herself +at liberty to do what every nerve and fibre of her young organism was +straining to accomplish. + +[Illustration: "Mufty hastily established himself across her shoulder."] + +"I'm not going right home," she said to Dan; "I've got an errand to +do." + +"Polly's got an idea," Dan said to himself, struck with the eagerness +in her face, and the haste with which she walked away. "What a girl +she is for ideas, any way!" and he trudged along the snowy road with +the other boys, getting rather out of breath in the effort to keep up +with them. + +Polly, meanwhile, stepped swiftly on her way. She was thinking of Dan. +He at least was a natural student and had always led his class. She +was not only fond of Dan, but proud of him, too. He was a handsome +boy, with those clear, dark eyes of his in which a less partial +observer than Polly might have read the promise of fine things. + +"Yes," Polly said to herself, as she sped along the road that +glittering winter's day: "Dan isn't just an ordinary boy. He's an +unusual boy. Why, the world couldn't _afford_ to lose Dan!" and she +looked into the faces of the passers-by, as if to challenge their +acquiescence in this bold statement. + +Whether Dan was all that Polly thought him, only the future could +prove,--that future that Polly was about to secure to him. If she +idealised him a bit, why, all the better for Dan, and all the better +for Polly, too. One thing is sure, that no one who could have looked +into the sister's heart that winter's day would have doubted her for +an instant when she said to herself: + +"He sha'n't die! I won't let him die! But, _oh! how I wish that cough +were mine!_" + +From her interview with the doctor, Polly brought away with her only +one word, "_Colorado_"; and with that word shining like a great snowy +peak in her imagination, she took another swift walk to a farmhouse +on the outskirts of the village, where dwelt a man whose son had gone +to Colorado three years ago. + +"Great place!" he told her; "Great place, Colorado! Mile up in the +air! Prairie-dogs and Rocky Mountains! Big cattle ranches that could +put all Fieldham in their vest pockets! Cold as thunder, hot as +thunder! Blizzards and cyclones and water-spouts! Wind! Blow you right +out of your boots! Cures sick folks? Oh, yes. Better than all the +doctors. Braces 'em right up--stands 'em on their legs! Nothing like +it, so Bill says. Costs a sight to get out there; oh, yes! Fifty +dollars and fifteen cents! Queer about that fifteen cents. Seems as +though they might ha' throwed that in on such a long trip's that; but +them railroads ain't got no insides any way; and when you once git out +there, why, _there you are!_" + +The philosophy of that last remark appealed particularly to Polly. +"When you once git out there, why, _there you are!_" Somehow it seemed +to make everything perfectly simple and easy. Blizzards and cyclones? +Yes, to be sure. But then it was the air that you went out for, Polly +reasoned, that was what was going to cure you; and perhaps the more +you got of it the quicker you would get cured. And Polly hurried home +from her last visit, flushed and eager for the fray. She found her +uncle in the barn putting up his horses. + +Mr. Seth Lapham was a good man; there could be no doubt about that. +Nothing but a sincere and very efficient conscience could have so +tempered his natural penuriousness as to cause him to receive into his +family a mere sister-in-law's children and allow them to "want for +nothing"; that, too, at a time when his own children, John and Martha, +were still a bill of expense to him, before their respective +marriages. For many years, Uncle Seth had conscientiously, if not +lavishly, fed and clothed the little orphans, whose entire patrimony +in the Savings Bank scarcely yielded interest enough to pay for their +boots and shoes; but it remained for the present crisis to prove him +as open-minded as he was conscientious. For, no sooner had Polly +finished the rapid exposition of her great plan--how they were to draw +the money from the bank to pay for their tickets and start them in +their new life, and how they were to earn their own living when once +they got started--than he was ready to admit the reasonableness of +it. + +"And when you once get out there, why, there you are!" Polly declared, +in her most convincing tone. + +As she stood before him, flushed and breathless, prepared to do battle +for Dan to the very last extremity, her uncle gave old Dick a slap +that sent him tramping into his stall, and then said, with the +drawling accent peculiar to him: + +"Well, Polly, you're a pretty sensible girl. If the doctor says so, I +guess it's wuth trying." + +Then Polly, who had so courageously braced herself for the contest, +experienced an overwhelming revulsion of feeling, and a great wave of +gratitude and compunction swept over her. To Uncle Seth's speechless +astonishment she flung her arms around his big neck, and, with some +thing very like a sob, she cried: + +"Oh, Uncle Seth, I never loved you half enough!" + +Uncle Seth bore it very well, all things considered. He got pretty red +in the face, but happily a full grizzly beard kept the secret of his +blushes. + +"Why, Polly!" he said, pounding away on her shoulder in an attempt to +be consolatory; "you've always ben a good girl; not a mite of trouble, +not a mite!" + +They walked up to the house, Polly holding the rough, hairy hand as +tightly as if it had been a solid chunk of gold. Before the short walk +to the kitchen door was finished they had become sworn conspirators, +and Uncle Seth was so entirely in the spirit of the piece that he held +Polly back a minute to say, in a sepulchral whisper, + +"Just you leave your Aunt Lucia to me. I'll fix her." + +Polly never knew all the pains Uncle Seth was at to "fix" Aunt Lucia, +but by hook or crook the "fixing" was accomplished, and Aunt Lucia had +given a mournful consent. + +"I shouldn't feel it right," she declared, "to let you suppose I +thought there was any hope of its curing Dan. That boy's doomed, if +ever a boy was, and I don't know how you'll ever manage with the +funeral and all, way out there in Colorado, far from kith and kin. But +your Uncle Seth says you'd better try it, and I ain't one to oppose +just for the sake of opposin'. I've been through too much for that. +Only I warn you; mind, you don't forget I warned you." + +Polly listened to Aunt Lucia's lugubrious views with scarcely a twinge +of alarm, and in five minutes she had plunged into preparations for +the journey. + +As for Dan, the mere thought of Colorado seemed to revive him. "Larks" +of any description had always been very much to his taste, but the +unending "lark" of an escape into the big world with Polly filled him +with a fairly riotous joy. + +And so it happened that by the time the March thaws were setting in +and the March winds were getting ready for their boisterous attack, +Polly and Dan had slipped away, and were travelling as fast as steam +could carry them toward the high, health-giving region of the Rocky +Mountains. + +"A harebrained venture as ever was!" Miss Louisa Bailey declared when +she heard of it. "I don't see what Mr. and Mrs. Lapham were thinking +of, to countenance such a step!" + +The monthly sewing-circle had come round again, and Mrs. Lapham, whose +turn it was to look after the supper, had stepped out of the room for +a moment. + +"Well, I don't know but it's about as well," the Widow Criswell +rejoined, sighing profoundly. She was more out of spirits than usual +to-day, for circumstances, otherwise known as Mrs. Royce, the +president of the sewing-circle, had forced into her hands a baby's +pinafore, the cheerful suggestiveness of which could only serve to +deepen her gloom. "The boy's doomed, wherever he is, and Sister +Lapham never had any real taste for sick-nursing. She's spared a sight +o' trouble and expense." + +"_Well_," said Mrs. Henry Dodge, winding a needleful of No. 20 thread +off the spool, with the hissing sound familiar to the ears of the +seamstress, and breaking it off with a snap, "_I_ think it's the very +_best_ thing that could have been _done_. The minute I _saw_ that +girl's face last sewing-circle, I _knew_ she'd make out to _save that +boy_. Mark my words, he'll outlive us all _yet!_ I declare, I always +_did_ like Polly Fitch. She reminds me of _myself_ when _I_ was a +girl!" + + + + +CHAPTER II + +WESTWARD HO! + + +"Pike's Peak or Bust!" was the chosen motto of those early pilgrims +who, thirty-odd years ago, crossed the continent in a "prairie +schooner," escorted by a cavalry guard to keep Indian marauders at a +respectful distance; and "Pike's Peak or Bust!" was the motto chosen +by Polly and Dan, our two young modern pilgrims, as they journeyed +with greater ease, but with no less courage and venturesomeness, +across the two thousand miles intervening between quiet Fieldham and +their goal. + +"Pike's Peak or Bust!" No one looking into the bright young faces +turned so bravely westward ho! could have had any doubt as to which of +the two alternatives hinted at in that picturesque motto would be +fulfilled for them. On they journeyed, on and on, past populous +cities, across great rivers, over vast plains brown with last year's +stubble or white with newly fallen snow, till at last there came a +morning when they awoke in the tingling dawn, and, looking forth +across miles of shadowy prairie, beheld a great white dome cut clear +against a sapphire sky. On the train rushed, on and on, straight +toward that snowy dome, and, as they drew nearer, other mountains +began to define themselves on either side the central peak, and +presently a town revealed itself, and they knew that it could be no +other than Colorado Springs, sleeping there at the foot of the great +range, all unconscious of the two young pilgrims, coming so +confidingly to seek their fortunes within its borders. + +Their first spring and summer were a very happy time, of which Polly +and Dan could relate a hundred noteworthy incidents. They rented a +tiny cottage of three rooms in the unfashionable part of the town +where rents were low. Here was a bit of ground all about, and a +narrow porch that looked straight into the face of the splendid old +Peak; and here they lived the merriest of lives on the smallest and +most precarious of incomes; for they were determined to infringe as +little as possible upon the slender capital, snugly stowed away in a +Colorado bank. + +Dan soon found employment in a livery-stable at fifty cents a day. His +chief business was the agreeable one of delivering "teams" and +saddle-horses to pleasure-seekers at the north end of the town, riding +back to the stable again on a "led horse" provided for the purpose. If +not a very ambitious calling, it was, at least, exceedingly good fun, +and it also had the merit of conforming to the doctor's directions. +"Don't let him get behind a counter or into any stuffy back-office," +the doctor had said to Polly. "Whatever he does, let it keep him in +the open air as much as possible." Had the very obvious wisdom of this +advice required demonstration, Dan's rapid improvement would have been +sufficient. + +They did not shock the sensibilities of the sewing-circle by writing +home exactly what the employment was that Dan had found, while, for +themselves, Polly had her own little ways of embellishing the somewhat +prosaic situation. She dubbed the young stable-boy Hercules, and +always spoke of the establishment he served as "The Augæans." Nor did +her invention fail when, a month or two later, Dan got a place at +somewhat higher wages as druggist's messenger; for then he was +promptly informed that his name was Mercury, and that there were wings +on his heels, though he could not himself see them, by reason of their +being turned back, and visible only when his feet were in rapid +motion! + +Meanwhile, Polly, too, was doing her part, though it had not yet +proved very lucrative. When they first took the house, Dan painted a +sign for her, bearing the following announcement: + + FINE NEEDLEWORK AND EMBROIDERY TO ORDER. + +But the spring and summer went by, and autumn came, and still the sign +which had ornamented their house-front for so many months had as yet +attracted the notice of only the impecunious class of customers their +immediate neighbourhood afforded. Polly had gratefully taken coarse +work at low prices, but she still hoped for better things. The street +where their tiny cottage stood, though at the wrong end of the town, +was a thoroughfare for pleasure parties driving to the great cañons, +and Polly never saw the approach of a pretty turnout without a thrill +of hope that the occupants might be attracted by her sign. She knew +herself to be a quick and skilful needlewoman, and she thought that if +only she might once get started in well-paid work, Dan, who was +growing stronger every day, might go on with his education at the +Colorado College Preparatory School. She had found out all about the +college, of which she had formed a very high opinion, and she told +herself proudly that Dan had such a good mind that he would not need +to study too hard. + +One evening in September they were clearing the supper table, +preparatory to washing up the dishes, which ceremony was one of the +numerous "larks" by which brother and sister found life diversified +and enlivened. + +"Mercury, I have an idea!" Polly suddenly cried. + +"Never saw the time you hadn't, Polly." + +"But this is a great idea, a really great one, because it includes all +the little ones, like Milton's universe in the crescent moon; don't +you remember?" + +"My goody, Polly! But it must be a corker!"--and Dan was all +attention. + +Now Polly, it is needless to repeat, was a young person of ideas; that +was her strong point, and Dan at least considered her a marvel of +ingenuity and invention. Their tiny sitting-room, where Dan slept, was +a witness to her taste and originality. There were picturesque shelves +which Dan had made in accordance with her directions; there were +cheesecloth window-curtains, with rustic boughs in place of poles; +there were barrels standing bottom upward for tables, draped with +ancient "duds"--a changeable-silk skirt of her mother's over one, a +moth-eaten camel's-hair shawl over another. The crack in the only +mirror which a munificent landlord had provided was concealed by a +kinikinick vine; a piece of Turkey-red at five cents a yard, their one +bit of extravagance, converted Dan's cot-bed into a canopy of state. +And having heard Dan chant the praises of her "ideas" with gratifying +persistence for a month past, Polly had begun to wonder whether they +might not be turned to account. + +"What's the latest idea, Polly?" Dan asked, seizing a dripping handful +of what they were pleased to call their "family plate." + +"Well, Dan, I want you to paint something more on my sign. Only two +words; it won't take you long." + +"What two words?" + +"_Also Ideas!_" + +Dan reflected a moment, and then he proceeded to dance a jig of +delight, wildly waving his dish-cloth about Polly's head. + +"Polly, you beat the world!" he cried. + +A house-painter lived next door, from whom Dan borrowed paint and +brushes, and before they slept the old sign was further decorated with +two magic words done in brilliant scarlet. The inscription now read: + + FINE NEEDLEWORK AND EMBROIDERY TO ORDER. + ALSO IDEAS + +There was something positively dazzling about those two words in +flaming scarlet, and Polly and Dan stepped out twice in the course of +their early breakfast to have a look at them. + +"Don't you feel scared, Polly?" asked Dan, as he left her at her +dish-washing. + +"Scared? Not I!" and she walked down the path with him, drying her +hands on a dish-towel. + +It was a delicious morning in late September; the air dry and +sparkling as a jewel, the mountains baring their shoulders to the +morning sun. The Peak had already a dash of winter on his crown, but +the barren slope of rock below looked like an impregnable fortress. +Polly and Dan were never tired of wondering at the changing moods that +played so gloriously upon that steadfast front. + +"Seems as if they must almost see him from Fieldham this morning, he's +so bright," said Polly. + +"That's so," Dan agreed. "I say, Polly, isn't he enjoying himself, +though?" + +"Course he is!" Polly answered. "Isn't everybody?" + +Then Polly went back to her splashing water and flopping dish-towels, +and was busy for an hour about the house. By and bye she sat herself +down in the little porch and proceeded to put good honest stitches +into a child's frock, for the making of which she was to receive +twenty-five cents. Not very good pay for a day's work, but +"twenty-five-hundred-million per cent. better than nothing," as she +had assured the doubtful Dan. + +Life looked very different to her since those two bright words had +been added to the sign. Not that it had looked otherwise than pleasant +before; but there was so little originality in the idea of doing +needlework that it had scarcely merited success, while this,--of +course it must succeed! + +In truth, she had sat there hardly an hour, when she distinctly heard +the occupant of a yellow buckboard read the sign, and then turn to her +companion with a word of comment. Polly had always had an idea that +one of those yellow buckboards would be the making of her fortune yet. +The one in question was drawn by a pretty pair of ponies, and two +young girls were in possession of it. + +"I have an idea they'll notice it again, when they come back this +way," Polly surmised. "But if they're going up the cañon they won't +come back till just as I'm getting dinner." + +And, sure enough, the mutton stew was just beginning to simmer, when +there came a rap at the door. + +The front door opened directly into the little sitting-room, and was +never closed in pleasant weather. As Polly emerged from the kitchen, +her face very red from hobnobbing with the stove, she found one of +the girls of the yellow buckboard standing in the doorway. + +"Good morning, Miss----" + +"Fitch. My name is Polly Fitch." + +"What a jolly name!" the visitor exclaimed. "I think you must be the +one with ideas." + +"Yes," said Polly, "Do you want one? Come in and take a seat." + +"I do want an idea most dreadfully," the young lady rejoined, taking +the proffered chair. "I want something for a booby prize for a +backgammon tournament. I don't suppose anybody ever heard of a +backgammon tournament before, but it's going to be great fun. We are +doing it to take the conceit out of a young man we know, who declares +that there's nothing in backgammon that he didn't learn the first time +he played it with his grandfather." + +"And you want a booby prize?" Polly looked thoughtful for the space of +sixteen seconds. Then she cried; "Oh, I have an idea! Get somebody to +whittle you a couple of wooden dice; then paint them white and mark +them with black sixes on each of the six sides of each die. You could +call it '_a booby pair-o'-dice_' if you don't object to puns!" + +"What a good idea! It's simply perfect! I wonder whom I could get to +do it for me?" + +"Why, Dan could do it with his jackknife, just as well as not. If +you'll come to-morrow morning you shall have them." + +Accordingly, the next morning, the young lady appeared, and was +enchanted with her prize. + +"And how much will they be?" she asked. + +"Well, I had thought of charging twenty-five cents for an idea, and +the dice didn't cost us anything and only took a few minutes to +make." + +"Supposing we call it a dollar. Would that be fair?" + +"I don't believe they are worth a dollar." + +"Yes, they are; I should be ashamed to take them for less. What a +splendid idea that was of yours, to put out that sign!" + +"I should think it was, if I could get any more customers like you!" + +"I'll send them to you,--never you fear!" + +Miss Beatrice Compton returned to her buckboard a captive to Polly. + +"She's the sweetest thing," she told her mother, who chanced to be her +passenger on this occasion. "She's got eyes and hair exactly of a +colour, a sort of reddish brown, and her eyes twinkle at you in the +dearest way, and she wears her hair in the quaintest pug, just in the +right place on her head, sort of up in the air; and she's a lady, too; +anybody can see that. I wonder who 'Dan' is; you don't suppose she's +married, do you?" + +"You can't tell," Mrs. Compton replied. "Persons in that walk of life +marry very young." + +"But, Mamma, she isn't a 'person,' and she doesn't belong to 'that +walk of life.' She's a lady." + +Miss Beatrice was as good as her word, and three days had not passed +when a horseman stopped before the little cottage, sprang from his +horse, and looked about for a place to tie; there was no hitching-post +near by. Polly was sitting in the porch making buttonholes. + +"If you were coming in here, you'd better lead him right up the walk," +she said, "and tie him to the porch-post." + +"That's a good idea!" the young man replied, promptly acting upon the +advice. "You are Miss Polly Fitch, are you not?" + +"Yes." + +"I knew you the minute I saw you, because Miss Compton described you +to me." This was meant to be very flattering, but Polly, who seldom +missed a point, was quite unconscious that one had been made. + +"Have you come for an idea?" she asked, quite innocently, and Mr. +Reginald Axton, who was rather sensitive, wondered whether she "meant +anything." On second thoughts he concluded that she did not, and he +began again: + +"I got that booby prize you made." + +"Did you?" cried Polly, with animation. "Oh, I wonder whether you +were the one--" she paused. + +"The one that what?" he asked hastily. + +"The one that thought there wasn't anything in the game." + +"Well, yes, I was. And the others had all the luck, and so of course I +got beaten." + +"Of course!" said Polly, with a twinkle of delight. + +"I see you're on their side, but all the same I want you to help me to +pay them back. You see I wanted to do something about it, and I +thought of sending Miss Compton some flowers with a verse, and I +thought perhaps you could do the verse." + +"Did you expect me to furnish the idea, too?" + +"Why, of course! That's why I came to you. I thought, if you were so +awfully bright, perhaps you could make verses." + +Polly looked thoughtful. + +"I should charge you quite a lot for it," she said,--"much as a dollar +perhaps; for you know writing verses is quite an accomplishment." + +"I'll pay a dollar a line for it! I know a fellow that gets more than +that from the magazines. And I'm sure that it will be good if you do +it." + +"My gracious! that's great pay!" cried Polly, with sparkling eyes, +ignoring the compliment, but enchanted to hear what a price verses +brought. "I'll send it to you by mail." + +"No, I guess I'll look in every once in a while and see how you're +getting on!" + +"Dear me!" said Polly, "you don't expect me to spend a week over it, +do you? That isn't why you offered such high pay?" + +"Oh, no; the quicker you got it done the more I should be willing to +pay for it." He paused a moment. "And, Miss Fitch," he went on, "I +don't care if you make it a little,--well,--a little soft. She +deserves it, she's such a tease! Her name's Beatrice," he added. "We +call her Trix, if that'll help you any." + +Polly understood Mr. Reginald perfectly, and she dismissed him with a +twinkle which promised well. Then Polly proceeded to cudgel her +brain, while the needle went in and out, and a buttonhole formed +itself in the firm, narrow line that makes of a buttonhole a work of +art. + +"I wish I could rhyme words as well as I can stitches," Polly thought +to herself, as she held up a completed buttonhole, with the honest +pride of a good workman. "Sixes,--Trixes! that heart were Trix's! That +ought to be made to go. A double rhyme, too! I don't believe he +expects a double rhyme." And in and out and in and out her thoughts +plied themselves round and about the two words, and her cheeks got +quite hot with the pleasurable excitement of this new mental +exercise. + +At last she tossed down her work, and, fetching a piece of brown +wrapping-paper, proceeded, with many erasures and tinkerings, to +inscribe upon it the following verse: + + Were hearts the dice and love the game, + Of no avail were double sixes; + On every heart is but one name, + We nought could throw but _double-Trixes!_ + +"Rather neat," said Polly to herself, "rather neat! Now if he were to +send it with two bunches of roses of six each, I think it could not +fail to make an impression. I should rather hate to pay another person +to make love for me, though," she went on, with a little toss of the +head; and then she picked up her work and began again to "rhyme +buttonholes." + +When Dan came home to supper he had much to learn. He was lost in +wonder over the rhyme which Polly repeated to him, but still more +impressed by the four great silver dollars she had to show; for her +impatient customer had already called for the verses. + +"Jiminy!" cried Dan; "that's most a week's earnings for some of us!" + +"Yes," Polly replied, demurely; "that's what Mrs. O'Toole would have +paid me for sixteen baby-dresses. Things even themselves out in the +long run, don't they, Dan?" As though Polly knew anything about the +long run, by the way! + +Before Christmas Polly was driving a pretty trade, not only in ideas +but in sewing. She had in all ten dozen pocket handkerchiefs to mark +for Christmas customers, besides towels and table-linen, sheets and +pillow-cases. People had found her out, and she had to refuse more +than one good order for lack of time. But needlework alone, quick as +she was in doing it, would have given her but a meagre income, had she +not been able to furnish "also ideas." + +One lady, for instance, came to ask her for an "idea" for a +Thanksgiving dinner, and Polly not only suggested the idea, but +carried it out for her. She went about with a big basket to all the +markets and collected perfect specimens of vegetables with which to +make a centrepiece for the dinner table. The dinner was given in a +house where the round dining table would seat twenty-four guests. In +this ample centre she erected a pyramid of fruits of the earth. There +were crimson beets, pale yellow squashes, scarlet tomatoes, and the +long, thin fingers of the string-bean; potatoes furnished a +comfortable brown, which, together with the soft bronze of the onion, +harmonized discordant colours; and, crowning all, the silken tassel of +the red-eared corn raised its graceful crest. + +The hostess was delighted with her table, and more delighted still +with the pretty decorator. Polly's fame flew from one to another +throughout that kindly and prosperous community, and she found herself +accumulating a goodly hoard. As Christmas drew near, many a perplexed +shopper came to her for "ideas," and all went away content. She had +long since discovered that the Colorado shops were treasure-houses of +pretty things. She never passed a jeweller's window without taking +note of his latest novelties; she kept an eye upon Mexican and Indian +bazaars, and Chinese bric-à-brac collections; she made a study of +Colorado gems, and knew where the prizes lay hidden; she ran through +the books in the bookstores; she was alert for new inventions in +harness decoration and bridle trimmings; she gave hints for fancy-work +of divers kinds. + +Mercury, meanwhile, sped about the town, dispensing healing, as Polly +often reminded him, and "getting more than I dispense, Polly," he +would declare in return. "I feel so well that everything is a regular +lark!" + +And so Dan made a "lark" of his work, and trotted all day in his +capacity of Mercury, little dreaming of the wealth that was +accumulating for his use; while Polly went on with her hoarding, of +which she made a great secret, and thought of a still better time +coming. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +A MERRY CHRISTMAS + + +Of all Polly's new friends, not one took a warmer interest in the +young idea-vendor than that first customer of hers, Miss Beatrice +Compton. Miss Beatrice was a warm-hearted and enthusiastic girl, who +never did anything by halves; and when she talked of Polly, of Polly's +skill and of Polly's originality, when she extolled Polly's eyes and +Polly's hair, Polly's wit and Polly's sweetness, few listeners +remained quite unmoved and incurious. Among the many who were thus +stirred to seek out this youthful paragon, was Miss Compton's +brother-in-law, Mr. Horace Clapp. Nor was an idle curiosity his only +motive in taking the step. Beneath the pretext he found for paying the +visit lurked a rather shamefaced purpose of doing this "plucky little +genius" a good turn. + +It happened, therefore, one morning in December, that Polly came home +from her marketing to find a stranger sitting in her porch. A +dog-cart, driven by a groom in livery, was passing and repassing her +door; and one look at the occupant of the porch sufficed to fix the +connection between the two. He was a well-dressed man of thirty or +more, who rose as she opened the gate and saluted her as if she had +been a duchess. + +"Miss Polly Fitch?" he inquired, as he stood before her, hat in hand. + +It was noticeable that no one ever omitted the "Polly" from the girl's +name. It seemed as much a part of her as the ruddy hair and the dimple +in her chin. That dimple, by the way, should have been mentioned long +ago; but that, in its turn, was so essential a feature, that one would +as soon think it necessary to state that Polly's nose had an upward +tilt as that her chin had a dimple. Any one who had ever heard of +Polly must know that her nose would tilt and her chin have a dimple. + +Polly had a large market-basket on her arm, and as she felt in her +pocket for the key to the front door, her visitor took possession of +the basket. She was a good deal impressed by the attention from so +magnificent a personage, and one, moreover, of advanced years. She +began to think that she must be mistaken about his being thirty; why, +that was Cousin John's age, and Cousin John was quite an oldish man. +She motioned her visitor to enter, and it must be admitted that there +was no oppressive reverence in her tone as she said: + +"If you would tell me _your_ name, now we should be starting fair!" + +"My name is Horace Clapp. Did you ever hear of me?" + +"No, I don't think so. Ought I to have?" + +"Well, no, there's no obligation in the matter. I only had an idea +that I was a local celebrity, like you." + +"Like me?" + +"Yes! You're a surprise to the town and so am I." + +"What have you done to surprise the town?" asked Polly, filled with +curiosity. + +"I've only got rich very fast." + +"Why, so have I!" said Polly. "We _are_ a good deal alike." + +"Really? Then you will be in an even better position to advise me than +I thought for." + +"I _supposed_ you had come for an idea," said Polly, as naturally as +if her wares had consisted in tape and buttons. + +Offering her visitor the only fairly comfortable chair in the room, +she seated herself by the window, near which was one of the draped +barrels with her work-basket on top. + +"You won't mind my sewing, please," she said, picking up a bit of +embroidery; "I can think better that way." + +The new customer meanwhile was wondering whether Miss Polly would +guess that he had come partly from curiosity, and partly with that +other far more daring motive of finding a way to do her a service. +And yet, who could tell? Perhaps she _could_ give him a hint; perhaps +she _was_ the youthful sibyl people seemed half inclined to believe +her. + +"Miss Polly," he said, leaning forward in his chair, with his elbows +on his knees,--"Miss Polly, I've got an awful lot of money, and I +don't know what to do with it." + +Mere words had not often the power of staying Polly's needle, but at +this astounding declaration she actually let her work fall in her lap, +and gazed with wide-eyed wonder at the speaker. + +"Yes," he went on, "I really want to do some good with it, and I've +tried in lots of ways and I've never hit it off. I should just like to +tell you about some of the things I've made a fizzle of in the last +year,--if it wouldn't bore you?" + +"Oh, no, it wouldn't bore me; nothing ever does. Only,--I can't +understand it. Why, I think I could give away _a thousand dollars a +year_ just there at home, where we used to live, and every dollar of +it would be well spent!" + +"Yes, Miss Polly," he said very meekly, "but, you see, what I've got +to consider is _two hundred thousand_ dollars a year!" + +He looked positively ashamed of himself, and Polly did not wonder. She +had given a little gasp at mention of the sum; then she shook her head +with decision. Polly knew her limits. + +"I haven't any ideas big enough for that" she said. "I should as soon +think of advising the President of the United States!" + +"Well, if you won't advise me about mine, perhaps you will tell me +what you are going to do with your own riches. You said you were +getting rich, did you not? You know," he added, "it isn't necessary to +make the map of a State as big as the State itself." + +"You have ideas, too," Polly remarked appreciatively, resuming her +embroidery. + +"But you have not told me how you are going to use your riches." + +"Oh, I'm going to use mine for education." + +"Going up to the college?" he asked. + +"Oh, no; there'd be no good in my knowing a lot. I've been nearly +through the Fieldham High School already, and the little that I've +learned doesn't seem to stick very well. No, indeed! I'm going to--" +she paused with a feeling of loyalty to Dan--"I'm only going to help +on the general cause of education," she finished demurely. + +As she made this sphinx-like remark, Mr. Horace Clapp wished she would +relinquish the pursuit of wealth long enough to put her work down and +let him see exactly what she meant. + +"I think that is the best use to put money to," he said gravely, "but +I'm not in the way of knowing about people who need help. Couldn't you +tell me of somebody, some young man who wanted to go to college, or +some girl who would like to go abroad? Of course, I could found a +scholarship, or endow a 'chair,' but one likes a bit of the personal +element in one's work." + +Polly's heart gave a thump. Here was a chance for Dan; a word from her +was all that was needed to make his path an easy one. Had she a right +to withhold that word,--to cramp and hinder him? She did not speak for +a good many seconds; she simply plied her needle with more and more +diligence, while her breath came fast and unevenly. Suddenly a furious +blush went mounting up into her temples and spread itself down her +neck. Her visitor thought he had never seen any one blush like that, +and it somehow struck him that his little plan was swamped. Quite +right he was, too. Polly blushed to think that she had thought of Dan +in such a connection for a single instant. + +It was very unreasoning, this impulse of rebellious shame: are we not +admonished to help one another? And what could the helpers do if all +their benefactions were indignantly thrust back? Very unreasoning +indeed, but natural!--natural as the colour of her hair and the +quickness of her wit, natural as all the graces and virtues, all the +misconceptions and foibles, that went to make up the personality of +Polly Fitch,--of Polly Fitch, the daughter of Puritan ancestors; men +and women who could starve, body and mind, but who never had learned +to accept a charity. + +Before the flush had died away, Polly was quite herself again, and +looked up so brightly and sweetly that Mr. Clapp took heart of hope. + +"You do know somebody like that; I'm sure you do!" he said +insinuatingly. + +"I?" said Polly. "I know hardly anybody. But I'm sure the president of +the college could tell you of a dozen boys who would be grateful for +help." + +And so Mr. Horace Clapp's little plan had come to nought, and he took +his leave more than ever convinced that it is a very difficult thing +to spend one's money in a good cause. As he stood a moment, waiting +for his dog-cart, a boy came down the street with a parcel under his +arm. + +"Say, Mister, do you know whether Daniel Fitch lives here?" he asked. + +"Daniel Fitch?" thought Mr. Clapp, as the boy turned in at the gate. +"Daniel Fitch? Where have I heard that name? Oh, yes, Beatrice said +there was a brother; runs errands for Jones, the druggist. Plucky +children! It would be pleasant to give them a lift!" + +As for Polly, she had not a twinge of regret. In fact, she rather +enjoyed dwelling upon the splendour of the opportunity she had thrust +from her, the better to glory in her escape. And she looked forward +with entire confidence to the time when she should test Dan's feeling +on the point. + +On Christmas Eve they hung up their stockings, fairly bulging with +materialised jokes and ideas which the morning was to bring to light, +and we may be sure that they did not wait for the lazy winter sun to +put in an appearance before beginning their investigations. Amid +shouts of merriment the revelations of a remarkably inventive Santa +Claus were greeted, while Polly held her climbing excitement in check +until the hour should be ripe for greater things. But when, at last, +just as the sun was peeping in at the kitchen window, Dan's ferret +fingers penetrated the extreme toe of his sock, she grew so agitated +that she quite forgot to make a certain witty observation she had been +saving up for that particular moment. And so it came about that an +unwonted silence reigned as the unsuspecting Dan drew forth a small +flat parcel labelled: "A Merry Christmas from Polly." + +Within was their familiar bank-book, wrapped about with a less +familiar sheet of note-paper bearing the following inscription: + +"An Idea! Namely, to wit: That Daniel Reddiman Fitch, Esq., lay aside +his character of Mercury, and become a student at Colorado College! + +"P. S.--An examination of the within balance will assure the said Dan +that there is nothing to prevent his thus delighting the heart of his +faithful Polly." + +A glance at the balance recorded, a reperusal of the "idea," and the +impressive silence was broken into a thousand fragments. + +"For you see, Dan," Polly explained, when, at last, she had secured a +hearing, "I shouldn't know what in the world to do with so much +money,--some rich people don't, they say,--and I've got plenty of +ideas to last us for years to come. Then, just as they begin to give +out, you'll have got to be a mining engineer, with your pockets +cram-full of money, and you'll have to support me for the rest of my +life. So I don't see but that I'm getting the best of the bargain, +after all!" + +It all seemed perfectly natural to Dan. This sister of his had always +lent a hand when he needed it. Of course he would accept her help, and +let the future, the glorious, inexhaustible future straighten out the +account between them. He did not express himself even in his inmost +thoughts in any such high-flown manner as this. He simply gave an +Indian war-whoop, administered to Polly a portentous hug, and declared +for the hundredth time, "Polly, you _beat the world!_" + +When everything was thus amicably settled and Dan had agreed to "give +notice" in his capacity as Mercury, the following day, Polly said: +"You won't mind being poor, will you, Dan? You don't wish we were +rich, do you?" + +"Rich? Why, we _are_ rich!" + +"But, Dan, if any one came along and offered you a lot of money, say a +thousand dollars a year, you wouldn't take it, would you?" + +"Do you mean a stranger, Polly, some one we hadn't any claim on?" + +"Yes; but somebody who had such a lot he wouldn't miss it. Would you +take it, Dan? Say, would you take it?" + +"What a goose you are, Polly! Of course I wouldn't take it! I would +rather go back to the Augæans for the rest of my life!" + +On the evening of that momentous Christmas Day, our two young people +had out their Latin books and began industriously to polish up their +somewhat rusty acquirements in that classic tongue. A year ago they +might not have regarded this as precisely a holiday pastime, but their +ideas had undergone a great change since then. + +They sat at the little centre-table, the ruddy head and the black one +close together in the lamp-light, reading their Cicero. A rap at the +door seemed a rude interruption; yet so unusual was the excitement of +an evening visitor that they could not be quite indifferent to the +event,--the less so when the visitor proved to be Polly's client of +the cumbrous income. + +"Good evening, Miss Polly," he called, from the door, and Polly +fancied that his voice had a particularly cheerful ring in it. As he +spoke, he glanced at Dan, who had opened the door. + +"This is my brother, Dan. Won't you come in, Mr. Clapp?" + +"With all the pleasure in the world, for I have come in the character +of Santa Claus." + +"Have you indeed?" thought Polly to herself; "we'll see about that!" +Perhaps there was something in her manner that betrayed her thoughts, +for her visitor said, with evident amusement: + +"You take alarm too easily, Miss Polly. I should as soon think of +offering a gift in my own name to,--to any other extremely rich young +woman." + +"I was glad to hear that your brother's name was Dan," he continued +with apparent irrelevance, as he took his seat. "And more delighted +still when I found out his middle name. Didn't it strike you," he +asked, turning abruptly to Dan, "that your employer, Mr. Jones, was +developing rather a sudden interest in your antecedents?" + +"Yes," Polly thought, "he is pleased about something." + +"Why, yes," Dan answered, with boyish bluntness. "But what do you know +about it?" + +"Only that it was I that put Jones up to making his inquiries." + +"You?" Dan looked half inclined to resent the liberty. But Polly saw +that there was something coming. + +"Would you mind telling us what it's all about?" she asked. "You look +as if you knew something nice." + +"I do; it's one of the nicest things I ever knew in my life. I didn't +tell you the other day, did I, that I had made most of my money in +mines?" + +"No," said Polly, wondering why he should want to tell them how he +made "his old money." + +"Well, that is the case; nearly all in one mine, too. It's a great +placer mine up north. I don't suppose you know much about placer +mines?" + +Polly, disclaiming such knowledge, tried to look politely interested, +while Dan's interest, fortunately for his manners, was very genuine. +Was he not to be a mining engineer, and did he not want to learn all +he could? + +"Well," Mr. Clapp went on, "a placer mine is one where the gold lies +embedded in the soil and has to be washed out, and if there doesn't +happen to be running water near by it costs an awful lot to bring it +in." + +"Yes," said the polite Polly, with a vision of a fire-brigade running +about with buckets in their hands, as they used to do in Fieldham. + +"What they call hydraulic mining," Dan put in. + +"Yes, that's it. Big ditches to be dug, and all that sort of thing. +Well, this 'Big Bonus Mine' was discovered twenty years ago. A company +was started and the stock was put on the market at a dollar a share. +The management made a mess of it, as a management usually does, and it +fizzled out. It was believed that the thing was chock-full of gold, +but they couldn't get it out." + +Polly was beginning to be interested; she usually did find things +interesting when she gave her mind to them. + +"Well, what did they do?" asked Dan. + +"They gave it up for a bad job, and tried to forget all the money they +had put into it." + +"Then where did your money come from?" + +"Out of the 'Big Bonus Placer Gold Mine!' We scoop it right out +to-day." + +"I wish you'd go ahead!" said Dan, for the guest had paused, and was +examining the _Cicero_. + +"Well, hydraulic mining improves, like every thing else, and three +years ago a new company was formed. Luckily the old company had not +gone into debt; perhaps they could not borrow money on their elephant. +However that may be, they agreed to put half their stock back into the +treasury, and it was sold at fifty cents a share, which gave us money +to work with." + +"And it was a howling success!" cried Dan. "I remember; I've heard all +about it." + +"Yes, we've paid out two dollars a share in dividends in the last six +months, and the stock is held at fifteen or sixteen dollars a share +to-day. The beauty of it is," Mr. Horace Clapp added, glancing quietly +from Dan to Polly, "I am convinced that you are both stockholders." + +"We?" they cried in a breath. + +"Yes! For Jones tells me that your father was a doctor; that his name +was Daniel Reddiman Fitch, and that he once lived in Bington, Ohio." + +"Yes," said Polly; "that was when he was first married; before old +Doctor Royce died, and left an opening in Fieldham, so that Father +came back home again." + +"The name of such a stockholder stands on our books, but we haven't +heretofore been able to trace him." + +"That's why old Jones pumped me so," Dan remarked, giving his mind +first to the more familiar aspects of the case. + +"What a pity he never knew!" said Polly, with glistening eyes. "He was +always so poor." + +"Your father's original holdings were five thousand shares, so that +you are the possessors of twenty-five hundred shares. If you sell it +pretty soon, as I think you may as well do, you will have something +over forty thousand dollars to invest; for there is, in addition to +the stock, five thousand dollars in back dividends due you." + +Dan and Polly looked at each other almost aghast; but that was only +for a moment. + +"Why, Dan, you can have a saddle-horse of your own!" cried Polly. + +"And so can you!" + +"And we can--O Mr. Clapp, how rude we are!" + +Mr. Clapp looked as if it were a kind of rudeness that he was enjoying +very much. As he rose to go, he said: + +"Don't you think I'm a pretty good sort of a Santa Claus after all, +Miss Polly?" + +Polly seized his outstretched hand. + +"I didn't believe any one person could be so rich, and so good, too!" +she declared. + +"And, O Dan!" cried Polly, the minute they were alone together, "let's +send a New-Year's box home. There'll be just time enough. We can get +one of those great carriage rugs for Uncle Seth, and a China silk for +Aunt Lucia." + +"And I'll send Cousin John's boys some Indian bows and arrows." + +"And Cousin Martha a dozen Chinese cups and saucers." + +"And the old Professor a meerschaum pipe." + +"And Miss Louisa Bailey, and dear Mrs. Dodge, and the Widow +Criswell,--what _shall_ we send the Widow Criswell, Dan?" + +"Some black-bordered pocket-handkerchiefs!" cried the irreverent Dan. + +Before going to bed they stepped out on the porch to bid the Peak +good-night. + +"Going to be a fine day to-morrow, Polly." + +"All the days are fine in Colorado," said Polly. + +"You forget the blizzard last month." + +"Oh, but it was _such a dear blizzard_ not to do you any harm when it +caught you out!" + +Dan grew thoughtful. + +"Do you ever think, Polly, that we should never have come out here if +it hadn't been for you?" + +"You know it was 'Pike's Peak or bust!' with both of us, Dan." + +Dan looked critically from the great Peak, gleaming there in the +starlight, to Polly's uplifted face, and then, as they turned to go +in, he exclaimed, for the hundred-and-first time: + +"Polly, _you beat the world!_" + + + + +NANNIE'S THEATRE PARTY + +CHAPTER I + +NANNIE'S THEATRE PARTY + + +"Yes, my dear, I went to the the_ett_er myself once when I was quite a +girl, younger 'n you be, I guess. 'Twas Uncle 'Bijah Lane that took +me, 'n' he was so upsot by their hevin' a fun'ral all acted out on the +stage, that he come home and told Ma 'twa'n't no fit place for young +girls to go to, 'n' I ain't never ben inside a the_ett_er sence. Doos +seem good to see play-actin' agin after all these years, I declare it +doos!"--and Miss Becky took up her sewing, which she had laid down in +a moment of enthusiasm. + +"If you liked it half as well as I like to do it, Miss Becky, you'd +like it even better than you do now," replied Lady Macbeth, with a +cheerful gusto, somewhat at odds with her tragic character. + +Nannie Ray, herself still very new to the delights of theatre-going, +had recently seen a great actress play Lady Macbeth, and, fired with +the spirit of emulation, she had been enacting the sleep-walking scene +for the benefit of her country neighbour. Miss Becky Crawlin lived +only half a mile down the road from the old Ray homestead, where the +family were in the habit of spending six months of the year. She and +Nannie had always been great cronies, Miss Becky finding a perennial +delight in "that child's goin's on." + +The "child" meanwhile had come to be sixteen years old, but no one +would have given her credit for such dignity who had seen the +incongruous little figure perched upon the slippery haircloth sofa, +twinkling with delight at Miss Becky's encomiums. She wore a +voluminous nightgown, from under the hem of which a pink gingham +ruffle insisted upon poking itself out; her long black hair hung over +her shoulders in sufficiently tragic strands; her cheeks, liberally +powdered with flour, gleamed treacherously pink through a chance +break in their highly artificial pallor, while portentous brows of +burnt cork did their best to make terrible a pair of very girlish and +innocent eyes. A touch of realism which the original Lady Macbeth +lacked was given by a streak of red crayon which lent a murderous +significance to the small brown hand. + +"I declare!" her admiring auditor went on, stitching away to make up +for lost time, "I can't see but you do's well's the lady I saw--only +she was dressed prettier, and went round with a wreath on her head. A +wreath's always so becomin'! We used to wear 'em May Day, when I was a +girl. They was made o' paper flowers, all colours, so's you could suit +your complexion, and when it didn't rain I must say we looked reel +nice. 'Twas surprisin', though, how quick a few drops o' rain would +wilt one o' them paper wreaths right down so's you could scurcely tell +what 'twas meant for." + +"Tell me some more about the girl with the wreath, Miss Becky," said +Lady Macbeth, longing to curl herself up in a corner, but too mindful +of her tragic dignity to unbend. + +"Well, she looked reel pretty, but she didn't hev _sperit_ enough to +suit my idees. She was kind o' lackadaisical and namby-pamby, 'n' when +her young man sarsed her she didn't seem to hev nothin' to say for +herself. I must say 'twas a heathenish kind of a play anyway, 'n' I +ain't surprised that Uncle 'Bijah got sot agin it. The language wa'n't +sech as I'd ben brought up to, either." + +Lady Macbeth had leaned forward and was clasping her knees, thus +unconsciously widening the expanse of pink gingham visible beneath the +white robe. She was glad she had modified her Shakespeare to suit her +listener, though "Out, _dreadful_ spot!" was not nearly as +bloodcurdling as the original. + +Miss Becky, meanwhile, had not paused in her narration. + +"There was a long-winded young man," she was saying, "him that sarsed +his girl, 'n' he went slashin' round, killin' folks off in a kind of +an aimless way, an'----" + +"It must have been _Hamlet_ that you saw!" cried Nannie, much excited. +"Oh, I do so want to see _Hamlet_!" + +"Yes, _Hamlet_; that was it. And then there was a ghost in it that +sent the shivers down my back; 'n' a king 'n' queen; 'n' the king +looked for all the world like Deacon Ember, Jenny Lowe's grandpa, that +died before you was born; 'n' I declare, I _did_ enjoy it! 'Twas jest +like bein' alive in history times! Why, I ain't had sech shivers down +my spine's the ghost give me, sence that day, till I seen you standin' +there tryin' to wash your hands without any water, 'n' your eyes +rollin' fit to scare the cat!" + +"Would you like to have me do it again for you, Miss Becky?" asked +Nan, springing to her feet with renewed ardour. And straightway she +stationed herself at the end of the little room and began propelling +herself forward with occasional erratic halts. + +The September sunshine came slanting through the tiny panes of glass +at the window, and touched with impartial grace the youthful figure +of distracted mien, the worsted tidies on the haircloth sofa, and the +neat alpaca occupant of the stuffed "rocker." Again the sewing was +forgotten, and Miss Becky's glittering spectacles were fixed upon the +tragic queen. As the queer little figure stalked solemnly down the +room, eyes fixed in a glassy stare, hands wringing one another +distressfully; as a moving wail rent the air, to the effect that "all +the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand," a most +agreeable succession of shivers made a highway of Miss Becky's spine. + +"Why don't you ever go to the theatre now, Miss Becky?" Nannie asked, +when, having laid aside her tragic toggery, she came in her own person +to take her leave. "I should think you'd like to go again." + +"Oh, yes, I should be reel tickled to go again, but I ain't got nobody +to go with, and, well--there's other reasons besides." + +[Illustration: "All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little +hand."] + +Nannie blushed to think how inconsiderate she had been to force her +old friend to allude, even indirectly, to her poverty, and she walked +up the dusty road to her own gate, filled with compunction. Just +outside the gate was a little wilderness of goldenrod and asters. She +thought what a pity it was they should get so gray with dust. Poor +things, they could not help it; they had to stay where chance had +planted them unless somebody picked them and carried them away, and +even then they left their roots behind them. Somehow they made her +think of Miss Becky, living her little narrow, stationary life all +alone in the old tumble-down farmhouse. And just at this point in her +reflections a delightful scheme came into her head. + +Now, Nannie was the recipient of a slender monthly allowance intended +for gloves and ruchings, postage stamps, and the like, and, having +spent the last four months far from the allurements of city shops, she +happened at this juncture to be in funds. Her stock of gloves, to be +sure, was pretty well exhausted, and Christmas was only a few months +away. But Miss Becky was nearer still, and Nannie had no hesitation +between the two claims. As a natural consequence it happened that, +one pleasant day early in October, Miss Becky, in her best black +bonnet, found herself steaming up to Boston, about to do Nannie "a +real favour" by chaperoning her to the theatre. Miss Becky was so much +impressed by the gravity of her responsibility that she hardly took in +the fact that she was going to the theatre herself! + +They were to see _The Shaughraun_--a play which her best friend had +assured Nannie was "just great"; and as the train rushed up to town +the young hostess was at a loss to decide whether she was happier on +her own account or on Miss Becky's. To be sure, she was just a little +disappointed about Miss Becky, who seemed curiously silent and stiff; +and when they came out of the station and walked up the crowded city +street, the old lady held her by the sleeve and looked bewildered and +frightened. + +"How long is it since you've been in Boston?" Nannie asked, looking up +into the anxious old face framed in the black silk bonnet which +looked twice as old-fashioned as ever before. + +"Not sence Sophia was married 'n' we came up to select her weddin' +gownd. I was quite a girl then, an' I guess I felt more at home in a +crowd than I do now. We don't often hev much of a crowd out our way." + +They were among the first to take their seats at the theatre. Mr. Ray +had got places for them only three rows back from the stage, and, once +established there, Nannie felt that they were in a safe haven, where +her guest could grow calm and responsive again. + +At first Miss Becky was almost too overawed to speak, but after a +while she got the better of the situation and began telling Nannie all +about Sophia and her "true-so," and how they got lost on their way to +the station and almost missed their train, which was the only train +"out" in old times. + +"I do hope we sha'n't miss our train to-night, my dear! It doos seem's +though we might 'f they don't begin pretty soon," and the old +lady--for a very old lady she seemed to have become all of a +sudden--fidgeted in her chair, and looked over her shoulder to see if +the seats were not filling up. + +"We sha'n't lose our train, Miss Becky," Nannie assured her. "You know +it doesn't go until half-past five o'clock, and the play is always +over before five. And even if we did miss it we could take the +seven-fifteen." + +"Oh, dear, no! I sh'd feel reel bad to miss the train. Why, it gits +dark by six o'clock, 'n' 'twouldn't be safe for us to be goin' round +the city streets after dark. We might git garroted or, or--_spoken +to!_ Dear me! I _wish_ they would begin!" + +"If it gets late, Miss Becky, we won't wait for the end of the play," +said Nannie, while a very distinct pang seized her at thought of +missing anything. + +"I think that _would_ be better!" Miss Becky cried, with evident +relief. "Don't you think it might be better to go out a little early, +anyway? They'll be such a crowd when everybody tries to go out to +once that we might git delayed. _My!_ what a sight of people there is +already! And up in the galleries, too! Ain't you 'most afeared to stay +in sech a crowd?" + +"Oh, no, Miss Becky. It's just like this always, and nothing ever +happens." + +"Them galleries don't look strong enough to hold many people. Why, +Nannie, see! They ain't any _pillows_ under 'em! What do you suppose +keeps 'em up?" + +"I don't know, I'm sure; but they're safe enough." + +At this point the orchestra struck up a popular tune and silence fell +upon Miss Becky. She sat, stiff and severe, gazing straight before +her, and when Nannie ventured to make a remark she received only a +reproving look in reply. + +How strange it was, Nannie thought! She had meant to give Miss Becky +such a treat, and here sat her guest, looking anxious and +distressed--yes, more anxious and distressed than she looked a year +ago when her cow died. But then the play had not begun yet, Nannie +reflected, with a gleam of hope. When the play had once begun, Miss +Becky would forget all her worries and be as "tickled" as she had +counted on her being. And when once the curtain had gone up, Nannie at +least had no more misgivings. Her fancy was instantly taken captive, +first by the charming young officer and his pretty Irish sweetheart, +then by the fine old priest, then by Con himself,--dear, droll, +happy-go-lucky Con, with his picturesque foibles, his bubbling humour, +and his phenomenal virtues. From the moment of his entry, with +"Tatters" just not at his heels, Nannie was all smiles and tears. + +Miss Becky, meanwhile, sat erect as a ramrod, a look of perplexity +screwing her wrinkles all out of shape. Her bonnet had got somewhat +askew from her constant effort to keep an eye on those unsupported +galleries, and there was a general air of discomfort about her, which +was the first thing that struck Nannie when, as the curtain fell upon +the first act, she turned to look at her. + +"Aren't you enjoying it, Miss Becky?" she asked, with quick anxiety. + +"Oh, yes, I'm hevin' a reel pleasant time. 'T ain't through yet, is +it?" + +"Why, no; it's only just begun. There's lots more! May Colby says that +Con gets them all out of all their troubles and almost gets killed +himself!" + +"I sh'd think 't would take a long time. Are you sure 't ain't most +five o'clock?" + +"Oh, no; it's only three. See! And my watch is fast, too. Wasn't it +funny about the letter?" + +"Well, I didn't quite understand about that. What made 'em laugh so?" + +"Why, that was because he couldn't read, and so he had to make it all +up out of his head." + +"Well!" declared Miss Becky, with strong disapproval, "I don't think +he'd ought to hev deceived his mother that way; do you?" + +This was a poser; but at that moment the orchestra came to the rescue +with a new tune, and Nannie was spared the necessity of replying. + +After that the play became every moment more exciting and the central +figure more entirely captivating, and even between the acts Nannie +was preoccupied and unobservant. They had got to the prison scene, +with all its ingenious intricacies of plot and stage machinery; Con +had accomplished the rescue, and was scrambling over the rocks, when +suddenly the sharp report of a rifle rang out, followed by another, +and then another, in quick succession. + +Instantly Nannie felt her arm clutched, and she heard Miss Becky +saying: "You must come right away, this very minute!" + +"Oh, please not, Miss Becky," she implored. + +But there was a resolute gleam in Miss Becky's eye. + +"Come right along, child," she whispered, hoarsely, "come right along +with me!"--and poor Nannie, to her consternation and chagrin, found +herself absolutely obliged to follow. + +The whole row of people stood up to let them pass, and every kind of +look--glances of amusement and curiosity, of annoyance and of +sympathy--followed the oddly assorted pair, as they made their way +out of the slip and then up the aisle. + +Once outside the door, the tension of Miss Becky's face relaxed, but +she did not waver in her determination. + +"There, child!" she cried, as they walked down the slight incline of +the long passageway to the street. "There! I am glad I had strength +given me to do my duty by you!" + +"But, Miss Becky, there wasn't a bit of danger," Nannie protested, +bravely keeping the tears back in her cruel disappointment. "Really, +there wasn't. Won't you _please_ go back with me, and just stand +inside the door and see the end of it? I'm sure they'd let us stand +inside the door." + +"Nannie Ray," Miss Becky replied, looking very fiercely at the girl's +flushed cheeks and imploring eyes, "if you knew as much about firearms +as I do, you wouldn't ask such a thing. But there! It's jest because +you're young and inexperienced that your ma wanted me to come and look +after you. I guess she'll be thankful she was so foresighted when she +hears of the danger you was in." + +In her exultation and relief of mind, Miss Becky marched on, +regardless of jostling crowds and thronging teams. Her whole attitude +had changed. She was no longer the timid, shrinking old woman; she was +the responsible guardian, aware of the importance of her charge, and +nothing was ever to convince her that she had not as good as saved +Nannie's life on that occasion. + +Then Nannie, as became a hostess, accepted the situation with the best +grace in the world. + +"I tell you what let's do, Miss Becky," she said. "Let's go and get +some ice-cream. That is, if you like it." + +The stern old face relaxed. + +"Oh, yes; I like ice-cream, especially vanilla. But--do you think +we've got time enough?" + +"We've got an hour and a quarter before the train goes. Let's come in +here and get it." + +From the crowded street they passed in at the doorway and walked +between marble counters to what seemed to Miss Becky a scene in +fairyland. Ascending two or three broad steps, on each side of which +an antlered stag kept guard, they stepped upon a great carpeted space, +lighted from above,--a space in the middle of which was a fountain, +springing high into the air, and splashing back into a round basin +lined with shining shells and pebbles, over and among which goldfish +swam and dove like animated jewels. Ferns and palms grew all about the +basin, and in among the greenery was a little table where Nannie and +her guest sat hidden safe away from the world. + +"Well, this doos beat all!" the old lady exclaimed, gazing at the +fountain with an expression of rapt delight--just the expression that +Nannie had counted upon seeing among the wrinkles. + +"Do you like it?" she asked, all her disappointment and chagrin +forgotten. + +"Like it? Why, it's the most tasty place I was ever in! It's better +than any play; it's like bein' in a play yourself! Jest see them +pillows supportin' that gallery! 'N' them picters of tropical fruits! +'N' this ice-cream! Why, it's different from what we hev at the +Sunday-school picnics! 'Pears to me it's more creamy!" + +Now, at last, Miss Becky had lost all thought of the passage of time. +She took her ice-cream, just a little at a time, off the tip-end of +her spoon, and with every mouthful the look of content grew deeper. +One of the little cakes that were served with the ice-cream was a +macaroon with a sugar swan upon it--"a reel little statoo of a swan," +Miss Becky called it. She could not be persuaded to eat it, but she +studied it with such undisguised admiration that Nannie ventured to +suggest that she take it home with her. Again Miss Becky was +enchanted. She wrapped it in her pocket-handkerchief, and placed it +carefully in her reticule, whence it was to emerge only to enter upon +a long and admired career as a parlour ornament. + +"And now, Miss Becky," Nannie queried, as they sat there embowered in +palms and ferns, listening to the plash of the fountain, "didn't you +enjoy the play at all?" + +"Oh, yes," said Miss Becky, "I had a very pleasant time before they +got so reckless with their guns. But--I wonder whether they take sech +pains with the the-etter's they used to? Why, when I went with Uncle +'Bijah Lane that time, they all wore the most beautiful clothes. Even +the men was dressed out in velvets and satins, and they wa'n't anybody +on the stage that didn't make a good appearance." + +"But, you know, this was a different sort of play, Miss Becky. The +folks in _The Shaughraun_ weren't kings and queens, but just every-day +people." + +"Well, s'posin' they was! I don't see no excuse for that man Con goin' +round lookin' so slack. I sh'd think he might at least git a whole +coat to wear when he 'pears before the public!" + +"I'm afraid you're sorry you came," said Nannie, very meekly, feeling +quite ashamed of her poor little party. + +"Oh, no, I ain't! Why, child, I'd hev come _barefoot_ to see this +place here, with the founting a-splashin' and the fishes a-gleamin'! +_Barefoot_, I tell ye!" + +It was a forcible expression, yet Nannie was not quite reassured. She +still demurred. + +"But the play was the principal thing, you know." + +"The play? Well, I don't know," said Miss Becky, thoughtfully. "I +don't know's I'm so terrible sot on the the_ett_er's I thought for. +I'd a good deal ruther hev you come over 'n do that sleep-walkin' +piece for me. I don't want nothin' better'n that. 'F I can see you act +that once in a while, 'n' hev this here Garding of Eden to think +about,--a founting playin' right in the house, 'n' all,--I ain't +likely to want for amusement." + +The best bonnet was still very much askew, but the pleasant old face +within, whose wrinkles had resumed their accustomed grooves, was +irradiated with a look of unmistakable beatitude; and somehow it was +borne in upon Nannie that her theatre party had been a success after +all. + + + + +OLIVIA'S SUN-DIAL + +CHAPTER I + +OLIVIA'S SUN-DIAL + + +"It's all we need to make it the prettiest garden in Dunbridge." + +"Hm! And why must we have the prettiest garden in Dunbridge?" + +"Why shouldn't we?" + +Here was a deadlock--a thing quite shockingly out of place in a +garden, and one's own particular garden at that! + +Olivia Page could make almost anything grow, as she had abundantly +proved, but even her garden-craft could hardly suffice for the setting +of a sun-dial on a pedestal of snow-white marble over there where the +four triangular rose-beds converged to a circle, and where the south +sun would play on it all day long. + +For a year Olivia had dreamed of this, and, since she was not a +churlishly reticent young person, it was not the first intimation her +father had received of her desire. Not until to-day, however, had she +asked outright for what she wanted. + +"I wish you would say something more," she remarked, glancing sidewise +at the professor's deeply corrugated countenance, which, for all their +intimacy, was sometimes difficult to decipher. She had heard of girls +who could twist their parents round their fingers; she wondered how +they did it. + +The two were sitting on the white half-circle of a bench that stood at +the west boundary of the old tennis-court, just where one end of the +net used to be staked up. Excepting for that break, three sides of the +garden were fenced in by the high wire screen originally designed to +keep the tennis balls within bounds, and now doing duty as a trellis +over which a luxuriant woodbine clambered, waving its reddening +tendrils in the light September breeze. Wide flowerbeds bordered the +entire court, the central turf being broken only by the cluster of +rose-beds at the further end. From the white bench one looked across +the grass to a broad flight of veranda steps, flanked on the right by +a mass of white boltonia, while on the left a superb growth of New +England asters reared their sturdy heads. + +The garden had been a great success this year, quite the admiration of +the neighbourhood. Really, Papa must be proud of it, and it was all +Olivia's doing. Who would ever guess that it had had its modest +beginnings in half a dozen tin cracker-boxes with holes bored in the +bottoms, where, in March, two years ago, she had planted queer little +brown seeds as hard as pebbles, which Nature had straightway taken in +hand, softening and expanding them down there in the dark, till they +came alive, and began feeling their way up to meet the sun. Ah, the +bliss of seeing those first tiny shoots turn into stems and leaflets, +ready to play their part in the great spring awakening! Would Olivia +ever love any flowers quite as she had loved those first seedlings, +especially a certain pentstemon, which blossomed "white with purple +spots," exactly as the seed-catalogue had promised? + +Yes, the garden was a great success, and just now it was at one of its +prettiest moments, gay with autumn colours; the rudbeckia in its +glory, and the great pink blossoms of the hibiscus spreading their +skirts for all the world like ladies in an old-time minuet, while over +yonder the soldier spikes of the flame-flower threatened to set the +woodbine afire. Olivia loved the Latin names, but somehow "tritonia" +did not seem to express those spikes of burning colour. And the roses! +How lovely those late hybrids were! Why, the way that Margaret Dickson +drooped her head above the pansies, still blooming freely at her feet, +was enough to melt the heart of a Salem gibraltar! A pity that the +professor's attention seemed for the moment to be riveted upon the toe +of his boot! + +"I wish you would say something more," Olivia repeated. + +"Something different, you mean," and Doctor Page smiled, benignly and +stubbornly. + +"For instance, you might tell me why you are opposed to it." + +"You wouldn't understand." + +"I might; you said, only the other day, that I sometimes displayed +almost human intelligence!" + +The professor liked to have his jokes remembered; but still he seemed +inclined to temporise. + +"I might say that we couldn't afford it. It is generally conceded that +Alma Mater is not a munificent provider." + +"Yes; and you might say that my great-grandfather was not an East +India trader--only you don't tell fibs." + +"Or that a sun-dial is an anachronism." + +"You are too good a Latin scholar for that." + +"So a subterfuge won't do? Very well; then you'll have to put up with +a psychological proposition." + +"How interesting!" + +The professor glanced at the expectant young face turned toward him, +and he could not but admit that his estimate of its owner's +intelligence had been well within the truth. + +"You think a sun-dial would make it the prettiest garden in +Dunbridge?" + +"I'm sure it would." + +"And that is what you are aiming at?" + +"Yes." + +"Now, I have noticed that when you have got what you are aiming at you +lose interest in it." + +"O Papa!" + +"There was tennis," he went on, marking off the list on a combative +forefinger, "and cookery; there was the Polyglot Club, and the +Sketching Club, and----" + +"But, Papa! They were every one of them good things, and I got a lot +out of them; truly, I did." + +"No doubt; but as soon as you could play tennis, or sketch a pine +tree, or toss an omelette a little better than the other girls, you +had squeezed your orange dry." + +"But, Papa! I've stuck to gardening for more than two years!" Olivia's +tone seemed to give those years the dignity of centuries. + +"True; but you haven't got your sun-dial. You will consider that the +finishing touch, and then before we know it you will be wanting to +turn the whole thing into a sand-garden for the little micks at the +Corners." + +"Not such a bad idea," Olivia admitted unguardedly. + +"There you are! The mere mention of a new scheme is enough to set you +agog!" + +But this was not their first fencing match, and Olivia had learned to +parry. + +"I thought you believed in people being open-minded," she ventured +demurely. + +"And so I do; but not so open-minded that for every new idea that +comes in an old one goes out." + +"Oh, the sun-dial hasn't got away yet," she laughed, springing to her +feet and going over to the court-end of the garden, where she placed +herself in the exact centre of the converging rose-beds. + +"There!" she cried; "don't you see how my white gown lights up the +whole place? It's just the high light that it needs." + +And so it was: a fact of which no one was better aware than the +professor. As he, too, rose and sauntered toward the house he could +not deny that Olivia's ideas were usually good. The only trouble was +that she had too many of them; and here was the kernel of truth that +gave substance to his whimsical argument. The beauty of the garden was +not lost upon him, nor yet the skill and industry of the young +gardener. But more important than either was the advantage to the +girl's health. Olivia was sound as a nut; of course she was! There +could be no doubt of that. But--so had her mother seemed, until that +fatal winter ten years ago. He did not fear for Olivia; why should he? +Only--well, this out-of-door life was a capital thing for anybody. No, +he could not have her tire of her garden. + +At the foot of the veranda steps Dr. Page paused and glanced again at +his daughter. She had left the rose-beds and was already intent upon +her work, pulling seeds from the hollyhocks over yonder. She made a +pretty picture in her white gown, standing shoulder-high among the +brown stalks, her slender fingers deftly gleaning from such as showed +no rust. The child was really very persistent about her gardening; she +had fairly earned an indulgence. Perhaps, after all, she might be +trusted. He moved a few steps toward her. + +"Olivia," he said,--and the first word betrayed his relenting,--"Olivia, +your sun-dial scheme is not such a bad idea. I should rather like that +white-petticoat effect myself. Supposing we say that if between now and +next June you don't think of anything you want more, we'll have it." + +"Oh, you blessèd angel! What could I want more?" + +"Time will show," the blessèd angel replied, retracing his steps +toward the house--unaided by angelic wings! + +"Yes," Olivia called confidently. "It's the sun-dial that time will +show, and afterward--why, the sun-dial will show the time!"--and +although he made no sign, she knew there were little puckers of +amused approval about her father's mouth. + +As if she could ever want anything more than a sun-dial! she thought, +while she passed along the borders, harvesting her little crop. She +had finished with the hollyhocks, and now she was bending over a bed +of withered columbines. And there were the foxglove seeds still +clinging. Really, it was almost impossible to keep up. How brilliant +the salvia was to-day, and what a brave second blossoming that was of +the delphinium, its knightly spurs, metallic blue, gleaming in the +sun! + +"No," she declared to herself, "there will never be anything so much +worth while as the garden. Why, of course there won't; because Nature +is the best thing in the world--the very best." + +"Plase, ma'am, will ye gimme a bowkay?" + +Olivia turned, startled by a voice so near at hand, for she had heard +no footfall on the thick turf. There, in the centre of the grass-grown +space, stood two comical little midgets, their smutty yet cherubic +faces blooming brightly above garments highly coloured and earthy, +too, as the autumn garden-beds. + +[Illustration: "Please ma'am, will ye gimme a bowkay?"] + +"Dear me!" Olivia laughed, "how things do sprout in a garden! Did you +come right up out of the ground?" + +"Plase, ma'am, a bowkay! Me mudder's sick an' me fader's goned away." + +The speaker, a boy of five, stood holding by the hand something in the +way of a sister, about two sizes smaller. At Olivia's little joke, +which they did not in the least understand, they had both grinned +sympathetically, showing rows of diminutive teeth as white and even as +snow-berries. + +"Bless your little hearts, of course you shall have a bouquet! Come +and choose one,"--and taking a hand of each Olivia led them slowly +along the brilliant borders. + +They were a bit shy at first, but they soon picked up their courage, +and Patsy fell to accumulating a mass of incongruous blossoms whose +colours fought each other tooth and nail. Little Biddy, more modest, +as beseemed her inferior rank in the scale of being, fixed her heart +upon a single flame-flower which absolutely refused to reconcile +itself with the ingenuous pink of her calico frock. + +"How long has your mother been ill?" Olivia asked of the boy, who by +this time was quite hidden behind a perfect forest of asters and +larkspur and lobelia cardinalis. + +"Me mudder's always sick. She coughs an' coughs, and den she lays on +de bed long whiles." + +"And she likes flowers?" + +"Yes, ma'am; me an' Biddy picked a bowkay outen a ashba'l oncet, an' +me mudder sticked it in a tumbler an' loved it. Come, Biddy, make de +lady a bow!" Upon which the small Chesterfield stood off a few steps +and gave an absurd little bob of a bow which Biddy gravely endeavoured +to imitate. + +"I think I'll go with you," said Olivia, open-minded as ever to a new +interest; and hand in hand and chattering amicably, the three moved +across the turf and down the long gravel walk to the dusty street. +Surprising how short the distance was between the sweet seclusion of +the old tennis-court and the squalid quarter where these little human +blossoms grew! + +Olivia was thinking of that as she stood on the veranda an hour later, +looking down upon the flowery kingdom to which all her interest and +ambition had been pledged. Yes, it was lovely, lovely in the long +afternoon light, and it would have been lovelier still with the +gleaming marble she had dreamed of. She really tried to keep her mind +upon it, to forget the little drama over there in the stuffy tenement. +But no; she was too good a gardener for that. Was not a whole family +broken and wilting for lack of means to transplant it? + +The doctor had ordered Mrs. O'Trannon to Colorado, and Mike had +dropped his work as "finisher"--whatever that might be--and had gone +out to prepare the way for the others to follow. He had found no +chance to work at his trade, but he had got a job on a ranch, where +the pay was small, but the living good. A fine place it would be for +the invalid and the children, when once he could get together the +money to send for them. But meanwhile here they were, and the winter +coming on. + +As Olivia stood looking down upon her beloved garden, she could not +seem to see anything but brown stalks and dead blossoms. All that +lavish colour looked fictitious and transitory; she had somehow lost +faith in it. + +Mrs. O'Trannon had been pleased with the flowers; she had grown up on +a farm, she said. Sure she never'd ha' got sick at all if she'd ha' +stayed where she belonged. But then, where would Mike have been, and +the babies? And where would Mike be, and the babies, Olivia thought +with a pang,--where would they be if the mother wilted and died? She +turned, suddenly, and passed in at the glass doors and on to her +father's study. + +At sight of the kind, quizzical face lifted at her entrance, Olivia +winced a bit. About an hour and a half it must be, since he said it, +and he had given her a year! As if that made any difference! she told +herself, with a little defiant movement of the chin, as she crossed +the room and seated herself at the opposite side of the big +writing-table where she could face the music handsomely. + +"Well, Olivia; changed your mind yet?" the professor inquired, struck, +perhaps, by the resolution of her aspect. + +"Yes," she answered, in an impressive tone, "I've thought of something +I should prefer to a sun-dial." + +Dr. Page took off his glasses and laid them upon his open book. He did +not really imagine that she was serious--such a turn-about-face was +too precipitate even for Olivia; but it pleased him to meet her on her +own ground. + +"And what is it this time? A sixty-inch telescope? Or a diamond +tiara?" + +"Well, no. Those are things I had not thought of--before! It's a kind +of gardening project--a little matter of transplanting." + +"Will it cost a hundred and fifty dollars?" + +"About that, I should think, to do it properly and comfortably. +And--it can't wait till June. It's the kind of transplanting that has +to be done in the autumn." + +Then, dropping the little fiction, and resting her chin upon her +folded hands, the better to transfix her father's mocking +countenance,--"Papa," she said, "there's a poor family down at the +Corners,--our neighbours, you know,--and the mother is dying for want +of transplanting, just like the beautiful hydrangea--you +remember?--that I didn't understand about till it was too late. I +never knew what too late meant, till I saw that splendid great bush +lying stone-dead on the ground when we came home from the Adirondacks +last year. A great healthy hydrangea dying just for lack of the right +kind of soil! And now, here is this good human woman, that might live +out her life and bring up her little family, and be happy and useful +for years to come. Such a nice woman she must be to name her babies +Patsy and Biddy, when she might have called them Algernon and +Celestina, you know, and just spoiled it all!--and such a nice, kind +husband to take care of her on a big ranch where there's good air, +and lots to eat, and plenty of work and not too much, and--why Papa! +they might have a garden out there! who knows? What a thing that would +be for the prairie! A real New England garden!" + +"With a sun-dial?" the professor interposed. + +For an instant Olivia's face fell, but only for an instant. + +"I've been thinking," she said, with a very convincing seriousness, +"that perhaps a sun-dial is not so important, after all. At any rate +it's not so important as the mother of a family; now, is it, Papa?" + +"That depends upon the point of view," the professor opined. "As a +high light among the rose-bushes I should be constrained to give my +vote for the sun-dial." + +Olivia sprang to her feet. + +"That means that you are coming straight over with me to see Mrs. +O'Trannon," she cried, "and that you are going to have the whole +family packed off to Colorado quicker'n a wink! Come along, please! +There's plenty of time before dinner!" + + * * * * * + +"It's just another of Nature's miracles!" Olivia observed, as she and +her father stood one morning in late October watching the workmen pack +the sods about the beautiful pedestal, now securely planted upon its +base of cement and broken stone. "It always makes me think of the +wonderful things that came up in those tin cracker-boxes you used to +make such fun of. There really doesn't seem to be any place too +unlikely for Nature to set things going in." + +The marble was but roughly hewn, in lines that held the suggestion of +an hourglass. The top only was smoothly finished, while here and there +on the curving sides the hint of a leaf, a blossom, a trailing vine, +came and went with the point of view, like cloud-pictures or the +pencillings of Jack Frost. It was as if a 'prentice-hand had tried to +express the soul of an artist, too self-distrustful to work more +boldly. + +"Funny, how things come into your head," Olivia went on. "Do you know, +Papa, that day when I was helping Mrs. O'Trannon with her preposterous +packing and suddenly came upon this miracle hidden away under an old +bedquilt, the only thing I could think of was the way my first +pentstemons came out, 'white with purple spots,' exactly as I had +chosen them by the seed-catalogue. And to think that she had bought it +for a dollar of that poor stone-cutter's widow that was moving +out--bought it to make pastry on because the top was smooth and cold! +And then had never had time to make but one pie in the three years! I +wish you could have heard her tell about it. 'Faith, it cost me a +dollar, me one pie did, an' Mike says it's lucky it was that I didn't +make a dozen whin they come so high! Silly b'y, that Mike!' O Papa, +isn't it heavenly that they're together again?" + +"So you think there is nothing Nature can't do?" Dr. Page mused, with +apparent irrelevance. "How about the sun-dial itself?" + +"Oh, Nature will attend to that, too." + +"She will, will she? And in what particular tin cracker-box should you +look for it to come up?" + +"It wouldn't be polite to say," Olivia declared, looking with +unmistakable significance straight into her father's face. + +"Saucebox!" he chuckled. + +And when, in early June, the brass disk of the sun-dial had begun its +record of happy hours, and still Olivia toiled with unabated zeal at +her garden, the rose of health blooming ever brighter in her face, a +great sense of satisfaction and approval took possession of her +father's mind. But he only remarked, in a casual manner, as they sat +together on the white bench one fragrant sunset hour: + +"After all, I'm not sure but Nature's biggest miracle has been +performed in the saucebox." + +And Olivia, smiling softly, answered: "I told you, you know, that +there isn't any place too unlikely for Nature to set things going +in!" + + + + +BAGGING A GRANDFATHER + + +"I'll warrant that 'he, she, or it' will come! Di usually bags her +game!" + +The speaker, Mr. Thomas Crosby, must have had implicit faith in his +daughter's prowess to venture such a confident assertion as that, for +he was quite in the dark as to who "he, she, or it" might be. + +It was a cozy November evening, when open fires and friendly +drop-lights are in order, and the three grown-folks of the family were +enjoying these luxuries. Mr. Crosby was supposed to be reading his +paper, but he had a sociable way of letting fall an occasional item of +interest, or of letting fall the paper itself, at the first hint of +interest in the remarks of his wife and daughter. + +Only within a very short time had there been three grown-folks in the +family, unless, indeed, we count Rollo, the Gordon setter, who had +attained his majority years ago. Di, who was but just turned sixteen, +really did not like to remember how very recently she had been sent to +bed at eight o'clock! + +Could Mr. Crosby have guessed the scheme which was occupying the +active brain of the young person engaged in embroidering harmless +bachelor's buttons upon a linen centrepiece, he would have been very +much astonished,--whether pleasurably or otherwise, events alone must +show. And since events had been taken in hand by Di the revelation was +not likely to be long delayed. + +The incident which had elicited her father's declaration of confidence +was a request on Di's part to be allowed the privilege of inviting a +guest of her own choosing to the Thanksgiving dinner. The family party +was to be materially reduced this year, for Mrs. Crosby's mother and +sister, their only available relatives, were at that moment sojourning +in Rome, where, if they were sufficiently mindful of current maxims +to do as the Romans do, they were very unlikely to meet with any +satisfactory combination of turkey and plum-pudding. It was with that +fact in view, that Di felt a fair degree of assurance in preferring +her request. They all liked each other, of course, better than they +liked anybody else, but, really, one must do something a little out of +the common on Thanksgiving day. + +"Certainly," Di's mother had agreed; "you shall invite any one you +choose. I have been wishing we could think of some one to ask, but +people all have their own family parties on Thanksgiving day. Is it to +be one of your girl friends?" + +"That is my secret," Di had replied, sedately; "but, whoever it is, +he, she, or it is a very important personage, and will have to be +treated with great consideration!" + +"And how is that very _un_important personage, Di Crosby, going to get +hold of so great a dignitary?" Mrs. Crosby had laughingly inquired. At +which juncture Mr. Crosby had expressed his belief that Di would bag +her game. + +That the prospective dinner should be incomplete was all the harder, +considering the fact that the Crosbys were, by good rights, the +possessors of that most desired ornament of such an occasion,--a _bona +fide_ grandfather. Not only was old Mr. Crosby living, and in +excellent health, but his residence was not above a dozen blocks +removed from his son's house. And yet no grandfather had ever graced +their Thanksgiving feast. + +Family quarrels are an unpleasant subject at the best, and since Di +herself had never learned the precise cause of the long estrangement +between father and son, in which the old gentleman had decreed that +his son's wife and children should share, it is hardly worth while to +recount it here. Suffice it to say, that it was a very old quarrel +indeed, older than Di herself, and one to which Mr. and Mrs. Crosby +never alluded. + +It was six years ago, when Di, the eldest of the children, was ten +years of age, that she had come home from school one day, breathless +with excitement. + +"Mamma!" she cried, bursting into the room where her mother was +changing the baby's frock: "Mamma! Have I got a grandfather?" + +Mrs. Crosby glanced furtively at the round eyes of the baby, and took +the precaution of smothering him in billows of white lawn before +replying, rather softly: "Yes, dear; Papa's father is living. Why do +you ask?" + +"I saw him to-day." + +"You saw him? Where?" + +"On the street." + +"How did you know it was he?" + +"Sallie Watson asked me why I didn't bow to my grandfather." + +"And what did you say?" + +"I said: 'Never you mind!' And then I ran home all the way, as tight +as ever I could run! Mamma, why don't we ever see him?" + +The baby's head was just emerging from temporary eclipse, and Mrs. +Crosby's voice dropped still lower, as she answered: + +"Because, dear, _he doesn't wish it_." + +There was something so gently conclusive in this answer that little Di +was silenced. Yet the look in her mother's face had not escaped her; a +wistful, hurt look, such as the child had never seen there before. And +in her own mind Di asked many questions. + +What did it all mean? How did it happen that her grandfather did not +wish it? Why was he so different from other girls' grandfathers? There +must be something very wrong somewhere, but where was it? Since it +could not possibly be with her father or mother, it must be that her +grandfather was himself at fault. + +The object of Di's perplexities, Mr. Horatio Crosby, lived all alone +in a very good house, and was in the habit of driving about in a very +pretty victoria; people bowed to him, people who were friends of Di's +father and mother, and must therefore be creditable acquaintances. All +this she soon discovered, for, having once come to know her +grandfather by sight, she seemed to be constantly crossing his path. + +Little by little, as she grew older, Di picked up certain stray bits +of information, but she never tried to piece them together. She felt +that she would a little rather not know any more. A quarrel there had +certainly been, some time in the dark ages before she was born, and +the old man had proved himself obstinate and implacable. Friendly +overtures had been made from time to time, but he had set his face +against all such advances, and now, for many, many years,--as many as +three or four, little Di had gathered,--the friendly overtures had +ceased. + +One gets used to things, and Di got used to having a grandfather who +did not know her by sight. She was sure he did not know her, because +once, when she was twelve years old, he had stopped her on the street +to tell her that she had dropped her pocket-handkerchief. It had been +very polite of the old gentleman, and she had been glad not to lose +her handkerchief. Yet, as she thanked him, she gave him one searching +look, and she told herself that he had a very cross expression, as +well as a very harsh voice. + +This uncomplimentary verdict was largely due to the fact that, at this +period, Di had quite made up her mind that her grandfather was a +hateful, unreasonable old despot, and that it served him right never +to come to the family parties, nor to have any Christmas presents, nor +to have seen the baby, which Mamma said was the prettiest of all her +babies, and which Di considered the most enchanting object on the face +of the earth. + +But again many years had passed,--four, in this instance,--and there +came a time, only a few weeks previous to the opening of our story, +when Di found herself constrained to modify her view of her +grandfather. + +It happened that she had gone with her drawing teacher, Miss Downs, to +an exhibition of paintings. Among the pictures was a very striking one +entitled _Le Grandpère_. It represented an old French peasant, just +stopping off work for the day, with a flock of grandchildren clinging +about his knees. Miss Downs called Di's attention to the wonderful +reach of upland meadow, and the exquisite effect of the sunset light +on the face of the old man; but, to Di, the meadow and the sunset +light were unimportant accessories to the central idea. It was the +grandfather himself that commanded all her attention,--the look of +blissful indulgence on the old man's face; his attitude of protecting +affection towards one young girl in particular, on whose head the +toil-stained hand rested. + +"Yes," she said, after several minutes of rapt contemplation: "Yes; +the sunset is very nice, and the fields; but, oh, the old man is such +a darling!" + +As she spoke she turned to see how her teacher took her remark, and +found herself face to face, not with Miss Downs, but with her own +grandfather! She gave a little gasp of surprise, which he appeared not +to notice. + +"So you think him a darling, do you?" he asked, and somehow his voice +did not sound quite as harsh as it had done four years ago. + +Miss Downs had passed on, and there was no one standing near them, no +one at all in the gallery who shared Di's knowledge of the strange +situation. She felt sure that the old man had no suspicion of her +identity. + +"Yes, I do," she answered boldly. + +"What makes a darling of him?" the old gentleman inquired. + +Di felt that this was her opportunity, and that she was letting it +slip. But she could not help herself, and she only answered rather +lamely: + +"Oh, nothing, except that he is _such a good grandfather!_" Upon which +she beat a hasty retreat, and fled to the protection of Miss Downs, +whom she found in an adjoining room. + +It was perhaps twenty minutes later that Di and her teacher passed the +picture again, and, behold, there was the old gentleman standing, lost +in thought, exactly on the spot where she had left him. He did not +seem to be looking at the picture, but Di felt certain that he was +thinking of it. And, suddenly, it passed through her mind like a flash +that he was sorry. + +"Yes; he's sorry," she said to herself. "He's sorry, and he doesn't +know how to say so!" + +The more she thought of it in the days that followed,--and she seemed +to be thinking pretty much all the time of the old man and the look on +his face as he stood before the picture,--the more convinced she +became that he was sorry and did not know how to say so. + +"And he ought not to have to say so," she told herself. "He's an old, +old man, and he ought not to have to say that he is sorry." + +The old, old man--aged sixty-five--might have taken exception to that +part of her proposition touching his extreme antiquity, but we may be +pretty sure that he would have cordially endorsed her opinion that the +dignity of his years forbade his saying that he was sorry. + +In those days Di used to walk often past her grandfather's house. It +was a very big house for a single occupant. Even the stout footman, +whom she had once seen at the door, did not seem stout enough, nor +numerous enough to relieve the big house of its vacancy. There were +heavy woollen draperies in the parlor windows, but not a hint of the +pretty white muslin which a woman would have had up in no time. Once +she passed the house just at dusk, after the lights were lighted. +Through the long windows she looked into the empty room. Not so much +as a cat or a dog was awaiting the master. In the swift glance with +which she swept the interior she noted that the fireplace was boarded +in. That seemed to Di indescribably dreary. Perhaps her grandfather +did not sit here; perhaps he had a library somewhere, like their own. +But, no; there was the portly footman entering with the evening paper, +which he laid upon the table before coming to close the shutters. + +"He's too old to say he is sorry," Di said to herself, as she turned +dejectedly away; "a great deal too old--and lonely--and dreary!" + +And it was on that very evening that she made her little petition to +her mother, and that her father declared that Di was sure to bag her +game. + +Old Mr. Crosby, meanwhile, was too well-used to his empty house and to +his boarded-in fireplace to mind them very much, too unaccustomed to +muslin curtains to miss them. Yet he had not been on very good terms +with himself for the past few weeks, and that was something which he +did mind particularly. + +The result of his long cogitation in front of the grandfather picture +had been highly uncomplimentary to the artist. He pronounced the +homespun subject unworthy of artistic treatment, and he told himself +that it merited just that order of criticism which it had received at +the hands of the young person with the rather pretty turn of +countenance, who had regarded it with such enthusiasm. Nevertheless, +he did not forget the picture,--nor yet the young person! + +It was the afternoon of Thanksgiving day, and there was a light fall +of snow outside. He remembered that in old times there used always to +be a lot of snow on Thanksgiving day. Things were very different in +old times. He wondered what would have been thought of a man fifty +years ago,--or seventeen years ago, for the matter of that,--who was +giving his servants a holiday and dining at the club. As if those +foreign servants had any concern in the Yankee festival! But then, +what concern had he, Horatio Crosby, in it nowadays? What had he to be +thankful for? Whom had he to be thankful with? He was very lucky to +have a club to go to! He might as well go now, though it was still two +or three hours to dinner time. He would ring for his overcoat and +snow-shoes. + +His hand was on the bell-rope--for Mr. Horatio Crosby was +old-fashioned, and had never yet admitted an electric button to his +domain. + +At that moment the door opened softly--what was Burns thinking of, not +to knock?--and there stood, not Burns, not Nora, but a slender +apparition in petticoats, with a dash of snow on hat and jacket, and a +dash of daring in a pair of very bright eyes. + +"Good afternoon, Grandfather," was the apparition's cheerful greeting, +and involuntarily the old gentleman found himself replying with a +"Good afternoon" of his own. + +The apparition moved swiftly forward, and, before he knew what he was +about, an unmistakable kiss had got itself applied to his countenance +and--more amazing still--he was strongly of the impression that there +had been--no robbery! + +Greatly agitated by so unusual an experience, he only managed to say: +"So you are----?" + +"Yes; I am Di Crosby,--your granddaughter, you know, and--this is +Thanksgiving day!" + +"You don't say so!" and the old man gazed down at her in growing +trepidation. + +"Let's sit down," Di suggested, feeling that she gained every point +that her adversary lost. "This must be your chair. And I'll sit here. +There! Isn't this cozy?" + +"Oh, very!" + +The master of the house had sufficiently recovered himself to put on +his spectacles, the use of which was affording him much satisfaction. +He really did not know that the young girl of the day was so pretty! + +"I don't suppose you smoke a pipe," Di remarked, in a strictly +conversational tone. + +"Well, no; I can't say I do. Why?" + +"I only thought I should like to light one for you. You know," she +added, confidentially, "girls always light their grandfathers' pipes +in books. And I've had so little practice in that sort of thing!" + +"In pipes?" + +"No--in grandfathers!" + +There came a pause, occupied, on Di's part, by a swift, not altogether +approving survey of the stiff, high-studded room. This time it was the +old gentleman who broke the silence. + +[Illustration: "'Good afternoon, Grandfather,' was the apparition's +cheerful greeting."] + +"I believe you are the young lady who admired that old clodhopper in +the picture," he remarked. + +"Oh, yes; he was a great darling!" + +"He wasn't very handsome." + +"No, but--there is always something so dear about a grandfather!" + +"Always?" + +"Yes; always!" and suddenly Di left her seat, and, taking a few steps +forward, she dropped on her knees before him. + +"Grandfather," she said, clasping her small gloved hands on his knee, +"Grandfather!" + +She was meaning to be very eloquent indeed,--that is, if it were to +become necessary. She did not dream that that one word, so +persuasively spoken, was more eloquent than a whole oration. + +"Well, Miss Di?" + +"Grandfather, I've a great favour to ask of you, and I should like to +have you say 'yes' beforehand!" + +He looked down upon her with a heart rendered surprisingly soft by +that first word,--and a mind much tickled by the audacity of the rest +of it. + +"And are you in the habit of getting favours granted in the dark?" he +inquired. + +"Papa says I usually bag my game!" + +Now old Mr. Crosby had been a sportsman in his day, and he was +mightily pleased with the little jest. But he only asked: + +"And what's your game in this instance, if you please?" + +"You!" + +"Oh, I! And you want to bag me? Bag me for what?" + +"For dinner!" + +"Oh, for dinner!" + +"Yes! We are all by ourselves to-day, and you'll just make the table +even. There's only Papa and Mamma, and Louise, and Beth, and Alice, +and the baby." Somehow the succession of sweet, soft names sounded +very attractive to the crabbed old man. + +"The baby is six years old," Di continued, unconsciously adding +another touch to the attractiveness of the picture. + +"And what is her name?" + +"_His_ name is Horatio. I never liked it very well; it seemed too long +for a baby. But, do you know?--I think I shall like it better now." + +She was still kneeling before him, with her small gloved hands clasped +on his knee. It was clear that she had not the faintest idea of being +refused. Yet even had she been somewhat less confident, she might well +have taken heart of hope, for, at this point, he gently laid his +wrinkled hand upon hers. + +"You _will_ come to dinner?" she begged, apparently quite unconscious +of the little caress. "We dine at five on Thanksgiving day, and you +and I can walk over together. They will all be so surprised,--and so +happy!" + +"Then they are not expecting me?" and the old man gave her a very +piercing look, which did not seem to pierce at all. + +"No; they didn't know who it was to be. I only said it was a very +important personage." + +"Coming in a bag!" he suggested. + +"Oh, that's only a sportsman's expression!" + +"Indeed! And is it customary nowadays to go a-hunting for your +Thanksgiving dinner?" + +Di's eyes danced. This was indeed a grandfather worth waiting for! But +she only answered demurely: + +"That depends upon your quarry!" + +Lucky Di, to have hit upon that pretty, old-fashioned word! She had, +indeed, read her Sir Walter to good purpose. + +Now, Mr. Horatio Crosby had held out stoutly against every appeal of +natural affection, of reason, of conscience. He was not a +quick-tempered man like his son; he was not, like his daughter-in-law, +easily rebuffed; but there was about him a toughness of fibre which +yielded neither to blows nor to pressure, and which, for many years, +neither friend nor foe had penetrated. And here was this young thing +simply ignoring the hitherto impenetrable barrier! The clear young +eyes looked straight through it, the fresh young voice made nothing of +it, the playful fancies overleapt it. A quarry, indeed! Where had the +child got hold of the word? + +Of a sudden the old man bent forward and lightly touched the laughing +face in token of surrender. + +"It's an old bird you've winged, little girl," he said, as he rose to +his feet and stepped once more to the bell-rope; and this time he +really rang for his coat and overshoes. + + * * * * * + +"And so you've named this little chap Horatio?" + +Dinner was over,--a very pleasant, natural kind of dinner, too, in +spite of the difficulty some of the family had found in eating +it,--and they were all gathered about a roaring woodfire, fortifying +themselves, with the aid of coffee, cigars, and chocolate-drops,--each +according to his kind,--for a game of blind-man's-buff. The small +scion of the house was seated on his grandfather's knee, playing with +his grandfather's fob, after the immemorial habit of small scions. + +"Of course we named him Horatio!" It was Mrs. Crosby who answered, +and, as her father-in-law looked across at her face with the +firelight playing upon it, he seemed to remember that he had always +wished for a daughter. + +"And what do you call him for short?" + +"Just Horatio!" piped up little Alice, who was sitting on the rug at +the old gentleman's feet, gently pulling Rollo's long-suffering ears. + +"Yes," said Mr. Thomas Crosby; "we have always been proud of the +name." + +Then Di, perceiving a slight unsteadiness in the voice in which this +was said, stepped behind her grandfather's chair, and, dropping a +small kiss on the top of his head, looked across at her father, and +exclaimed: + +"Oh, Papa! To think of our having bagged a grandfather!" + + + + * * * * * + + + +A Selection from the Catalogue of + +G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS + +Complete Catalogue sent on application + + + + +BY ANNA FULLER + +A LITERARY COURTSHIP + +Under the Auspices of Pike's Peak. 28th thousand. Illustrated. +16°, gilt top. $1.25 + +"A delightful little love story. Like her other books it is bright +and breezy; its humor is crisp, and the general idea decidedly +original."--Boston Times. + +A VENETIAN JUNE + +Illustrated by George Sloane. 15th thousand. 16°, gilt top $1.25 + +"Full of the picturesqueness, the novelty, the beauty of life in the +city of gondolas and gondoliers."--Literary World. + +Handsome Holiday Edition, Illustrated by Frederick Simpson Coburn. +8° $3.00 + +PRATT PORTRAITS + +Sketched in a New England Suburb. 12th thousand. Illustrated by +George Sloane. 12°, gilt top $1.25 + +"The lines the author cuts in her vignette are sharp and clear, but she +has, too, not alone the knack of color, but what is rarer, the gift of +humor."--New York Times. + +ONE OF THE PILGRIMS + +A Bank Story. 6th thousand. 12°, gilt top, $1.25 + +"The story is graceful and delightful, full of vivacity, and is not +without pathos. It is thoroughly interesting."--Congregationalist. + +G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS +New York--London + + + + +BY ANNA FULLER + +PEAK AND PRAIRIE +From a Colorado Sketch Book. +12°. Illustrated. 7th thousand $1.50 + +"The stories are as varied as our Colorado wild-flowers, and through +each one, whether grave or gay, runs a wholesome cheeriness and moral +uplift which leaves the reader not only happier but better."--Colorado +Springs Evening Telegraph. + +KATHERINE DAY +12°. 8th thousand $1.50 + +"A love story of the first water. The heroine is a woman's woman, and +the hero is a man's man.... The spirit of 'Katherine Day' is very +gallant, very humorously tender. The lightest passages, like the +gravest, are sane and true."--Louise Imogen Guiney in The Critic. + +A BOOKFUL OF GIRLS +12°. 4th thousand. With 6 Full-Page Illustrations $1.50 + +This book is filled to the brim with happy school-girls, and overflowing +with innocent mischief and fun. Madge and Patty, Blythe and Olivia, are +at that "betwixt and between" age when the great questions are how +high up the hair should go, and just how much boot-top should be left +below the skirt. + +LATER PRATT PORTRAITS +With 8 Full-Page Illustrations by Maud Tousey Faugel +net $1.25 + +The author's style is unaffected and charming; her humor is subtle and +delightful; her characters are sharply drawn, and their stories told +with fidelity and sympathy. + +G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS +New York--London + + + + +The Thunderhead Lady +By Anna Fuller and Brian Read +With about 40 Line Drawings. $1.00 net. By mail, $1.10 + +"Wanted: By a Harvard Graduate, a permanent position as husband. +Carefully trained by an anxious mother, and used to feminine +domination." + +So begins a clipping from the Boston Herald, written in jest, and +printed from bravado, which elicits a reply from a chance reader and +results in the correspondence that forms the substance of this little +skit. From mock seriousness the writers drift off into more or less +casual chat upon books and people, illumined from time to time with a +touch of romance. The whole forms a bit of light reading which should +appeal in equal measure to the thoughtful and the frivolous. + +New York--G. P. Putnam's Sons London + + + + +By the Author of + +"Aunt Olive in Bohemia," "The Notch in the Stick," etc. + +The Peacock Feather By Leslie Moore +$1.35 net. By mail, $1.50 + +In a moment of reminiscent detachment the wearer of the Peacock +feather describes himself as "one whom Fate in one of her freakish +moods had wedded to the roads, the highways and hedges, the fields +and woods. Once Cupid had touched him with his wing--the merest flick +of a feather. The man--poor fool!--fancied himself wounded. Later +when he looked for the scar, he found there was none." And so he +wandered. + +Here is a rare love story, that breathes of the open spaces and is +filled with the lure of the road. + +G. P. Putnam's Sons +New York--London + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BOOKFUL OF GIRLS*** + + +******* This file should be named 28538-8.txt or 28538-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/8/5/3/28538 + + + +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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: A Bookful of Girls</p> +<p>Author: Anna Fuller</p> +<p>Release Date: April 8, 2009 [eBook #28538]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BOOKFUL OF GIRLS***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3 class="pg">E-text prepared by Roger Frank<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<p class='tp'><span style='text-decoration:underline;font-size:1.2em;'><i>By Anna Fuller</i></span><br /><br /> +A Literary Courtship<br /> +A Venetian June<br /> +Peak and Prairie<br /> +Pratt Portraits<br /> +Later Pratt Portraits<br /> +One of the Pilgrims<br /> +Katherine Day<br /> +A Bookful of Girls</p> +<hr class='p10' /> +<p class='tp'>The Thunderhead Lady<br /> +<span style='font-size:0.8em;'>By Anna Fuller and Brian Read</span></p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_1' id='linki_1'></a> +<img src='images/illus-fpc.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 369px; height: 529px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 369px;'> +“Suddenly a new sound reached her ear.”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='margin-top:0.5em;margin-bottom:2em;font-size:2.2em;'>A Bookful of Girls</p> +<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:15px;'>By</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.4em;'>Anna Fuller</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:0.8em;margin-bottom:5em;'>Author of “Pratt Portraits,” “Katherine Day,” etc.</p> +<div class='figcenter' style='margin:0 auto'> +<img alt='emblem' src='images/illus-em2.png' /> +</div> +<p class='tp' style='margin:10px auto'>Illustrated</p> +<div class='figcenter' style='margin:0 auto'> +<img alt='emblem' src='images/illus-em2.png' /> +</div> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.4em;margin-top:3em;'>G. P. Putnam’s Sons</p> +<p class='tp' style='letter-spacing: 0.15em;'>New York and London</p> +<p class='tp' style=''>The Knickerbocker Press</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:0.8em;'><span style=''>Copyright, 1905</span><br /> +BY<br /> +<span style='font-size:larger;'>ANNA FULLER</span><br /><br /> +The Knickerbocker Press, New York</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:0.8em; line-height:2em;'>TO<br /> +<span style='font-size:larger;'>S. E. R.</span><br /> +THE YOUNGEST OF ALL MY FRIENDS</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h3>CONTENTS</h3> +<table border='0' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Contents' style='margin:1em auto;'> +<tr> + <td align='left'><span style='font-size:small;'> </span></td> + <td align='right'><span style='font-size:small;'>PAGE</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Blythe Halliday’s Voyage</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#BLYTHE_HALLIDAYS_VOYAGE'>1</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Artful Madge</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#ARTFUL_MADGE'>63</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>The Ideas of Polly</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_IDEAS_OF_POLLY'>129</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Nannie’s Theatre Party</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#NANNIES_THEATRE_PARTY'>194</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Olivia’s Sun-Dial</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#OLIVIAS_SUNDIAL'>216</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Bagging a Grandfather</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#BAGGING_A_GRANDFATHER'>238</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h3>ILLUSTRATIONS</h3> +<table border='0' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Illustrations' style='margin:1em auto;'> +<col style='width:80%;' /> +<col style='width:20%;' /> +<tr> + <td></td> + <td align='right'><span style='font-size:small'>PAGE</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'><i>“Suddenly a new sound reached her ear.”</i></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_1'><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'><i>“Eleanor’s eyes had wandered to the high, broad north window.”</i></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_2'>80</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'><i>“Mufty hastily established himself across her shoulder.”</i></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_3'>142</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'><i>“All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand.”</i></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_4'>201</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'><i>“Please ma’am, will ye gimme a bowkay?”</i></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_5'>227</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'><i>“‘Good afternoon, Grandfather,’ was the apparition’s cheerful greeting.”</i></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_6'>255</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='BLYTHE_HALLIDAYS_VOYAGE' id='BLYTHE_HALLIDAYS_VOYAGE'></a> +<h2>Blythe Halliday’s Voyage</h2> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_3' name='page_3'></a>3</span></div> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.2em;margin-bottom:20px;'>CHAPTER I</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1em;margin-bottom:30px;'>THE CROW’S NEST</p> +<p>“You never told me how you happened +to name her Blythe.”</p> +<p>The two old friends, Mr. John DeWitt +and Mrs. Halliday, were reclining side by +side in their steamer-chairs, lulled into a +quiescent mood by the gentle, scarcely +perceptible, motion of the vessel. It was +an exertion to speak, and Mrs. Halliday +replied evasively, “Do you like the +name?”</p> +<p>“For Blythe,—yes. But I don’t know +another girl who could carry it off so +well. Tell me how it happened.”</p> +<p>Then Blythe’s mother reluctantly gathered +herself together for a serious effort, +and said: “It was the old Scotch nurse +who did it. She called her ‘a blythe lassie’ +before she was three days old. We had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_4' name='page_4'></a>4</span> +been hesitating between Lucretia for +Charles’s mother and Hannah for mine, +and we compromised on Blythe!”</p> +<p>Upon which the speaker, allowing her +eyes to close definitively, took on the +appearance of gentle inanition which +characterised nine-tenths of her fellow-voyagers, +ranged side by side in their +steamer-chairs along the deck.</p> +<p>They had passed the Azores, that lovely +May morning, and were headed for Cape +St. Vincent,—the good old <i>Lorelei</i> +lounging along at her easiest gait, the +which is also her rapidest. For there is +nothing more deceptive than a steamer’s +behaviour on a calm day when the sea +offers no perceptible resistance to the +keel.</p> +<p>Here and there an insatiable novel-reader +held a paper-covered volume before +his nose, but more often the book had +slid to the deck, to be picked up by Gustav, +the prince of deck-stewards, and carefully +tucked in among the wraps of the +unconscious owner.</p> +<p>Just now, however, Gustav was enjoying +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_5' name='page_5'></a>5</span> +a moment of unaccustomed respite +from activity, for his most exacting beneficiaries +were not sufficiently awake to +demand a service of him. He had administered +<i>bouillon</i> and lemonade and +cracked ice by the gallon; he had scattered +sandwiches and ginger cookies broadcast +among them; he had tenderly inquired of +the invalids, “’Ow you feel?” and had +cheerfully pronounced them, one and all, +to be “mush besser”; and now he himself +was, for a fleeting moment, the centre +of interest in the one tiny eddy of animation +on the whole length of the deck.</p> +<p>Just aft of the awning, in the full sunshine, +he was engaged in “posing,” with +the sheepish air of a person having his +photograph taken, while a fresh, comely +girl of sixteen stood, kodak in hand, +waiting for his attitude to relax. Half a +dozen spectators, elderly men and small +boys, stood about making facetious remarks, +but Gustav and his youthful “operator” +were too much in earnest to pay +them much heed.</p> +<p>Blythe Halliday was usually very much +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_6' name='page_6'></a>6</span> +in earnest; by which is not to be inferred +that she was of an alarmingly serious cast +of mind. Her earnestness took the form +of intense satisfaction in the matter in +hand, whatever that might be, and she had +found life a succession of delightful experiences, +of which this one of an ocean voyage +was perhaps the most delectable of all.</p> +<p>In one particular Blythe totally disagreed +with her mother; for Mrs. Halliday +had declared, on one of the first +universally unbecoming days of the voyage, +that it was a mystery how all the +agreeable people got to Europe, since so +few of them were ever to be discovered +on an ocean steamer! Whereas Blythe, +for her part, had never dreamed that +there were so many interesting persons in +the world as were to be discovered among +their fellow-voyagers.</p> +<p>Was not the big, bluff Captain himself, +with his unfathomable sea-craft and his +autocratic power, a regular old Viking +such as you might read of in your history +books, but would hardly expect to meet +with in the flesh? And was there not +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_7' name='page_7'></a>7</span> +a real Italian Count, elderly but impressive, +who had dealings with no one +but his valet, the latter being a nimble +personage with a wicked eye who seemed +to possess the faculty of starting up +through the deck as if summoned by a +species of wireless telegraphy? Best of +all, was not Blythe’s opposite neighbour +at the Captain’s table a shaggy, keen-eyed +Englishman, figuring on the passenger-list +as “Mr. Grey,” but who was +generally believed to be no less a personage +than Hugh Dalton, the famous poet, +travelling incognito?</p> +<p>This latter gentleman was more approachable +than the Count, and had taken +occasion to tell Blythe some very wonderful +tales, besides still further endearing +himself to her by listening with flattering +attention to such narratives as she +was pleased to relate for his benefit. Indeed, +they were rapidly becoming fast +friends and she was seriously contemplating +a snap-shot at his expense.</p> +<p>Mr. Grey, meanwhile, had joined the +group in the sunshine, where he stood, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_8' name='page_8'></a>8</span> +pipe in mouth, with his hands thrust +deep into the pockets of his reefer, regarding +Gustav’s awkwardness with kindly +amusement.</p> +<p>“There they go, those energetic young +persons!” Mr. De Witt observed, a few +minutes later, as Blythe and the Englishman +walked past, in search of the Captain, +whom Mr. Grey had suggested as the next +subject for photographic prowess. “Do +you suppose that really is Dalton?”</p> +<p>Mr. De Witt spoke with entire disregard +of the fact that Mrs. Halliday appeared +to be slumbering tranquilly. And +indeed an interrupted nap is so easily +made good on shipboard that Blythe +used sometimes to beg her mother to try +and “fall awake” for a minute!</p> +<p>On this occasion, as she walked past +with the alleged poet, she remarked: +“Even Mr. De Witt can’t keep Mamma +awake on shipboard, and she isn’t a bit +of a sleepy person on dry land.”</p> +<p>By way of response, Mr. Grey turned +to contemplate the line of steamer-chairs, +billowy with voluminous wraps, saying: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9' name='page_9'></a>9</span> +“Doesn’t the deck look like a sea becalmed? +See! Those are the waves, +too lazy to break!”</p> +<p>“How funny the ocean would look if +the waves forgot to turn over!” Blythe +exclaimed, glancing across the gently undulating +surface of the sea. “I don’t suppose +they’ve kept still one single instant +in millions of years!”</p> +<p>“Not since the Spirit of God moved +upon the face of the waters,” her companion +returned, with quiet emphasis; and +Blythe felt surer than ever that he really +was the great poet whom people believed +him to be.</p> +<p>A moment later they had stormed the +bridge, where they two, of all the ship’s +company, were pretty sure of a welcome. +They found the Captain standing, with +his sextant at his eye, the four gold stripes +on his sleeve gleaming gaily in the sunshine. +Evidently things were going right, +for the visitors and their daring proposal +were most graciously received.</p> +<p>The fine old sea-dog stood like a man +to be shot at; and as Blythe faced him, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10' name='page_10'></a>10</span> +kodak in hand, the breeze playing pranks +with her hair and blowing her golf-cape +straight back from her shoulders, it was +all so exhilarating that before she knew +it she had turned her little camera upon +the supposed Hugh Dalton himself, who +made an absurd grimace and told her to +“let her go!”</p> +<p>It was always a delightful experience +for Blythe to stand on the bridge and +watch the ship’s officers at their wonderful +work of guiding the great sea-monster +across the pathless deep. Here was the +brain of the ship, as Mr. Grey had once +pointed out, and to-day, when a sailor +suddenly appeared above the gangway +and, touching his hat, received a curt +order,—“That is one of the nerves of the +vessel,” her companion said. “It carries +the message of the brain to the furthest +parts of the body.”</p> +<p>“And I suppose the eyes are up there,” +Blythe returned, glancing at the “crow’s +nest,” half-way up the great forward mast, +where the two lookouts were keeping +their steady watch. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11' name='page_11'></a>11</span></p> +<p>“Yes,” he rejoined, “that must be why +they always have a pair of them,—so as +to get a proper focus. <i>Nicht wahr, Herr +Capitän?</i>”</p> +<p>And the little fiction was explained to +the Captain, who grew more genial than +ever under the stimulus of such agreeable +conversation.</p> +<p>“<i>Ja wohl!</i>” he agreed, heartily; “<i>Ja +wohl!</i>”—which was really quite an outburst +of eloquence for Captain Seemann.</p> +<p>“If I couldn’t be captain,” Blythe announced, +“I think I should choose to be +lookout.”</p> +<p>“How is dat?” the Captain inquired.</p> +<p>“It must be the best place of all, away +up above everything and everybody.”</p> +<p>“And you would like to go up dare?”</p> +<p>“Of course I should!”</p> +<p>“And you would not be afraid?”</p> +<p>“Not I!”</p> +<p>Upon which the Captain, in high good-humour, +declared, “I belief you!”</p> +<p>After that he fell to speaking German +with Mr. Grey, and Blythe moved to the +end of the bridge, and stood looking down +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12' name='page_12'></a>12</span> +upon the steerage passengers, where they +were disporting themselves in the sun on +the lower deck.</p> +<p>They were a motley crew, and she never +tired of watching them, as they sat about +in picturesque groups, singing or playing +games, or lay stretched on the deck, fast +asleep.</p> +<p>Somewhat apart from the others was +a woman with a little girl whom Blythe +had not before observed. The child lay +on a bright shawl, her head against the +woman’s knee, her dark Italian eyes gazing +straight up into the luminous blue +of the sky. There was a curiously high-bred +look in the pale features, young and +unformed as they were, and Blythe wondered +how such a child as that came to +belong to the stout, middle-aged woman +who did not herself seem altogether out +of place in the rough steerage.</p> +<p>At this point in her meditations, a quiet, +matter-of-fact voice struck her ear, and, +turning, she found that Mr. Grey had +come up behind her.</p> +<p>“The Captain says he will have the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span> +‘crow’s nest’ lowered and let you go up in +it if you like,” was the startling announcement +which roused her from her revery.</p> +<p>“Oh, you are making fun!” she protested.</p> +<p>“I don’t wonder you think so, but he +seems quite in earnest, and I can tell you +it’s the chance of a lifetime!”</p> +<p>“I should think it was!” she gasped. +“Oh, tell him he’s an angel with wings! +And please, <i>please</i> don’t let him change +his mind while I run and ask Mamma!” +With which Blythe vanished down the +gangway, her golf-cape rising straight up +around her head as the draught took it.</p> +<p>We may well believe that such a prospect +as that drove from her mind all +speculations as to the steerage passengers, +and that even the thought of the little +girl with the wonderful eyes did not again +visit her in the few hours intervening.</p> +<p>Yet when, that afternoon at eight-bells, +she passed with Mr. Grey down the steep +gangway to the steerage deck, which they +were obliged to traverse on their way to the +forecastle, and they came upon the little +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span> +creature lying, with upturned face, against +the woman’s knee, Blythe felt a sharp +pang of compunction and pity. The child +looked even more pathetic than when seen +from above, and the young girl involuntarily +stooped in passing, and touched the +wan little cheek. Whereupon one of those +ineffable smiles which are the birthright +of Italians lighted the little face, and the +small hand was lifted with so captivating +a gesture that Blythe, clasping it in her +own, dropped on her knees beside the +child.</p> +<p>“Is it your little girl?” she asked, looking +up into the face of the woman, whose +marked unlikeness to the child was answer +enough.</p> +<p>“No, no, Signorina,” the woman protested. +“She is my little Signorina.”</p> +<p>“And you are taking her to Italy?”</p> +<p>“<i>Si, Signorina; alla bella Italia</i>!”</p> +<p>Then the lips of the little girl parted +with a still more radiant smile, and she +murmured, “<i>Alla bella Italia</i>!”</p> +<p>A moment later, Blythe and her companion +had passed on and up to the forward +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span> +deck where, climbing a short ladder +to the railing of the “crow’s nest,” they +dropped lightly down into this most novel +of elevators. There was a shrill whistle +from the boatswain, the waving of white +handkerchiefs where Mrs. Halliday and +Mr. DeWitt stood, forward of the wheel-house, +to watch the start; then the big +windlass began to turn, the rope was +“paid out,” and the slow, rather creaky +journey up the mast had begun.</p> +<p>It was a perfect day for the adventure. +The ship was not rolling at all, the little +motion to be felt being a gentle tilt from +stem to stern which manifested itself at +long intervals in the slightest imaginable +dip of the prow. And presently the ascent +was accomplished, and the “crow’s +nest” once more clung in its accustomed +place against the mast,—forty feet up in +the air, according to Mr. Grey’s reckoning.</p> +<p>As they looked across the great sea the +horizon seemed to have receded to an incalculable +distance, and the airs that came +to them across that broad expanse, unsullied +by the faintest trace of man or his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span> +works, were purer than are often vouchsafed +to mortals. Blythe felt her heart +grow big with the sense of space and +purity, and this wonderful swift passage +through the upper air. Involuntarily she +took off her hat to get the full sweep of +the breeze upon her forehead.</p> +<p>Suddenly, a new sound reached her +ear,—a small, remote, confidential kind of +voice, that seemed to arrive from nowhere +in particular.</p> +<p>“It’s the Captain, hailing us through +his megaphone,” her companion remarked; +and, glancing down, far down, +in the direction of the bridge, Blythe beheld +the Captain, looking curiously attenuated +in the unusual perspective, standing +with a gigantic object resembling a cornucopia +raised to his lips.</p> +<p>“You like it vare you are?” quoth the +uncanny voice, not loud, but startlingly +near.</p> +<p>And Blythe nodded her head and +waved her hat in vigorous assent.</p> +<p>The great ship stretched long and narrow +astern, the main deck shut in with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span> +awnings through which the huge smokestacks +rose, and the wide-mouthed ventilators +crooked their necks. Along either +outer edge of the awnings a line of lifeboats +showed, tied fast in their high-springing +davits, while from the mouth of +the yellow ship’s-funnels black masses of +smoke floated slowly and heavily astern. +The <i>Lorelei</i> swam the water like a wonderful +white aquatic bird, leaving upon the +quiet sea a long snowy track of foam.</p> +<p>On a line with their lofty perch a sailor +swung spider-like among the network of +sheets and halyards that clung about +the mainmast, its meshes clearly defined +against the pure blue of the sky, while below +there, on the bridge, the big brass +nautical instruments gleamed, and the +caps of the Captain and his lieutenants +showed white in the sun. As Blythe +glanced down and away from this stirring +outlook, she could just distinguish among +the dark figures of the steerage the small +white face of the child upturned toward +the sky; and again a sharp pang took her, +a feeling that the little creature did not +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span> +belong among those rough men and +women. No wonder that the beautiful +Italian eyes always sought the sky; it +was their only refuge from sordid sights.</p> +<p>“I suppose the woman meant that the +child was her little mistress; did she +not?” Blythe asked abruptly.</p> +<p>“That was what I understood.”</p> +<p>“It’s probably a romance; don’t you +think so?” and Blythe felt that she was +applying to a high authority for information +on such a head.</p> +<p>“Looks like it,” the great authority +opined. “I think we shall have to investigate +the case.”</p> +<p>“Oh, will you? And you speak Italian +so beautifully!”</p> +<p>“How do you know that?”</p> +<p>“Oh, I’m sure of it! It sounds so +exactly like the hand-organ men!”</p> +<p>“Look here, Miss Blythe,” the poet protested, +“you must not flatter a modest +man like that. My daughter would say +you were turning my head.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I rather think your daughter +knows that it’s not the kind of head to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span> +be turned,” Blythe answered easily. She +was beginning to feel as if she had known +this famous personage all her life.</p> +<p>“I shall tell her that,” said he.</p> +<p>Presently one-bell sounded a faint tinkle +far below, and the big megaphone inquired +whether they wanted to come down, +and was assured that they did not. And +all the while during their voyage through +the air, which was prolonged for another +half-hour, the two good comrades were +weaving romances about the little girl; +and with a curious confidence, as if, forsooth, +they could conjure up what fortunes +they would out of that vast horizon toward +which the good ship was bearing them +on.</p> +<p>At last the time came for them to go +below, and they reluctantly signalled to +the sailors, grouped about the deck in +patient expectation. Upon which the +windlass was set going, and slowly and +creakingly the “crow’s nest” was lowered +from its airy height.</p> +<p>The two aëronauts found the steerage +still populous with queer figures, and the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span> +atmosphere seemed more unsavoury than +ever after their sojourn among the upper +airs. To their disappointment, however, +the woman and her Signorina were nowhere +to be seen. Blythe and Mr. Grey +looked for them in every corner of the +deck, but no trace of them was to be +found, and Blythe mounted the gangway +to their own deck with much of the reluctance +which she often felt in submitting to +an interruption in a serial story.</p> +<p>They found Mrs. Halliday amusing herself +with a glass of cracked ice, giving +casual attention the while to a very long +story told by a garrulous fellow-passenger +in a wadded hood.</p> +<p>“Oh, Mamma,” Blythe cried, perching +upon the extension foot of her mother’s +chair, “why didn’t you and Mr. DeWitt +stay longer? And how did it happen that +nobody else got wind of it? I don’t believe +a single person knows what we’ve +been about! And oh! we have had such +a glorious time! It was like being a bird! +Only that little girl in the steerage oughtn’t +to be there, and Mr. Grey and I are +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span> +going to see what can be done about it, +and––”</p> +<p>The wadded hood had fallen silent, and +now its wearer rose, with an air of resignation, +and carried her tale to another listener, +while Mr. Grey also moved away, +leaving Blythe to tell her own story.</p> +<p>They were great friends, Mrs. Halliday +and this only child of hers, and well they +might be; for, as Blythe had informed +Mr. Grey early in their acquaintance; +“Mamma and I are all there are of us.”</p> +<p>As she sat beside this best of friends,—having +dropped into the chair left vacant +by the wadded hood,—Blythe lived over +again every experience and sensation of +that eventful afternoon, and with the delightful +sense of sharing it with somebody +who understood. And, since the most +abiding impression of all had been her +solicitude for the little steerage passenger, +she found no difficulty in arousing her +mother to an almost equal interest in the +child’s fate.</p> +<p>And presently, when the cornet player +passed them, with the air of short-lived +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span> +importance which comes to a ship’s cornet +three times a day, and, stationing himself +well aft, played the cheerful little tune +which heralds the approaching dinner-hour, +Blythe slipped her hand into her +mother’s and said:</p> +<p>“We’ll do something about that little +girl; won’t us, Mumsey?”</p> +<p>Upon which Mrs. Halliday, rising, and +patting the rosy cheek which she used to +call the “apple of her eye,” said:</p> +<p>“I shouldn’t wonder if us did, Blythe.”</p> +<hr class='chapter' /> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span></div> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.2em;margin-bottom:20px;'>CHAPTER II</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1em;margin-bottom:30px;'>THE LITTLE SIGNORINA</p> +<p>Blythe lay awake a long time that +night, thinking, not of the bridge nor +of the “crow’s nest,” not of the Captain +nor of the supposed Hugh Dalton, but of +the child in the steerage. How stifling it +must be down there to-night! It was +hot and airless enough here, where Blythe +had a stateroom to herself,—separated +from her mother’s by a narrow passageway, +and where the port-holes had been +open all day. Now, to be sure, they were +closed; for the sea was rising, and already +the spray dashed against the thick glass. +Oh, how must it be in the steerage! And +how did it happen that that nice woman +had been obliged to take her little Signorina +in such squalid fashion to <i>la bella +Italia</i>? +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span></p> +<p>Blythe fell asleep with the sound of +creaking timbers in her ears, as the good +ship strained against the rising sea, and +when the clear note of the cornet, playing +the morning hymn, roused her from her +dreams, the roaring of wind and waves +sent her thoughts with a shock of pity to +the little steerage passenger shut up below. +For with such a sea as this the waves +must be sweeping the lower deck, and +there could be no release for the poor +little prisoner.</p> +<p>“Vhy you not report that veather from +the lookout?” the Captain asked with +mock severity as Blythe appeared at the +breakfast table.</p> +<p>The racks were on, and the knives and +forks had begun their time-honoured minuet +within their funny little fences. The +amateur “lookout” glanced across the +table at her friend and ally the poet, who +nodded encouragingly as she answered:</p> +<p>“Oh, we knew the Captain knew all +about it!”</p> +<p>“You think de Capitän know pretty +much eferything, <i>wie es scheint</i>!” was the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span> +reply, uttered in so deep a guttural that +Blythe knew the old Viking did not take +very seriously the “bit of weather” that +seemed to her so violent. In fact, he +owned as much before he had finished his +second cup of coffee.</p> +<p>Yet when she came up the companionway +after breakfast, she found a stout rope +stretched across the deck from stanchion +to stanchion to hold on by, the steamer +chairs all tied fast to the rail that runs +around the deckhouse, and every preparation +made for rough weather.</p> +<p>It was not what a sailor would have +called a storm, but the sea was changed +enough from the smiling calm of yesterday. +Not many passengers were on +deck, half a dozen, only, reclining in their +chairs in the lee of the deckhouse, close +reefed in their heavy wraps; while here +and there a pair of indefatigable promenaders +lurched and slid along the heaving +deck arm in arm, or clung to any chance +support in a desperate effort to keep their +footing.</p> +<p>Blythe had to buffet her way lustily as +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span> +she turned a corner to windward. Holding +her golf-cape close about her and jamming +her felt hat well down on her head, +she made her way to the narrow passageway +forward of the wheel-house where one +looks down into the steerage. The waves +were dashing across the deck, which was +deserted excepting for one or two dark-browed +men crouched under shelter of +the forecastle.</p> +<p>There was a light, drizzling rain, and +now and then the spray struck against her +face. Blythe looked up at the “crow’s +nest,” which was describing strange geometrical +figures against the sky. The +lookouts in their oil-coats did not seem in +the least to mind their erratic passage +through space. She wished it were eight-bells +and time for them to change watch; +it was always such fun to see them running +up the ladder, hand over hand, their +quick, monkey-like figures silhouetted +against the sky.</p> +<p>How nobly the great ship forged ahead +against an angry sea, climbing now to the +crest of a big wave, and giving a long, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span> +shuddering shake of determination before +plunging down into a black, swirling hollow! +And how the wind and the waters +bellowed together!</p> +<p>The Captain was on the bridge in his +rubber coat and sou’-wester. He had said +this would not last long, and he had +stopped for a second cup of coffee before +leaving the table. All the same, Blythe +would not have ventured to accost him +now, even if he had passed her way.</p> +<p>Presently she returned under shelter of +the awning and let Gustav tuck her up in +her chair to dry off. And Mr. DeWitt +came and sat down beside her and instructed +her in the delectable game of +“Buried Cities,” in which she became +speedily so proficient that, taking her cue +from the lettering on one of the lifeboats, +she discovered the city of Bremen lying +“buried” in “the som<i>bre men</i>ace of the +sea!”</p> +<p>After a while, Gustav appeared before +them, bearing a huge tray of <i>bouillon</i> +and sandwiches, with which he was striking +the most eccentric angles; and Blythe +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span> +discovered that she was preposterously +hungry. And while her nose was still +buried in her cup, she espied over its rim +a pair of legs planted well apart, in the +cause of equilibrium, and the big, pleasant +voice of Mr. Grey made itself heard above +wind and sea, saying, “Guess where I’ve +been.”</p> +<p>“In the smoking-room,” was the prompt +reply.</p> +<p>“Guess again.”</p> +<p>“On the bridge,—only you wouldn’t +dare!”</p> +<p>“Once more.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I know,” Blythe cried, setting her +thick cup down on the deck, and tumbling +off her chair in a snarl of steamer-rugs; +“You’ve been down in the steerage finding +out about the little Signorina!”</p> +<p>“Who told you?”</p> +<p>“You did! You looked so pleased with +yourself! Oh, do tell me all about her!”</p> +<p>“Well, I’ve had a long talk with the +woman. Shall we walk up and down?”</p> +<p>And off they went, with that absence +of ceremony which characterises life on +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span> +shipboard, leaving Mr. DeWitt to bury +his cities all unaided and unapplauded. +Then, as the two walked up and down,—literally +up and down, for the ship was +pitching a bit, and sometimes they were +labouring up-hill, and sometimes they +were running down a steep incline,—as +they walked up and down Mr. Grey told +his story.</p> +<p>The woman, Giuditta, had confided to +him all she knew, and he had surmised +more. Giuditta had known the family +only since the time, three years ago, +when she had been called in to take care +of the little Cecilia during the illness of +the Signora. The father had been a +handsome good-for-nothing, who had got +shot in a street row in that quarter of +New York known as “Little Italy.” He +was nothing,—<i>niente</i>, <i>niente</i>;—but the +Signora! Oh, if the gentleman could but +have known the Signora, so beautiful, so +patient, so sad! Giuditta had stayed with +her and shared her fortunes, which were +all, alas! misfortunes,—and had nursed +her through a long decline. But never +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span> +a word had she told of her own origin,—the +beautiful Signora,—nor had her +father’s name ever passed her lips. Had +she known that she was dying, perhaps +then, for the child’s sake, she might have +forgotten her pride. But she was always +thinking she should get well,—and then, +one day, she died!</p> +<p>There was very little left,—only a few +dollars; but among the squalid properties +of the pitiful little stage where the poor +young thing had enacted the last act of +her tragedy, was one picture, a <i>Madonna</i>, +with the painter’s name, G. Bellini, just +decipherable. It was a little picture, +twelve inches by sixteen, in a dingy old +frame, and not a pretty picture at +that. But a kind man, a dealer in antiquities, +had given Giuditta one hundred +dollars for it. “Think of that, Signore! +One hundred dollars for an ugly little +black picture no bigger than that!”</p> +<p>“I suppose,” Mr. Grey remarked, as +they stood balancing themselves at an +angle of many degrees,—“I suppose that +the picture was genuine,—else the man +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span> +would hardly have paid one hundred +dollars for it.”</p> +<p>“And would it be worth more than +that?”</p> +<p>“A trifle,” he replied, rather grimly. +“Somewhere among the thousands.”</p> +<p>“But why should they have kept such +a picture when they were so poor? Why +didn’t they sell it?”</p> +<p>“That would hardly have occurred to +them. It was evidently a family heirloom +that the girl had taken with her because +she loved it. I doubt if she guessed its +value. A Bellini! A Giovanni Bellini, +in a New York tenement house! Think +of it! And now I suppose some millionaire +has got it. Likely enough somebody +who doesn’t know enough to buy +his own pictures! Horrible idea! Horrible!” +and Mr. Grey strode along, all but +snorting with rage at the thought.</p> +<p>“But tell me more about the little +girl,” Blythe entreated, wishing the wind +wouldn’t blow her words out of her +mouth so rudely. “Her name is Cecilia, +you say?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span></p> +<p>“Yes; Cecilia. Dopo is the name they +went by, but the nurse doesn’t think it +genuine. Her idea is that her Signora +was the daughter of some great family, +and got herself disowned by marrying +an opera singer who subsequently made +a fiasco and dropped his name with +his fame. She doesn’t think Dopo ever +was a family name. It means ‘after,’ you +know, and they may have adopted it for +its ironical significance.”</p> +<p>“And the poor lady died and never +told!” Blythe panted, as they toiled painfully +up-hill with the rain beating in their +faces.</p> +<p>“Yes, and—look out! hold tight!” for +suddenly the slant of the deck was reversed, +and they came coasting down to +an impromptu seat on a bench.</p> +<p>“It seems,” Mr. Grey went on, when +they had resumed their somewhat arduous +promenade,—“it seems the woman, Giuditta, +is quite alone in the world and has +been longing to get back to Italy. So +she easily persuaded herself that she could +find the child’s family and establish her in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span> +high life. Giuditta has an uncommonly +high idea of high life,” he added. “I +think she imagines that somebody in a +court train and a coronet will come to +meet her Signorina at the pier in Genoa. +Poor things! There’ll be a rude awakening!”</p> +<p>“But we won’t let it be rude!” Blythe +protested. “We must do something about +it. Can’t you think of anything to do?”</p> +<p>They were standing now, clinging to +the friendly rope stretched across the +deck, shoulder high.</p> +<p>“Giuditta’s plan,” Mr. Grey replied, +“is the naïve one of appealing to the +Queen about it. And, seriously, I think +it may be worth while to ask the American +Minister to make inquiries. For there +is, of course, a bare chance that the family +may be known at Court. In the meantime––”</p> +<p>“In the meantime,” Blythe interposed, +“we’ve got to get her out of the steerage!”</p> +<p>“But how?”</p> +<p>“Oh, Mamma will arrange that. We’ll +just make a cabin passenger of her, and I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span> +can take her in with me in my stateroom. +Oh! how happy she will be, lying in my +steamer chair, with that dear Gustav to +wait on her! I must go down at once +and get Mamma to say yes!”</p> +<p>“And you think she will?”</p> +<p>“I know she will! She is always doing +nice things. If you really knew her you +wouldn’t doubt it!” And with that the +young optimist vanished in her accustomed +whirl of golf-cape.</p> +<p>If faith can move mountains, it is perhaps +no wonder that the implicit and energetic +faith of which Blythe Halliday was +possessed proved equal to the removal of +a small child from one quarter to another +of the big ship. The three persons concerned +in bringing about the change were +easily won over; for Mrs. Halliday was +quite of Blythe’s mind in the matter, Mr. +Grey had little difficulty in bringing the +Captain to their point of view, while, as +for Giuditta, she hailed the event as the +first step in the transformation of her +small Signorina into the little “great +lady” she was born to be. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span></p> +<p>Accordingly, close upon luncheon time, +when the sun was just breaking through +the clouds, and the sea, true to the Captain’s +prediction, was already beginning to +subside, the tiny Signorina was carried, in +the strong arms of Gustav, up the steep +gangway by the wheel-house, where Blythe +and her mother, Mr. DeWitt and the poet, +to say nothing of Captain Seemann himself, +formed an impromptu reception committee +for her little ladyship.</p> +<p>As the child was set on her feet at the +head of the gangway, she turned to throw +a kiss down upon her faithful Giuditta, +and then, without the slightest hesitation, +she placed her hand in Blythe’s, and +walked away with her.</p> +<p>That evening there was a dance on +board the <i>Lorelei</i>; for it had been but the +fringe of a storm which they had crossed, +and the sea was again taking on its long, +easy swell.</p> +<p>The deck presented a festal appearance +for the occasion. Rows of Japanese lanterns +were strung from side to side against +the white background of awning and deckhouse, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span> +and the flags of many nations lent +their gay colours to the pretty scene. The +ship’s orchestra was in its element, playing +with a “go” and rhythm which seemed +caught from the pulsing movement of the +ship itself.</p> +<p>As Blythe, with Mr. DeWitt, who had +been a famous dancer in his day, led off +the Virginia Reel, she wondered how it +would strike the sailors of a passing brig,—this +gay apparition of light and music, +riding the great, dark, solemn sea.</p> +<p>The dance itself was rather a staid, +middle-aged affair, for Blythe was the only +young girl on board, and none but the +youngest or the surest-footed could put +much spirit into a dance where the law of +gravitation was apparently changing base +from moment to moment. Blythe and +her partner, however, took little account +of the moving floor beneath their feet, or +the hesitating demeanour of their companions. +One after another, even the most +reluctant and self-distrustful of the revellers +found themselves caught up into active +participation in the figure. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span></p> +<p>In a quiet corner of the deck sat Mrs. +Halliday, with little Cecilia beside her, +snugly stowed away in a nest of steamer-rugs; +for they could not bear to take her +below, out of the fresh, invigorating air. +Their little guest spoke hardly any English, +but, although Mrs. Halliday was under the +impression that she herself spoke Italian, +the child seemed more conversable in +Blythe’s company than in that of any one +else, not excepting Mr. Grey, about whose +linguistic accomplishments there could be +no question.</p> +<p>Accordingly when, the Virginia Reel +being finished, Blythe came and sat on the +foot of the little girl’s chair, they fell into +an animated conversation, each in her own +tongue. And presently, during a pause +in the music, the Italian Count chanced to +pass their way, and, stopping in his solitary +promenade, appeared to give ear to their +talk.</p> +<p>Suddenly he stooped, and, looking into +the animated face of the child, inquired +in his own tongue; “What is thy name, +little one?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span></p> +<p>But when the pure, liquid, childish voice +answered “Cecilia Dopo,” he merely lifted +his hat and, bowing ceremoniously, passed +on.</p> +<p>Mr. Grey, who had watched the little +scene from a distance, joined the group +a moment later and, taking a vacant chair +beside Mrs. Halliday, remarked:</p> +<p>“I think we shall have to cultivate the +old gentleman. He might be induced to +lend a hand in behalf of this young person. +They are both Florentines,” he added, +thoughtfully, “and Florentine society is +not large.”</p> +<p>“Then you really believe the nurse is +right about the child?” Mrs. Halliday +asked.</p> +<p>“Oh, I shouldn’t dare say that the +mother was a great lady,” he returned; +“but there is certainly something high-bred +about the little thing.”</p> +<p>“They often have that air,” Mrs. +Halliday demurred,—“even the beggar +children.”</p> +<p>“Yes; to our eyes. But, do you know, +I rather think the Italians themselves can +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span> +tell the difference. I would rather trust +Giuditta’s judgment than my own. Besides,” +he added, after a long pause, during +which he had been watching the +expressive face of the child. “Besides,—there’s +that Giovanni Bellini. That sort +of thing doesn’t often stray into low +society.”</p> +<p>At this juncture the tall Italian moved +again into their neighbourhood, and stood, +at a point where the awning had been +drawn back, gazing, with a preoccupied +air, out to sea.</p> +<p>Rising from his seat, Mr. Grey approached +him, remarking abruptly, and +with a jerk of the head toward Cecilia, +“Florentine, is she not?”</p> +<p>“<i>Sicuro</i>,” was the grave reply; upon +which the Count moved away, to be seen +no more that evening.</p> +<p>As the Englishman rejoined them after +this laconic interview, Blythe greeted him +with a new theory.</p> +<p>“Do you know,” she said, “I used to +think the Count was haughty and disagreeable, +but I have changed my mind.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span></p> +<p>“That only shows how susceptible you +good Republicans are to any sign of attention +from the nobility,” was the teasing +reply.</p> +<p>“Perhaps you are right,” Blythe returned, +with the fair-mindedness which +distinguished her. “You know I never +saw a titled person before, excepting one +red-headed English Lord, who hadn’t any +manners. I’ve often thought I should +like, of all things, to know a King or +Queen really well!”</p> +<p>“You don’t say so!” Mr. Grey laughed. +“And what’s your opinion now, of the +old gentleman, since he deigned to interrupt +your conversation?”</p> +<p>“I believe he is unhappy.”</p> +<p>“What makes you think so?”</p> +<p>“There’s an unhappy look away back +in his eyes. I never looked in before,—and +then––”</p> +<p>“And then––?”</p> +<p>“There’s something about his voice.”</p> +<p>“Yes; Tuscan, you know.”</p> +<p>“Oh, is that it? Well, any way, I like +him!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span></p> +<p>“If that’s the case, perhaps you could +make better headway with him than I.”</p> +<p>“But I don’t speak Italian.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps you speak French.”</p> +<p>“I know my conjugations,” was the +modest admission.</p> +<p>“And I’m sure he would be enchanted +to hear them,” Mr. Grey laughed, as the +orchestra struck into the familiar music of +the Lancers, causing him to beat a retreat +into the smoking-room.</p> +<p>And while Blythe danced gaily and heartily +with a boy somewhat younger than +herself, and not quite as tall, her little protégée +fell into a deep sleep. And presently, +the dance being over, the faithful Gustav +carried her down to Blythe’s stateroom, +where she was snugly tucked away in the +gently rocking cradle of the lower berth.</p> +<p>As for Blythe, thus relegated to the +upper berth, she entered promptly into +an agreeable dreamland, where she found +herself speaking Italian fluently, and where +she discovered, to her extreme satisfaction, +that the Queen of Italy was her bosom +friend!</p> +<hr class='chapter' /> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span></div> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.2em;margin-bottom:20px;'>CHAPTER III</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1em;margin-bottom:30px;'>A NEW DAWN</p> +<p>It was pretty to see the little Signorina +revive under the favouring influences +of prosperity; and indeed the soft airs of +the southern seas were never sweeter nor +more caressing than those which came to +console our voyagers for their short-lived +storm.</p> +<p>Life was full of interest and excitement +for the little girl. The heavy lassitude +of her steerage days had fallen from her, +and already that first morning a delicate +glow of returning vigour touched +the little cheek.</p> +<p>“She’s picking up, isn’t she?” Mr. +DeWitt remarked, as he joined Blythe and +the child at the head of the steerage gangway, +where the little one was throwing +enthusiastic kisses and musical Italian +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span> +phrases down upon the hardly less radiant +Giuditta.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes!” was the confident reply. +“She’s a different child since her saltwater +bath and her big bowl of oatmeal. +Mamma says she really has a splendid +physique, only she was smothering down +there in the steerage.”</p> +<p>Then Mr. DeWitt stooped and, lifting +the child, set her on the railing, where +she could get a better view of her faithful +friend below.</p> +<p>“There! How do you like that?” he +inquired.</p> +<p>Upon which the little girl, finding herself +unexpectedly on a level with Blythe’s +face, put up her tiny hand and stroked +her cheek.</p> +<p>“Like-a Signorina,” she remarked with +apparent irrelevance.</p> +<p>“Oh! You do, do you? Well, she’s +a nice girl.”</p> +<p>“Nice-a girl-a,” the child repeated, adding +a vowel, Italian fashion, to each word.</p> +<p>Then, with an appreciative look into +the pleasant, whiskered countenance, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span> +whose owner was holding her so securely +on her precarious perch, she pressed her +little hand gently against his waistcoat, +and gravely remarked, “Nice-a girl-a, +<i>anche il Signore</i>!”</p> +<p>“So! I’m a nice girl too, am I?” the +old gentleman replied, much elated with +the compliment.</p> +<p>And Giuditta, down below, perceiving +that her Signorina was making new conquests, +snatched her bright handkerchief +from her head, and waved it gaily; whereupon +a score of the steerage passengers, +seized with her enthusiasm, waved their +hats and handkerchiefs and shouted; +“<i>Buon’ viaggio, Signorina! Buon’ +viaggio</i>!”</p> +<p>And the little recipient of this ovation +became so excited that she almost +jumped out of the detaining arms of Mr. +DeWitt, who, being of a cautious disposition, +made haste to set her down again; +upon which they all walked aft, under the +big awning.</p> +<p>“She makes friends easily,” Mr. Grey +remarked, later in the morning, as he and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span> +Blythe paused a moment in their game of +ring-toss. The child was standing, clinging +to the hand of a tall woman in black, +a grave, silent Southerner who had hitherto +kept quite to herself.</p> +<p>“Yes,” Blythe rejoined, “but she is +fastidious. She will listen to no blandishments +from any one whom she doesn’t +take a fancy to. That good-natured, +talkative Mr. Distel has been trying all +day to get her to come to him, but she always +gives him the slip.” And Blythe, in +her preoccupation, proceeded to throw +two rings out of three wide of the +mark.</p> +<p>“Has the Count taken any more notice +of her?” Mr. Grey inquired, deftly +tossing the smallest of all the rings over +the top of the post.</p> +<p>“Apparently not; but she takes a great +deal of notice of him. See, she’s watching +him now. I should not be a bit surprised +if she were to speak to him of her +own accord one of these days.”</p> +<p>“There are not many days left,” her +companion remarked. “The Captain says +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span> +we shall make Cape St. Vincent before +night.”</p> +<p>“Oh, how fast the voyage is going!” +Blythe sighed.</p> +<p>Yet, sorry as she would be to have the +voyage over, no one was more enchanted +than Blythe when Cape St. Vincent rose +out of the sea, marking the end of the +Atlantic passage. It was just at sundown, +and the beautiful headland, bathed +in a golden light, stood, like the mystic +battlements of a veritable “Castle in +Spain,” against a luminous sky.</p> +<p>“Mamma,” Blythe asked, “did you ever +see anything more beautiful than that?”</p> +<p>They were standing at the port railing, +with the little girl between them, watching +the great cliffs across the deep blue sea.</p> +<p>“Nothing more beautiful than that +seen through your eyes, Blythe.”</p> +<p>“I believe you do see it through my +eyes, Mumsey,” Blythe answered, thoughtfully, +“just as I am getting to see things +through Cecilia’s eyes. I never realised +before how things open up when you look +at them that way.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span></p> +<p>And Mrs. Halliday smiled a quiet, inward +smile that Blythe understood with a +new understanding.</p> +<p>They took little Cecilia ashore with +them at Gibraltar the next morning, and +again Blythe experienced the truth of her +new theory.</p> +<p>It was our heroine’s first glimpse of +Europe, and no delectable detail of their +hour’s drive, no exotic bloom, no strange +Moorish costume, no enchanting vista of +cliff or sea, was lost upon her. Yet she +felt that even her enthusiasm paled before +the deep, speechless ecstasy of the little +Cecilia. It was as if, in the tropical glow +and fragrant warmth, the child were +breathing her native air,—as if she had +come to her own.</p> +<p>On their return, as the grimy old tug +which had carried them across the harbour +came alongside the big steamer, +the child suddenly exclaimed, “<i>Ecco, il +Signore!</i>” and, following the direction of +her gesture, their eyes met those of the +Count looking down upon them. He instantly +moved away, and they had soon +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span> +forgotten him, in the pleasurable excitement +of bestowing upon Giuditta the +huge, hat-shaped basket filled with fruit +which they had brought for her.</p> +<p>Later in the day, as they weighed anchor +and sailed out from the shadow of +the great Rock, Blythe found herself +standing with Mr. Grey at the stern-rail +of their own deck, watching the face of +the mighty cliff as it changed with the +varying perspective.</p> +<p>“Oh! I wish I were a poet or an artist +or something!” she cried.</p> +<p>“Would you take that monstrous fortress +for a subject?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Yes, and I should do something so +splendid with it that nobody would dare +to be satirical!” and she glanced defiantly +at her companion, whose good-humoured +countenance was wrinkling with amusement.</p> +<p>“Let us see,” he said. “How would +this do?” And he gravely repeated the +following:</p> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +“There once was a fortress named Gib,<br /> +Whose manners were haughty and—</p> +</td></tr></table> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span></div> +<p>What rhymes with Gib?”</p> +<p>“Glib!” Blythe cried.</p> +<p>“Good!</p> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +Whose manners were haughty and glib.<br /> +<span style='margin-left: 3.90625em;'>If you tried to get in,</span><br /> +<span style='margin-left: 3.90625em;'>She replied with a grin,—</span></p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>Quick! Give me another rhyme for Gib.”</p> +<p>“Rib!” Blythe suggested, audaciously.</p> +<p>“Excellent, excellent! Rib! Now, +how does it go?</p> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +There once was a fortress named Gib,<br /> +Whose manners were haughty and glib!<br /> +<span style='margin-left: 3.90625em;'>If you tried to get in,</span><br /> +<span style='margin-left: 3.90625em;'>She replied, with a grin,</span><br /> +‘I’m Great Britain’s impregnable rib!’</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>Rather neat! Don’t you think?”</p> +<p>“O Mr. Grey!” Blythe cried. “You’ve +got to write that in my voyage-book! It’s +the––”</p> +<p>At that moment, a gesture from her +companion caused her to turn and look +behind her. There, only a few feet from +where they were standing, but with his +back to them, was the Count, sitting on +one of the long, stationary benches fastened +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span> +against the hatchway, while just at +his knees stood little Cecilia. She was +balancing herself with some difficulty on +the gently swaying deck, holding out for +his acceptance a small bunch of violets, +which one of the market-women at Gibraltar +had bestowed upon her.</p> +<p>As he appeared to hesitate: “<i>Prendili!</i>” +she cried, with pretty wilfulness. Upon +which he took the little offering, and +lifted it to his face.</p> +<p>The child stood her ground resolutely, +and presently, “Put me up!” she commanded, +still in her own sweet tongue.</p> +<p>Obediently he lifted her, and placed +her beside him on the seat, where she sat +clinging with one little hand to the sleeve +of his coat to keep from slipping down, +with the gentle dip of the vessel.</p> +<p>The two sat, for a few minutes, quite +silent, gazing off toward the African +coast, and Blythe and her companion +drew nearer, filled with curiosity as to the +outcome of the interview.</p> +<p>Presently the child looked up into the +Count’s face and inquired, with the pretty +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span> +Tuscan accent which sounded like an echo +of his own question on the evening of the +dance:</p> +<p>“What is thy name?”</p> +<p>“Giovanni Battista Allamiraviglia.”</p> +<p>Cecilia repeated after him the long, +musical name, without missing a syllable, +and with a certain approving inflection +which evidently had an ingratiating effect +upon the many-syllabled aristocrat; for he +lifted his carefully gloved hand and passed +it gently over the little head.</p> +<p>The child took the caress very naturally, +and when, presently, the hand returned to +the knee, she got possession of it, and began +crossing the kid fingers one over the +other, quite undisturbed by the fact that +they invariably fell apart again as soon as +she loosed her hold.</p> +<p>At this juncture the two eavesdroppers +moved discreetly away, and Blythe, leaving +her fellow-conspirator far behind, flew +to her mother’s side, crying:</p> +<p>“O Mumsey! She’s simply winding +him round her finger, and there’s nothing +he won’t be ready to do for us now!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span></p> +<p>“Yes, dear; I’m delighted to hear it,” +Mrs. Halliday replied, with what Blythe +was wont to call her “benignant and +amused” expression. “And after a while +you will tell me what you are talking +about!”</p> +<p>But Blythe, nothing daunted, only appealed +to Mr. Grey, who had just caught +up with her.</p> +<p>“You agree with me, Mr. Grey; don’t +you?” she insisted.</p> +<p>“Perfectly, and in every particular. +Mrs. Halliday, your daughter and I have +been eavesdropping, and we have come +to confess.”</p> +<p>Whereupon Blythe dropped upon the +foot of her mother’s chair, Mr. Grey established +himself in the chair adjoining, +and they gave their somewhat bewildered +auditor the benefit of a few facts.</p> +<p>“I really believe,” the Englishman remarked, +in conclusion,—“I really believe +that haughty old dago can help us if anybody +can. And when your engaging +young protégée has completed her conquest,—to-morrow, +it may be, or the day +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span> +after, for she’s making quick work of it,—we’ll +see what can be done with him.”</p> +<p>And, after all, what could have been +more natural than the attraction which, +from that time forth, manifested itself between +the Count and his small countrywoman? +If the little girl, in making her +very marked advances, had been governed +by the unwavering instinct which always +guided her choice of companions, the old +man, for his part, could not but find refreshment, +after his long, solitary voyage, +in the pretty Tuscan prattle of the child. +Most Italians love children, and the Count +Giovanni Battista Allamiraviglia appeared +to be no exception to his race.</p> +<p>The two would sit together by the hour, +absorbed, neither in the lovely sights of +this wonderful Mediterranean voyage, nor +in the movements of those about them, +but simply and solely in one another.</p> +<p>“She’s telling her own story better +than we could do,” Mr. Grey used to say.</p> +<p>It was now no unusual thing to see the +child established on the old gentleman’s +knee, and once Blythe found her fast +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span> +asleep in his arms. But it was not until +the very last day of the voyage that the +most wonderful thing of all occurred.</p> +<p>The sea was smooth as a lake, and all +day they had been sailing the length of +the Riviera. All day people had been +giving names to the gleaming white points +on the distant, dreamy shore,—Nice, Mentone, +San Remo,—names fragrant with +association even to the mind of the young +traveller, who knew them only from books +and letters.</p> +<p>Blythe and the little girl were sitting, +somewhat apart from the others, on the +long bench by the hatchway where Cecilia +had first laid siege to the Count’s affections, +and Blythe was allowing the child to +look through the large end of her field-glass,—a +source of endless entertainment +to them both. Suddenly Cecilia gave a +little shriek of delight at the way her good +friend, Mr. Grey, dwindled into a pigmy; +upon which the Count, attracted apparently +by her voice, left his chair and came +and sat down beside them.</p> +<p>As he lifted his hat, with a polite +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span> +“<i>Permetta, Signorina</i>,” Blythe noticed, for +the first time on the whole voyage, that +he was without his gloves. Perhaps the +general humanising of his attitude, through +intercourse with the child, had caused him +to relax this little point of punctilio.</p> +<p>Cecilia, meanwhile, had promptly climbed +upon his knee, and now, laying hold of +one of the ungloved hands, she began +twisting a large seal ring which presented +itself to her mind as a pleasing novelty. +Presently her attention seemed arrested +by the device of the seal, and she murmured +softly, “<i>Fideliter</i>.”</p> +<p>Blythe might not have distinguished the +word as being Latin rather than Italian, +had she not been struck by the change of +countenance in the wearer of the ring. +He turned to her abruptly, and asked, in +French:</p> +<p>“Does she read?”</p> +<p>“No,” Blythe answered, thankful that +she was not obliged to muster her “conjugations” +for the emergency!</p> +<p>There was a swift interchange of question +and answer between the old man and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span> +the child, of which Blythe understood but +little. She heard Cecilia say “Mamma,” +in answer to an imperative question; the +words “<i>orologio</i>” and “<i>perduto</i>” were intelligible +to her. She was sure that the +crest and motto formed the subject of discussion, +and it was distinctly borne in upon +her that the same device—a mailed hand +and arm with the word <i>Fideliter</i> beneath +it—had been engraved on a lost +watch which had belonged to the child’s +mother. But it was all surmise on her +part, and she could hardly refrain from +shouting aloud to Mr. Grey, standing over +there, in dense unconsciousness, to come +quickly and interpret this exasperating +tongue, which sounded so pretty, and +eluded her understanding so hopelessly.</p> +<p>The mind of the Count seemed to be +turning in the same direction, for, after a +little, he arose abruptly, and, setting the +child down beside Blythe, walked straight +across the deck to the Englishman, whom +he accosted so unceremoniously that +Blythe’s sense of wonders unfolding was +but confirmed. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span></p> +<p>The two men turned and walked away +to a more secluded part of the deck, where +they remained, deep in conversation, for +what seemed to Blythe a long, long time. +She felt as if she must not leave her seat, +lest she miss the thread of the plot,—for +a plot it surely was, with its unravelling +close at hand.</p> +<p>At last she saw the two men striding +forward in the direction of the steerage, +and with a conspicuous absence of that +aimlessness which marks the usual promenade +at sea.</p> +<p>The little girl was again amusing herself +with the glasses, and, as the two arbiters +of her destiny passed her line of +vision, she laughed aloud at their swiftly +diminishing forms. Impelled by a curious +feeling that the child must take some +serious part in this crucial moment of her +destiny, Blythe quietly took the glasses +from her and said, as she had done each +night when she put her little charge to bed:</p> +<p>“Will you say a little prayer, Cecilia?”</p> +<p>And the child, wondering, yet perfectly +docile, pulled out the little mother-of-pearl +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span> +rosary that she always wore under her +dress, and reverently murmured one of +the prayers her mother had taught her. +After which, as if beguiled by the association +of ideas into thinking it bedtime, she +curled herself up on the bench, and, with +her head in Blythe’s lap, fell fast asleep.</p> +<p>And Blythe sat, lost in thought, absently +stroking the little head, until suddenly +Mr. Grey appeared before her.</p> +<p>“You have been outrageously treated, +Miss Blythe,” he declared, seating himself +beside her, “but I had to let the old fellow +have his head.”</p> +<p>“Oh, don’t tell me anything, till we +find Mamma,” Blythe cried. “It’s all +her doing, you know,—letting me have +Cecilia up here,” and, gently rousing the +sleeper, she said, “Come, Cecilia. We +are going to find the Signora.”</p> +<p>“And you consider it absolutely certain?” +Mrs. Halliday asked, when Mr. +Grey had finished his tale. She was far +more surprised than Blythe, for she had +had a longer experience of life, to teach +her a distrust in fairy-stories. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span></p> +<p>“There does not seem a doubt. The +child’s familiarity with the crest was striking +enough, but that Bellini <i>Madonna</i> +clinches it. And then, Giuditta’s description +of both father and mother seems to +be unmistakable.”</p> +<p>“Oh! To think of his finding the +child that he had never heard of, just +as he had given up the search for her +mother!” Blythe exclaimed.</p> +<p>Cecilia was again playing happily with +the glasses, paying no heed to her companions.</p> +<p>“The strangest thing of all to me,” +Mrs. Halliday declared, “is his relenting +toward his daughter after all these years.”</p> +<p>“You must not forget that Fate had +been pounding him pretty hard,” Mr. +Grey interposed. “When a man loses in +one year two of his children, and the only +grandchild he knows anything about, it’s +not surprising that he should soften a bit +toward the only child he has left.”</p> +<p>They were still discussing this wonderful +subject, when, half an hour later, the +tall figure of the Count emerged from the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span> +companionway. As he bent his steps toward +the other side of the deck he was +visible only to the child, who stood facing +the rest of the group. She promptly +dropped the glasses upon Blythe’s knee, +and crying, “<i>Il Signore!</i>” ran and took +hold of his hand; whereupon the two +walked away together and were not seen +for a long, long time.</p> +<p>Then Blythe and Mr. Grey went up +on the bridge and told the Captain. No +one else was to know—not even Mr. +DeWitt—until after they had landed, but +the Captain was certainly entitled to their +confidence.</p> +<p>“For,” Blythe said, “you know, Captain +Seemann, it never would have happened if +you had not sent us up in the crow’s nest +that day.”</p> +<p>Upon which the Captain, beaming his +brightest, and letting his cigar go out +in the damp breeze for the sake of making +his little speech, declared:</p> +<p>“I know one thing! It would neffer +haf happen at all, if I had sent anybody +else up in the crow’s nest but just Miss +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span> +Blythe Halliday with her bright eyes and +her kind heart!”</p> +<p>And Blythe was so overpowered by this +tremendous compliment from the Captain +of the <i>Lorelei</i> that she had not a word to +say for herself.</p> +<p>That evening Mr. Grey inscribed his +nonsense-verse in Blythe’s book; and not +that only, for to those classic lines he +added the following:</p> +<p>“The above was composed in collaboration +with his esteemed fellow-passenger, +Miss Blythe Halliday, by Hugh Dalton, +<i>alias</i> ‘Mr. Grey.’”</p> +<p>It was, of course, a great distinction to +own such an autograph as that; yet somehow +the kind, witty Mr. Grey had been so +delightful just as he was, that Blythe hardly +felt as if the famous name added so very +much to her satisfaction in his acquaintance.</p> +<p>“I knew it all the time,” she declared, +quietly; “but it didn’t make any difference.”</p> +<p>“That’s worth hearing,” said Hugh +Dalton. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span></p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>They parted from the little Cecilia at +sunrise, but with promises on both sides +of a speedy meeting among the hills of +Tuscany.</p> +<p>The old Count, with the child’s hand +clasped in his, paused as he reached the +gangway, at the foot of which the triumphant +Giuditta was awaiting them, and +pointed toward the rosy east which was +flushing the beautiful bay a deep crimson.</p> +<p>“Signorina,” he said in his careful +French, made more careful by his effort +to control his voice,—“Signorina, it is to +you that I owe a new dawn,—to you and +to your honoured mother.”</p> +<p>Then, as Mr. DeWitt and Mr. Grey +approached, to tell them that everything +was in readiness for them to land, Blythe +turned, with the light of the sunrise in her +face, and said, under her breath, so that +only her mother could hear:</p> +<p>“O Mumsey! How beautiful the world +is, with you and me right in the very middle +of it!”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='ARTFUL_MADGE' id='ARTFUL_MADGE'></a> +<h2>Artful Madge</h2> +</div> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.2em;margin-bottom:20px;'>CHAPTER I</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1em;margin-bottom:30px;'>THE PRIZE CONTEST</p> +<p>“Artful Madge” was the very +flippant name by which Madge +Burtwell’s brother Ned had persisted in +calling her from the time when, at the age +of sixteen, she gained reluctant permission +to become a student at the Art +School.</p> +<p>“Not that we have any objection to +art,” Mrs. Burtwell was wont to explain +in a deprecatory tone; “only we should +have preferred to have Madge graduate +first, before devoting herself to a mere +accomplishment. It seems a little like +putting the trimming on a dress before +sewing the seams up,” she would add; +“I did it once when I was a girl, and the +dress always had a queer look.”</p> +<p>But Mrs. Burtwell, though firm in her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span> +own opinions, was something of a philosopher +in her attitude toward the contrary-minded, +and even where her own children +were concerned she never allowed her influence +to degenerate into tyranny. When +she found Madge, at the age of sixteen, +more eager than ever before to study art, +and nothing else, she told her husband +that they might as well make up their +minds to it, and, at the word, their minds +were made up. For Mr. Burtwell was +the one entirely and unreasoningly tractable +member of Mrs. Burtwell’s flock; in +explanation of which fact he was careful +to point out that only a mature mind could +appreciate the true worth of Mrs. Burtwell’s +judgment.</p> +<p>The Burtwells were people of small +means and of correspondingly modest +requirements. They lived in an unfashionable +quarter of the city, kept a maid-of-all-work, +sent their children to the public +schools, and got their books from the +Public Library. Having no expensive +tastes, they regarded themselves as well-to-do +and envied no one. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span></p> +<p>If Madge Burtwell’s eyes had been a +whit less clear, or her nature a thought +less guileless, Ned would not have been +so enchanted with his new name for her. +Indeed, a few years ago she had been +described by an only half-appreciative +friend as “a splendid girl without a mite +of tact,” and if she had succeeded in somewhat +softening the asperity of her natural +frankness, there was enough of it left to +lend a delicate shade of humour to the +name.</p> +<p>Artful Madge, then, was a student at +the Art School, and a very promising one +at that. At the end of three years she +had made such good progress that she was +promoted to painting in the Portrait Class, +and since her special friend and crony, +Eleanor Merritt, was also a member of +that class, Madge considered her cup of +happiness full. Not that there were not +visions in plenty of still better things to +come, but they seemed so far in the future +that they hardly took on any relation with +the actual present. Madge and Eleanor +dreamed of Europe, of the old masters +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span> +and of the great Paris studios, but it is a +question whether the fulfillment of any +dream could have made them happier +than they were to-day. Certain it is, that, +as they stood side by side in the great +barren studio, clad in their much-bedaubed, +long-sleeved aprons, and working away at +a portrait head, they had little thought for +anything but the task in hand. The one +vital matter for the moment was the mixing +and applying of their colours, and, in +their eagerness to reproduce the exact +contour of a cheek, or the precise shadow +of an unbeautiful nose, they would hardly +have transferred their attention from the +most ill-favoured model to the last and +greatest Whistler masterpiece.</p> +<p>The girls at the Art School had got +hold of Ned’s name for his sister and +adopted it with enthusiasm.</p> +<p>“If you want to know the truth, ask +Artful Madge,” was a very common saying +among them.</p> +<p>“Artful Madge says it’s a good likeness, +anyhow!” modest little Minnie +Drayton would maintain, when hard +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span> +pressed by the teasing of the older +girls.</p> +<p>The incongruity of the name seemed +somehow to throw into brighter relief the +peculiar sincerity of its bearer’s character, +and by the time it was generally adopted +among the students Madge Burtwell’s +popularity was established.</p> +<p>It was well that Madge was a favourite, +for in certain respects she was the worst +sinner in the class. To begin with, her +palette was the very largest in the room, +and the most plentifully besmeared with +colours, and woe to the girl who ventured +too near it! As Madge stood before her +easel, tall and fair and earnest, painting +with an ardour and concentration which +was all too sure to beguile her into her +besetting sin of “exaggerating details,” +she wielded both brush- and palette-arm +with a genial disregard of consequences. +Nor could one count upon her confining +her activities to one location. Like all +the students, she was in the habit of backing +away from her natural anchorage from +time to time, the better to judge of her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span> +work, and not one of them all had such a +fatal tendency to come up against an unoffending +easel in the rear, sending canvas +and paint-tubes rattling upon the floor.</p> +<p>Instantly she would drop upon her +knees, overcome with contrition, and help +collect the scattered treasures, giving +many a jar or joggle to neighbouring +easels in the process.</p> +<p>“It’s a shame, Miss Folsom!” she +would cry, struggling to her feet again, +still clutching her beloved palette, which +seemed fairly to rain colours on every +surrounding object. “It’s a shame! But +if you will just cast your eye upon that +thing of mine, you will perceive that it +was the recklessness of desperation. Look +at it! There’s not a value in it!”</p> +<p>Artful Madge was always forgiven, and +no one ever thought of calling her awkward, +and when, in the early autumn, a Saturday +sketching club was organised, it was +christened “The Artful Daubers” in +honor of Madge, and she was unanimously +elected president.</p> +<p>The girls were not in the habit of paying +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span> +much attention to chance visitors who +came in from time to time and made the +perilous passage among the easels, and +lucky was the “parent” or “art-patron” +who escaped without a streak of colour on +some portion of his raiment. When Mrs. +Oliver Jacques looked in upon them one +memorable morning in February no premonition +of great things to come stirred +the company; only indifferent glances +were directed upon her by the few who +deigned to observe her at all. And this +pleased Mrs. Oliver Jacques very much +indeed.</p> +<p>Yet, if the girls had paused to consider,—a +thing which they never did when +there was a model on the platform,—they +would have been aware that their visitor +was a person of importance in the world +of Art, for importance in no other world +would have secured to her the personal +escort of Mr. Salome, the adored teacher +of their class. Yet Mrs. Jacques was a +charming little old lady who would have +commanded attention on her own merits +in any less preoccupied assembly than +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span> +that of the studio. Her exceedingly +bright eyes and her exceedingly white +hair seemed to accentuate her animation +of manner; there was so much sparkle in +her face that even her silence did not +lack point.</p> +<p>She had accomplished her tortuous passage +among the easels without meeting +with any mishaps in the shape of Cremnitz-white +or crimson-lake. She had +paused occasionally and had bestowed a +critical nod upon the one “blocked-in” +countenance, or had drawn her brows together +questioningly over a study in which +the nose had a startlingly finished appearance +in a still sketchy environment, but +not until she had successfully avoided the +last easel, planted at an erratic angle just +where the unwary would be sure to stub +his toe, did she make any remark.</p> +<p>“A lot of them, aren’t there?” she +observed.</p> +<p>“Yes, the school is pretty full,” Mr. +Salome replied. “In fact, we’re a little +bothered for room.”</p> +<p>“Any imagination among them?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span></p> +<p>“Well, as to that, it’s rather early to +form an opinion. Our aim just now is to +keep them to facts. Some of them,” the +artist added with a smile, “are rather too +much inclined to draw upon their imagination. +Now there is one girl there who +is, humanly speaking, certain to paint the +model’s hair jet-black, or as black as paint +can be made. And yet, you see, there is +not a black thread in it.”</p> +<p>“I wonder whether you would object to +my making an experiment?” Mrs. Jacques +asked, abruptly.</p> +<p>And from that seemingly unpremeditated +question of Mrs. Jacques’, and from +the consultation that ensued, grew the +Prize Contest, destined to be famous in +the annals of the school.</p> +<p>When, on that very afternoon, the students +were assembled for the occasion, +they had not yet had time to adjust their +minds to the magnitude of the interests +involved. Yet the conditions were simple +enough. That student who should, in the +space of two hours, produce the best composition +illustrative of “Hope” was to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span> +receive a prize of five hundred dollars! +The conviction prevailed among them that +the vivacious little old lady with the white +hair could be none other than the fairy +godmother of nursery lore, and it was +only too delightful to find that agile and +beneficent myth interesting herself in the +cause of Art.</p> +<p>When once the class was fairly launched +upon its new emprise, a change in the +usual aspect of things became apparent. +In the first place, most of the students +were seated; for, in a task of pure composition, +there was no occasion either for +standing or for “prowling,”—the term +familiarly applied to the sometimes disastrous +backward and forward movements +of which mention has been made, and +which ordinarily gave so much action to +the scene. Furthermore, the use of watercolor, +as lending itself more readily than +oils to rapid execution, deprived the scene +of one of its most picturesque features,—namely, +the brilliant-hued palette which, +with its similarity to a shield, was wont to +lend its bearer an Amazonian air, not lost +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span> +upon the class caricaturists. Subdued, +however, and almost “lady-like” as the +appearance of the class had become, +hardly half an hour had passed before +the genial spirit of creation had so taken +possession of the assembly as to cast a +glow and glamour of its own upon it. +Here and there, to be sure, might still be +seen an anxious, intent young face with +eyes fixed upon vacancy, or an idle, if +somewhat begrimed and parti-coloured +hand, fiercely clutching a dejected head; +but nearly all were already busily at work, +eagerly painting, or as eagerly obliterating +strokes too hastily made. The subject, +hackneyed as it certainly is, had +pleased and stimulated the girls. There +was a mingled vagueness and familiarity +in its suggestion which puzzled them and +spurred them on at the same time.</p> +<p>Among the most impetuous workers, +almost from the outset, was Artful Madge. +She had instantly conceived of Hope as a +vague, beckoning figure, which was to take +its significance from the multitude and variety +of its followers. She chose a large +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span> +sheet of paper and quickly sketched in +the upper left-hand corner a very indefinite +hint of a winged, luminous something,—it +might have been an angel or a bird or +a cloud, seen from a great distance, against +a somewhat threatening sky. Without +defining the form at all she very cleverly +produced an impression of receding motion;—she +ventured even to hope that +there was something alluring in the motion. +That, however, must be made unmistakably +clear through the pursuing +figures with which she proposed to fill +the foreground.</p> +<p>She glanced at Eleanor, who had not +yet mixed a colour.</p> +<p>“What are you waiting for?” she +asked.</p> +<p>“I don’t seem ready to begin,” said +Eleanor, in an absent tone of voice.</p> +<p>“Have you got an idea?”</p> +<p>“I think so.”</p> +<p>“Then do hurry up and go ahead, or +you’ll get left.”</p> +<p>Madge sat a moment, looking straight +before her. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span></p> +<p>“What are you going to put in there?” +asked Eleanor.</p> +<p>“What I want is all the people in the +world,” Madge replied, with perfect gravity. +“But there is not room for them.”</p> +<p>A moment later she was working furiously, +with hot cheeks and shining eyes +and breath coming faster and faster.</p> +<p>First she would have a soldier. Madge +had always loved a soldier; her father had +been one in the great and splendid days +before she was born. Yes, a soldier must +come first. And forthwith a very sketchy +warrior stepped, with a very martial air, +upon the paper. Then an artist ought to +come next;—only she could not think of +any way of indicating his calling without +the aid of some conventional emblem. A +mere look of inspiration might belong to +a poet or a preacher as well as to an +artist. Besides which, she was by no means +sure that she knew how to paint a look of +inspiration. And then it came to her +that, unless she could paint just that, her +picture must be a failure; and so she fell +upon it, and began sketching in figures of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span> +old and young, rich and poor, trying only +to put into each face the eager, upward +look which should focus all, in spirit as +well as in actual direction, upon the flying, +luminous figure. In some attempts +she succeeded and in some she failed. +There was one old woman, with abnormally +deep wrinkles, and shoulders somewhat +out of drawing, whose face had +caught a curiously inspired look; Madge +did not dare touch her again for fear of +losing it. Her artist, on the other hand, +the young man with the ideal brow and +very large eyes, grew more and more inane +and expressionless the more eagerly his +creator worked at him.</p> +<p>On the whole, the production as a two-hour +composition by a three-year student +was rather good than bad. When time +was called Madge felt pretty sure that she +should not win the prize; she had undertaken +too much, both for the occasion and +for her own ability. And yet it was borne +in upon her to-day that she was going to +make a better artist than she had ever +before dared hope. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span></p> +<p>So absorbed had she been in her own +work, that she had completely forgotten +Eleanor, and had not even been aware +that her friend had begun painting an +hour ago. Now she turned to her with +compunction in her heart. Eleanor held +her finished sketch in her hand, but her +eyes had wandered to the high, broad +north window which was one great sheet +of radiant blue sky.</p> +<p>Eleanor’s composition was very simple, +but extremely well done, and in the glance +Madge was able to give it before the +sketches were handed in she saw that it +was delicately suggestive. It represented +a curving shore, a quiet sea, and a saffron +sky,—no sails on the sea, no clouds in +the sky. Upon the shore stood a solitary +pine-tree, almost denuded of branches, +and against the tree leaned the slender +figure of a youth, looking dreamily across +the sea to the horizon, where the saffron +colour was tinged with gold. That was +all, but Madge felt sure that it was +enough; and, as she thought about it, +she felt herself very small and crude and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span> +confused, and she was conscious of a perfectly +calm and dispassionate wish to tear +her own sketch in two. She did not do +so, however. There was no irritation, nor +envy, nor even displeasure, in her mind. +She had not supposed that either she or +Eleanor could do anything so good as +that sketch,—since one of them could, +why, that was just so much clear gain.</p> +<p>A moment later the studio was in a +tumult. The sketches had been handed +over to the three judges, who had gone +into instant consultation over them. Mrs. +Jacques had decreed, with characteristic +decision, that the judges were bound to +be as prompt as the competitors, and the +award was promised within half an hour. +What wonder if the usual tumult of dispersion +was increased tenfold by the excitement +of the occasion? The voices +were pitched in a higher key, the easels +clattered more noisily than ever, there was +a more lively movement among the many-hued +aprons, as they were pulled off and +consigned with many a shake and a flourish +to their respective pegs.</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_2' id='linki_2'></a> +<img src='images/illus-080.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 366px; height: 528px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 366px;'> +“Eleanor’s eyes had wandered to the high, broad north window.”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span></div> +<p>“What did you paint?” asked one high +voice, whose owner was enthusiastically +shaking the water from her paint-brush +all over the floor.</p> +<p>“I painted you—working for the prize.”</p> +<p>“Not really!”</p> +<p>“Yes, really! You were just at the right +angle for it, and you did look so hopeful!”</p> +<p>“You can’t make me believe you played +such a shabby trick upon me, Mary Downing!”</p> +<p>“Shabby! If you knew how good-looking +you were at a three-eighths’ angle you +would be grateful to me! You did have +such an inspired look for a little while,—before +you got disgusted, and began to +wash out.”</p> +<p>“Jane Rhoades did an awfully pretty +thing—a white bird with a boy running +after it. But I felt perfectly certain that +the little wretch had a gun in his other +hand!”</p> +<p>“What a fiery head you gave your +angel, Mattie Stiles! He looked like +Loge in <i>Rheingold!</i>”</p> +<p>“I don’t care,” said Mattie, in a tone of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span> +voice that showed that she did care very +much indeed. “I do like red hair, and +we haven’t had a chance to paint any all +winter.”</p> +<p>“Red hair wouldn’t make Titians of +us,” sighed Miss Isabella Ricker, who was +of a despondent temperament.</p> +<p>“It wouldn’t be any hindrance, anyhow!” +Mattie insisted.</p> +<p>Meanwhile the half-hour was drawing to +a close. A general air of rough order had +descended upon the studio. The girls were +sitting or standing about in groups, their +remarks getting more disjointed and irrelevant +as the nervousness of anticipation +grew upon them. Madge and Eleanor +had found a seat on the steps of the platform. +The former was making a pencil +sketch of Miss Isabella Ricker, who had +abandoned herself to dejection in a remote +corner of the room. Madge looked up +suddenly, and found that Eleanor was +watching her work.</p> +<p>“Your thing is very interesting,” she +remarked, in a reserved tone, which, nevertheless, +sent the colour mounting slowly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span> +up her friend’s sensitive cheek. They +both understood that no more commendatory +adjective than “interesting” was to +be found in the art-student’s vocabulary.</p> +<p>“You’re partial, Madge.”</p> +<p>“Not a bit of it. But I know an interesting +thing when I see it. If you win +the prize,” she asked abruptly, “what shall +you do with the money?”</p> +<p>“If you go to the moon next week, +what shall you do with the green cheese?” +Eleanor retorted, with an unprecedented +outburst of sarcasm.</p> +<p>“I think you might answer my question,” +said Madge; and at that instant +the door opened and a hush fell upon the +room.</p> +<p>The suspense was not painfully prolonged. +The Curator of the Art Museum, +who had been associated with Mrs. +Jacques and Mr. Salome as judge, stepped +upon the platform, from which Madge +and Eleanor had precipitately retreated, +and made the following announcement:</p> +<p>“We have, on the whole,” he said, +“been very well pleased with the work we +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span> +have had to consider. In fact, several of +the sketches were better than anything +we had looked for. Nevertheless our decision +was not a difficult one, and our +choice is unanimous. The prize which +Mrs. Jacques has had the originality and +the generosity to offer has been awarded +to Mary Eleanor Merritt.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>“And now will you answer my question?”</p> +<p>Madge and Eleanor were walking home +together through the light snow which +had just begun to fall. They had been +curiously shy of speaking, and, before the +silence was broken, a pretty wreath of +snow had formed itself about the rim of +each of their black felt hats, while little +ribbons of it were decorating the folds of +their garments.</p> +<p>“What are you going to do with your +green cheese?”</p> +<p>“I shall go to Paris next autumn,” said +Eleanor, tightly clasping the check which +she held inside her muff. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span></p> +<p>“That’s what I thought,” said Madge; +and if her eyes grew a trifle red and +moist it was perhaps natural enough, +since the snow was flying straight into +them.</p> +<hr class='chapter' /> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span></div> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.2em;margin-bottom:20px;'>CHAPTER II</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1em;margin-bottom:30px;'>THE MINIATURE</p> +<p>“What makes you keep looking at +me, Eleanor Merritt? You’re +not a bit of a good model!”</p> +<p>Thus reproved, Eleanor once more fixed +her eyes upon a very bad oil-portrait of +Great-grandfather Burtwell, an elderly +man of a wooden countenance, in stock +and choker, surmounting an expanse of +black broadcloth which occupied two-thirds +of the canvas.</p> +<p>The girls were established in what was +known as the spare-room of the Burtwell +house, which, with its north light and +usual freedom from visitors made a very +good studio. Madge was painting a miniature +of Eleanor. The diminutive size of +her undertaking was causing her a good +deal of embarrassment, and she was consequently +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span> +inclined to be rather severe with +her sitter.</p> +<p>“You know I am not going to have +many more chances of looking at you for +a year to come,” Eleanor urged, in a tone +of meek dejection.</p> +<p>“And I can’t see you, even now,” Madge +persisted, “if you don’t turn more toward +the light.”</p> +<p>There was silence again for some minutes, +while Madge painted steadily on. +Difficult as was this new task which she +had set herself, she was captivated with it. +However the miniature might turn out as +a likeness, she felt sure that each stroke of +her brush was making a prettier picture of +it. The eyes already had the real Eleanor +look, and the hair was “pretty nice.” The +mouth was troublesome, to be sure, and +to-day she did not feel inspired to improve +it, and had turned her attention to less +important details.</p> +<p>“You’ve got such a pretty ear!” she +remarked presently, as she touched its +outermost rim with a hair line, cocking +her head to one side, the while, in a very +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span> +professional manner; “Did you ever notice +what a pretty ear you have?”</p> +<p>“Better be careful how you talk about +it,” Eleanor laughed, “for fear it should +begin to burn!”</p> +<p>The artist looked in some trepidation +at the feature in question, but its soft hue +did not deepen. She took the precaution, +however, to change the subject; to one +which she often chose, indeed, for the +sake of the animation it brought into the +pretty face of her model. Eleanor’s “repose” +sometimes bothered her.</p> +<p>“What shall you do the first day in +Paris?” Madge asked.</p> +<p>“I shall write to you.”</p> +<p>“Good gracious! You won’t write to +me before you have seen the Louvre!”</p> +<p>“I shall write to you the very first minute. +And then I shall write again that +same evening, and tell you whether there +really is a Louvre! If there shouldn’t be +one, you know, I shouldn’t feel so like a +pig in being there without you!”</p> +<p>“You needn’t feel like a pig, as far +as that goes,” said Madge. “I couldn’t +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span> +have gone to Paris if I had won the +prize.”</p> +<p>“Why not?”</p> +<p>“Well, I had it out with Father this +morning. He says it’s not a mere matter +of money; that if he and Mother thought +well of my going, they could manage it.”</p> +<p>“O Madge! Can’t you make them +think well of it?”</p> +<p>“I’m afraid not. Father never did +really believe in my going in for art, and +I think he believes in it less now than +he ever did. He says I’ve been at it +for three years, and I haven’t painted a +pretty picture yet. And he says he +doesn’t see what good it’s going to do +me in after-life; that if I marry I sha’n’t +keep it up, and there wouldn’t be any +good in my trying to;—which is, of course +a mistake, only I can’t make him believe +that it is,—and he says that if I don’t +marry, I’ve got to earn my living sooner +or later.”</p> +<p>“Why, but that’s just it, Madge! +You’re going to be able to earn your +living! You’re sure to!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span></p> +<p>But Madge was again engrossed in her +work. The afternoon would soon draw to +a close, and if she wished to carry out her +designs upon that ear it behooved her to +stop talking. Though her little picture +was an oval of three inches by four, it had +cost her more strokes than any canvas of +ten times the size had ever done. And +Eleanor was to sail in a fortnight!</p> +<p>At last the light began to fade, and +Madge knew that she must stop.</p> +<p>“What do you suppose Father said to +me this morning?” she asked, as she +washed out her brushes and put her paint-box +in order.</p> +<p>“I can’t imagine.”</p> +<p>“Well, he said that when any good +judge thought my pictures worth paying +for in good hard cash, it would be time to +think of sending me ‘traipsing over the +world with my paint-pot.’ He said that +if I would come to him with a fifty-dollar +bill of my own earning he should begin to +think there was some sense in my art-talk.”</p> +<p>“Did he really say that? Why, Madge, +who knows?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span></p> +<p>Madge had shut up her paint-box and +moved to the window, where she was +gloomily looking down into her neighbours’ +backyards.</p> +<p>“If you mean Noah’s Dove,” she said, +“You might as well give him up. He’s +come back for the thirteenth time.”</p> +<p>Now “Noah’s Dove” was the name +which Madge had bestowed upon a small +bundle of pen-and-ink sketches which she +had been sending about to the illustrated +papers for two or three months past, and +which had earned their name by the persistency +with which they had found their +way back again. The girls had both +thought them funny and original; indeed +Eleanor, with the partiality of one’s best +friend, did not hesitate to pronounce them +better than many of the things that got +accepted. Up to this time, however, no +editor had seemed disposed to recognise +their merits, and they had been repeatedly +and ignominiously rejected.</p> +<p>“But you’ll keep on sending them, +won’t you, Madge?” Eleanor insisted.</p> +<p>“Of course I shall, as long as there is a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span> +picture-paper left in the country; though +the postage does cost an awful lot!”</p> +<p>The sun had set, and a tinge of rosy +colour was spreading across the northern +sky behind the chimneys. The girls stood +silent for a moment, watching the colour +deepen, while a wistful look came into +Eleanor’s face.</p> +<p>“After all, Madge,” she said; “it must +be nice to have somebody think for you, +even when he doesn’t think the way you +want him to.”</p> +<p>“Oh, of course, Father’s a dear. I +don’t suppose I would swap him off, even +for Paris!”</p> +<p>“I wish I could even remember my +father or my mother, or anybody that +really belonged to me!” Eleanor said; +then, feeling that she was making an appeal +for sympathy, a thing which she was +principled against doing, she turned her +eyes away from the tender, beguiling +colour behind the chimneys, and looked, +instead, at the big oil portrait on the wall. +“It’s something to have even a painted +grandfather of your own!” she declared. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span></p> +<p>“How I should love to give you mine!” +laughed Madge. “He’s such a horrible +daub, and I should so like to have the frame +when it comes time to exhibit! You +would not insist upon having him in a +frame, would you, Nell?”</p> +<p>Presently the girls went down-stairs together +and Eleanor stayed to tea, and +told the family all about her Paris plans, +and how she felt like a pig to be going +without Madge. And all the time, as she +talked to these kindly, sympathetic people, +it seemed to her that Madge was even +more to be envied than she; and she +wished she knew how to say so in an acceptable +manner. But Eleanor found as +much difficulty as most of us do, in expressing +our best and truest thoughts, and +so the Burtwell family never knew what a +heart-warming impression they had made +upon their guest.</p> +<p>Eleanor had lived for the past three +years with a married cousin, a daughter +of the not particularly congenial or affectionate +Aunt Sarah, now deceased, who +had brought her up from babyhood. The +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span> +gentle, sensitive girl, with the artistic temperament, +had never been happy with her +cousin, though the latter was far from suspecting +the fact. Mrs. Hamilton Hicks +was fond of Eleanor, or imagined herself +to be so, and she always gave her +young cousin her due share of credit, in +view of the fact that they had “never +had any words together.” Nevertheless, +she had acceded very readily to the Paris +plan, and had herself taken pains to +find a suitable chaperon for the young +traveller.</p> +<p>The result was, that on the fifteenth of +September Eleanor went forth into the +great world in company with a lively and +voluble Frenchwoman, a lady whom she +had seen but twice before in her life, who +had promised to establish her in a good +private family in Paris. And since Mrs. +Hamilton Hicks had negotiated the arrangement, +its success was a foregone +conclusion.</p> +<p>When Madge left the railway station +after bidding Eleanor good-bye, and +stepped out into the crowded city thoroughfare, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span> +the world seemed to her very +empty and desolate, in spite of the multitude +of her fellow-creatures who jostled +against her. She could think of nothing +but Eleanor, standing on the platform of +the car as the train moved out of the +station, and she was desperately sorry to +have lost the last sight of her friend’s tearful +face, because of a curious blur that had +come over her own eyes at the moment. +At the recollection, she mechanically put +her hand into her pocket in search of the +miniature which she usually carried about +with her. She had left it at home lest +she should lose it in the crowded railway +station. It gave her a pang not to find +it, and she made up her mind then and +there that she would never go without +it again.</p> +<p>The moment she reached her own room +she seized the picture and had a good look +at it. She had placed it in the inner gilt +rim of an old daguerreotype, which set it +off very nicely. She had discarded the +hard leather daguerreotype case, as being +too clumsy to carry about in her pocket, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span> +and in its place had made a sort of pocket-book +of red morocco which was a sufficient +protection for the glass, in her careful +keeping.</p> +<p>She had never liked the picture so well +as she did to-day, for she thought of it +now for the first time, not as a work of art, +but as a likeness, and imperfect as it was, +even from that point of view, it gave her +very great pleasure to look at it. Yes, decidedly, +she must always have it by her +hereafter; and she slipped it into her +pocket while she made herself ready for +tea.</p> +<p>But supposing she should have her +pocket picked! A pickpocket, she reflected, +might, in the hastiness which must +always characterise his operations, mistake +the little leather case for a purse, and +then—how should she ever get the precious +miniature back again? “Not that +he would want to keep it,” she said to herself, +as she took it out once more for a +parting look,—“unless he should lose +his heart to that ear!”—and she regarded +the tiny pink object with pardonable +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span> +pride. But with the best intentions in +the world, how would he be able to restore +it? She must put her address in the +case; that would be a simple matter.</p> +<p>An hour later, the family were gathered +about the great round table in the pleasant +sitting-room, pursuing their various +avocations by the light of an excellent +argand burner. Mr. Burtwell was reading +his evening paper, imparting occasional +choice bits to his wife and his eldest +daughter, Julia, who were dealing with +a heap of mending. The two younger +children were playing lotto, while Ned +was having a hand-to-hand tussle with his +Cicero, a foeman likely to prove worthy +of his steel.</p> +<p>Madge had taken out a sheet of paper, +with a view to inscribing her address upon +it. The mere act of doing so had called +up to her mind so vivid an impression of +the thief for whose information it was destined, +that she suddenly felt impelled to +address to him a few words of admonition. +With an agreeable sense of the absurdity +of her performance, she began a letter to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span> +this figment of her imagination, and this +is what she wrote:</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>“<span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Dear Pickpocket</span>,</p> +<p>“For, as I shall never leave this miniature +about anywhere, you must be a pickpocket +if it falls into your hands. To +begin with, then; it is not a good miniature +at all, and there is no use in your +trying to sell it. In fact, it is a very bad +miniature, as you will see if you know +anything about such things, which you +probably don’t. But it is very valuable +to me, and so I hope you will return it to +me as soon as you find out how bad it is. +You probably won’t want to bring it +yourself,—I’m sure I should not think +you would!—but you can perfectly well +send it by express, and you can let them +collect charges on delivery, unless you +think that, under the circumstances, you +ought to prepay them. My address is,</p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'>Miss Margaret Burtwell,” etc.<br /></p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Madge read over her production with +an amusement and satisfaction which +quite filled, for the moment, the aching +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span> +void of which she had been so painfully +conscious. The letter occupied but one-half +the sheet, and, as the young artist’s +eye fell upon the blank third page, she +was seized with an irresistible impulse to +draw a picture on it.</p> +<p>The figure of the pickpocket was by +this time so vivid to her mind, that she +began making a pen-and-ink sketch of +him, as a dark-browed villain in the act +of rifling the pocket of a very haughty +young woman proceeding along the street +with an air of extreme self-consciousness. +The drawing was on a very small scale, and +when it was finished to her satisfaction +there was still half the page unoccupied. +Madge hastily wrote under the sketch the +words: “The Crime,” and a moment later +she was engrossed in the execution of a +still more dramatic design, representing +the criminal in the hands of two stalwart +policemen, being ignominiously dragged +through the street toward a sort of mediæval +fortress, with walls some twenty feet +thick, upon which was inscribed in enormous +characters, “JAIL.” Still more action +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span> +was given the drawing by the introduction +of two or three small and gleeful +ragamuffins, dancing a derisive war-dance +behind the captive, and of two dogs of +doubtful lineage, barking like mad on the +outskirts of the group. Under this picture +was inscribed, “The Consequences of +Crime,” and at the bottom of the page appeared +the words, “Behold and tremble!”</p> +<p>“What’s Artful Madge up to?” asked +Ned, as he closed his Latin Dictionary +with a bang.</p> +<p>“Writing a letter,” Madge replied, +composedly.</p> +<p>“To the Prize Pig?”</p> +<p>“The what?”</p> +<p>“The Prize Pig! You know Eleanor +said she felt like a pig to be going to +Paris without you, and as she got the +prize––”</p> +<p>“You impudent boy!”</p> +<p>“Not in the least. I’m only witty.”</p> +<p>“Witty!”</p> +<p>“Yes,—I’ve heard wit defined as the +unexpected.”</p> +<p>“The dictionary doesn’t define it so, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span> +and good manners don’t define impudence +as wit.”</p> +<p>“We’re not discussing impudence, +we’re discussing wit. And I know +positively that wit is defined as the unexpected.”</p> +<p>“Let’s have your authority,” said Mr. +Burtwell, who had not heard the first part +of the discussion.</p> +<p>“Let us see what the dictionary says,” +suggested Julia, who was the scholar of +the family.</p> +<p>“Very well; and what will you bet that +I’m not right?”</p> +<p>“We don’t bet in this family,” said Mr. +Burtwell, with decision.</p> +<p>“Oh, well, that’s only a form of speech. +What will you do for me, Madge, if I’m +right?”</p> +<p>“I’ll put you into an allegorical sketch.”</p> +<p>“Good! I always wondered that you +didn’t make use of such good material in +the artful line!”</p> +<p>The wire dictionary-stand, containing +the portly form of Webster Unabridged, +was instantly brought up to the light, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span> +there was half a minute’s silence while +Ned turned the leaves.</p> +<p>“Score me one!” he shouted, in high +glee. “Listen to Webster! ‘Wit. 3. +Felicitous association of objects not usually +connected, so as to produce a pleasant +surprise.’ Quite at your service, my artful +relative, whenever you would like a +sitting!”</p> +<p>“I protest! You haven’t won!”</p> +<p>“Haven’t won, indeed! I leave it to +the gentlemen of the jury. Is not the +name of Prize Pig for Miss Eleanor Merritt +a ‘felicitous association of objects not +usually connected’?”</p> +<p>“No! The association is infelicitous, +and consequently it does not produce a +‘pleasant surprise.’”</p> +<p>The family listened with the amused +tolerance with which they usually left such +discussions to the two chief wranglers.</p> +<p>“I maintain,” insisted Ned, “that the +association of objects is felicitous, and +must be, because it was instituted by Miss +Eleanor Merritt herself. She won the +prize, and she said she was a pig.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span></p> +<p>“But it doesn’t produce a pleasant surprise,” +Madge objected.</p> +<p>“I beg your pardon! It <i>has</i> produced +a pleasant surprise, as I can testify, for I +have experienced it myself. What is your +verdict, Mother?”</p> +<p>“My verdict is, that it’s a pity, as I +always thought it was, that you are not +to be a lawyer, and that Madge can’t do +better than practise her drawing by making +the allegorical sketch.”</p> +<p>That Mrs. Burtwell should be on Ned’s +side was a foregone conclusion, and Madge +appealed to her father.</p> +<p>“Father, is calling Eleanor Merritt a +prize pig a form of wit?”</p> +<p>“Pretty poor wit I should call it!”</p> +<p>“Father is on my side!” shouted Ned. +“He says it’s poor wit, which is only one +way of saying that it is wit!”</p> +<p>“Can wit be poor?” asked Julia.</p> +<p>“Father says it can.”</p> +<p>“Then it isn’t wit!” Madge protested.</p> +<p>“I should like to know why not. Old +Mr. Tanner is a poor man, but he’s a +man for all that, and votes at elections +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span> +for the highest bidder. And your logic’s +poor, but I suppose you’d call it logic!”</p> +<p>“I have an idea!” cried Madge. “I’m +going to make my fortune out of you! +I’m going to make a pair of excruciatingly +funny pictures of you! The first +shall be called <i>The Student and Logic</i>, +and the second shall be called <i>Logic and +the Student!</i> In the first the student +shall be patting Logic on the head, and in +the second,—oh, it’s an inspiration!”</p> +<p>And forthwith Madge seized a large +sheet of paper and began work.</p> +<p>“I’m not sure that this won’t be the +beginning of a series,” she declared. +“When it’s finished I shall send it to a +funny paper and get fifty dollars for it,—and +when I have got fifty dollars for it, +Father will send me to Paris; won’t you, +Daddy, dear?”</p> +<p>“What’s that? What’s that?” asked +Mr. Burtwell.</p> +<p>“When I get fifty dollars,—<i>or more!</i>—for +my Student, you will send me to +Europe!”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes! And when you’re Queen +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span> +of England I shall be presented at Court! +Listen to what the paper says: ‘The +Honourable Jacob Luddington and family +have just returned from an extensive +foreign tour. The two Miss Luddingtons +were presented at the Court of St. +James, where their exceptional beauty and +elegance are said to have made a marked +impression.’ Good for the Honourable +Jacob! His father was my father’s chore-man, +and here are his daughters hobnobbing +with crowned heads!”</p> +<p>From which digression it is fair to conclude +that Mr. Burtwell did not attach +any great importance to his daughter’s +question or to his own answer. But +Madge put away the promise in the safest +recesses of her memory as carefully as she +had tucked the letter to her “dear pickpocket” +inside the red morocco pocket-book. +It seemed as if the one were likely +to be called for about as soon as the +other,—“which means never at all!” she +said to herself, with a profound sigh.</p> +<p>“The throes of creation have begun,” +Ned chuckled; and then, as he watched +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span> +his sister’s business-like proceedings, marvelling +the while at what he secretly considered +her quite phenomenal skill, he let +himself be sufficiently carried away by +enthusiasm to remark, “I say, Madge, +you’re no fool at that sort of thing, if +you <i>are</i> a girl!”</p> +<hr class='chapter' /> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span></div> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.2em;margin-bottom:20px;'>CHAPTER III</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1em;margin-bottom:30px;'>NOAH’S DOVE</p> +<p>“I really think, Miss Burtwell, you +might be a little more careful,” +Miss Isabella Ricker wailed, in a tone of +hopeless remonstrance. It was the third +time that morning that Madge had +knocked against her easel, and human +nature could bear no more.</p> +<p>“I think so too,” said Madge, in a voice +as dejected as her victim’s own. “If I +only knew how to prowl more intelligently, +I would, I truly would.”</p> +<p>“Tie yourself to your own easel,” suggested +Delia Smith; “then that will have +to go first.”</p> +<p>“You’re a good one to talk!” cried +Mary Downing. “You’ve upset my +things twice this very morning!”</p> +<p>“Put those two behind each other,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108' name='page_108'></a>108</span> +Josephine Wilkes suggested. “It will be +a lesson to them.”</p> +<p>“And who’s going to sit behind the +rear one?” somebody asked.</p> +<p>“Harriet Wells,” Delia Smith proposed. +“Mr. Salome said ‘very good’ to her this +morning; she must be proof against +adversity.”</p> +<p>“No one is proof against adversity,” +Madge declared, in a tragic tone; but her +remark passed unheeded. The girls were +already at work again, and nothing short +of another wreck was likely to distract +their attention. The scrape of a palette-knife, +the tread of a prowler, or the shoving +of a chair to one side, were the only +sounds audible in the room, excepting +when the occasional roar of an electric car +or the rattle of a passing waggon came in +at the open window. It was the first warm +day in April.</p> +<p>Artful Madge’s sententious observation +with regard to adversity was the fruit of +bitter experience. Misfortune’s arrows +had been raining thick and fast about her, +and although she was holding her ground +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span> +against them very well, she felt that adversity +was a subject on which she was fitted +to speak with authority.</p> +<p>In the first place, her Student series +was proving to be quite as much of a +Noah’s Dove as the first set of sketches +which had so signally failed to find a permanent +roosting-place in an inhospitable +world. Only yesterday the familiar parcel +had made its appearance on the front-entry +table, that table which, for a year +past, she had never come in sight of without +a quicker beating of the heart. If +she ever did have a bit of success, she +often reflected, that piece of ancestral mahogany +was likely to be the first to know +of it. How often she had dreamed of +the small business envelope, addressed in +an unfamiliar hand, which might one day +appear there! It would be half a second +before she should take in the meaning of +it. Then would come a premonitory thrill, +instantly justified by a glance at the upper +left-hand corner of the envelope, where +the name of some great periodical would +seem literally blazoned forth, however +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span> +small the type in which it was printed. +And then,—oh, then! the tearing open of +the envelope, the unfolding of the sheet +with trembling fingers, the check! Would +it be for $10 or $15 or even $25, and +might there be a word of editorial praise +or admonition? Foolish, foolish dreams! +And there was that hideous parcel, which +she was getting to hate the very sight of! +As she squeezed a long rope of burnt-sienna +upon her palette, she made up her +mind that she would wait a week before +exposing herself to another disappointment. +Perhaps the Student would improve +with keeping, like violins and old +masters. Certainly if he was anything +like his prototype he needed maturing.</p> +<p>Meanwhile the model’s mouth was proving +as troublesome to paint as Eleanor’s +had been, and as Madge grew more and +more perplexed with the problem of it she +thought of the miniature with a fresh +pang. For she had lost it! Three days +ago it had somehow slipped from her possession. +Had she left it lying on the +table in the Public Library? Nobody +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span> +there had seen anything of it. But on +the very day of her loss she had been at +the Library, examining the current numbers +of all the illustrated papers, in the +hope of gleaning some hint as to editorial +tastes. She remembered reading Eleanor’s +last letter there, the letter in which +her friend had written that she was to +have two years more of Paris. She had +read the letter through twice, and then she +had taken out the miniature and had a +good look at it. To think of Eleanor, +having two more years of Paris! And it +had all come about so simply! She had +merely persuaded her cousin, Mr. Hicks, to +advance a few hundred dollars till she +should be of age and at liberty to sell a +bond.</p> +<p>“There isn’t anybody that believes in +me,” Madge had told herself; and then +she had thought of something that Mr. +Salome had said to her a few days ago, +something that she would have considered +it very unbecoming to repeat, even to +Eleanor, but the memory of which, thus +suddenly recalled, had filled her with such +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span> +hopefulness that she had sped homeward +to the mahogany table almost with a conviction +of success. Was it in that sudden +rush of hopefulness, so mistaken, alas, so +groundless, that she had left the little +morocco case lying about? Or had she +pulled it out of her pocket with her handkerchief? +Or had she really had her +pocket picked?</p> +<p>What wonder that in the stress of +anxious speculation she was making bad +work of her painting! This would never +do! She took a long stride backwards, +and over went Miss Ricker’s long-suffering +easel, prone upon the floor, carrying with +it a neighbouring structure of similar unsteadiness, +which was, however, happily +empty, save for a couple of jam-pots filled +with turpentine and oil! These plunged +with headlong impetuosity into space, forming +little rivers of stickiness, as they rolled +half-way across the room. Everybody +rushed to the rescue, while Miss Ricker +gazed upon the catastrophe with stony +displeasure.</p> +<p>By a miracle, the canvas, though “butter-side-down,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span> +had escaped unscathed. +Not until she was assured of this did the +culprit speak.</p> +<p>“I’m a disgrace to the class,” she said, +“and expulsion is the only remedy. Tell +Mr. Salome that I have forfeited every +right to membership, and it’s quite possible +that I may never exaggerate another +detail as long as I live.”</p> +<p>“Time’s up in two minutes,” Mary +Downing remarked, in her matter-of-fact +voice, as she dabbed some yellow-ochre +upon her subject’s chin. “I rather think +you’ll come back to-morrow.”</p> +<p>“But I do think it’s somebody’s else +turn to work behind her,” said Josephine +Wilkes.</p> +<p>Miss Ricker gave a faint, assenting +smile.</p> +<p>“I think Miss Ricker is very much indebted +to Artful Madge,” Harriet Wells +declared. “There isn’t another girl in +the class who could have knocked that +easel over without damaging the picture.”</p> +<p>“Practice makes perfect,” some one +observed; and then, time being called, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span> +everybody began talking at once, and +wit and wisdom were alike lost upon the +company.</p> +<p>But Artful Madge was not to be lightly +consoled.</p> +<p>“Mother,” she said, that same afternoon, +as she came into the little sitting-room +over the front entry, where her +mother was stitching on the sewing-machine, +“I think I should like to do +something useful. I’m kind of tired of +art.”</p> +<p>Madge had been helping wash the +luncheon dishes, and was beginning to +wonder whether her talents were not, +perhaps, of a purely domestic order.</p> +<p>“I should think you <i>would</i> be tired of +it!” said Mrs. Burtwell, in perfect good +faith, as she snipped the thread at the +end of a seam. “How you can make up +your mind to spend all your days bedaubing +your clothes with those nasty paints +passes my comprehension.”</p> +<p>“But sometimes I daub the canvas,” +Madge protested, with unwonted meekness, +as she drew a grey woollen sock over +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span> +her hand, and pounced upon a small hole +in the toe; and at that very instant, which +Madge was whimsically regarding as a possible +turning-point in her career, the doorbell +rang.</p> +<p>“A gintleman to see you, Miss,” said +Nora, a moment later, handing Madge a +card.</p> +<p>“To see me?” asked Madge, incredulously, +as she read the name, “Mr. Philip +Spriggs! Are you sure he didn’t ask +for Father?”</p> +<p>But Nora was quite clear that she had +not made a mistake.</p> +<p>“Who is it, Madge?” Mrs. Burtwell +queried.</p> +<p>“It’s probably a book agent,” said +Madge, as she went down-stairs to the +parlour, rather begrudging the interruption +to her darning bout.</p> +<p>Standing by the window, hat in hand, +was an elderly man of a somewhat severe +cast of countenance, as unsuggestive as +possible, in his general appearance, of the +comparatively frivolous name which a satirical +fate had bestowed upon him. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span></p> +<p>As Madge entered the room he observed, +without advancing a step toward +her: “You are Miss Burtwell, I suppose. +I came to answer your letter in person.”</p> +<p>“My letter?” asked Madge, with a +confused impression that something remarkable +was going forward.</p> +<p>“Yes; this one,”—and he drew from +his pocket the red morocco miniature case.</p> +<p>“Oh!” cried Madge, “how glad I am +to have it!—and how kind you are to +bring it!—and, oh! that dreadful letter!”</p> +<p>The three aspects of the case had +chased each other in rapid succession +through her mind, and each had got its-self +expressed in turn.</p> +<p>Mr. Spriggs did not relax a muscle of +his face.</p> +<p>“I found this on a table in the Public +Library,” he stated. “Your directions +were so explicit that I could do no less +than be guided by them.”</p> +<p>There was something so solemn, almost +judicial, about her guest that Madge became +quite awestruck.</p> +<p>“Won’t you please take a seat?” she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span> +begged, humbly. “I think I could apologise +better if you were to sit down.”</p> +<p>“Then you consider that there is occasion +to apologise?” he asked, taking the +proffered chair, and resting his hat upon +the floor.</p> +<p>“Indeed, yes!” said Madge. “It’s +perfectly dreadful to think of the letter +having fallen into the hands of any one +so—” and she broke short off.</p> +<p>“So what?” asked Mr. Spriggs.</p> +<p>“Why, so dignified and so—very different +from—” but again she found herself +unable to finish her sentence.</p> +<p>“From a ‘dear pickpocket?’” he suggested.</p> +<p>“Did I say ‘dear pickpocket’?” cried +Madge in consternation. “I didn’t know +I said ‘dear.’”</p> +<p>“I suppose you desired to make a +favourable impression, in order to get +your picture back. There are some very +good points about the picture,” he remarked, +as he took it out of the case and +examined it. “There’s a good deal of +drawing in it, and considerable colour.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span></p> +<p>“Do you know about pictures?” asked +Madge with eager interest.</p> +<p>“Not much. I’ve heard more or less +art-jargon in my day; that’s all.”</p> +<p>Madge looked at him suspiciously.</p> +<p>“I am sure you will agree with me that +I don’t know much,” he continued, “when +I tell you that I prefer your pen-and-ink +work to the miniature. ‘The Consequences +of Crime’ is full of humour; and +I have been given to understand that you +can’t produce an effect without skill,—what +you would probably dignify with the +name of technique. The second small +boy on the right is not at all bad.”</p> +<p>“You do know about art!” cried +Madge. “I rather think you must be an +artist.”</p> +<p>Mr. Spriggs did not exactly change +countenance; he only looked as if he +were either trying to smile or trying not to. +Madge wished she could make out just +what were the lines and shadows in his face +that produced this singular expression.</p> +<p>“Have you never thought of doing anything +for the papers?” he asked. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span></p> +<p>“Thought of it! I’ve spent four dollars +and sixty-one cents in postage within +the last ten months, and he always comes +back to the ark!”</p> +<p>“‘He’? Comes back where?”</p> +<p>“To the ark. I call the package +‘Noah’s Dove’ because it never finds a +place to roost.”</p> +<p>“The original dove did, after a while.” +Mr. Spriggs spoke as if he were taking +the serious, historical view of the incident. +“I imagine yours will, one of these days. +Have you got anything you could show +me?”</p> +<p>“Would you really care to see?”</p> +<p>“I can’t tell till you show me,” he said +cautiously; but this time there was something +so very like a smile among the stern +features that Madge could see just what +the line was that produced it.</p> +<p>She flew to her room, and seized Noah’s +Dove, and in five minutes that much-travelled +bird had spread his wings,—all +six of them,—for the delectation of this +mysterious critic.</p> +<p>Madge watched him, as he leaned back +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span> +in his chair and examined the sketches. +He seemed inclined to take his time over +them, and she felt sure that her Student +had never before been so seriously considered.</p> +<p>At last Mr. Spriggs laid the drawings +upon the table and fixed his thoughtful +gaze upon the artist. His contemplation +of her countenance was prolonged a good +many seconds, yet Madge did not feel in +the least self-conscious; it never once +occurred to her that this severe old gentleman +was thinking of anything but her +Student. She found herself taking a very +low view of her work, and quite ready to +believe that perhaps, after all, those unappreciative +editors knew what they were +about.</p> +<p>“Have you ever sent these to the <i>Gay +Head?</i>” her visitor inquired casually.</p> +<p>“Oh, no! I should not dare send anything +to the <i>Gay Head!</i>”</p> +<p>“Why not?”</p> +<p>“Why! Because it’s the best paper in +the country. It would never look at my +things.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span></p> +<p>“It certainly won’t if you never give it +a chance. You had better try it,” he went +on, in a tone that carried a good deal of +weight. “You know they can do no +worse than return it; and I should think, +myself, that the <i>Gay Head</i> was quite as +well worth expending postage-stamps on +as any other paper. Mind; I don’t say +they’ll take your things,—but it’s worth +trying for. By the way,” he added as he +rose to go; “I wouldn’t send No. 5 if I +were you; it’s a chestnut.”</p> +<p>He had picked up his hat and stood on +his feet so unexpectedly that Madge was +afraid he would escape her without a word +of thanks.</p> +<p>“Oh, please wait just a minute,” she +begged. “I haven’t told you a single +word of how grateful I am. I feel somehow +as if,—as if,—<i>the worst were over!</i>” +This time Mr. Spriggs smiled broadly.</p> +<p>“And you will send Noah’s Dove to +the <i>Gay Head?</i>”</p> +<p>“Yes, I will, because you advise me to. +But you mustn’t think I’m conceited +enough to expect him to roost there.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span></p> +<p>And that very evening the dove spread +his wings,—only five of them now,—and +set forth on the most ambitious flight he +had yet ventured upon.</p> +<p>In the next few days Madge found her +thoughts much occupied with speculations +regarding her mysterious visitor; everything +about him, his name, his errand, +both the matter and the manner of his +speech, roused and piqued her curiosity. +It was clear that he knew a great deal +about art. And yet, if he were an artist, +she would certainly be familiar with his +name. Whatever his calling, he was sure +to be distinguished. Those judicial eyes +would be severe with any work more pretentious +than that of a mere student; that +firm, discriminating hand,—she had been +struck with the way he handled her +sketches,—would never have signed a poor +performance. Perhaps it was Elihu Vedder +in disguise,—or Sargent, or Abbey! +Since the descent of the fairy-godmother +upon the class a year ago, no miracle +seemed impossible. And yet, the miracle +which actually befell would have seemed, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span> +of all imaginable ones, the most incredible. +It took place, too, in the simplest, most +unpremeditated manner, as miracles have +a way of doing.</p> +<p>One evening, about a week after the +return of the miniature, the family were +gathered together as usual about the argand +burner. It was a warm evening, and +Ned, who was to devote his energies to +the cause of electrical science, when once +he was delivered from the thraldom of +the classics, had made some disparaging +remarks about the heat engendered by +gas.</p> +<p>“By the way,” said Mr. Burtwell, “that, +reminds me! I have a letter for you, +Madge. I met the postman just after I +left the door this noon, and he handed me +this with my gas bill. Who’s your New +York correspondent?”</p> +<p>“I’m sure I don’t know,” said Madge, +with entire sincerity, for it was far too +early to look for any word from the <i>Gay +Head</i>.</p> +<p>The letter had the appearance of a +friendly note, being enclosed in a square +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span> +envelope, undecorated with any business +address. Madge opened it, and glanced +at the signature, which was at the bottom +of the first page. The blood rushed to +her face as her eye fell upon the name: +“Philip Spriggs, Art Editor of the <i>Gay +Head</i>.”</p> +<p>She read the letter very slowly, with a +curious feeling that this was a dream, and +she must be careful not to wake herself +up. This was what she read:</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>“<span style='font-variant:small-caps'>My dear Miss Burtwell</span>,</p> +<p>“We like Noah’s Dove as much as I +thought we should. We shall hope to get +him out some time next year. Can’t you +work up the pickpocket idea? That small +boy, the second one from the right, is +nucleus enough for another set. In fact, +it is the small-boy element in your Student +that makes him original—and true to life. +We think that you have the knack, and +count upon you for better work yet. We +take pleasure in handing you herewith a +check for this.</p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'><span style='margin-right: 3.125em;'>“Yours truly,</span><br /> +<span style='margin-right: 1.0em;'>“<span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Philip Spriggs</span>.”</span><br /></p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span></div> +<p>The check was a very plain one on thin +yellow paper, not in the least what she had +looked for from a great publishing-house; +but the amount inscribed in the upper +left-hand corner of the modest slip of +paper seemed to her worthy the proudest +traditions of the <i>Gay Head</i> itself. The +check was for sixty dollars.</p> +<p>As Madge gradually assured herself +that she was awake, the first sensation +that took shape in her mind was the very +ridiculous one of regret that the mahogany +table should have been deprived +of its legitimate share in this great event. +And then she remembered that it was her +father himself who had handed her the +letter.</p> +<p>She was still wondering how she should +break the news to him, when she found +herself giving an odd little laugh, and asking, +“Father, what is your favourite line +of ocean steamers?”</p> +<p>Mr. Burtwell, who had really felt no +special curiosity as to his daughter’s correspondent, +was once more immersed in +his evening paper. He looked up, at her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span> +words, as all the family did, and was +struck by the expression of her face.</p> +<p>“What makes you ask that?” he demanded +sharply.</p> +<p>“Because I know you always keep +your promises, and—there’s a letter you +might like to read.”</p> +<p>Mr. Burtwell took the letter, frowning +darkly, a habit of his when he was +puzzled or anxious. He read the letter +through twice, and then he examined +the check. He did not speak at once. +There was something so portentous in +this deliberation, and something so very +like emotion in his kind, sensible face, +that even Ned was awed into respectful +silence.</p> +<p>At last Mr. Burtwell turned his eyes to +his daughter’s face, where everything, +even suspense itself, seemed arrested, and +said, in a matter-of-fact tone:</p> +<p>“I think you had better go by the +North German Lloyd. Shall you start +this week?”</p> +<p>“Oh, you darling!” cried Madge, throwing +her arms about her father’s neck, regardless +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span> +of letter and check, which, being +still in his hands, were called upon to bear +the brunt of this attack; “How can I ever +make up my mind to leave you?”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='THE_IDEAS_OF_POLLY' id='THE_IDEAS_OF_POLLY'></a> +<h2>The Ideas of Polly</h2> +</div> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.2em;margin-bottom:20px;'>CHAPTER I</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1em;margin-bottom:30px;'>DAN’S PLIGHT</p> +<p>“<i>Well</i>, Mis’ Lapham, I <i>am</i> sorry to +hear it, I <i>must</i> say! It <i>doos</i> seem’s +though you’d <i>had</i> your share of affliction!”</p> +<p>Mrs. Henry Dodge always emphasised +a great many of her words, which habit +gave to her remarks an impression of +peculiar sincerity and warmth; a perfectly +correct impression, too, it must be admitted. +Her needle, moreover, being +quite as energetic as her tongue, she was +a valuable member of the sewing-circle, at +which function she was now assisting with +much spirit.</p> +<p>Mrs. Lapham accepted this tribute to +her many trials with becoming modesty. +She was a dull, colourless woman whose +sole distinction lay in the visitations of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span> +affliction, and it is not too much to affirm +that she was proud of them. She was +sewing, not too rapidly, on a very long +seam, which occupation was typical of her +course of life. She sighed heavily in +response to her neighbour’s words of sympathy, +and said:</p> +<p>“It did seem hard that it should have +been Dan, just as he was beginning to +be a help to his uncle, and all. But I +s’pose we’d ought to have been prepared +for it.”</p> +<p>“There’s been quite a pause in the +death-roll,” the Widow Criswell observed. +She was engaged in sewing a button on a +boy’s jacket with a black thread.</p> +<p>“How long is it since Eliza went?” +asked Miss Louisa Bailey, pursuing the +widow’s train of thought.</p> +<p>“Seven years this month. She began +to cough at Christmas, and by Washington’s +Birthday she was in her grave.”</p> +<p>“And Jane? They didn’t go very far +apart, did they?”</p> +<p>“No, Jane died eleven months before +Eliza; and their mother went three years +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span> +before that, and their father when Dan +was a baby; that’s goin’ on sixteen +years.”</p> +<p>“<i>Well</i>, you <i>have</i> had a hard time, I +<i>will</i> say!” exclaimed Mrs. Dodge. “Your +Martha losing her little girl, and John’s +wife breaking her collar-bone, and all, and +now <i>this</i> to be gone through with! I +<i>should</i> think you’d feel <i>discouraged</i>!”</p> +<p>“I do; real discouraged. But I s’pose +it’s no more than I’d ought to expect, +with such an inheritance.”</p> +<p>“Have there been many cases of lung-trouble +on your side of the family, Mrs. +Lapham?” Miss Bailey inquired with +respectful interest.</p> +<p>“No; Sister Fitch was the first case.”</p> +<p>For a few seconds, conversation languished, +and only the snip of Mrs. +Royce’s scissors could be heard, and the +soft rustle of cotton cloth. The sewing-circle +was going on in the church vestry +where there was a faint odour from the +kerosene lamps, which had just been +lighted. The Widow Criswell was the first +to break the silence. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span></p> +<p>“Polly ain’t showed no symptoms yet, +has she?” she asked, testing one of the +buttons as if sceptical of her thread.</p> +<p>“Well, no; not yet. But then Dan +seemed as smart as anybody six months +ago, and just look at him to-day!”</p> +<p>The mental eyes of a score of women +were turned upon Dan, as he was daily +seen, round-shouldered and hollow-chested, +toiling along the snowy country roads +to and from school, coughing as he went. +The topic was not an uncongenial one to +the members of the sewing-circle, who +had really very little to talk about. So +absorbed were they, indeed, in the discussion +of poor Dan’s fate, and of the long +list of casualties that had preceded it, that +no one noticed the entrance of a young +girl, rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed, who +had come to help with the supper. There +was an air of peculiar freshness about her, +and as she stood in her blue dress and +white apron near the door, her ruddy +brown hair shining in the lamp-light, the +effect was like the opening of a window in +a close room. Her step was arrested in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span> +the act of coming forward, and, as she +paused to listen, the pretty colour was +quite blotted out of her cheeks.</p> +<p>“I don’t think Dan’s will be a lingering +case,” Mrs. Lapham was saying. “The +lingering cases are the most trying.”</p> +<p>Polly stood motionless. Was it true +then, that which she had dreaded, that +which she had shrunk from facing? Was +it more than a cold that Dan had got? +Was Dan really ill? Her Dan? Really +ill? Her heart was beating like a trip-hammer, +but no one seemed to hear +it.</p> +<p>“Queer that the doctors don’t find any +cure for lung-trouble,” Mrs. Royce was +saying. “Seems as though there must +be some way of stopping it, if you could +only find it out.”</p> +<p>“Have you tried Kinderling’s Certain +Cure?” asked Mrs. Dodge. “They do +say that it’s <i>very</i> efficacious.”</p> +<p>“Well, no,” said Mrs. Lapham; “I +don’t hold much to medicines myself; +but if I did I should think it just a wilful +waste to try them for Dan. The +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span> +boy’s doomed, to begin with, and there’s +no help for it.”</p> +<p>“There <i>is</i> a help for it, there <i>shall</i> be +a help for it!” cried a voice, vibrating +with youthful energy and emotion. “I +don’t see how you can talk so, Aunt Lucia! +Dan <i>isn’t</i> doomed! he <i>sha’n’t</i> die! +I won’t <i>let</i> him die!”</p> +<p>The women looked at Polly and then +they looked at one another, fairly abashed +by the girl’s spirit; all, that is, excepting +Aunt Lucia, who was not impressionable +enough to feel anything but the superficial +rudeness of Polly’s outbreak.</p> +<p>“That’ll do, Polly,” she said, with a +spiritless severity. “This is no place for +a display of temper.”</p> +<p>The colour had come back into the +girl’s face now, and there were hot tears +in her eyes. She turned without a word +and left the room, nor was she seen again +among the waitresses who came to hand +the tea.</p> +<p>Polly was rather ashamed of having run +away from the sewing-circle, and she had +serious thoughts of going back. It was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span> +the first time in her life that she had +allowed herself to be routed by circumstances; +but somehow she felt as if she +could not find it in her heart to hand +about tea and seed-cakes, sandwiches and +quince-preserve, to people who could think +such dreadful thoughts of Dan. And +then, besides, she knew what a pleasant +surprise it would be for Dan to have her +all to himself for an evening. Uncle Seth +would be sure to go for his weekly game +of checkers with Deacon White, and she +could help Dan with his algebra and +Latin, and see that he was warm and +“comfy,” and perhaps find that he did +not cough so much as he did the evening +before.</p> +<p>They had a very cozy evening, she and +Dan, just as she had planned it in every +particular but one, namely, the cough. +There was no improvement in that since +the night before, and for the first time the +boy spoke of it.</p> +<p>“I say, Polly! Isn’t it stupid, the way +this cold hangs on? Do you remember +how long it is since I caught it?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span></p> +<p>“Why, no, Dan. It does seem a good +while, doesn’t it? I guess it must be +about over by this time. Don’t you know +how suddenly those things go?”</p> +<p>Dan, who was on his way to bed, had +stopped, close to the air-tight stove, to +warm his hands.</p> +<p>“I wish it were summer, Polly,” he said, +with a wistful look in his great black eyes +that cut Polly to the heart. “It’s been +such a cold winter; and a fellow gets kind +of tired of barking all the time.”</p> +<p>“It’ll be spring before you know it, +Dan, you see if it isn’t, and you’ll forget +you ever had a cold in your life.”</p> +<p>And when, half an hour later, the evening +was over, and Polly was safe in her +bed, she buried her head in her pillow and +cried herself to sleep.</p> +<p>But tears and bewailings were not a +natural resource with Polly, whose forte +was action. Her first thought in the +morning was: what should she do about +it? Something must be done, of course, +and she was the only one to do it. What +it was she had not the faintest idea, but +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span> +then it was her business to find out. Here +was she, eighteen years old, strong and +hearty, and with good practical common +sense, the natural guardian and protector +of her younger brother. It was time she +bestirred herself!</p> +<p>As a first step, she got up with the sun +and dressed herself, and then she slipped +down-stairs to the parlour where such of +her father’s books as had been rescued from +auction were lodged; her father had been +the village doctor. All the medical works +had been sold, and many other volumes +besides, but among those remaining was +an old encyclopædia which had proved to +Polly a mine of information on many subjects. +As she took down the third volume, +she heard a portentous <i>Meaouw!</i> and +there, outside the window, stood Mufty, +the grey cat, rubbing himself against the +frosty pane. Polly opened the window +and Mufty sprang in, bringing a puff of +frosty air in his wake. Without so much +as a word of thanks he walked over to the +stove. Finding it, however, cold, as only +an empty air-tight stove can be cold, he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span> +strolled, with a disengaged air, beneath +which lurked a very distinct intention, toward +the only warm object in the room, +namely, Polly in her woollen gown. She +had the volume open on the table before +her, and was deep in its perusal, murmuring +as she read.</p> +<p>“Appears to have committed its ravages +from the earliest time,” Polly read, +“and its distribution is probably universal, +though far from equal.”</p> +<p>At this point Mufty lifted himself lightly +in the air, after the manner peculiar to +cats, and landed in Polly’s lap. After +switching his tail across her eyes once or +twice, and rubbing himself against the +book in rather a disturbing way, he at last +settled down, and began purring vigorously +in token of satisfaction. The room +was very cold, and Polly, without interrupting +her reading, was glad to bury her +hands in the thick fur. Presently the +colour in her cheeks grew brighter and her +breath came quicker. There <i>was</i> a way, +after all! People had been saved, people +a good deal sicker than Dan,—saved by a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span> +change of climate. What could be simpler? +Just to pick Dan up and carry him +off! And such fun, too!</p> +<p>“Mufty,” she whispered, excitedly, +“Mufty, what should you say to Dan and +me going away and never coming back +again?”</p> +<p>“<i>Brrrrr, brrrrr</i>,” quoth Mufty.</p> +<p>“I knew you would approve! You +know how necessary it is, and you think +it best to do it; don’t you, Mufty?”</p> +<p>“<i>Brrrr, brrrrrrrrrr</i>,” quoth Mufty, +again.</p> +<p>“O Mufty, what a darling you are, to +approve! And there isn’t really any +one’s opinion that I care more about!”</p> +<p>She got up and went to the window, +while Mufty, not to be dislodged, hastily +established himself across her shoulder, +his fore paws well down her back, his tail +contentedly waving before her eyes. The +picture which he thus turned his back +upon was a wintry one.</p> +<p>“Cold morning, isn’t it, Mufty?” said +Polly. “No kind of a climate for a delicate +person.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span></p> +<p>“<i>Brrrr, brrrrrr!</i>” Mufty was digging +a claw into her shoulder to adjust +himself more comfortably.</p> +<p>“Ow!” cried Polly. Then, lifting him +down: “Mufty, you’re a very intelligent +cat, and I haven’t a doubt that your +judgment is as penetrating as your claws. +All the same, I guess you’d better get +down and come with me and help Susan +get the breakfast. Don’t you hear her +shaking down the kitchen stove?”</p> +<p>Whereupon Mufty, finding himself +dropped upon the coldly unsympathetic +ingrain carpet, desisted from further encouraging +remarks.</p> +<p>Polly was a schoolgirl still, though she +was nearing the dignity of graduation. +She had no special taste for study, but +she cherished the Yankee reverence for +education, and although it was not quite +clear to her how Latin declensions and +algebraic symbols were to help her in +after-life, she committed them to memory +with a very good grace, and enjoyed all +the satisfaction of work for work’s sake.</p> +<p>It happened, therefore, that the pursuit +of learning interfered for several hours +with the far more important object which +she had at heart to-day; and it was not +until two o’clock that she found herself +at liberty to do what every nerve and fibre +of her young organism was straining to +accomplish.</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_3' id='linki_3'></a> +<img src='images/illus-142.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 359px; height: 564px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 359px;'> +“Mufty hastily established himself across her shoulder.”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span></div> +<p>“I’m not going right home,” she said +to Dan; “I’ve got an errand to do.”</p> +<p>“Polly’s got an idea,” Dan said to himself, +struck with the eagerness in her face, +and the haste with which she walked +away. “What a girl she is for ideas, any +way!” and he trudged along the snowy +road with the other boys, getting rather +out of breath in the effort to keep up +with them.</p> +<p>Polly, meanwhile, stepped swiftly on +her way. She was thinking of Dan. He +at least was a natural student and had always +led his class. She was not only +fond of Dan, but proud of him, too. He +was a handsome boy, with those clear, +dark eyes of his in which a less partial observer +than Polly might have read the +promise of fine things. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span></p> +<p>“Yes,” Polly said to herself, as she +sped along the road that glittering winter’s +day: “Dan isn’t just an ordinary +boy. He’s an unusual boy. Why, the +world couldn’t <i>afford</i> to lose Dan!” and +she looked into the faces of the passers-by, +as if to challenge their acquiescence in +this bold statement.</p> +<p>Whether Dan was all that Polly thought +him, only the future could prove,—that +future that Polly was about to secure to +him. If she idealised him a bit, why, all +the better for Dan, and all the better for +Polly, too. One thing is sure, that no +one who could have looked into the sister’s +heart that winter’s day would have +doubted her for an instant when she said +to herself:</p> +<p>“He sha’n’t die! I won’t let him die! +But, <i>oh! how I wish that cough were mine!</i>”</p> +<p>From her interview with the doctor, +Polly brought away with her only one +word, “<i>Colorado</i>”; and with that word +shining like a great snowy peak in her +imagination, she took another swift walk +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span> +to a farmhouse on the outskirts of the +village, where dwelt a man whose son had +gone to Colorado three years ago.</p> +<p>“Great place!” he told her; “Great +place, Colorado! Mile up in the air! +Prairie-dogs and Rocky Mountains! Big +cattle ranches that could put all Fieldham +in their vest pockets! Cold as thunder, +hot as thunder! Blizzards and cyclones +and water-spouts! Wind! Blow you +right out of your boots! Cures sick +folks? Oh, yes. Better than all the +doctors. Braces ’em right up—stands +’em on their legs! Nothing like it, so +Bill says. Costs a sight to get out there; +oh, yes! Fifty dollars and fifteen cents! +Queer about that fifteen cents. Seems +as though they might ha’ throwed that in +on such a long trip’s that; but them railroads +ain’t got no insides any way; and +when you once git out there, why, <i>there +you are!</i>”</p> +<p>The philosophy of that last remark appealed +particularly to Polly. “When you +once git out there, why, <i>there you are!</i>” +Somehow it seemed to make everything +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span> +perfectly simple and easy. Blizzards and +cyclones? Yes, to be sure. But then +it was the air that you went out for, +Polly reasoned, that was what was +going to cure you; and perhaps the +more you got of it the quicker you +would get cured. And Polly hurried +home from her last visit, flushed and +eager for the fray. She found her uncle +in the barn putting up his horses.</p> +<p>Mr. Seth Lapham was a good man; +there could be no doubt about that. +Nothing but a sincere and very efficient +conscience could have so tempered his +natural penuriousness as to cause him to +receive into his family a mere sister-in-law’s +children and allow them to “want +for nothing”; that, too, at a time when +his own children, John and Martha, were +still a bill of expense to him, before their +respective marriages. For many years, +Uncle Seth had conscientiously, if not +lavishly, fed and clothed the little orphans, +whose entire patrimony in the Savings +Bank scarcely yielded interest enough to +pay for their boots and shoes; but it remained +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span> +for the present crisis to prove +him as open-minded as he was conscientious. +For, no sooner had Polly finished +the rapid exposition of her great plan—how +they were to draw the money from the +bank to pay for their tickets and start +them in their new life, and how they were +to earn their own living when once they +got started—than he was ready to admit +the reasonableness of it.</p> +<p>“And when you once get out there, +why, there you are!” Polly declared, in her +most convincing tone.</p> +<p>As she stood before him, flushed and +breathless, prepared to do battle for Dan +to the very last extremity, her uncle gave +old Dick a slap that sent him tramping +into his stall, and then said, with the +drawling accent peculiar to him:</p> +<p>“Well, Polly, you’re a pretty sensible +girl. If the doctor says so, I guess it’s +wuth trying.”</p> +<p>Then Polly, who had so courageously +braced herself for the contest, experienced +an overwhelming revulsion of feeling, and +a great wave of gratitude and compunction +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span> +swept over her. To Uncle Seth’s +speechless astonishment she flung her +arms around his big neck, and, with some +thing very like a sob, she cried:</p> +<p>“Oh, Uncle Seth, I never loved you +half enough!”</p> +<p>Uncle Seth bore it very well, all things +considered. He got pretty red in the +face, but happily a full grizzly beard kept +the secret of his blushes.</p> +<p>“Why, Polly!” he said, pounding away +on her shoulder in an attempt to be consolatory; +“you’ve always ben a good +girl; not a mite of trouble, not a mite!”</p> +<p>They walked up to the house, Polly +holding the rough, hairy hand as tightly as +if it had been a solid chunk of gold. Before +the short walk to the kitchen door +was finished they had become sworn conspirators, +and Uncle Seth was so entirely +in the spirit of the piece that he held Polly +back a minute to say, in a sepulchral +whisper,</p> +<p>“Just you leave your Aunt Lucia to +me. I’ll fix her.”</p> +<p>Polly never knew all the pains Uncle +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span> +Seth was at to “fix” Aunt Lucia, but +by hook or crook the “fixing” was accomplished, +and Aunt Lucia had given a +mournful consent.</p> +<p>“I shouldn’t feel it right,” she declared, +“to let you suppose I thought there was +any hope of its curing Dan. That boy’s +doomed, if ever a boy was, and I don’t +know how you’ll ever manage with the +funeral and all, way out there in Colorado, +far from kith and kin. But your Uncle +Seth says you’d better try it, and I ain’t +one to oppose just for the sake of opposin’. +I’ve been through too much for that. +Only I warn you; mind, you don’t forget +I warned you.”</p> +<p>Polly listened to Aunt Lucia’s lugubrious +views with scarcely a twinge of alarm, +and in five minutes she had plunged into +preparations for the journey.</p> +<p>As for Dan, the mere thought of Colorado +seemed to revive him. “Larks” +of any description had always been very +much to his taste, but the unending “lark” +of an escape into the big world with Polly +filled him with a fairly riotous joy. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span></p> +<p>And so it happened that by the time +the March thaws were setting in and the +March winds were getting ready for their +boisterous attack, Polly and Dan had +slipped away, and were travelling as fast +as steam could carry them toward the +high, health-giving region of the Rocky +Mountains.</p> +<p>“A harebrained venture as ever was!” +Miss Louisa Bailey declared when she +heard of it. “I don’t see what Mr. and +Mrs. Lapham were thinking of, to countenance +such a step!”</p> +<p>The monthly sewing-circle had come +round again, and Mrs. Lapham, whose +turn it was to look after the supper, had +stepped out of the room for a moment.</p> +<p>“Well, I don’t know but it’s about as +well,” the Widow Criswell rejoined, sighing +profoundly. She was more out of +spirits than usual to-day, for circumstances, +otherwise known as Mrs. Royce, the +president of the sewing-circle, had forced +into her hands a baby’s pinafore, the +cheerful suggestiveness of which could +only serve to deepen her gloom. “The +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span> +boy’s doomed, wherever he is, and Sister +Lapham never had any real taste for sick-nursing. +She’s spared a sight o’ trouble +and expense.”</p> +<p>“<i>Well</i>,” said Mrs. Henry Dodge, winding +a needleful of No. 20 thread off the +spool, with the hissing sound familiar to +the ears of the seamstress, and breaking +it off with a snap, “<i>I</i> think it’s the very +<i>best</i> thing that could have been <i>done</i>. The +minute I <i>saw</i> that girl’s face last sewing-circle, +I <i>knew</i> she’d make out to <i>save that +boy</i>. Mark my words, he’ll outlive us all +<i>yet!</i> I declare, I always <i>did</i> like Polly +Fitch. She reminds me of <i>myself</i> when <i>I</i> +was a girl!”</p> +<hr class='chapter' /> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span></div> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.2em;margin-bottom:20px;'>CHAPTER II</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1em;margin-bottom:30px;'>WESTWARD HO!</p> +<p>“Pike’s Peak or Bust!” was the chosen +motto of those early pilgrims who, +thirty-odd years ago, crossed the continent +in a “prairie schooner,” escorted by +a cavalry guard to keep Indian marauders +at a respectful distance; and “Pike’s +Peak or Bust!” was the motto chosen by +Polly and Dan, our two young modern +pilgrims, as they journeyed with greater +ease, but with no less courage and venturesomeness, +across the two thousand +miles intervening between quiet Fieldham +and their goal.</p> +<p>“Pike’s Peak or Bust!” No one looking +into the bright young faces turned so +bravely westward ho! could have had +any doubt as to which of the two alternatives +hinted at in that picturesque motto +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span> +would be fulfilled for them. On they +journeyed, on and on, past populous +cities, across great rivers, over vast plains +brown with last year’s stubble or white +with newly fallen snow, till at last there +came a morning when they awoke in the +tingling dawn, and, looking forth across +miles of shadowy prairie, beheld a great +white dome cut clear against a sapphire +sky. On the train rushed, on and on, +straight toward that snowy dome, and, as +they drew nearer, other mountains began +to define themselves on either side the +central peak, and presently a town revealed +itself, and they knew that it could +be no other than Colorado Springs, sleeping +there at the foot of the great range, +all unconscious of the two young pilgrims, +coming so confidingly to seek their fortunes +within its borders.</p> +<p>Their first spring and summer were a +very happy time, of which Polly and Dan +could relate a hundred noteworthy incidents. +They rented a tiny cottage of +three rooms in the unfashionable part of +the town where rents were low. Here +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span> +was a bit of ground all about, and a narrow +porch that looked straight into the face +of the splendid old Peak; and here they +lived the merriest of lives on the smallest +and most precarious of incomes; for they +were determined to infringe as little as +possible upon the slender capital, snugly +stowed away in a Colorado bank.</p> +<p>Dan soon found employment in a +livery-stable at fifty cents a day. His +chief business was the agreeable one of +delivering “teams” and saddle-horses to +pleasure-seekers at the north end of the +town, riding back to the stable again on a +“led horse” provided for the purpose. If +not a very ambitious calling, it was, at +least, exceedingly good fun, and it also +had the merit of conforming to the doctor’s +directions. “Don’t let him get +behind a counter or into any stuffy back-office,” +the doctor had said to Polly. +“Whatever he does, let it keep him in +the open air as much as possible.” Had +the very obvious wisdom of this advice +required demonstration, Dan’s rapid improvement +would have been sufficient. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span></p> +<p>They did not shock the sensibilities of +the sewing-circle by writing home exactly +what the employment was that Dan had +found, while, for themselves, Polly had her +own little ways of embellishing the somewhat +prosaic situation. She dubbed the +young stable-boy Hercules, and always +spoke of the establishment he served as +“The Augæans.” Nor did her invention +fail when, a month or two later, Dan got +a place at somewhat higher wages as +druggist’s messenger; for then he was +promptly informed that his name was +Mercury, and that there were wings on +his heels, though he could not himself see +them, by reason of their being turned +back, and visible only when his feet were +in rapid motion!</p> +<p>Meanwhile, Polly, too, was doing her +part, though it had not yet proved very +lucrative. When they first took the house, +Dan painted a sign for her, bearing the +following announcement:</p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:center'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Fine Needlework and Embroidery to Order</span>.<br /></p> +<p>But the spring and summer went by, and +autumn came, and still the sign which +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156' name='page_156'></a>156</span> +had ornamented their house-front for +so many months had as yet attracted +the notice of only the impecunious class +of customers their immediate neighbourhood +afforded. Polly had gratefully +taken coarse work at low prices, but +she still hoped for better things. The +street where their tiny cottage stood, +though at the wrong end of the town, was +a thoroughfare for pleasure parties driving +to the great cañons, and Polly never saw +the approach of a pretty turnout without +a thrill of hope that the occupants might +be attracted by her sign. She knew herself +to be a quick and skilful needlewoman, +and she thought that if only she +might once get started in well-paid work, +Dan, who was growing stronger every +day, might go on with his education at +the Colorado College Preparatory School. +She had found out all about the college, +of which she had formed a very high +opinion, and she told herself proudly that +Dan had such a good mind that he would +not need to study too hard.</p> +<p>One evening in September they were +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span> +clearing the supper table, preparatory to +washing up the dishes, which ceremony +was one of the numerous “larks” by which +brother and sister found life diversified +and enlivened.</p> +<p>“Mercury, I have an idea!” Polly suddenly +cried.</p> +<p>“Never saw the time you hadn’t, +Polly.”</p> +<p>“But this is a great idea, a really great +one, because it includes all the little ones, +like Milton’s universe in the crescent +moon; don’t you remember?”</p> +<p>“My goody, Polly! But it must be a +corker!”—and Dan was all attention.</p> +<p>Now Polly, it is needless to repeat, was +a young person of ideas; that was her +strong point, and Dan at least considered +her a marvel of ingenuity and invention. +Their tiny sitting-room, where Dan slept, +was a witness to her taste and originality. +There were picturesque shelves which Dan +had made in accordance with her directions; +there were cheesecloth window-curtains, +with rustic boughs in place of +poles; there were barrels standing bottom +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span> +upward for tables, draped with ancient +“duds”—a changeable-silk skirt of her +mother’s over one, a moth-eaten camel’s-hair +shawl over another. The crack in +the only mirror which a munificent landlord +had provided was concealed by a +kinikinick vine; a piece of Turkey-red at +five cents a yard, their one bit of extravagance, +converted Dan’s cot-bed into a +canopy of state. And having heard Dan +chant the praises of her “ideas” with +gratifying persistence for a month past, +Polly had begun to wonder whether they +might not be turned to account.</p> +<p>“What’s the latest idea, Polly?” Dan +asked, seizing a dripping handful of what +they were pleased to call their “family +plate.”</p> +<p>“Well, Dan, I want you to paint something +more on my sign. Only two words; +it won’t take you long.”</p> +<p>“What two words?”</p> +<p>“<i>Also Ideas!</i>”</p> +<p>Dan reflected a moment, and then he +proceeded to dance a jig of delight, wildly +waving his dish-cloth about Polly’s head. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span></p> +<p>“Polly, you beat the world!” he cried.</p> +<p>A house-painter lived next door, from +whom Dan borrowed paint and brushes, +and before they slept the old sign was +further decorated with two magic words +done in brilliant scarlet. The inscription +now read:</p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:center'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Fine Needlework and Embroidery to Order</span>.<br /> +<span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Also Ideas</span><br /></p> +<p>There was something positively dazzling +about those two words in flaming scarlet, +and Polly and Dan stepped out twice in +the course of their early breakfast to have +a look at them.</p> +<p>“Don’t you feel scared, Polly?” asked +Dan, as he left her at her dish-washing.</p> +<p>“Scared? Not I!” and she walked +down the path with him, drying her hands +on a dish-towel.</p> +<p>It was a delicious morning in late September; +the air dry and sparkling as a +jewel, the mountains baring their shoulders +to the morning sun. The Peak had already +a dash of winter on his crown, but +the barren slope of rock below looked like +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span> +an impregnable fortress. Polly and Dan +were never tired of wondering at the +changing moods that played so gloriously +upon that steadfast front.</p> +<p>“Seems as if they must almost see him +from Fieldham this morning, he’s so +bright,” said Polly.</p> +<p>“That’s so,” Dan agreed. “I say, +Polly, isn’t he enjoying himself, though?”</p> +<p>“Course he is!” Polly answered. +“Isn’t everybody?”</p> +<p>Then Polly went back to her splashing +water and flopping dish-towels, and was +busy for an hour about the house. By +and bye she sat herself down in the little +porch and proceeded to put good honest +stitches into a child’s frock, for the making +of which she was to receive twenty-five +cents. Not very good pay for a day’s +work, but “twenty-five-hundred-million +per cent. better than nothing,” as she had +assured the doubtful Dan.</p> +<p>Life looked very different to her since +those two bright words had been added +to the sign. Not that it had looked otherwise +than pleasant before; but there was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span> +so little originality in the idea of doing +needlework that it had scarcely merited +success, while this,—of course it must +succeed!</p> +<p>In truth, she had sat there hardly an hour, +when she distinctly heard the occupant +of a yellow buckboard read the sign, and +then turn to her companion with a word +of comment. Polly had always had an +idea that one of those yellow buckboards +would be the making of her fortune yet. +The one in question was drawn by a +pretty pair of ponies, and two young girls +were in possession of it.</p> +<p>“I have an idea they’ll notice it again, +when they come back this way,” Polly +surmised. “But if they’re going up the +cañon they won’t come back till just as +I’m getting dinner.”</p> +<p>And, sure enough, the mutton stew +was just beginning to simmer, when there +came a rap at the door.</p> +<p>The front door opened directly into the +little sitting-room, and was never closed +in pleasant weather. As Polly emerged +from the kitchen, her face very red from +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span> +hobnobbing with the stove, she found one +of the girls of the yellow buckboard standing +in the doorway.</p> +<p>“Good morning, Miss––”</p> +<p>“Fitch. My name is Polly Fitch.”</p> +<p>“What a jolly name!” the visitor exclaimed. +“I think you must be the one +with ideas.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Polly, “Do you want +one? Come in and take a seat.”</p> +<p>“I do want an idea most dreadfully,” +the young lady rejoined, taking the proffered +chair. “I want something for a +booby prize for a backgammon tournament. +I don’t suppose anybody ever +heard of a backgammon tournament before, +but it’s going to be great fun. We +are doing it to take the conceit out of a +young man we know, who declares that +there’s nothing in backgammon that he +didn’t learn the first time he played it +with his grandfather.”</p> +<p>“And you want a booby prize?” Polly +looked thoughtful for the space of sixteen +seconds. Then she cried; “Oh, I have +an idea! Get somebody to whittle you a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span> +couple of wooden dice; then paint them +white and mark them with black sixes on +each of the six sides of each die. You +could call it ‘<i>a booby pair-o’-dice</i>’ if you +don’t object to puns!”</p> +<p>“What a good idea! It’s simply perfect! +I wonder whom I could get to do +it for me?”</p> +<p>“Why, Dan could do it with his jackknife, +just as well as not. If you’ll come +to-morrow morning you shall have them.”</p> +<p>Accordingly, the next morning, the +young lady appeared, and was enchanted +with her prize.</p> +<p>“And how much will they be?” she +asked.</p> +<p>“Well, I had thought of charging +twenty-five cents for an idea, and the dice +didn’t cost us anything and only took a +few minutes to make.”</p> +<p>“Supposing we call it a dollar. Would +that be fair?”</p> +<p>“I don’t believe they are worth a +dollar.”</p> +<p>“Yes, they are; I should be ashamed +to take them for less. What a splendid +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span> +idea that was of yours, to put out that +sign!”</p> +<p>“I should think it was, if I could get +any more customers like you!”</p> +<p>“I’ll send them to you,—never you +fear!”</p> +<p>Miss Beatrice Compton returned to her +buckboard a captive to Polly.</p> +<p>“She’s the sweetest thing,” she told her +mother, who chanced to be her passenger +on this occasion. “She’s got eyes and +hair exactly of a colour, a sort of reddish +brown, and her eyes twinkle at you in the +dearest way, and she wears her hair in +the quaintest pug, just in the right place +on her head, sort of up in the air; and +she’s a lady, too; anybody can see that. +I wonder who ‘Dan’ is; you don’t suppose +she’s married, do you?”</p> +<p>“You can’t tell,” Mrs. Compton replied. +“Persons in that walk of life marry +very young.”</p> +<p>“But, Mamma, she isn’t a ‘person,’ and +she doesn’t belong to ‘that walk of life.’ +She’s a lady.”</p> +<p>Miss Beatrice was as good as her word, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span> +and three days had not passed when a +horseman stopped before the little cottage, +sprang from his horse, and looked +about for a place to tie; there was no +hitching-post near by. Polly was sitting +in the porch making buttonholes.</p> +<p>“If you were coming in here, you’d +better lead him right up the walk,” she +said, “and tie him to the porch-post.”</p> +<p>“That’s a good idea!” the young man +replied, promptly acting upon the advice. +“You are Miss Polly Fitch, are you not?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“I knew you the minute I saw you, +because Miss Compton described you to +me.” This was meant to be very flattering, +but Polly, who seldom missed a point, was +quite unconscious that one had been made.</p> +<p>“Have you come for an idea?” she +asked, quite innocently, and Mr. Reginald +Axton, who was rather sensitive, wondered +whether she “meant anything.” +On second thoughts he concluded that +she did not, and he began again:</p> +<p>“I got that booby prize you made.”</p> +<p>“Did you?” cried Polly, with animation. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span> +“Oh, I wonder whether you were +the one—” she paused.</p> +<p>“The one that what?” he asked hastily.</p> +<p>“The one that thought there wasn’t +anything in the game.”</p> +<p>“Well, yes, I was. And the others +had all the luck, and so of course I got +beaten.”</p> +<p>“Of course!” said Polly, with a twinkle +of delight.</p> +<p>“I see you’re on their side, but all the +same I want you to help me to pay them +back. You see I wanted to do something +about it, and I thought of sending Miss +Compton some flowers with a verse, and I +thought perhaps you could do the verse.”</p> +<p>“Did you expect me to furnish the idea, +too?”</p> +<p>“Why, of course! That’s why I came +to you. I thought, if you were so awfully +bright, perhaps you could make verses.”</p> +<p>Polly looked thoughtful.</p> +<p>“I should charge you quite a lot for it,” +she said,—“much as a dollar perhaps; +for you know writing verses is quite an +accomplishment.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span></p> +<p>“I’ll pay a dollar a line for it! I know +a fellow that gets more than that from the +magazines. And I’m sure that it will be +good if you do it.”</p> +<p>“My gracious! that’s great pay!” cried +Polly, with sparkling eyes, ignoring the +compliment, but enchanted to hear what +a price verses brought. “I’ll send it to +you by mail.”</p> +<p>“No, I guess I’ll look in every once in +a while and see how you’re getting on!”</p> +<p>“Dear me!” said Polly, “you don’t +expect me to spend a week over it, do +you? That isn’t why you offered such +high pay?”</p> +<p>“Oh, no; the quicker you got it done +the more I should be willing to pay for +it.” He paused a moment. “And, Miss +Fitch,” he went on, “I don’t care if you +make it a little,—well,—a little soft. She +deserves it, she’s such a tease! Her +name’s Beatrice,” he added. “We call +her Trix, if that’ll help you any.”</p> +<p>Polly understood Mr. Reginald perfectly, +and she dismissed him with a twinkle +which promised well. Then Polly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span> +proceeded to cudgel her brain, while the +needle went in and out, and a buttonhole +formed itself in the firm, narrow line that +makes of a buttonhole a work of art.</p> +<p>“I wish I could rhyme words as well as +I can stitches,” Polly thought to herself, as +she held up a completed buttonhole, with +the honest pride of a good workman. +“Sixes,—Trixes! that heart were Trix’s! +That ought to be made to go. A double +rhyme, too! I don’t believe he expects a +double rhyme.” And in and out and +in and out her thoughts plied themselves +round and about the two words, and her +cheeks got quite hot with the pleasurable +excitement of this new mental exercise.</p> +<p>At last she tossed down her work, and, +fetching a piece of brown wrapping-paper, +proceeded, with many erasures and tinkerings, +to inscribe upon it the following +verse:</p> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +Were hearts the dice and love the game,<br /> +<span style='margin-left: 1.5625em;'>Of no avail were double sixes;</span><br /> +On every heart is but one name,<br /> +<span style='margin-left: 1.5625em;'>We nought could throw but <i>double-Trixes!</i></span></p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>“Rather neat,” said Polly to herself, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span> +“rather neat! Now if he were to send +it with two bunches of roses of six each, I +think it could not fail to make an impression. +I should rather hate to pay +another person to make love for me, +though,” she went on, with a little toss +of the head; and then she picked up her +work and began again to “rhyme buttonholes.”</p> +<p>When Dan came home to supper he +had much to learn. He was lost in wonder +over the rhyme which Polly repeated +to him, but still more impressed by the +four great silver dollars she had to show; +for her impatient customer had already +called for the verses.</p> +<p>“Jiminy!” cried Dan; “that’s most a +week’s earnings for some of us!”</p> +<p>“Yes,” Polly replied, demurely; “that’s +what Mrs. O’Toole would have paid me +for sixteen baby-dresses. Things even +themselves out in the long run, don’t they, +Dan?” As though Polly knew anything +about the long run, by the way!</p> +<p>Before Christmas Polly was driving a +pretty trade, not only in ideas but in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span> +sewing. She had in all ten dozen pocket +handkerchiefs to mark for Christmas +customers, besides towels and table-linen, +sheets and pillow-cases. People had +found her out, and she had to refuse more +than one good order for lack of time. +But needlework alone, quick as she was +in doing it, would have given her but a +meagre income, had she not been able to +furnish “also ideas.”</p> +<p>One lady, for instance, came to ask her +for an “idea” for a Thanksgiving dinner, +and Polly not only suggested the idea, but +carried it out for her. She went about +with a big basket to all the markets and +collected perfect specimens of vegetables +with which to make a centrepiece for the +dinner table. The dinner was given in a +house where the round dining table would +seat twenty-four guests. In this ample +centre she erected a pyramid of fruits of +the earth. There were crimson beets, +pale yellow squashes, scarlet tomatoes, +and the long, thin fingers of the string-bean; +potatoes furnished a comfortable +brown, which, together with the soft +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span> +bronze of the onion, harmonized discordant +colours; and, crowning all, the silken tassel +of the red-eared corn raised its graceful +crest.</p> +<p>The hostess was delighted with her +table, and more delighted still with the +pretty decorator. Polly’s fame flew from +one to another throughout that kindly and +prosperous community, and she found herself +accumulating a goodly hoard. As +Christmas drew near, many a perplexed +shopper came to her for “ideas,” and all +went away content. She had long since +discovered that the Colorado shops were +treasure-houses of pretty things. She +never passed a jeweller’s window without +taking note of his latest novelties; she +kept an eye upon Mexican and Indian +bazaars, and Chinese bric-à-brac collections; +she made a study of Colorado gems, +and knew where the prizes lay hidden; +she ran through the books in the bookstores; +she was alert for new inventions +in harness decoration and bridle trimmings; +she gave hints for fancy-work of +divers kinds. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span></p> +<p>Mercury, meanwhile, sped about the +town, dispensing healing, as Polly often +reminded him, and “getting more than I +dispense, Polly,” he would declare in return. +“I feel so well that everything is +a regular lark!”</p> +<p>And so Dan made a “lark” of his work, +and trotted all day in his capacity of Mercury, +little dreaming of the wealth that +was accumulating for his use; while Polly +went on with her hoarding, of which she +made a great secret, and thought of a still +better time coming.</p> +<hr class='chapter' /> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span></div> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.2em;margin-bottom:20px;'>CHAPTER III</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1em;margin-bottom:30px;'>A MERRY CHRISTMAS</p> +<p>Of all Polly’s new friends, not one took +a warmer interest in the young +idea-vendor than that first customer of +hers, Miss Beatrice Compton. Miss Beatrice +was a warm-hearted and enthusiastic +girl, who never did anything by halves; +and when she talked of Polly, of Polly’s +skill and of Polly’s originality, when she +extolled Polly’s eyes and Polly’s hair, +Polly’s wit and Polly’s sweetness, few listeners +remained quite unmoved and incurious. +Among the many who were +thus stirred to seek out this youthful paragon, +was Miss Compton’s brother-in-law, +Mr. Horace Clapp. Nor was an idle curiosity +his only motive in taking the step. +Beneath the pretext he found for paying +the visit lurked a rather shamefaced +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span> +purpose of doing this “plucky little +genius” a good turn.</p> +<p>It happened, therefore, one morning in +December, that Polly came home from +her marketing to find a stranger sitting +in her porch. A dog-cart, driven by a +groom in livery, was passing and repassing +her door; and one look at the occupant +of the porch sufficed to fix the connection +between the two. He was a well-dressed +man of thirty or more, who rose as she +opened the gate and saluted her as if she +had been a duchess.</p> +<p>“Miss Polly Fitch?” he inquired, as he +stood before her, hat in hand.</p> +<p>It was noticeable that no one ever +omitted the “Polly” from the girl’s name. +It seemed as much a part of her as the +ruddy hair and the dimple in her chin. +That dimple, by the way, should have +been mentioned long ago; but that, in its +turn, was so essential a feature, that one +would as soon think it necessary to state +that Polly’s nose had an upward tilt as +that her chin had a dimple. Any one +who had ever heard of Polly must know +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span> +that her nose would tilt and her chin have +a dimple.</p> +<p>Polly had a large market-basket on her +arm, and as she felt in her pocket for the +key to the front door, her visitor took +possession of the basket. She was a good +deal impressed by the attention from so +magnificent a personage, and one, moreover, +of advanced years. She began to +think that she must be mistaken about his +being thirty; why, that was Cousin John’s +age, and Cousin John was quite an oldish +man. She motioned her visitor to enter, +and it must be admitted that there was +no oppressive reverence in her tone as +she said:</p> +<p>“If you would tell me <i>your</i> name, now +we should be starting fair!”</p> +<p>“My name is Horace Clapp. Did you +ever hear of me?”</p> +<p>“No, I don’t think so. Ought I to +have?”</p> +<p>“Well, no, there’s no obligation in the +matter. I only had an idea that I was a +local celebrity, like you.”</p> +<p>“Like me?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span></p> +<p>“Yes! You’re a surprise to the town +and so am I.”</p> +<p>“What have you done to surprise the +town?” asked Polly, filled with curiosity.</p> +<p>“I’ve only got rich very fast.”</p> +<p>“Why, so have I!” said Polly. “We +<i>are</i> a good deal alike.”</p> +<p>“Really? Then you will be in an even +better position to advise me than I thought +for.”</p> +<p>“I <i>supposed</i> you had come for an idea,” +said Polly, as naturally as if her wares had +consisted in tape and buttons.</p> +<p>Offering her visitor the only fairly comfortable +chair in the room, she seated herself +by the window, near which was one of +the draped barrels with her work-basket +on top.</p> +<p>“You won’t mind my sewing, please,” +she said, picking up a bit of embroidery; +“I can think better that way.”</p> +<p>The new customer meanwhile was wondering +whether Miss Polly would guess +that he had come partly from curiosity, +and partly with that other far more daring +motive of finding a way to do her a service. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span> +And yet, who could tell? Perhaps +she <i>could</i> give him a hint; perhaps she +<i>was</i> the youthful sibyl people seemed half +inclined to believe her.</p> +<p>“Miss Polly,” he said, leaning forward +in his chair, with his elbows on his knees,—“Miss +Polly, I’ve got an awful lot of +money, and I don’t know what to do with +it.”</p> +<p>Mere words had not often the power of +staying Polly’s needle, but at this astounding +declaration she actually let her work +fall in her lap, and gazed with wide-eyed +wonder at the speaker.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he went on, “I really want to do +some good with it, and I’ve tried in lots +of ways and I’ve never hit it off. I +should just like to tell you about some +of the things I’ve made a fizzle of in the +last year,—if it wouldn’t bore you?”</p> +<p>“Oh, no, it wouldn’t bore me; nothing +ever does. Only,—I can’t understand it. +Why, I think I could give away <i>a thousand +dollars a year</i> just there at home, where +we used to live, and every dollar of it +would be well spent!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span></p> +<p>“Yes, Miss Polly,” he said very meekly, +“but, you see, what I’ve got to consider +is <i>two hundred thousand</i> dollars a year!”</p> +<p>He looked positively ashamed of himself, +and Polly did not wonder. She had +given a little gasp at mention of the sum; +then she shook her head with decision. +Polly knew her limits.</p> +<p>“I haven’t any ideas big enough for +that” she said. “I should as soon think +of advising the President of the United +States!”</p> +<p>“Well, if you won’t advise me about +mine, perhaps you will tell me what you +are going to do with your own riches. +You said you were getting rich, did you +not? You know,” he added, “it isn’t +necessary to make the map of a State as +big as the State itself.”</p> +<p>“You have ideas, too,” Polly remarked +appreciatively, resuming her embroidery.</p> +<p>“But you have not told me how you +are going to use your riches.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I’m going to use mine for education.”</p> +<p>“Going up to the college?” he asked. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span></p> +<p>“Oh, no; there’d be no good in my +knowing a lot. I’ve been nearly through +the Fieldham High School already, and +the little that I’ve learned doesn’t seem +to stick very well. No, indeed! I’m +going to—” she paused with a feeling of +loyalty to Dan—“I’m only going to help +on the general cause of education,” she +finished demurely.</p> +<p>As she made this sphinx-like remark, +Mr. Horace Clapp wished she would relinquish +the pursuit of wealth long enough +to put her work down and let him see +exactly what she meant.</p> +<p>“I think that is the best use to put +money to,” he said gravely, “but I’m not +in the way of knowing about people who +need help. Couldn’t you tell me of somebody, +some young man who wanted to go +to college, or some girl who would like to +go abroad? Of course, I could found a +scholarship, or endow a ‘chair,’ but one +likes a bit of the personal element in one’s +work.”</p> +<p>Polly’s heart gave a thump. Here was +a chance for Dan; a word from her was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span> +all that was needed to make his path an +easy one. Had she a right to withhold +that word,—to cramp and hinder him? +She did not speak for a good many seconds; +she simply plied her needle with +more and more diligence, while her breath +came fast and unevenly. Suddenly a furious +blush went mounting up into her temples +and spread itself down her neck. Her +visitor thought he had never seen any one +blush like that, and it somehow struck +him that his little plan was swamped. +Quite right he was, too. Polly blushed to +think that she had thought of Dan in +such a connection for a single instant.</p> +<p>It was very unreasoning, this impulse +of rebellious shame: are we not admonished +to help one another? And what +could the helpers do if all their benefactions +were indignantly thrust back? Very +unreasoning indeed, but natural!—natural +as the colour of her hair and the quickness +of her wit, natural as all the graces and +virtues, all the misconceptions and foibles, +that went to make up the personality of +Polly Fitch,—of Polly Fitch, the daughter +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span> +of Puritan ancestors; men and women +who could starve, body and mind, but who +never had learned to accept a charity.</p> +<p>Before the flush had died away, Polly +was quite herself again, and looked up so +brightly and sweetly that Mr. Clapp took +heart of hope.</p> +<p>“You do know somebody like that; +I’m sure you do!” he said insinuatingly.</p> +<p>“I?” said Polly. “I know hardly anybody. +But I’m sure the president of the +college could tell you of a dozen boys who +would be grateful for help.”</p> +<p>And so Mr. Horace Clapp’s little plan +had come to nought, and he took his +leave more than ever convinced that it is +a very difficult thing to spend one’s money +in a good cause. As he stood a moment, +waiting for his dog-cart, a boy came down +the street with a parcel under his arm.</p> +<p>“Say, Mister, do you know whether +Daniel Fitch lives here?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Daniel Fitch?” thought Mr. Clapp, as +the boy turned in at the gate. “Daniel +Fitch? Where have I heard that name? +Oh, yes, Beatrice said there was a brother; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span> +runs errands for Jones, the druggist. +Plucky children! It would be pleasant to +give them a lift!”</p> +<p>As for Polly, she had not a twinge of +regret. In fact, she rather enjoyed dwelling +upon the splendour of the opportunity +she had thrust from her, the better to +glory in her escape. And she looked forward +with entire confidence to the time +when she should test Dan’s feeling on the +point.</p> +<p>On Christmas Eve they hung up their +stockings, fairly bulging with materialised +jokes and ideas which the morning was to +bring to light, and we may be sure that +they did not wait for the lazy winter sun to +put in an appearance before beginning +their investigations. Amid shouts of merriment +the revelations of a remarkably inventive +Santa Claus were greeted, while +Polly held her climbing excitement in +check until the hour should be ripe for +greater things. But when, at last, just as +the sun was peeping in at the kitchen window, +Dan’s ferret fingers penetrated the +extreme toe of his sock, she grew so agitated +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span> +that she quite forgot to make a certain +witty observation she had been saving +up for that particular moment. And so +it came about that an unwonted silence +reigned as the unsuspecting Dan drew +forth a small flat parcel labelled: “A +Merry Christmas from Polly.”</p> +<p>Within was their familiar bank-book, +wrapped about with a less familiar sheet +of note-paper bearing the following inscription:</p> +<p>“An Idea! Namely, to wit: That +Daniel Reddiman Fitch, Esq., lay aside +his character of Mercury, and become a +student at Colorado College!</p> +<p>“P. S.—An examination of the within +balance will assure the said Dan that there +is nothing to prevent his thus delighting +the heart of his faithful Polly.”</p> +<p>A glance at the balance recorded, a reperusal +of the “idea,” and the impressive +silence was broken into a thousand fragments.</p> +<p>“For you see, Dan,” Polly explained, +when, at last, she had secured a hearing, +“I shouldn’t know what in the world to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span> +do with so much money,—some rich people +don’t, they say,—and I’ve got plenty +of ideas to last us for years to come. +Then, just as they begin to give out, +you’ll have got to be a mining engineer, +with your pockets cram-full of money, and +you’ll have to support me for the rest +of my life. So I don’t see but that I’m +getting the best of the bargain, after +all!”</p> +<p>It all seemed perfectly natural to Dan. +This sister of his had always lent a hand +when he needed it. Of course he would +accept her help, and let the future, the +glorious, inexhaustible future straighten +out the account between them. He did +not express himself even in his inmost +thoughts in any such high-flown manner +as this. He simply gave an Indian war-whoop, +administered to Polly a portentous +hug, and declared for the hundredth time, +“Polly, you <i>beat the world!</i>”</p> +<p>When everything was thus amicably +settled and Dan had agreed to “give notice” +in his capacity as Mercury, the following +day, Polly said: “You won’t mind +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span> +being poor, will you, Dan? You don’t +wish we were rich, do you?”</p> +<p>“Rich? Why, we <i>are</i> rich!”</p> +<p>“But, Dan, if any one came along and +offered you a lot of money, say a thousand +dollars a year, you wouldn’t take it, would +you?”</p> +<p>“Do you mean a stranger, Polly, some +one we hadn’t any claim on?”</p> +<p>“Yes; but somebody who had such +a lot he wouldn’t miss it. Would you +take it, Dan? Say, would you take it?”</p> +<p>“What a goose you are, Polly! Of +course I wouldn’t take it! I would rather +go back to the Augæans for the rest of my +life!”</p> +<p>On the evening of that momentous +Christmas Day, our two young people had +out their Latin books and began industriously +to polish up their somewhat rusty +acquirements in that classic tongue. A +year ago they might not have regarded +this as precisely a holiday pastime, but +their ideas had undergone a great change +since then.</p> +<p>They sat at the little centre-table, the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span> +ruddy head and the black one close together +in the lamp-light, reading their +Cicero. A rap at the door seemed a rude +interruption; yet so unusual was the excitement +of an evening visitor that they +could not be quite indifferent to the event,—the +less so when the visitor proved +to be Polly’s client of the cumbrous +income.</p> +<p>“Good evening, Miss Polly,” he called, +from the door, and Polly fancied that his +voice had a particularly cheerful ring in it. +As he spoke, he glanced at Dan, who had +opened the door.</p> +<p>“This is my brother, Dan. Won’t you +come in, Mr. Clapp?”</p> +<p>“With all the pleasure in the world, for +I have come in the character of Santa +Claus.”</p> +<p>“Have you indeed?” thought Polly to +herself; “we’ll see about that!” Perhaps +there was something in her manner +that betrayed her thoughts, for her visitor +said, with evident amusement:</p> +<p>“You take alarm too easily, Miss Polly. +I should as soon think of offering a gift in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span> +my own name to,—to any other extremely +rich young woman.”</p> +<p>“I was glad to hear that your brother’s +name was Dan,” he continued with apparent +irrelevance, as he took his seat. “And +more delighted still when I found out +his middle name. Didn’t it strike you,” +he asked, turning abruptly to Dan, “that +your employer, Mr. Jones, was developing +rather a sudden interest in your +antecedents?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” Polly thought, “he is pleased +about something.”</p> +<p>“Why, yes,” Dan answered, with boyish +bluntness. “But what do you know +about it?”</p> +<p>“Only that it was I that put Jones up +to making his inquiries.”</p> +<p>“You?” Dan looked half inclined to +resent the liberty. But Polly saw that +there was something coming.</p> +<p>“Would you mind telling us what it’s +all about?” she asked. “You look as if +you knew something nice.”</p> +<p>“I do; it’s one of the nicest things I +ever knew in my life. I didn’t tell you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span> +the other day, did I, that I had made +most of my money in mines?”</p> +<p>“No,” said Polly, wondering why he +should want to tell them how he made +“his old money.”</p> +<p>“Well, that is the case; nearly all in +one mine, too. It’s a great placer mine +up north. I don’t suppose you know +much about placer mines?”</p> +<p>Polly, disclaiming such knowledge, tried +to look politely interested, while Dan’s +interest, fortunately for his manners, was +very genuine. Was he not to be a mining +engineer, and did he not want to learn +all he could?</p> +<p>“Well,” Mr. Clapp went on, “a placer +mine is one where the gold lies embedded +in the soil and has to be washed out, and if +there doesn’t happen to be running water +near by it costs an awful lot to bring it in.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said the polite Polly, with a +vision of a fire-brigade running about with +buckets in their hands, as they used to do +in Fieldham.</p> +<p>“What they call hydraulic mining,” +Dan put in. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span></p> +<p>“Yes, that’s it. Big ditches to be dug, +and all that sort of thing. Well, this +‘Big Bonus Mine’ was discovered twenty +years ago. A company was started and +the stock was put on the market at a +dollar a share. The management made a +mess of it, as a management usually does, +and it fizzled out. It was believed that +the thing was chock-full of gold, but they +couldn’t get it out.”</p> +<p>Polly was beginning to be interested; +she usually did find things interesting +when she gave her mind to them.</p> +<p>“Well, what did they do?” asked Dan.</p> +<p>“They gave it up for a bad job, and +tried to forget all the money they had +put into it.”</p> +<p>“Then where did your money come +from?”</p> +<p>“Out of the ‘Big Bonus Placer Gold +Mine!’ We scoop it right out to-day.”</p> +<p>“I wish you’d go ahead!” said Dan, +for the guest had paused, and was examining +the <i>Cicero</i>.</p> +<p>“Well, hydraulic mining improves, like +every thing else, and three years ago a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span> +new company was formed. Luckily the +old company had not gone into debt; +perhaps they could not borrow money on +their elephant. However that may be, +they agreed to put half their stock back +into the treasury, and it was sold at fifty +cents a share, which gave us money to +work with.”</p> +<p>“And it was a howling success!” cried +Dan. “I remember; I’ve heard all +about it.”</p> +<p>“Yes, we’ve paid out two dollars a +share in dividends in the last six months, +and the stock is held at fifteen or sixteen +dollars a share to-day. The beauty of it +is,” Mr. Horace Clapp added, glancing +quietly from Dan to Polly, “I am convinced +that you are both stockholders.”</p> +<p>“We?” they cried in a breath.</p> +<p>“Yes! For Jones tells me that your +father was a doctor; that his name was +Daniel Reddiman Fitch, and that he once +lived in Bington, Ohio.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Polly; “that was when +he was first married; before old Doctor +Royce died, and left an opening in Fieldham, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span> +so that Father came back home +again.”</p> +<p>“The name of such a stockholder +stands on our books, but we haven’t +heretofore been able to trace him.”</p> +<p>“That’s why old Jones pumped me +so,” Dan remarked, giving his mind first +to the more familiar aspects of the case.</p> +<p>“What a pity he never knew!” said +Polly, with glistening eyes. “He was +always so poor.”</p> +<p>“Your father’s original holdings were +five thousand shares, so that you are the +possessors of twenty-five hundred shares. +If you sell it pretty soon, as I think you +may as well do, you will have something +over forty thousand dollars to invest; for +there is, in addition to the stock, five +thousand dollars in back dividends due +you.”</p> +<p>Dan and Polly looked at each other +almost aghast; but that was only for a +moment.</p> +<p>“Why, Dan, you can have a saddle-horse +of your own!” cried Polly.</p> +<p>“And so can you!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span></p> +<p>“And we can—O Mr. Clapp, how +rude we are!”</p> +<p>Mr. Clapp looked as if it were a kind +of rudeness that he was enjoying very +much. As he rose to go, he said:</p> +<p>“Don’t you think I’m a pretty good +sort of a Santa Claus after all, Miss Polly?”</p> +<p>Polly seized his outstretched hand.</p> +<p>“I didn’t believe any one person could +be so rich, and so good, too!” she declared.</p> +<p>“And, O Dan!” cried Polly, the minute +they were alone together, “let’s send a +New-Year’s box home. There’ll be just +time enough. We can get one of those +great carriage rugs for Uncle Seth, and +a China silk for Aunt Lucia.”</p> +<p>“And I’ll send Cousin John’s boys +some Indian bows and arrows.”</p> +<p>“And Cousin Martha a dozen Chinese +cups and saucers.”</p> +<p>“And the old Professor a meerschaum +pipe.”</p> +<p>“And Miss Louisa Bailey, and dear +Mrs. Dodge, and the Widow Criswell,—what +<i>shall</i> we send the Widow Criswell, +Dan?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span></p> +<p>“Some black-bordered pocket-handkerchiefs!” +cried the irreverent Dan.</p> +<p>Before going to bed they stepped out +on the porch to bid the Peak good-night.</p> +<p>“Going to be a fine day to-morrow, +Polly.”</p> +<p>“All the days are fine in Colorado,” said +Polly.</p> +<p>“You forget the blizzard last month.”</p> +<p>“Oh, but it was <i>such a dear blizzard</i> +not to do you any harm when it caught +you out!”</p> +<p>Dan grew thoughtful.</p> +<p>“Do you ever think, Polly, that we +should never have come out here if it +hadn’t been for you?”</p> +<p>“You know it was ‘Pike’s Peak or +bust!’ with both of us, Dan.”</p> +<p>Dan looked critically from the great +Peak, gleaming there in the starlight, to +Polly’s uplifted face, and then, as they +turned to go in, he exclaimed, for the +hundred-and-first time:</p> +<p>“Polly, <i>you beat the world!</i>”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='NANNIES_THEATRE_PARTY' id='NANNIES_THEATRE_PARTY'></a> +<h2>Nannie’s Theatre Party</h2> +</div> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.2em;margin-bottom:20px;'>CHAPTER I</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1em;margin-bottom:30px;'>NANNIE’S THEATRE PARTY</p> +<p>“Yes, my dear, I went to the the<i>ett</i>er +myself once when I was quite a +girl, younger ’n you be, I guess. ’Twas +Uncle ’Bijah Lane that took me, ’n’ he was +so upsot by their hevin’ a fun’ral all acted +out on the stage, that he come home and +told Ma ’twa’n’t no fit place for young +girls to go to, ’n’ I ain’t never ben inside +a the<i>ett</i>er sence. Doos seem good to see +play-actin’ agin after all these years, I declare +it doos!”—and Miss Becky took up +her sewing, which she had laid down in a +moment of enthusiasm.</p> +<p>“If you liked it half as well as I like +to do it, Miss Becky, you’d like it even +better than you do now,” replied Lady +Macbeth, with a cheerful gusto, somewhat +at odds with her tragic character.</p> +<p>Nannie Ray, herself still very new to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span> +the delights of theatre-going, had recently +seen a great actress play Lady +Macbeth, and, fired with the spirit of +emulation, she had been enacting the +sleep-walking scene for the benefit of her +country neighbour. Miss Becky Crawlin +lived only half a mile down the road from +the old Ray homestead, where the family +were in the habit of spending six months +of the year. She and Nannie had always +been great cronies, Miss Becky finding +a perennial delight in “that child’s +goin’s on.”</p> +<p>The “child” meanwhile had come to +be sixteen years old, but no one would +have given her credit for such dignity who +had seen the incongruous little figure +perched upon the slippery haircloth sofa, +twinkling with delight at Miss Becky’s +encomiums. She wore a voluminous +nightgown, from under the hem of which +a pink gingham ruffle insisted upon poking +itself out; her long black hair hung over +her shoulders in sufficiently tragic strands; +her cheeks, liberally powdered with flour, +gleamed treacherously pink through a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span> +chance break in their highly artificial pallor, +while portentous brows of burnt cork +did their best to make terrible a pair of +very girlish and innocent eyes. A touch +of realism which the original Lady Macbeth +lacked was given by a streak of red +crayon which lent a murderous significance +to the small brown hand.</p> +<p>“I declare!” her admiring auditor went +on, stitching away to make up for lost +time, “I can’t see but you do’s well’s +the lady I saw—only she was dressed +prettier, and went round with a wreath on +her head. A wreath’s always so becomin’! +We used to wear ’em May Day, when I +was a girl. They was made o’ paper +flowers, all colours, so’s you could suit +your complexion, and when it didn’t rain +I must say we looked reel nice. ’Twas +surprisin’, though, how quick a few drops +o’ rain would wilt one o’ them paper +wreaths right down so’s you could scurcely +tell what ’twas meant for.”</p> +<p>“Tell me some more about the girl +with the wreath, Miss Becky,” said Lady +Macbeth, longing to curl herself up in a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span> +corner, but too mindful of her tragic dignity +to unbend.</p> +<p>“Well, she looked reel pretty, but she +didn’t hev <i>sperit</i> enough to suit my idees. +She was kind o’ lackadaisical and namby-pamby, +’n’ when her young man sarsed her +she didn’t seem to hev nothin’ to say for +herself. I must say ’twas a heathenish +kind of a play anyway, ’n’ I ain’t surprised +that Uncle ’Bijah got sot agin it. +The language wa’n’t sech as I’d ben +brought up to, either.”</p> +<p>Lady Macbeth had leaned forward and +was clasping her knees, thus unconsciously +widening the expanse of pink +gingham visible beneath the white robe. +She was glad she had modified her Shakespeare +to suit her listener, though “Out, +<i>dreadful</i> spot!” was not nearly as bloodcurdling +as the original.</p> +<p>Miss Becky, meanwhile, had not paused +in her narration.</p> +<p>“There was a long-winded young man,” +she was saying, “him that sarsed his girl, +’n’ he went slashin’ round, killin’ folks off +in a kind of an aimless way, an’––” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span></p> +<p>“It must have been <i>Hamlet</i> that you +saw!” cried Nannie, much excited. “Oh, +I do so want to see <i>Hamlet</i>!”</p> +<p>“Yes, <i>Hamlet</i>; that was it. And then +there was a ghost in it that sent the +shivers down my back; ’n’ a king ’n’ +queen; ’n’ the king looked for all the +world like Deacon Ember, Jenny Lowe’s +grandpa, that died before you was born; +’n’ I declare, I <i>did</i> enjoy it! ’Twas jest +like bein’ alive in history times! Why, I +ain’t had sech shivers down my spine’s +the ghost give me, sence that day, till I +seen you standin’ there tryin’ to wash your +hands without any water, ’n’ your eyes +rollin’ fit to scare the cat!”</p> +<p>“Would you like to have me do it again +for you, Miss Becky?” asked Nan, springing +to her feet with renewed ardour. And +straightway she stationed herself at the +end of the little room and began propelling +herself forward with occasional erratic +halts.</p> +<p>The September sunshine came slanting +through the tiny panes of glass at the +window, and touched with impartial grace +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span> +the youthful figure of distracted mien, the +worsted tidies on the haircloth sofa, and +the neat alpaca occupant of the stuffed +“rocker.” Again the sewing was forgotten, +and Miss Becky’s glittering spectacles +were fixed upon the tragic queen. As +the queer little figure stalked solemnly +down the room, eyes fixed in a glassy +stare, hands wringing one another distressfully; +as a moving wail rent the air, +to the effect that “all the perfumes of +Arabia will not sweeten this little hand,” +a most agreeable succession of shivers +made a highway of Miss Becky’s spine.</p> +<p>“Why don’t you ever go to the theatre +now, Miss Becky?” Nannie asked, when, +having laid aside her tragic toggery, she +came in her own person to take her +leave. “I should think you’d like to go +again.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, I should be reel tickled to go +again, but I ain’t got nobody to go with, +and, well—there’s other reasons besides.”</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_4' id='linki_4'></a> +<img src='images/illus-202.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 369px; height: 569px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 369px;'> +“All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand.”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span></div> +<p>Nannie blushed to think how inconsiderate +she had been to force her old friend +to allude, even indirectly, to her poverty, +and she walked up the dusty road to her +own gate, filled with compunction. Just +outside the gate was a little wilderness of +goldenrod and asters. She thought what +a pity it was they should get so gray with +dust. Poor things, they could not help +it; they had to stay where chance had +planted them unless somebody picked +them and carried them away, and even then +they left their roots behind them. Somehow +they made her think of Miss Becky, +living her little narrow, stationary life all +alone in the old tumble-down farmhouse. +And just at this point in her reflections +a delightful scheme came into her head.</p> +<p>Now, Nannie was the recipient of a +slender monthly allowance intended for +gloves and ruchings, postage stamps, and +the like, and, having spent the last four +months far from the allurements of city +shops, she happened at this juncture to +be in funds. Her stock of gloves, to be +sure, was pretty well exhausted, and +Christmas was only a few months away. +But Miss Becky was nearer still, and +Nannie had no hesitation between the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span> +two claims. As a natural consequence it +happened that, one pleasant day early in +October, Miss Becky, in her best black +bonnet, found herself steaming up to Boston, +about to do Nannie “a real favour” +by chaperoning her to the theatre. Miss +Becky was so much impressed by the +gravity of her responsibility that she +hardly took in the fact that she was going +to the theatre herself!</p> +<p>They were to see <i>The Shaughraun</i>—a +play which her best friend had assured +Nannie was “just great”; and as the +train rushed up to town the young hostess +was at a loss to decide whether she was +happier on her own account or on Miss +Becky’s. To be sure, she was just a little +disappointed about Miss Becky, who +seemed curiously silent and stiff; and +when they came out of the station and +walked up the crowded city street, the old +lady held her by the sleeve and looked +bewildered and frightened.</p> +<p>“How long is it since you’ve been in +Boston?” Nannie asked, looking up into +the anxious old face framed in the black +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span> +silk bonnet which looked twice as old-fashioned +as ever before.</p> +<p>“Not sence Sophia was married ’n’ we +came up to select her weddin’ gownd. I +was quite a girl then, an’ I guess I felt +more at home in a crowd than I do now. +We don’t often hev much of a crowd out +our way.”</p> +<p>They were among the first to take their +seats at the theatre. Mr. Ray had got +places for them only three rows back from +the stage, and, once established there, +Nannie felt that they were in a safe haven, +where her guest could grow calm and +responsive again.</p> +<p>At first Miss Becky was almost too +overawed to speak, but after a while she +got the better of the situation and began +telling Nannie all about Sophia and her +“true-so,” and how they got lost on their +way to the station and almost missed their +train, which was the only train “out” in +old times.</p> +<p>“I do hope we sha’n’t miss our train +to-night, my dear! It doos seem’s though +we might ’f they don’t begin pretty soon,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span> +and the old lady—for a very old lady she +seemed to have become all of a sudden—fidgeted +in her chair, and looked over her +shoulder to see if the seats were not filling +up.</p> +<p>“We sha’n’t lose our train, Miss Becky,” +Nannie assured her. “You know it doesn’t +go until half-past five o’clock, and the +play is always over before five. And even +if we did miss it we could take the seven-fifteen.”</p> +<p>“Oh, dear, no! I sh’d feel reel bad to +miss the train. Why, it gits dark by six +o’clock, ’n’ ’twouldn’t be safe for us to +be goin’ round the city streets after dark. +We might git garroted or, or—<i>spoken to!</i> +Dear me! I <i>wish</i> they would begin!”</p> +<p>“If it gets late, Miss Becky, we won’t +wait for the end of the play,” said Nannie, +while a very distinct pang seized her at +thought of missing anything.</p> +<p>“I think that <i>would</i> be better!” Miss +Becky cried, with evident relief. “Don’t +you think it might be better to go out a +little early, anyway? They’ll be such a +crowd when everybody tries to go out to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span> +once that we might git delayed. <i>My!</i> +what a sight of people there is already! +And up in the galleries, too! Ain’t you +’most afeared to stay in sech a crowd?”</p> +<p>“Oh, no, Miss Becky. It’s just like +this always, and nothing ever happens.”</p> +<p>“Them galleries don’t look strong +enough to hold many people. Why, Nannie, +see! They ain’t any <i>pillows</i> under +’em! What do you suppose keeps ’em up?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know, I’m sure; but they’re +safe enough.”</p> +<p>At this point the orchestra struck up a +popular tune and silence fell upon Miss +Becky. She sat, stiff and severe, gazing +straight before her, and when Nannie ventured +to make a remark she received only +a reproving look in reply.</p> +<p>How strange it was, Nannie thought! +She had meant to give Miss Becky such +a treat, and here sat her guest, looking +anxious and distressed—yes, more anxious +and distressed than she looked a year ago +when her cow died. But then the play +had not begun yet, Nannie reflected, +with a gleam of hope. When the play +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span> +had once begun, Miss Becky would forget +all her worries and be as “tickled” as she +had counted on her being. And when +once the curtain had gone up, Nannie at +least had no more misgivings. Her fancy +was instantly taken captive, first by the +charming young officer and his pretty +Irish sweetheart, then by the fine old +priest, then by Con himself,—dear, droll, +happy-go-lucky Con, with his picturesque +foibles, his bubbling humour, and his phenomenal +virtues. From the moment of +his entry, with “Tatters” just not at his +heels, Nannie was all smiles and tears.</p> +<p>Miss Becky, meanwhile, sat erect as a +ramrod, a look of perplexity screwing her +wrinkles all out of shape. Her bonnet +had got somewhat askew from her constant +effort to keep an eye on those unsupported +galleries, and there was a general +air of discomfort about her, which was the +first thing that struck Nannie when, as the +curtain fell upon the first act, she turned +to look at her.</p> +<p>“Aren’t you enjoying it, Miss Becky?” +she asked, with quick anxiety. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span></p> +<p>“Oh, yes, I’m hevin’ a reel pleasant +time. ’T ain’t through yet, is it?”</p> +<p>“Why, no; it’s only just begun. +There’s lots more! May Colby says +that Con gets them all out of all their +troubles and almost gets killed himself!”</p> +<p>“I sh’d think ’t would take a long time. +Are you sure ’t ain’t most five o’clock?”</p> +<p>“Oh, no; it’s only three. See! And +my watch is fast, too. Wasn’t it funny +about the letter?”</p> +<p>“Well, I didn’t quite understand about +that. What made ’em laugh so?”</p> +<p>“Why, that was because he couldn’t +read, and so he had to make it all up out +of his head.”</p> +<p>“Well!” declared Miss Becky, with +strong disapproval, “I don’t think he’d +ought to hev deceived his mother that +way; do you?”</p> +<p>This was a poser; but at that moment +the orchestra came to the rescue with a +new tune, and Nannie was spared the +necessity of replying.</p> +<p>After that the play became every moment +more exciting and the central figure +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span> +more entirely captivating, and even between +the acts Nannie was preoccupied +and unobservant. They had got to the +prison scene, with all its ingenious intricacies +of plot and stage machinery; Con +had accomplished the rescue, and was +scrambling over the rocks, when suddenly +the sharp report of a rifle rang out, followed +by another, and then another, in +quick succession.</p> +<p>Instantly Nannie felt her arm clutched, +and she heard Miss Becky saying: “You +must come right away, this very minute!”</p> +<p>“Oh, please not, Miss Becky,” she implored.</p> +<p>But there was a resolute gleam in Miss +Becky’s eye.</p> +<p>“Come right along, child,” she whispered, +hoarsely, “come right along with +me!”—and poor Nannie, to her consternation +and chagrin, found herself absolutely +obliged to follow.</p> +<p>The whole row of people stood up to +let them pass, and every kind of look—glances +of amusement and curiosity, of +annoyance and of sympathy—followed the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span> +oddly assorted pair, as they made their +way out of the slip and then up the aisle.</p> +<p>Once outside the door, the tension of +Miss Becky’s face relaxed, but she did not +waver in her determination.</p> +<p>“There, child!” she cried, as they +walked down the slight incline of the long +passageway to the street. “There! I +am glad I had strength given me to do +my duty by you!”</p> +<p>“But, Miss Becky, there wasn’t a bit +of danger,” Nannie protested, bravely +keeping the tears back in her cruel disappointment. +“Really, there wasn’t. +Won’t you <i>please</i> go back with me, and +just stand inside the door and see the end +of it? I’m sure they’d let us stand inside +the door.”</p> +<p>“Nannie Ray,” Miss Becky replied, +looking very fiercely at the girl’s flushed +cheeks and imploring eyes, “if you knew +as much about firearms as I do, you +wouldn’t ask such a thing. But there! +It’s jest because you’re young and inexperienced +that your ma wanted me to +come and look after you. I guess she’ll +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span> +be thankful she was so foresighted when +she hears of the danger you was in.”</p> +<p>In her exultation and relief of mind, +Miss Becky marched on, regardless of +jostling crowds and thronging teams. Her +whole attitude had changed. She was no +longer the timid, shrinking old woman; +she was the responsible guardian, aware +of the importance of her charge, and nothing +was ever to convince her that she +had not as good as saved Nannie’s life on +that occasion.</p> +<p>Then Nannie, as became a hostess, accepted +the situation with the best grace in +the world.</p> +<p>“I tell you what let’s do, Miss Becky,” +she said. “Let’s go and get some ice-cream. +That is, if you like it.”</p> +<p>The stern old face relaxed.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes; I like ice-cream, especially +vanilla. But—do you think we’ve got +time enough?”</p> +<p>“We’ve got an hour and a quarter +before the train goes. Let’s come in +here and get it.”</p> +<p>From the crowded street they passed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span> +in at the doorway and walked between +marble counters to what seemed to Miss +Becky a scene in fairyland. Ascending +two or three broad steps, on each side of +which an antlered stag kept guard, they +stepped upon a great carpeted space, +lighted from above,—a space in the middle +of which was a fountain, springing +high into the air, and splashing back into +a round basin lined with shining shells and +pebbles, over and among which goldfish +swam and dove like animated jewels. +Ferns and palms grew all about the basin, +and in among the greenery was a little +table where Nannie and her guest sat +hidden safe away from the world.</p> +<p>“Well, this doos beat all!” the old lady +exclaimed, gazing at the fountain with an +expression of rapt delight—just the expression +that Nannie had counted upon +seeing among the wrinkles.</p> +<p>“Do you like it?” she asked, all her +disappointment and chagrin forgotten.</p> +<p>“Like it? Why, it’s the most tasty +place I was ever in! It’s better than any +play; it’s like bein’ in a play yourself! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span> +Jest see them pillows supportin’ that +gallery! ’N’ them picters of tropical +fruits! ’N’ this ice-cream! Why, it’s +different from what we hev at the Sunday-school +picnics! ’Pears to me it’s +more creamy!”</p> +<p>Now, at last, Miss Becky had lost all +thought of the passage of time. She took +her ice-cream, just a little at a time, off +the tip-end of her spoon, and with every +mouthful the look of content grew deeper. +One of the little cakes that were served +with the ice-cream was a macaroon with a +sugar swan upon it—“a reel little statoo +of a swan,” Miss Becky called it. She +could not be persuaded to eat it, but she +studied it with such undisguised admiration +that Nannie ventured to suggest that +she take it home with her. Again Miss +Becky was enchanted. She wrapped it +in her pocket-handkerchief, and placed it +carefully in her reticule, whence it was to +emerge only to enter upon a long and +admired career as a parlour ornament.</p> +<p>“And now, Miss Becky,” Nannie queried, +as they sat there embowered in palms +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span> +and ferns, listening to the plash of the +fountain, “didn’t you enjoy the play at +all?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes,” said Miss Becky, “I had a +very pleasant time before they got so +reckless with their guns. But—I wonder +whether they take sech pains with the the-etter’s +they used to? Why, when I went +with Uncle ’Bijah Lane that time, they all +wore the most beautiful clothes. Even the +men was dressed out in velvets and satins, +and they wa’n’t anybody on the stage that +didn’t make a good appearance.”</p> +<p>“But, you know, this was a different +sort of play, Miss Becky. The folks +in <i>The Shaughraun</i> weren’t kings and +queens, but just every-day people.”</p> +<p>“Well, s’posin’ they was! I don’t see +no excuse for that man Con goin’ round +lookin’ so slack. I sh’d think he might at +least git a whole coat to wear when he +’pears before the public!”</p> +<p>“I’m afraid you’re sorry you came,” +said Nannie, very meekly, feeling quite +ashamed of her poor little party.</p> +<p>“Oh, no, I ain’t! Why, child, I’d hev +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span> +come <i>barefoot</i> to see this place here, with +the founting a-splashin’ and the fishes a-gleamin’! +<i>Barefoot</i>, I tell ye!”</p> +<p>It was a forcible expression, yet Nannie +was not quite reassured. She still demurred.</p> +<p>“But the play was the principal thing, +you know.”</p> +<p>“The play? Well, I don’t know,” said +Miss Becky, thoughtfully. “I don’t know’s +I’m so terrible sot on the the<i>ett</i>er’s I +thought for. I’d a good deal ruther hev +you come over ’n do that sleep-walkin’ +piece for me. I don’t want nothin’ better’n +that. ’F I can see you act that once +in a while, ’n’ hev this here Garding of +Eden to think about,—a founting playin’ +right in the house, ’n’ all,—I ain’t likely to +want for amusement.”</p> +<p>The best bonnet was still very much +askew, but the pleasant old face within, +whose wrinkles had resumed their accustomed +grooves, was irradiated with a look +of unmistakable beatitude; and somehow +it was borne in upon Nannie that her theatre +party had been a success after all.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='OLIVIAS_SUNDIAL' id='OLIVIAS_SUNDIAL'></a> +<h2>Olivia’s Sun-Dial</h2> +</div> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.2em;margin-bottom:20px;'>CHAPTER I</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1em;margin-bottom:30px;'>OLIVIA’S SUN-DIAL</p> +<p>“It’s all we need to make it the prettiest +garden in Dunbridge.”</p> +<p>“Hm! And why must we have the +prettiest garden in Dunbridge?”</p> +<p>“Why shouldn’t we?”</p> +<p>Here was a deadlock—a thing quite +shockingly out of place in a garden, and +one’s own particular garden at that!</p> +<p>Olivia Page could make almost anything +grow, as she had abundantly proved, +but even her garden-craft could hardly +suffice for the setting of a sun-dial on a +pedestal of snow-white marble over there +where the four triangular rose-beds converged +to a circle, and where the south +sun would play on it all day long.</p> +<p>For a year Olivia had dreamed of this, +and, since she was not a churlishly reticent +young person, it was not the first intimation +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span> +her father had received of her desire. +Not until to-day, however, had she asked +outright for what she wanted.</p> +<p>“I wish you would say something +more,” she remarked, glancing sidewise at +the professor’s deeply corrugated countenance, +which, for all their intimacy, was +sometimes difficult to decipher. She had +heard of girls who could twist their +parents round their fingers; she wondered +how they did it.</p> +<p>The two were sitting on the white half-circle +of a bench that stood at the west +boundary of the old tennis-court, just +where one end of the net used to be +staked up. Excepting for that break, +three sides of the garden were fenced in +by the high wire screen originally designed +to keep the tennis balls within +bounds, and now doing duty as a trellis +over which a luxuriant woodbine clambered, +waving its reddening tendrils in +the light September breeze. Wide flowerbeds +bordered the entire court, the central +turf being broken only by the cluster +of rose-beds at the further end. From the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span> +white bench one looked across the grass +to a broad flight of veranda steps, flanked +on the right by a mass of white boltonia, +while on the left a superb growth of +New England asters reared their sturdy +heads.</p> +<p>The garden had been a great success +this year, quite the admiration of the +neighbourhood. Really, Papa must be +proud of it, and it was all Olivia’s doing. +Who would ever guess that it had had its +modest beginnings in half a dozen tin +cracker-boxes with holes bored in the bottoms, +where, in March, two years ago, +she had planted queer little brown seeds +as hard as pebbles, which Nature had +straightway taken in hand, softening and +expanding them down there in the dark, +till they came alive, and began feeling +their way up to meet the sun. Ah, the +bliss of seeing those first tiny shoots turn +into stems and leaflets, ready to play their +part in the great spring awakening! +Would Olivia ever love any flowers quite +as she had loved those first seedlings, +especially a certain pentstemon, which +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221' name='page_221'></a>221</span> +blossomed “white with purple spots,” exactly +as the seed-catalogue had promised?</p> +<p>Yes, the garden was a great success, +and just now it was at one of its prettiest +moments, gay with autumn colours; the +rudbeckia in its glory, and the great pink +blossoms of the hibiscus spreading their +skirts for all the world like ladies in an +old-time minuet, while over yonder the +soldier spikes of the flame-flower threatened +to set the woodbine afire. Olivia +loved the Latin names, but somehow +“tritonia” did not seem to express those +spikes of burning colour. And the roses! +How lovely those late hybrids were! +Why, the way that Margaret Dickson +drooped her head above the pansies, still +blooming freely at her feet, was enough +to melt the heart of a Salem gibraltar! +A pity that the professor’s attention +seemed for the moment to be riveted +upon the toe of his boot!</p> +<p>“I wish you would say something +more,” Olivia repeated.</p> +<p>“Something different, you mean,” and +Doctor Page smiled, benignly and stubbornly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222' name='page_222'></a>222</span></p> +<p>“For instance, you might tell me why +you are opposed to it.”</p> +<p>“You wouldn’t understand.”</p> +<p>“I might; you said, only the other +day, that I sometimes displayed almost +human intelligence!”</p> +<p>The professor liked to have his jokes +remembered; but still he seemed inclined +to temporise.</p> +<p>“I might say that we couldn’t afford it. +It is generally conceded that Alma Mater +is not a munificent provider.”</p> +<p>“Yes; and you might say that my great-grandfather +was not an East India trader—only +you don’t tell fibs.”</p> +<p>“Or that a sun-dial is an anachronism.”</p> +<p>“You are too good a Latin scholar for +that.”</p> +<p>“So a subterfuge won’t do? Very +well; then you’ll have to put up with a +psychological proposition.”</p> +<p>“How interesting!”</p> +<p>The professor glanced at the expectant +young face turned toward him, and he +could not but admit that his estimate of +its owner’s intelligence had been well +within the truth. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span></p> +<p>“You think a sun-dial would make it +the prettiest garden in Dunbridge?”</p> +<p>“I’m sure it would.”</p> +<p>“And that is what you are aiming at?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Now, I have noticed that when you +have got what you are aiming at you lose +interest in it.”</p> +<p>“O Papa!”</p> +<p>“There was tennis,” he went on, marking +off the list on a combative forefinger, +“and cookery; there was the Polyglot +Club, and the Sketching Club, and––”</p> +<p>“But, Papa! They were every one of +them good things, and I got a lot out of +them; truly, I did.”</p> +<p>“No doubt; but as soon as you could +play tennis, or sketch a pine tree, or toss +an omelette a little better than the other +girls, you had squeezed your orange dry.”</p> +<p>“But, Papa! I’ve stuck to gardening +for more than two years!” Olivia’s +tone seemed to give those years the dignity +of centuries.</p> +<p>“True; but you haven’t got your sun-dial. +You will consider that the finishing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224' name='page_224'></a>224</span> +touch, and then before we know it +you will be wanting to turn the whole +thing into a sand-garden for the little +micks at the Corners.”</p> +<p>“Not such a bad idea,” Olivia admitted +unguardedly.</p> +<p>“There you are! The mere mention +of a new scheme is enough to set you +agog!”</p> +<p>But this was not their first fencing +match, and Olivia had learned to parry.</p> +<p>“I thought you believed in people being +open-minded,” she ventured demurely.</p> +<p>“And so I do; but not so open-minded +that for every new idea that comes in an +old one goes out.”</p> +<p>“Oh, the sun-dial hasn’t got away yet,” +she laughed, springing to her feet and +going over to the court-end of the garden, +where she placed herself in the exact centre +of the converging rose-beds.</p> +<p>“There!” she cried; “don’t you see +how my white gown lights up the whole +place? It’s just the high light that it +needs.”</p> +<p>And so it was: a fact of which no one +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span> +was better aware than the professor. As +he, too, rose and sauntered toward the +house he could not deny that Olivia’s +ideas were usually good. The only trouble +was that she had too many of them; +and here was the kernel of truth that +gave substance to his whimsical argument. +The beauty of the garden was not +lost upon him, nor yet the skill and industry +of the young gardener. But more +important than either was the advantage +to the girl’s health. Olivia was sound as +a nut; of course she was! There could +be no doubt of that. But—so had her +mother seemed, until that fatal winter ten +years ago. He did not fear for Olivia; +why should he? Only—well, this out-of-door +life was a capital thing for anybody. +No, he could not have her tire of her +garden.</p> +<p>At the foot of the veranda steps Dr. +Page paused and glanced again at his +daughter. She had left the rose-beds and +was already intent upon her work, pulling +seeds from the hollyhocks over yonder. +She made a pretty picture in her white +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span> +gown, standing shoulder-high among the +brown stalks, her slender fingers deftly +gleaning from such as showed no rust. +The child was really very persistent about +her gardening; she had fairly earned an +indulgence. Perhaps, after all, she might +be trusted. He moved a few steps toward +her.</p> +<p>“Olivia,” he said,—and the first word +betrayed his relenting,—“Olivia, your +sun-dial scheme is not such a bad idea. +I should rather like that white-petticoat +effect myself. Supposing we say that if +between now and next June you don’t +think of anything you want more, we’ll +have it.”</p> +<p>“Oh, you blessèd angel! What could +I want more?”</p> +<p>“Time will show,” the blessèd angel replied, +retracing his steps toward the house—unaided +by angelic wings!</p> +<p>“Yes,” Olivia called confidently. “It’s +the sun-dial that time will show, and afterward—why, +the sun-dial will show +the time!”—and although he made no +sign, she knew there were little puckers +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227' name='page_227'></a>227</span> +of amused approval about her father’s +mouth.</p> +<p>As if she could ever want anything +more than a sun-dial! she thought, while +she passed along the borders, harvesting +her little crop. She had finished with the +hollyhocks, and now she was bending over +a bed of withered columbines. And there +were the foxglove seeds still clinging. +Really, it was almost impossible to keep +up. How brilliant the salvia was to-day, +and what a brave second blossoming that +was of the delphinium, its knightly spurs, +metallic blue, gleaming in the sun!</p> +<p>“No,” she declared to herself, “there +will never be anything so much worth +while as the garden. Why, of course +there won’t; because Nature is the best +thing in the world—the very best.”</p> +<p>“Plase, ma’am, will ye gimme a +bowkay?”</p> +<p>Olivia turned, startled by a voice so near +at hand, for she had heard no footfall on +the thick turf. There, in the centre of +the grass-grown space, stood two comical +little midgets, their smutty yet cherubic +faces blooming brightly above garments +highly coloured and earthy, too, as the +autumn garden-beds.</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_5' id='linki_5'></a> +<img src='images/illus-228.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 381px; height: 537px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 381px;'> +“Please ma’am, will ye gimme a bowkay?”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span></div> +<p>“Dear me!” Olivia laughed, “how +things do sprout in a garden! Did you +come right up out of the ground?”</p> +<p>“Plase, ma’am, a bowkay! Me mudder’s +sick an’ me fader’s goned away.”</p> +<p>The speaker, a boy of five, stood holding +by the hand something in the way of +a sister, about two sizes smaller. At +Olivia’s little joke, which they did not +in the least understand, they had both +grinned sympathetically, showing rows of +diminutive teeth as white and even as +snow-berries.</p> +<p>“Bless your little hearts, of course you +shall have a bouquet! Come and choose +one,”—and taking a hand of each Olivia +led them slowly along the brilliant borders.</p> +<p>They were a bit shy at first, but they +soon picked up their courage, and Patsy +fell to accumulating a mass of incongruous +blossoms whose colours fought each +other tooth and nail. Little Biddy, more +modest, as beseemed her inferior rank in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span> +the scale of being, fixed her heart upon a +single flame-flower which absolutely refused +to reconcile itself with the ingenuous +pink of her calico frock.</p> +<p>“How long has your mother been ill?” +Olivia asked of the boy, who by this time +was quite hidden behind a perfect forest +of asters and larkspur and lobelia cardinalis.</p> +<p>“Me mudder’s always sick. She +coughs an’ coughs, and den she lays +on de bed long whiles.”</p> +<p>“And she likes flowers?”</p> +<p>“Yes, ma’am; me an’ Biddy picked a +bowkay outen a ashba’l oncet, an’ me mudder +sticked it in a tumbler an’ loved it. +Come, Biddy, make de lady a bow!” +Upon which the small Chesterfield stood +off a few steps and gave an absurd little +bob of a bow which Biddy gravely endeavoured +to imitate.</p> +<p>“I think I’ll go with you,” said Olivia, +open-minded as ever to a new interest; +and hand in hand and chattering amicably, +the three moved across the turf and down +the long gravel walk to the dusty street. +Surprising how short the distance was between +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span> +the sweet seclusion of the old tennis-court +and the squalid quarter where these +little human blossoms grew!</p> +<p>Olivia was thinking of that as she stood +on the veranda an hour later, looking +down upon the flowery kingdom to which +all her interest and ambition had been +pledged. Yes, it was lovely, lovely in the +long afternoon light, and it would have +been lovelier still with the gleaming marble +she had dreamed of. She really tried to +keep her mind upon it, to forget the little +drama over there in the stuffy tenement. +But no; she was too good a gardener for +that. Was not a whole family broken and +wilting for lack of means to transplant it?</p> +<p>The doctor had ordered Mrs. O’Trannon +to Colorado, and Mike had dropped his +work as “finisher”—whatever that might +be—and had gone out to prepare the way +for the others to follow. He had found +no chance to work at his trade, but he +had got a job on a ranch, where the pay +was small, but the living good. A fine +place it would be for the invalid and the +children, when once he could get together +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span> +the money to send for them. But meanwhile +here they were, and the winter coming +on.</p> +<p>As Olivia stood looking down upon her +beloved garden, she could not seem to +see anything but brown stalks and dead +blossoms. All that lavish colour looked +fictitious and transitory; she had somehow +lost faith in it.</p> +<p>Mrs. O’Trannon had been pleased with +the flowers; she had grown up on a farm, +she said. Sure she never’d ha’ got sick at +all if she’d ha’ stayed where she belonged. +But then, where would Mike have been, +and the babies? And where would Mike +be, and the babies, Olivia thought with a +pang,—where would they be if the mother +wilted and died? She turned, suddenly, +and passed in at the glass doors and on to +her father’s study.</p> +<p>At sight of the kind, quizzical face +lifted at her entrance, Olivia winced a bit. +About an hour and a half it must be, since +he said it, and he had given her a year! +As if that made any difference! she told +herself, with a little defiant movement of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span> +the chin, as she crossed the room and +seated herself at the opposite side of the +big writing-table where she could face the +music handsomely.</p> +<p>“Well, Olivia; changed your mind +yet?” the professor inquired, struck, perhaps, +by the resolution of her aspect.</p> +<p>“Yes,” she answered, in an impressive +tone, “I’ve thought of something I should +prefer to a sun-dial.”</p> +<p>Dr. Page took off his glasses and laid +them upon his open book. He did not +really imagine that she was serious—such +a turn-about-face was too precipitate even +for Olivia; but it pleased him to meet +her on her own ground.</p> +<p>“And what is it this time? A sixty-inch +telescope? Or a diamond tiara?”</p> +<p>“Well, no. Those are things I had +not thought of—before! It’s a kind of +gardening project—a little matter of transplanting.”</p> +<p>“Will it cost a hundred and fifty +dollars?”</p> +<p>“About that, I should think, to do it +properly and comfortably. And—it can’t +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span> +wait till June. It’s the kind of transplanting +that has to be done in the autumn.”</p> +<p>Then, dropping the little fiction, and +resting her chin upon her folded hands, +the better to transfix her father’s mocking +countenance,—“Papa,” she said, “there’s +a poor family down at the Corners,—our +neighbours, you know,—and the mother +is dying for want of transplanting, just +like the beautiful hydrangea—you remember?—that +I didn’t understand about till it +was too late. I never knew what too late +meant, till I saw that splendid great bush +lying stone-dead on the ground when we +came home from the Adirondacks last +year. A great healthy hydrangea dying +just for lack of the right kind of soil! +And now, here is this good human woman, +that might live out her life and bring up +her little family, and be happy and useful +for years to come. Such a nice woman +she must be to name her babies Patsy and +Biddy, when she might have called them +Algernon and Celestina, you know, and +just spoiled it all!—and such a nice, kind +husband to take care of her on a big ranch +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span> +where there’s good air, and lots to eat, and +plenty of work and not too much, and—why +Papa! they might have a garden out +there! who knows? What a thing that +would be for the prairie! A real New +England garden!”</p> +<p>“With a sun-dial?” the professor interposed.</p> +<p>For an instant Olivia’s face fell, but +only for an instant.</p> +<p>“I’ve been thinking,” she said, with a +very convincing seriousness, “that perhaps +a sun-dial is not so important, after +all. At any rate it’s not so important as +the mother of a family; now, is it, Papa?”</p> +<p>“That depends upon the point of +view,” the professor opined. “As a high +light among the rose-bushes I should +be constrained to give my vote for the +sun-dial.”</p> +<p>Olivia sprang to her feet.</p> +<p>“That means that you are coming +straight over with me to see Mrs. O’Trannon,” +she cried, “and that you are going +to have the whole family packed off to +Colorado quicker’n a wink! Come along, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span> +please! There’s plenty of time before +dinner!”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>“It’s just another of Nature’s miracles!” +Olivia observed, as she and her +father stood one morning in late October +watching the workmen pack the sods +about the beautiful pedestal, now securely +planted upon its base of cement and +broken stone. “It always makes me +think of the wonderful things that came +up in those tin cracker-boxes you used to +make such fun of. There really doesn’t +seem to be any place too unlikely for +Nature to set things going in.”</p> +<p>The marble was but roughly hewn, in +lines that held the suggestion of an hourglass. +The top only was smoothly finished, +while here and there on the curving +sides the hint of a leaf, a blossom, a trailing +vine, came and went with the point of +view, like cloud-pictures or the pencillings +of Jack Frost. It was as if a ’prentice-hand +had tried to express the soul of an artist, +too self-distrustful to work more boldly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span></p> +<p>“Funny, how things come into your +head,” Olivia went on. “Do you know, +Papa, that day when I was helping Mrs. +O’Trannon with her preposterous packing +and suddenly came upon this miracle hidden +away under an old bedquilt, the only +thing I could think of was the way my +first pentstemons came out, ‘white with +purple spots,’ exactly as I had chosen +them by the seed-catalogue. And to +think that she had bought it for a dollar +of that poor stone-cutter’s widow that was +moving out—bought it to make pastry on +because the top was smooth and cold! +And then had never had time to make but +one pie in the three years! I wish you +could have heard her tell about it. ‘Faith, +it cost me a dollar, me one pie did, an’ +Mike says it’s lucky it was that I didn’t +make a dozen whin they come so high! +Silly b’y, that Mike!’ O Papa, isn’t it +heavenly that they’re together again?”</p> +<p>“So you think there is nothing Nature +can’t do?” Dr. Page mused, with apparent +irrelevance. “How about the sun-dial +itself?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span></p> +<p>“Oh, Nature will attend to that, too.”</p> +<p>“She will, will she? And in what particular +tin cracker-box should you look for +it to come up?”</p> +<p>“It wouldn’t be polite to say,” Olivia +declared, looking with unmistakable significance +straight into her father’s face.</p> +<p>“Saucebox!” he chuckled.</p> +<p>And when, in early June, the brass disk +of the sun-dial had begun its record of +happy hours, and still Olivia toiled with +unabated zeal at her garden, the rose of +health blooming ever brighter in her face, +a great sense of satisfaction and approval +took possession of her father’s mind. But +he only remarked, in a casual manner, as +they sat together on the white bench one +fragrant sunset hour:</p> +<p>“After all, I’m not sure but Nature’s +biggest miracle has been performed in the +saucebox.”</p> +<p>And Olivia, smiling softly, answered: +“I told you, you know, that there isn’t +any place too unlikely for Nature to set +things going in!”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='BAGGING_A_GRANDFATHER' id='BAGGING_A_GRANDFATHER'></a> +<h2>Bagging a Grandfather</h2> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240' name='page_240'></a>240</span></div> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.2em;margin-bottom:20px;'>BAGGING A GRANDFATHER</p> +<p>“I’ll warrant that ’he, she, or it’ will +come! Di usually bags her game!”</p> +<p>The speaker, Mr. Thomas Crosby, +must have had implicit faith in his +daughter’s prowess to venture such a +confident assertion as that, for he was +quite in the dark as to who “he, she, or +it” might be.</p> +<p>It was a cozy November evening, when +open fires and friendly drop-lights are in +order, and the three grown-folks of the +family were enjoying these luxuries. Mr. +Crosby was supposed to be reading his +paper, but he had a sociable way of letting +fall an occasional item of interest, or of +letting fall the paper itself, at the first +hint of interest in the remarks of his wife +and daughter.</p> +<p>Only within a very short time had +there been three grown-folks in the family, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span> +unless, indeed, we count Rollo, the Gordon +setter, who had attained his majority +years ago. Di, who was but just turned +sixteen, really did not like to remember +how very recently she had been sent to +bed at eight o’clock!</p> +<p>Could Mr. Crosby have guessed the +scheme which was occupying the active +brain of the young person engaged in +embroidering harmless bachelor’s buttons +upon a linen centrepiece, he would have +been very much astonished,—whether +pleasurably or otherwise, events alone +must show. And since events had been +taken in hand by Di the revelation was +not likely to be long delayed.</p> +<p>The incident which had elicited her +father’s declaration of confidence was a +request on Di’s part to be allowed the +privilege of inviting a guest of her own +choosing to the Thanksgiving dinner. +The family party was to be materially +reduced this year, for Mrs. Crosby’s +mother and sister, their only available +relatives, were at that moment sojourning +in Rome, where, if they were sufficiently +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242' name='page_242'></a>242</span> +mindful of current maxims to do as the +Romans do, they were very unlikely to +meet with any satisfactory combination of +turkey and plum-pudding. It was with +that fact in view, that Di felt a fair +degree of assurance in preferring her +request. They all liked each other, of +course, better than they liked anybody +else, but, really, one must do something a +little out of the common on Thanksgiving +day.</p> +<p>“Certainly,” Di’s mother had agreed; +“you shall invite any one you choose. I +have been wishing we could think of some +one to ask, but people all have their own +family parties on Thanksgiving day. Is +it to be one of your girl friends?”</p> +<p>“That is my secret,” Di had replied, +sedately; “but, whoever it is, he, she, +or it is a very important personage, and +will have to be treated with great consideration!”</p> +<p>“And how is that very <i>un</i>important +personage, Di Crosby, going to get hold +of so great a dignitary?” Mrs. Crosby +had laughingly inquired. At which +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span> +juncture Mr. Crosby had expressed his belief +that Di would bag her game.</p> +<p>That the prospective dinner should be +incomplete was all the harder, considering +the fact that the Crosbys were, by good +rights, the possessors of that most desired +ornament of such an occasion,—a <i>bona +fide</i> grandfather. Not only was old Mr. +Crosby living, and in excellent health, +but his residence was not above a dozen +blocks removed from his son’s house. +And yet no grandfather had ever graced +their Thanksgiving feast.</p> +<p>Family quarrels are an unpleasant subject +at the best, and since Di herself had +never learned the precise cause of the +long estrangement between father and +son, in which the old gentleman had +decreed that his son’s wife and children +should share, it is hardly worth while to +recount it here. Suffice it to say, that it +was a very old quarrel indeed, older than +Di herself, and one to which Mr. and +Mrs. Crosby never alluded.</p> +<p>It was six years ago, when Di, the eldest +of the children, was ten years of age, that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span> +she had come home from school one day, +breathless with excitement.</p> +<p>“Mamma!” she cried, bursting into the +room where her mother was changing the +baby’s frock: “Mamma! Have I got a +grandfather?”</p> +<p>Mrs. Crosby glanced furtively at the +round eyes of the baby, and took the precaution +of smothering him in billows of +white lawn before replying, rather softly: +“Yes, dear; Papa’s father is living. Why +do you ask?”</p> +<p>“I saw him to-day.”</p> +<p>“You saw him? Where?”</p> +<p>“On the street.”</p> +<p>“How did you know it was he?”</p> +<p>“Sallie Watson asked me why I didn’t +bow to my grandfather.”</p> +<p>“And what did you say?”</p> +<p>“I said: ‘Never you mind!’ And then +I ran home all the way, as tight as ever I +could run! Mamma, why don’t we ever +see him?”</p> +<p>The baby’s head was just emerging from +temporary eclipse, and Mrs. Crosby’s +voice dropped still lower, as she answered: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245' name='page_245'></a>245</span></p> +<p>“Because, dear, <i>he doesn’t wish it</i>.”</p> +<p>There was something so gently conclusive +in this answer that little Di was +silenced. Yet the look in her mother’s +face had not escaped her; a wistful, hurt +look, such as the child had never seen +there before. And in her own mind Di +asked many questions.</p> +<p>What did it all mean? How did it +happen that her grandfather did not wish +it? Why was he so different from other +girls’ grandfathers? There must be something +very wrong somewhere, but where +was it? Since it could not possibly be +with her father or mother, it must +be that her grandfather was himself at +fault.</p> +<p>The object of Di’s perplexities, Mr. +Horatio Crosby, lived all alone in a very +good house, and was in the habit of driving +about in a very pretty victoria; people +bowed to him, people who were friends of +Di’s father and mother, and must therefore +be creditable acquaintances. All this +she soon discovered, for, having once +come to know her grandfather by sight, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span> +she seemed to be constantly crossing his +path.</p> +<p>Little by little, as she grew older, Di +picked up certain stray bits of information, +but she never tried to piece them together. +She felt that she would a little rather +not know any more. A quarrel there had +certainly been, some time in the dark +ages before she was born, and the old +man had proved himself obstinate and +implacable. Friendly overtures had been +made from time to time, but he had set his +face against all such advances, and now, for +many, many years,—as many as three or +four, little Di had gathered,—the friendly +overtures had ceased.</p> +<p>One gets used to things, and Di got +used to having a grandfather who did not +know her by sight. She was sure he did +not know her, because once, when she was +twelve years old, he had stopped her on +the street to tell her that she had dropped +her pocket-handkerchief. It had been +very polite of the old gentleman, and she +had been glad not to lose her handkerchief. +Yet, as she thanked him, she gave +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span> +him one searching look, and she told herself +that he had a very cross expression, +as well as a very harsh voice.</p> +<p>This uncomplimentary verdict was +largely due to the fact that, at this period, +Di had quite made up her mind that her +grandfather was a hateful, unreasonable +old despot, and that it served him right +never to come to the family parties, nor to +have any Christmas presents, nor to have +seen the baby, which Mamma said was the +prettiest of all her babies, and which Di +considered the most enchanting object on +the face of the earth.</p> +<p>But again many years had passed,—four, +in this instance,—and there came a +time, only a few weeks previous to the +opening of our story, when Di found herself +constrained to modify her view of her +grandfather.</p> +<p>It happened that she had gone with her +drawing teacher, Miss Downs, to an exhibition +of paintings. Among the pictures +was a very striking one entitled <i>Le +Grandpère</i>. It represented an old French +peasant, just stopping off work for the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span> +day, with a flock of grandchildren clinging +about his knees. Miss Downs called +Di’s attention to the wonderful reach of +upland meadow, and the exquisite effect +of the sunset light on the face of the old +man; but, to Di, the meadow and the sunset +light were unimportant accessories to the +central idea. It was the grandfather himself +that commanded all her attention,—the +look of blissful indulgence on the old +man’s face; his attitude of protecting affection +towards one young girl in particular, +on whose head the toil-stained hand +rested.</p> +<p>“Yes,” she said, after several minutes +of rapt contemplation: “Yes; the sunset +is very nice, and the fields; but, oh, +the old man is such a darling!”</p> +<p>As she spoke she turned to see how her +teacher took her remark, and found herself +face to face, not with Miss Downs, but +with her own grandfather! She gave a +little gasp of surprise, which he appeared +not to notice.</p> +<p>“So you think him a darling, do you?” +he asked, and somehow his voice did not +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249' name='page_249'></a>249</span> +sound quite as harsh as it had done four +years ago.</p> +<p>Miss Downs had passed on, and there +was no one standing near them, no one +at all in the gallery who shared Di’s +knowledge of the strange situation. She +felt sure that the old man had no suspicion +of her identity.</p> +<p>“Yes, I do,” she answered boldly.</p> +<p>“What makes a darling of him?” the +old gentleman inquired.</p> +<p>Di felt that this was her opportunity, +and that she was letting it slip. But she +could not help herself, and she only answered +rather lamely:</p> +<p>“Oh, nothing, except that he is <i>such +a good grandfather!</i>” Upon which she +beat a hasty retreat, and fled to the protection +of Miss Downs, whom she found +in an adjoining room.</p> +<p>It was perhaps twenty minutes later +that Di and her teacher passed the picture +again, and, behold, there was the old +gentleman standing, lost in thought, exactly +on the spot where she had left him. +He did not seem to be looking at the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span> +picture, but Di felt certain that he was +thinking of it. And, suddenly, it passed +through her mind like a flash that he was +sorry.</p> +<p>“Yes; he’s sorry,” she said to herself. +“He’s sorry, and he doesn’t know how to +say so!”</p> +<p>The more she thought of it in the days +that followed,—and she seemed to be +thinking pretty much all the time of the +old man and the look on his face as he +stood before the picture,—the more convinced +she became that he was sorry and +did not know how to say so.</p> +<p>“And he ought not to have to say so,” +she told herself. “He’s an old, old man, +and he ought not to have to say that he is +sorry.”</p> +<p>The old, old man—aged sixty-five—might +have taken exception to that part of +her proposition touching his extreme antiquity, +but we may be pretty sure that he +would have cordially endorsed her opinion +that the dignity of his years forbade his +saying that he was sorry.</p> +<p>In those days Di used to walk often +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span> +past her grandfather’s house. It was a +very big house for a single occupant. +Even the stout footman, whom she had +once seen at the door, did not seem stout +enough, nor numerous enough to relieve +the big house of its vacancy. There were +heavy woollen draperies in the parlor windows, +but not a hint of the pretty white +muslin which a woman would have had up +in no time. Once she passed the house just +at dusk, after the lights were lighted. +Through the long windows she looked +into the empty room. Not so much as a +cat or a dog was awaiting the master. In +the swift glance with which she swept the +interior she noted that the fireplace was +boarded in. That seemed to Di indescribably +dreary. Perhaps her grandfather +did not sit here; perhaps he had a +library somewhere, like their own. But, +no; there was the portly footman entering +with the evening paper, which he laid +upon the table before coming to close the +shutters.</p> +<p>“He’s too old to say he is sorry,” Di +said to herself, as she turned dejectedly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252' name='page_252'></a>252</span> +away; “a great deal too old—and lonely—and +dreary!”</p> +<p>And it was on that very evening that +she made her little petition to her mother, +and that her father declared that Di was +sure to bag her game.</p> +<p>Old Mr. Crosby, meanwhile, was too +well-used to his empty house and to his +boarded-in fireplace to mind them very +much, too unaccustomed to muslin curtains +to miss them. Yet he had not been +on very good terms with himself for the +past few weeks, and that was something +which he did mind particularly.</p> +<p>The result of his long cogitation in +front of the grandfather picture had been +highly uncomplimentary to the artist. He +pronounced the homespun subject unworthy +of artistic treatment, and he told +himself that it merited just that order of +criticism which it had received at the +hands of the young person with the rather +pretty turn of countenance, who had regarded +it with such enthusiasm. Nevertheless, +he did not forget the picture,—nor +yet the young person! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253' name='page_253'></a>253</span></p> +<p>It was the afternoon of Thanksgiving +day, and there was a light fall of snow +outside. He remembered that in old times +there used always to be a lot of snow on +Thanksgiving day. Things were very +different in old times. He wondered +what would have been thought of a man +fifty years ago,—or seventeen years ago, +for the matter of that,—who was giving +his servants a holiday and dining at the +club. As if those foreign servants had +any concern in the Yankee festival! But +then, what concern had he, Horatio +Crosby, in it nowadays? What had he +to be thankful for? Whom had he to be +thankful with? He was very lucky to +have a club to go to! He might as well +go now, though it was still two or three +hours to dinner time. He would ring for +his overcoat and snow-shoes.</p> +<p>His hand was on the bell-rope—for Mr. +Horatio Crosby was old-fashioned, and +had never yet admitted an electric button +to his domain.</p> +<p>At that moment the door opened softly—what +was Burns thinking of, not to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254' name='page_254'></a>254</span> +knock?—and there stood, not Burns, not +Nora, but a slender apparition in petticoats, +with a dash of snow on hat and +jacket, and a dash of daring in a pair of +very bright eyes.</p> +<p>“Good afternoon, Grandfather,” was the +apparition’s cheerful greeting, and involuntarily +the old gentleman found himself +replying with a “Good afternoon” of his +own.</p> +<p>The apparition moved swiftly forward, +and, before he knew what he was about, +an unmistakable kiss had got itself applied +to his countenance and—more amazing +still—he was strongly of the impression +that there had been—no robbery!</p> +<p>Greatly agitated by so unusual an experience, +he only managed to say: “So you +are––?”</p> +<p>“Yes; I am Di Crosby,—your granddaughter, +you know, and—this is Thanksgiving +day!”</p> +<p>“You don’t say so!” and the old man +gazed down at her in growing trepidation.</p> +<p>“Let’s sit down,” Di suggested, feeling +that she gained every point that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span> +her adversary lost. “This must be your +chair. And I’ll sit here. There! Isn’t +this cozy?”</p> +<p>“Oh, very!”</p> +<p>The master of the house had sufficiently +recovered himself to put on his spectacles, +the use of which was affording him much +satisfaction. He really did not know that +the young girl of the day was so pretty!</p> +<p>“I don’t suppose you smoke a pipe,” +Di remarked, in a strictly conversational +tone.</p> +<p>“Well, no; I can’t say I do. Why?”</p> +<p>“I only thought I should like to light +one for you. You know,” she added, confidentially, +“girls always light their grandfathers’ +pipes in books. And I’ve had so +little practice in that sort of thing!”</p> +<p>“In pipes?”</p> +<p>“No—in grandfathers!”</p> +<p>There came a pause, occupied, on Di’s +part, by a swift, not altogether approving +survey of the stiff, high-studded room. +This time it was the old gentleman who +broke the silence.</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_6' id='linki_6'></a> +<img src='images/illus-256.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 365px; height: 564px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 365px;'> +“‘Good afternoon, Grandfather,’ was the apparition’s cheerful greeting.”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span></div> +<p>“I believe you are the young lady who +admired that old clodhopper in the picture,” +he remarked.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes; he was a great darling!”</p> +<p>“He wasn’t very handsome.”</p> +<p>“No, but—there is always something +so dear about a grandfather!”</p> +<p>“Always?”</p> +<p>“Yes; always!” and suddenly Di left +her seat, and, taking a few steps forward, +she dropped on her knees before him.</p> +<p>“Grandfather,” she said, clasping her +small gloved hands on his knee, “Grandfather!”</p> +<p>She was meaning to be very eloquent +indeed,—that is, if it were to become +necessary. She did not dream that that +one word, so persuasively spoken, was +more eloquent than a whole oration.</p> +<p>“Well, Miss Di?”</p> +<p>“Grandfather, I’ve a great favour to ask +of you, and I should like to have you say +‘yes’ beforehand!”</p> +<p>He looked down upon her with a heart +rendered surprisingly soft by that first +word,—and a mind much tickled by the +audacity of the rest of it. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257' name='page_257'></a>257</span></p> +<p>“And are you in the habit of getting +favours granted in the dark?” he inquired.</p> +<p>“Papa says I usually bag my game!”</p> +<p>Now old Mr. Crosby had been a sportsman +in his day, and he was mightily pleased +with the little jest. But he only asked:</p> +<p>“And what’s your game in this instance, +if you please?”</p> +<p>“You!”</p> +<p>“Oh, I! And you want to bag me? +Bag me for what?”</p> +<p>“For dinner!”</p> +<p>“Oh, for dinner!”</p> +<p>“Yes! We are all by ourselves to-day, +and you’ll just make the table even. +There’s only Papa and Mamma, and +Louise, and Beth, and Alice, and the +baby.” Somehow the succession of sweet, +soft names sounded very attractive to the +crabbed old man.</p> +<p>“The baby is six years old,” Di continued, +unconsciously adding another +touch to the attractiveness of the picture.</p> +<p>“And what is her name?”</p> +<p>“<i>His</i> name is Horatio. I never liked +it very well; it seemed too long for a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span> +baby. But, do you know?—I think I shall +like it better now.”</p> +<p>She was still kneeling before him, with +her small gloved hands clasped on his +knee. It was clear that she had not the +faintest idea of being refused. Yet even +had she been somewhat less confident, she +might well have taken heart of hope, for, +at this point, he gently laid his wrinkled +hand upon hers.</p> +<p>“You <i>will</i> come to dinner?” she begged, +apparently quite unconscious of the little +caress. “We dine at five on Thanksgiving +day, and you and I can walk over +together. They will all be so surprised,—and +so happy!”</p> +<p>“Then they are not expecting me?” +and the old man gave her a very piercing +look, which did not seem to pierce at all.</p> +<p>“No; they didn’t know who it was to +be. I only said it was a very important +personage.”</p> +<p>“Coming in a bag!” he suggested.</p> +<p>“Oh, that’s only a sportsman’s expression!”</p> +<p>“Indeed! And is it customary nowadays +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span> +to go a-hunting for your Thanksgiving +dinner?”</p> +<p>Di’s eyes danced. This was indeed a +grandfather worth waiting for! But she +only answered demurely:</p> +<p>“That depends upon your quarry!”</p> +<p>Lucky Di, to have hit upon that pretty, +old-fashioned word! She had, indeed, read +her Sir Walter to good purpose.</p> +<p>Now, Mr. Horatio Crosby had held out +stoutly against every appeal of natural +affection, of reason, of conscience. He +was not a quick-tempered man like his +son; he was not, like his daughter-in-law, +easily rebuffed; but there was about him +a toughness of fibre which yielded neither +to blows nor to pressure, and which, for +many years, neither friend nor foe had +penetrated. And here was this young +thing simply ignoring the hitherto impenetrable +barrier! The clear young eyes +looked straight through it, the fresh young +voice made nothing of it, the playful +fancies overleapt it. A quarry, indeed! +Where had the child got hold of the +word? +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span></p> +<p>Of a sudden the old man bent forward +and lightly touched the laughing face in +token of surrender.</p> +<p>“It’s an old bird you’ve winged, little +girl,” he said, as he rose to his feet +and stepped once more to the bell-rope; +and this time he really rang for his coat and +overshoes.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>“And so you’ve named this little chap +Horatio?”</p> +<p>Dinner was over,—a very pleasant, +natural kind of dinner, too, in spite of the +difficulty some of the family had found +in eating it,—and they were all gathered +about a roaring woodfire, fortifying themselves, +with the aid of coffee, cigars, and +chocolate-drops,—each according to his +kind,—for a game of blind-man’s-buff. +The small scion of the house was seated +on his grandfather’s knee, playing with +his grandfather’s fob, after the immemorial +habit of small scions.</p> +<p>“Of course we named him Horatio!” +It was Mrs. Crosby who answered, and, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261' name='page_261'></a>261</span> +as her father-in-law looked across at her +face with the firelight playing upon it, he +seemed to remember that he had always +wished for a daughter.</p> +<p>“And what do you call him for short?”</p> +<p>“Just Horatio!” piped up little Alice, +who was sitting on the rug at the old +gentleman’s feet, gently pulling Rollo’s +long-suffering ears.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Mr. Thomas Crosby; “we +have always been proud of the name.”</p> +<p>Then Di, perceiving a slight unsteadiness +in the voice in which this was said, +stepped behind her grandfather’s chair, +and, dropping a small kiss on the top of +his head, looked across at her father, and +exclaimed:</p> +<p>“Oh, Papa! To think of our having +bagged a grandfather!”</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/illus-ad1.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 350px; height: 590px;' /><br /> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/illus-ad2.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 384px; height: 660px;' /><br /> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/illus-ad3.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 391px; height: 635px;' /><br /> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/illus-ad4.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 401px; height: 652px;' /><br /> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/illus-ad5.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 383px; height: 640px;' /><br /> +</div> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BOOKFUL OF GIRLS***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 28538-h.txt or 28538-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/8/5/3/28538">http://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/5/3/28538</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: A Bookful of Girls + + +Author: Anna Fuller + + + +Release Date: April 8, 2009 [eBook #28538] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BOOKFUL OF GIRLS*** + + +E-text prepared by Roger Frank and the Project Gutenberg Online +Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net) + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 28538-h.htm or 28538-h.zip: + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/8/5/3/28538/28538-h/28538-h.htm) + or + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/8/5/3/28538/28538-h.zip) + + + + + +A BOOKFUL OF GIRLS + +by + +ANNA FULLER + + * * * * * + + By Anna Fuller + + A Literary Courtship + A Venetian June + Peak and Prairie + Pratt Portraits + Later Pratt Portraits + One of the Pilgrims + Katherine Day + A Bookful of Girls + + The Thunderhead Lady + By Anna Fuller and Brian Read + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: "Suddenly a new sound reached her ear."] + +A BOOKFUL OF GIRLS + +by + +ANNA FULLER + +Author of "Pratt Portraits," "Katherine Day," etc. + +Illustrated + + + + + + + +G. P. Putnam's Sons +New York and London + +The Knickerbocker Press + +Copyright, 1905 +by +Anna Fuller + +The Knickerbocker Press, New York + + + + +TO + +S. E. R. + +THE YOUNGEST OF ALL MY FRIENDS + + + + +CONTENTS + + PAGE + + Blythe Halliday's Voyage 1 + + Artful Madge 63 + + The Ideas of Polly 130 + + Nannie's Theatre Party 196 + + Olivia's Sun-Dial 219 + + Bagging a Grandfather 242 + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + PAGE + + "Suddenly a new sound reached her ear." _Frontispiece_ + + "Eleanor's eyes had wandered to the high, broad + north window." 80 + + "Mufty hastily established himself across her + shoulder." 142 + + "All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this + little hand." 201 + + "Please ma'am, will ye gimme a bowkay?" 227 + + "'Good afternoon, Grandfather,' was the + apparition's cheerful greeting." 255 + + + + +BLYTHE HALLIDAY'S VOYAGE + +CHAPTER I + +THE CROW'S NEST + + +"You never told me how you happened to name her Blythe." + +The two old friends, Mr. John DeWitt and Mrs. Halliday, were reclining +side by side in their steamer-chairs, lulled into a quiescent mood by +the gentle, scarcely perceptible, motion of the vessel. It was an +exertion to speak, and Mrs. Halliday replied evasively, "Do you like +the name?" + +"For Blythe,--yes. But I don't know another girl who could carry it +off so well. Tell me how it happened." + +Then Blythe's mother reluctantly gathered herself together for a +serious effort, and said: "It was the old Scotch nurse who did it. She +called her 'a blythe lassie' before she was three days old. We had +been hesitating between Lucretia for Charles's mother and Hannah for +mine, and we compromised on Blythe!" + +Upon which the speaker, allowing her eyes to close definitively, took +on the appearance of gentle inanition which characterised nine-tenths +of her fellow-voyagers, ranged side by side in their steamer-chairs +along the deck. + +They had passed the Azores, that lovely May morning, and were headed +for Cape St. Vincent,--the good old _Lorelei_ lounging along at her +easiest gait, the which is also her rapidest. For there is nothing +more deceptive than a steamer's behaviour on a calm day when the sea +offers no perceptible resistance to the keel. + +Here and there an insatiable novel-reader held a paper-covered volume +before his nose, but more often the book had slid to the deck, to be +picked up by Gustav, the prince of deck-stewards, and carefully tucked +in among the wraps of the unconscious owner. + +Just now, however, Gustav was enjoying a moment of unaccustomed +respite from activity, for his most exacting beneficiaries were not +sufficiently awake to demand a service of him. He had administered +_bouillon_ and lemonade and cracked ice by the gallon; he had +scattered sandwiches and ginger cookies broadcast among them; he had +tenderly inquired of the invalids, "'Ow you feel?" and had cheerfully +pronounced them, one and all, to be "mush besser"; and now he himself +was, for a fleeting moment, the centre of interest in the one tiny +eddy of animation on the whole length of the deck. + +Just aft of the awning, in the full sunshine, he was engaged in +"posing," with the sheepish air of a person having his photograph +taken, while a fresh, comely girl of sixteen stood, kodak in hand, +waiting for his attitude to relax. Half a dozen spectators, elderly +men and small boys, stood about making facetious remarks, but Gustav +and his youthful "operator" were too much in earnest to pay them much +heed. + +Blythe Halliday was usually very much in earnest; by which is not to +be inferred that she was of an alarmingly serious cast of mind. Her +earnestness took the form of intense satisfaction in the matter in +hand, whatever that might be, and she had found life a succession of +delightful experiences, of which this one of an ocean voyage was +perhaps the most delectable of all. + +In one particular Blythe totally disagreed with her mother; for Mrs. +Halliday had declared, on one of the first universally unbecoming days +of the voyage, that it was a mystery how all the agreeable people got +to Europe, since so few of them were ever to be discovered on an ocean +steamer! Whereas Blythe, for her part, had never dreamed that there +were so many interesting persons in the world as were to be discovered +among their fellow-voyagers. + +Was not the big, bluff Captain himself, with his unfathomable +sea-craft and his autocratic power, a regular old Viking such as you +might read of in your history books, but would hardly expect to meet +with in the flesh? And was there not a real Italian Count, elderly +but impressive, who had dealings with no one but his valet, the latter +being a nimble personage with a wicked eye who seemed to possess the +faculty of starting up through the deck as if summoned by a species of +wireless telegraphy? Best of all, was not Blythe's opposite neighbour +at the Captain's table a shaggy, keen-eyed Englishman, figuring on the +passenger-list as "Mr. Grey," but who was generally believed to be no +less a personage than Hugh Dalton, the famous poet, travelling +incognito? + +This latter gentleman was more approachable than the Count, and had +taken occasion to tell Blythe some very wonderful tales, besides still +further endearing himself to her by listening with flattering +attention to such narratives as she was pleased to relate for his +benefit. Indeed, they were rapidly becoming fast friends and she was +seriously contemplating a snap-shot at his expense. + +Mr. Grey, meanwhile, had joined the group in the sunshine, where he +stood, pipe in mouth, with his hands thrust deep into the pockets of +his reefer, regarding Gustav's awkwardness with kindly amusement. + +"There they go, those energetic young persons!" Mr. De Witt observed, +a few minutes later, as Blythe and the Englishman walked past, in +search of the Captain, whom Mr. Grey had suggested as the next subject +for photographic prowess. "Do you suppose that really is Dalton?" + +Mr. De Witt spoke with entire disregard of the fact that Mrs. Halliday +appeared to be slumbering tranquilly. And indeed an interrupted nap is +so easily made good on shipboard that Blythe used sometimes to beg her +mother to try and "fall awake" for a minute! + +On this occasion, as she walked past with the alleged poet, she +remarked: "Even Mr. De Witt can't keep Mamma awake on shipboard, and +she isn't a bit of a sleepy person on dry land." + +By way of response, Mr. Grey turned to contemplate the line of +steamer-chairs, billowy with voluminous wraps, saying: "Doesn't the +deck look like a sea becalmed? See! Those are the waves, too lazy to +break!" + +"How funny the ocean would look if the waves forgot to turn over!" +Blythe exclaimed, glancing across the gently undulating surface of the +sea. "I don't suppose they've kept still one single instant in +millions of years!" + +"Not since the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters," her +companion returned, with quiet emphasis; and Blythe felt surer than +ever that he really was the great poet whom people believed him to +be. + +A moment later they had stormed the bridge, where they two, of all the +ship's company, were pretty sure of a welcome. They found the Captain +standing, with his sextant at his eye, the four gold stripes on his +sleeve gleaming gaily in the sunshine. Evidently things were going +right, for the visitors and their daring proposal were most graciously +received. + +The fine old sea-dog stood like a man to be shot at; and as Blythe +faced him, kodak in hand, the breeze playing pranks with her hair and +blowing her golf-cape straight back from her shoulders, it was all so +exhilarating that before she knew it she had turned her little camera +upon the supposed Hugh Dalton himself, who made an absurd grimace and +told her to "let her go!" + +It was always a delightful experience for Blythe to stand on the +bridge and watch the ship's officers at their wonderful work of +guiding the great sea-monster across the pathless deep. Here was the +brain of the ship, as Mr. Grey had once pointed out, and to-day, when +a sailor suddenly appeared above the gangway and, touching his hat, +received a curt order,--"That is one of the nerves of the vessel," her +companion said. "It carries the message of the brain to the furthest +parts of the body." + +"And I suppose the eyes are up there," Blythe returned, glancing at +the "crow's nest," half-way up the great forward mast, where the two +lookouts were keeping their steady watch. + +"Yes," he rejoined, "that must be why they always have a pair of +them,--so as to get a proper focus. _Nicht wahr, Herr Capitaen?_" + +And the little fiction was explained to the Captain, who grew more +genial than ever under the stimulus of such agreeable conversation. + +"_Ja wohl!_" he agreed, heartily; "_Ja wohl!_"--which was really quite +an outburst of eloquence for Captain Seemann. + +"If I couldn't be captain," Blythe announced, "I think I should choose +to be lookout." + +"How is dat?" the Captain inquired. + +"It must be the best place of all, away up above everything and +everybody." + +"And you would like to go up dare?" + +"Of course I should!" + +"And you would not be afraid?" + +"Not I!" + +Upon which the Captain, in high good-humour, declared, "I belief +you!" + +After that he fell to speaking German with Mr. Grey, and Blythe moved +to the end of the bridge, and stood looking down upon the steerage +passengers, where they were disporting themselves in the sun on the +lower deck. + +They were a motley crew, and she never tired of watching them, as they +sat about in picturesque groups, singing or playing games, or lay +stretched on the deck, fast asleep. + +Somewhat apart from the others was a woman with a little girl whom +Blythe had not before observed. The child lay on a bright shawl, her +head against the woman's knee, her dark Italian eyes gazing straight +up into the luminous blue of the sky. There was a curiously high-bred +look in the pale features, young and unformed as they were, and Blythe +wondered how such a child as that came to belong to the stout, +middle-aged woman who did not herself seem altogether out of place in +the rough steerage. + +At this point in her meditations, a quiet, matter-of-fact voice struck +her ear, and, turning, she found that Mr. Grey had come up behind +her. + +"The Captain says he will have the 'crow's nest' lowered and let you +go up in it if you like," was the startling announcement which roused +her from her revery. + +"Oh, you are making fun!" she protested. + +"I don't wonder you think so, but he seems quite in earnest, and I can +tell you it's the chance of a lifetime!" + +"I should think it was!" she gasped. "Oh, tell him he's an angel with +wings! And please, _please_ don't let him change his mind while I run +and ask Mamma!" With which Blythe vanished down the gangway, her +golf-cape rising straight up around her head as the draught took it. + +We may well believe that such a prospect as that drove from her mind +all speculations as to the steerage passengers, and that even the +thought of the little girl with the wonderful eyes did not again visit +her in the few hours intervening. + +Yet when, that afternoon at eight-bells, she passed with Mr. Grey down +the steep gangway to the steerage deck, which they were obliged to +traverse on their way to the forecastle, and they came upon the +little creature lying, with upturned face, against the woman's knee, +Blythe felt a sharp pang of compunction and pity. The child looked +even more pathetic than when seen from above, and the young girl +involuntarily stooped in passing, and touched the wan little cheek. +Whereupon one of those ineffable smiles which are the birthright of +Italians lighted the little face, and the small hand was lifted with +so captivating a gesture that Blythe, clasping it in her own, dropped +on her knees beside the child. + +"Is it your little girl?" she asked, looking up into the face of the +woman, whose marked unlikeness to the child was answer enough. + +"No, no, Signorina," the woman protested. "She is my little +Signorina." + +"And you are taking her to Italy?" + +"_Si, Signorina; alla bella Italia_!" + +Then the lips of the little girl parted with a still more radiant +smile, and she murmured, "_Alla bella Italia_!" + +A moment later, Blythe and her companion had passed on and up to the +forward deck where, climbing a short ladder to the railing of the +"crow's nest," they dropped lightly down into this most novel of +elevators. There was a shrill whistle from the boatswain, the waving +of white handkerchiefs where Mrs. Halliday and Mr. DeWitt stood, +forward of the wheel-house, to watch the start; then the big windlass +began to turn, the rope was "paid out," and the slow, rather creaky +journey up the mast had begun. + +It was a perfect day for the adventure. The ship was not rolling at +all, the little motion to be felt being a gentle tilt from stem to +stern which manifested itself at long intervals in the slightest +imaginable dip of the prow. And presently the ascent was accomplished, +and the "crow's nest" once more clung in its accustomed place against +the mast,--forty feet up in the air, according to Mr. Grey's +reckoning. + +As they looked across the great sea the horizon seemed to have receded +to an incalculable distance, and the airs that came to them across +that broad expanse, unsullied by the faintest trace of man or his +works, were purer than are often vouchsafed to mortals. Blythe felt +her heart grow big with the sense of space and purity, and this +wonderful swift passage through the upper air. Involuntarily she took +off her hat to get the full sweep of the breeze upon her forehead. + +Suddenly, a new sound reached her ear,--a small, remote, confidential +kind of voice, that seemed to arrive from nowhere in particular. + +"It's the Captain, hailing us through his megaphone," her companion +remarked; and, glancing down, far down, in the direction of the +bridge, Blythe beheld the Captain, looking curiously attenuated in the +unusual perspective, standing with a gigantic object resembling a +cornucopia raised to his lips. + +"You like it vare you are?" quoth the uncanny voice, not loud, but +startlingly near. + +And Blythe nodded her head and waved her hat in vigorous assent. + +The great ship stretched long and narrow astern, the main deck shut in +with awnings through which the huge smokestacks rose, and the +wide-mouthed ventilators crooked their necks. Along either outer edge +of the awnings a line of lifeboats showed, tied fast in their +high-springing davits, while from the mouth of the yellow +ship's-funnels black masses of smoke floated slowly and heavily +astern. The _Lorelei_ swam the water like a wonderful white aquatic +bird, leaving upon the quiet sea a long snowy track of foam. + +On a line with their lofty perch a sailor swung spider-like among the +network of sheets and halyards that clung about the mainmast, its +meshes clearly defined against the pure blue of the sky, while below +there, on the bridge, the big brass nautical instruments gleamed, and +the caps of the Captain and his lieutenants showed white in the sun. +As Blythe glanced down and away from this stirring outlook, she could +just distinguish among the dark figures of the steerage the small +white face of the child upturned toward the sky; and again a sharp +pang took her, a feeling that the little creature did not belong +among those rough men and women. No wonder that the beautiful Italian +eyes always sought the sky; it was their only refuge from sordid +sights. + +"I suppose the woman meant that the child was her little mistress; did +she not?" Blythe asked abruptly. + +"That was what I understood." + +"It's probably a romance; don't you think so?" and Blythe felt that +she was applying to a high authority for information on such a head. + +"Looks like it," the great authority opined. "I think we shall have to +investigate the case." + +"Oh, will you? And you speak Italian so beautifully!" + +"How do you know that?" + +"Oh, I'm sure of it! It sounds so exactly like the hand-organ men!" + +"Look here, Miss Blythe," the poet protested, "you must not flatter a +modest man like that. My daughter would say you were turning my +head." + +"Oh, I rather think your daughter knows that it's not the kind of head +to be turned," Blythe answered easily. She was beginning to feel as +if she had known this famous personage all her life. + +"I shall tell her that," said he. + +Presently one-bell sounded a faint tinkle far below, and the big +megaphone inquired whether they wanted to come down, and was assured +that they did not. And all the while during their voyage through the +air, which was prolonged for another half-hour, the two good comrades +were weaving romances about the little girl; and with a curious +confidence, as if, forsooth, they could conjure up what fortunes they +would out of that vast horizon toward which the good ship was bearing +them on. + +At last the time came for them to go below, and they reluctantly +signalled to the sailors, grouped about the deck in patient +expectation. Upon which the windlass was set going, and slowly and +creakingly the "crow's nest" was lowered from its airy height. + +The two aeronauts found the steerage still populous with queer +figures, and the atmosphere seemed more unsavoury than ever after +their sojourn among the upper airs. To their disappointment, however, +the woman and her Signorina were nowhere to be seen. Blythe and Mr. +Grey looked for them in every corner of the deck, but no trace of them +was to be found, and Blythe mounted the gangway to their own deck with +much of the reluctance which she often felt in submitting to an +interruption in a serial story. + +They found Mrs. Halliday amusing herself with a glass of cracked ice, +giving casual attention the while to a very long story told by a +garrulous fellow-passenger in a wadded hood. + +"Oh, Mamma," Blythe cried, perching upon the extension foot of her +mother's chair, "why didn't you and Mr. DeWitt stay longer? And how +did it happen that nobody else got wind of it? I don't believe a +single person knows what we've been about! And oh! we have had such a +glorious time! It was like being a bird! Only that little girl in the +steerage oughtn't to be there, and Mr. Grey and I are going to see +what can be done about it, and----" + +The wadded hood had fallen silent, and now its wearer rose, with an +air of resignation, and carried her tale to another listener, while +Mr. Grey also moved away, leaving Blythe to tell her own story. + +They were great friends, Mrs. Halliday and this only child of hers, +and well they might be; for, as Blythe had informed Mr. Grey early in +their acquaintance; "Mamma and I are all there are of us." + +As she sat beside this best of friends,--having dropped into the chair +left vacant by the wadded hood,--Blythe lived over again every +experience and sensation of that eventful afternoon, and with the +delightful sense of sharing it with somebody who understood. And, +since the most abiding impression of all had been her solicitude for +the little steerage passenger, she found no difficulty in arousing her +mother to an almost equal interest in the child's fate. + +And presently, when the cornet player passed them, with the air of +short-lived importance which comes to a ship's cornet three times a +day, and, stationing himself well aft, played the cheerful little tune +which heralds the approaching dinner-hour, Blythe slipped her hand +into her mother's and said: + +"We'll do something about that little girl; won't us, Mumsey?" + +Upon which Mrs. Halliday, rising, and patting the rosy cheek which she +used to call the "apple of her eye," said: + +"I shouldn't wonder if us did, Blythe." + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE LITTLE SIGNORINA + + +Blythe lay awake a long time that night, thinking, not of the bridge +nor of the "crow's nest," not of the Captain nor of the supposed Hugh +Dalton, but of the child in the steerage. How stifling it must be down +there to-night! It was hot and airless enough here, where Blythe had a +stateroom to herself,--separated from her mother's by a narrow +passageway, and where the port-holes had been open all day. Now, to be +sure, they were closed; for the sea was rising, and already the spray +dashed against the thick glass. Oh, how must it be in the steerage! +And how did it happen that that nice woman had been obliged to take +her little Signorina in such squalid fashion to _la bella Italia_? + +Blythe fell asleep with the sound of creaking timbers in her ears, as +the good ship strained against the rising sea, and when the clear note +of the cornet, playing the morning hymn, roused her from her dreams, +the roaring of wind and waves sent her thoughts with a shock of pity +to the little steerage passenger shut up below. For with such a sea as +this the waves must be sweeping the lower deck, and there could be no +release for the poor little prisoner. + +"Vhy you not report that veather from the lookout?" the Captain asked +with mock severity as Blythe appeared at the breakfast table. + +The racks were on, and the knives and forks had begun their +time-honoured minuet within their funny little fences. The amateur +"lookout" glanced across the table at her friend and ally the poet, +who nodded encouragingly as she answered: + +"Oh, we knew the Captain knew all about it!" + +"You think de Capitaen know pretty much eferything, _wie es scheint_!" +was the reply, uttered in so deep a guttural that Blythe knew the old +Viking did not take very seriously the "bit of weather" that seemed to +her so violent. In fact, he owned as much before he had finished his +second cup of coffee. + +Yet when she came up the companionway after breakfast, she found a +stout rope stretched across the deck from stanchion to stanchion to +hold on by, the steamer chairs all tied fast to the rail that runs +around the deckhouse, and every preparation made for rough weather. + +It was not what a sailor would have called a storm, but the sea was +changed enough from the smiling calm of yesterday. Not many passengers +were on deck, half a dozen, only, reclining in their chairs in the lee +of the deckhouse, close reefed in their heavy wraps; while here and +there a pair of indefatigable promenaders lurched and slid along the +heaving deck arm in arm, or clung to any chance support in a desperate +effort to keep their footing. + +Blythe had to buffet her way lustily as she turned a corner to +windward. Holding her golf-cape close about her and jamming her felt +hat well down on her head, she made her way to the narrow passageway +forward of the wheel-house where one looks down into the steerage. The +waves were dashing across the deck, which was deserted excepting for +one or two dark-browed men crouched under shelter of the forecastle. + +There was a light, drizzling rain, and now and then the spray struck +against her face. Blythe looked up at the "crow's nest," which was +describing strange geometrical figures against the sky. The lookouts +in their oil-coats did not seem in the least to mind their erratic +passage through space. She wished it were eight-bells and time for +them to change watch; it was always such fun to see them running up +the ladder, hand over hand, their quick, monkey-like figures +silhouetted against the sky. + +How nobly the great ship forged ahead against an angry sea, climbing +now to the crest of a big wave, and giving a long, shuddering shake +of determination before plunging down into a black, swirling hollow! +And how the wind and the waters bellowed together! + +The Captain was on the bridge in his rubber coat and sou'-wester. He +had said this would not last long, and he had stopped for a second cup +of coffee before leaving the table. All the same, Blythe would not +have ventured to accost him now, even if he had passed her way. + +Presently she returned under shelter of the awning and let Gustav tuck +her up in her chair to dry off. And Mr. DeWitt came and sat down +beside her and instructed her in the delectable game of "Buried +Cities," in which she became speedily so proficient that, taking her +cue from the lettering on one of the lifeboats, she discovered the +city of Bremen lying "buried" in "the som_bre men_ace of the sea!" + +After a while, Gustav appeared before them, bearing a huge tray of +_bouillon_ and sandwiches, with which he was striking the most +eccentric angles; and Blythe discovered that she was preposterously +hungry. And while her nose was still buried in her cup, she espied +over its rim a pair of legs planted well apart, in the cause of +equilibrium, and the big, pleasant voice of Mr. Grey made itself heard +above wind and sea, saying, "Guess where I've been." + +"In the smoking-room," was the prompt reply. + +"Guess again." + +"On the bridge,--only you wouldn't dare!" + +"Once more." + +"Oh, I know," Blythe cried, setting her thick cup down on the deck, +and tumbling off her chair in a snarl of steamer-rugs; "You've been +down in the steerage finding out about the little Signorina!" + +"Who told you?" + +"You did! You looked so pleased with yourself! Oh, do tell me all +about her!" + +"Well, I've had a long talk with the woman. Shall we walk up and +down?" + +And off they went, with that absence of ceremony which characterises +life on shipboard, leaving Mr. DeWitt to bury his cities all unaided +and unapplauded. Then, as the two walked up and down,--literally up +and down, for the ship was pitching a bit, and sometimes they were +labouring up-hill, and sometimes they were running down a steep +incline,--as they walked up and down Mr. Grey told his story. + +The woman, Giuditta, had confided to him all she knew, and he had +surmised more. Giuditta had known the family only since the time, +three years ago, when she had been called in to take care of the +little Cecilia during the illness of the Signora. The father had been +a handsome good-for-nothing, who had got shot in a street row in +that quarter of New York known as "Little Italy." He was +nothing,--_niente_, _niente_;--but the Signora! Oh, if the gentleman +could but have known the Signora, so beautiful, so patient, so sad! +Giuditta had stayed with her and shared her fortunes, which were +all, alas! misfortunes,--and had nursed her through a long +decline. But never a word had she told of her own origin,--the +beautiful Signora,--nor had her father's name ever passed her lips. +Had she known that she was dying, perhaps then, for the child's +sake, she might have forgotten her pride. But she was always +thinking she should get well,--and then, one day, she died! + +There was very little left,--only a few dollars; but among the squalid +properties of the pitiful little stage where the poor young thing had +enacted the last act of her tragedy, was one picture, a _Madonna_, +with the painter's name, G. Bellini, just decipherable. It was a +little picture, twelve inches by sixteen, in a dingy old frame, and +not a pretty picture at that. But a kind man, a dealer in antiquities, +had given Giuditta one hundred dollars for it. "Think of that, +Signore! One hundred dollars for an ugly little black picture no +bigger than that!" + +"I suppose," Mr. Grey remarked, as they stood balancing themselves at +an angle of many degrees,--"I suppose that the picture was +genuine,--else the man would hardly have paid one hundred dollars for +it." + +"And would it be worth more than that?" + +"A trifle," he replied, rather grimly. "Somewhere among the +thousands." + +"But why should they have kept such a picture when they were so poor? +Why didn't they sell it?" + +"That would hardly have occurred to them. It was evidently a family +heirloom that the girl had taken with her because she loved it. I +doubt if she guessed its value. A Bellini! A Giovanni Bellini, in a +New York tenement house! Think of it! And now I suppose some +millionaire has got it. Likely enough somebody who doesn't know enough +to buy his own pictures! Horrible idea! Horrible!" and Mr. Grey strode +along, all but snorting with rage at the thought. + +"But tell me more about the little girl," Blythe entreated, wishing +the wind wouldn't blow her words out of her mouth so rudely. "Her name +is Cecilia, you say?" + +"Yes; Cecilia. Dopo is the name they went by, but the nurse doesn't +think it genuine. Her idea is that her Signora was the daughter of +some great family, and got herself disowned by marrying an opera +singer who subsequently made a fiasco and dropped his name with his +fame. She doesn't think Dopo ever was a family name. It means 'after,' +you know, and they may have adopted it for its ironical +significance." + +"And the poor lady died and never told!" Blythe panted, as they toiled +painfully up-hill with the rain beating in their faces. + +"Yes, and--look out! hold tight!" for suddenly the slant of the deck +was reversed, and they came coasting down to an impromptu seat on a +bench. + +"It seems," Mr. Grey went on, when they had resumed their somewhat +arduous promenade,--"it seems the woman, Giuditta, is quite alone in +the world and has been longing to get back to Italy. So she easily +persuaded herself that she could find the child's family and establish +her in high life. Giuditta has an uncommonly high idea of high life," +he added. "I think she imagines that somebody in a court train and a +coronet will come to meet her Signorina at the pier in Genoa. Poor +things! There'll be a rude awakening!" + +"But we won't let it be rude!" Blythe protested. "We must do something +about it. Can't you think of anything to do?" + +They were standing now, clinging to the friendly rope stretched across +the deck, shoulder high. + +"Giuditta's plan," Mr. Grey replied, "is the naive one of appealing to +the Queen about it. And, seriously, I think it may be worth while to +ask the American Minister to make inquiries. For there is, of course, +a bare chance that the family may be known at Court. In the +meantime----" + +"In the meantime," Blythe interposed, "we've got to get her out of the +steerage!" + +"But how?" + +"Oh, Mamma will arrange that. We'll just make a cabin passenger of +her, and I can take her in with me in my stateroom. Oh! how happy she +will be, lying in my steamer chair, with that dear Gustav to wait on +her! I must go down at once and get Mamma to say yes!" + +"And you think she will?" + +"I know she will! She is always doing nice things. If you really knew +her you wouldn't doubt it!" And with that the young optimist vanished +in her accustomed whirl of golf-cape. + +If faith can move mountains, it is perhaps no wonder that the implicit +and energetic faith of which Blythe Halliday was possessed proved +equal to the removal of a small child from one quarter to another of +the big ship. The three persons concerned in bringing about the change +were easily won over; for Mrs. Halliday was quite of Blythe's mind in +the matter, Mr. Grey had little difficulty in bringing the Captain to +their point of view, while, as for Giuditta, she hailed the event as +the first step in the transformation of her small Signorina into the +little "great lady" she was born to be. + +Accordingly, close upon luncheon time, when the sun was just breaking +through the clouds, and the sea, true to the Captain's prediction, was +already beginning to subside, the tiny Signorina was carried, in the +strong arms of Gustav, up the steep gangway by the wheel-house, where +Blythe and her mother, Mr. DeWitt and the poet, to say nothing of +Captain Seemann himself, formed an impromptu reception committee for +her little ladyship. + +As the child was set on her feet at the head of the gangway, she +turned to throw a kiss down upon her faithful Giuditta, and then, +without the slightest hesitation, she placed her hand in Blythe's, and +walked away with her. + +That evening there was a dance on board the _Lorelei_; for it had been +but the fringe of a storm which they had crossed, and the sea was +again taking on its long, easy swell. + +The deck presented a festal appearance for the occasion. Rows of +Japanese lanterns were strung from side to side against the white +background of awning and deckhouse, and the flags of many nations +lent their gay colours to the pretty scene. The ship's orchestra was +in its element, playing with a "go" and rhythm which seemed caught +from the pulsing movement of the ship itself. + +As Blythe, with Mr. DeWitt, who had been a famous dancer in his day, +led off the Virginia Reel, she wondered how it would strike the +sailors of a passing brig,--this gay apparition of light and music, +riding the great, dark, solemn sea. + +The dance itself was rather a staid, middle-aged affair, for Blythe +was the only young girl on board, and none but the youngest or the +surest-footed could put much spirit into a dance where the law of +gravitation was apparently changing base from moment to moment. Blythe +and her partner, however, took little account of the moving floor +beneath their feet, or the hesitating demeanour of their companions. +One after another, even the most reluctant and self-distrustful of the +revellers found themselves caught up into active participation in the +figure. + +In a quiet corner of the deck sat Mrs. Halliday, with little Cecilia +beside her, snugly stowed away in a nest of steamer-rugs; for they +could not bear to take her below, out of the fresh, invigorating air. +Their little guest spoke hardly any English, but, although Mrs. +Halliday was under the impression that she herself spoke Italian, the +child seemed more conversable in Blythe's company than in that of any +one else, not excepting Mr. Grey, about whose linguistic +accomplishments there could be no question. + +Accordingly when, the Virginia Reel being finished, Blythe came and +sat on the foot of the little girl's chair, they fell into an animated +conversation, each in her own tongue. And presently, during a pause in +the music, the Italian Count chanced to pass their way, and, stopping +in his solitary promenade, appeared to give ear to their talk. + +Suddenly he stooped, and, looking into the animated face of the child, +inquired in his own tongue; "What is thy name, little one?" + +But when the pure, liquid, childish voice answered "Cecilia Dopo," he +merely lifted his hat and, bowing ceremoniously, passed on. + +Mr. Grey, who had watched the little scene from a distance, joined the +group a moment later and, taking a vacant chair beside Mrs. Halliday, +remarked: + +"I think we shall have to cultivate the old gentleman. He might be +induced to lend a hand in behalf of this young person. They are both +Florentines," he added, thoughtfully, "and Florentine society is not +large." + +"Then you really believe the nurse is right about the child?" Mrs. +Halliday asked. + +"Oh, I shouldn't dare say that the mother was a great lady," he +returned; "but there is certainly something high-bred about the little +thing." + +"They often have that air," Mrs. Halliday demurred,--"even the beggar +children." + +"Yes; to our eyes. But, do you know, I rather think the Italians +themselves can tell the difference. I would rather trust Giuditta's +judgment than my own. Besides," he added, after a long pause, during +which he had been watching the expressive face of the child. +"Besides,--there's that Giovanni Bellini. That sort of thing doesn't +often stray into low society." + +At this juncture the tall Italian moved again into their +neighbourhood, and stood, at a point where the awning had been drawn +back, gazing, with a preoccupied air, out to sea. + +Rising from his seat, Mr. Grey approached him, remarking abruptly, and +with a jerk of the head toward Cecilia, "Florentine, is she not?" + +"_Sicuro_," was the grave reply; upon which the Count moved away, to +be seen no more that evening. + +As the Englishman rejoined them after this laconic interview, Blythe +greeted him with a new theory. + +"Do you know," she said, "I used to think the Count was haughty and +disagreeable, but I have changed my mind." + +"That only shows how susceptible you good Republicans are to any sign +of attention from the nobility," was the teasing reply. + +"Perhaps you are right," Blythe returned, with the fair-mindedness +which distinguished her. "You know I never saw a titled person before, +excepting one red-headed English Lord, who hadn't any manners. I've +often thought I should like, of all things, to know a King or Queen +really well!" + +"You don't say so!" Mr. Grey laughed. "And what's your opinion now, of +the old gentleman, since he deigned to interrupt your conversation?" + +"I believe he is unhappy." + +"What makes you think so?" + +"There's an unhappy look away back in his eyes. I never looked in +before,--and then----" + +"And then----?" + +"There's something about his voice." + +"Yes; Tuscan, you know." + +"Oh, is that it? Well, any way, I like him!" + +"If that's the case, perhaps you could make better headway with him +than I." + +"But I don't speak Italian." + +"Perhaps you speak French." + +"I know my conjugations," was the modest admission. + +"And I'm sure he would be enchanted to hear them," Mr. Grey laughed, +as the orchestra struck into the familiar music of the Lancers, +causing him to beat a retreat into the smoking-room. + +And while Blythe danced gaily and heartily with a boy somewhat younger +than herself, and not quite as tall, her little protegee fell into a +deep sleep. And presently, the dance being over, the faithful Gustav +carried her down to Blythe's stateroom, where she was snugly tucked +away in the gently rocking cradle of the lower berth. + +As for Blythe, thus relegated to the upper berth, she entered promptly +into an agreeable dreamland, where she found herself speaking Italian +fluently, and where she discovered, to her extreme satisfaction, that +the Queen of Italy was her bosom friend! + + + + +CHAPTER III + +A NEW DAWN + + +It was pretty to see the little Signorina revive under the favouring +influences of prosperity; and indeed the soft airs of the southern +seas were never sweeter nor more caressing than those which came to +console our voyagers for their short-lived storm. + +Life was full of interest and excitement for the little girl. The +heavy lassitude of her steerage days had fallen from her, and already +that first morning a delicate glow of returning vigour touched the +little cheek. + +"She's picking up, isn't she?" Mr. DeWitt remarked, as he joined +Blythe and the child at the head of the steerage gangway, where the +little one was throwing enthusiastic kisses and musical Italian +phrases down upon the hardly less radiant Giuditta. + +"Oh, yes!" was the confident reply. "She's a different child since her +saltwater bath and her big bowl of oatmeal. Mamma says she really has +a splendid physique, only she was smothering down there in the +steerage." + +Then Mr. DeWitt stooped and, lifting the child, set her on the +railing, where she could get a better view of her faithful friend +below. + +"There! How do you like that?" he inquired. + +Upon which the little girl, finding herself unexpectedly on a level +with Blythe's face, put up her tiny hand and stroked her cheek. + +"Like-a Signorina," she remarked with apparent irrelevance. + +"Oh! You do, do you? Well, she's a nice girl." + +"Nice-a girl-a," the child repeated, adding a vowel, Italian fashion, +to each word. + +Then, with an appreciative look into the pleasant, whiskered +countenance, whose owner was holding her so securely on her +precarious perch, she pressed her little hand gently against his +waistcoat, and gravely remarked, "Nice-a girl-a, _anche il Signore_!" + +"So! I'm a nice girl too, am I?" the old gentleman replied, much +elated with the compliment. + +And Giuditta, down below, perceiving that her Signorina was making new +conquests, snatched her bright handkerchief from her head, and waved +it gaily; whereupon a score of the steerage passengers, seized with +her enthusiasm, waved their hats and handkerchiefs and shouted; +"_Buon' viaggio, Signorina! Buon' viaggio_!" + +And the little recipient of this ovation became so excited that she +almost jumped out of the detaining arms of Mr. DeWitt, who, being of a +cautious disposition, made haste to set her down again; upon which +they all walked aft, under the big awning. + +"She makes friends easily," Mr. Grey remarked, later in the morning, +as he and Blythe paused a moment in their game of ring-toss. The +child was standing, clinging to the hand of a tall woman in black, a +grave, silent Southerner who had hitherto kept quite to herself. + +"Yes," Blythe rejoined, "but she is fastidious. She will listen to no +blandishments from any one whom she doesn't take a fancy to. That +good-natured, talkative Mr. Distel has been trying all day to get her +to come to him, but she always gives him the slip." And Blythe, in her +preoccupation, proceeded to throw two rings out of three wide of the +mark. + +"Has the Count taken any more notice of her?" Mr. Grey inquired, +deftly tossing the smallest of all the rings over the top of the +post. + +"Apparently not; but she takes a great deal of notice of him. See, +she's watching him now. I should not be a bit surprised if she were to +speak to him of her own accord one of these days." + +"There are not many days left," her companion remarked. "The Captain +says we shall make Cape St. Vincent before night." + +"Oh, how fast the voyage is going!" Blythe sighed. + +Yet, sorry as she would be to have the voyage over, no one was more +enchanted than Blythe when Cape St. Vincent rose out of the sea, +marking the end of the Atlantic passage. It was just at sundown, and +the beautiful headland, bathed in a golden light, stood, like the +mystic battlements of a veritable "Castle in Spain," against a +luminous sky. + +"Mamma," Blythe asked, "did you ever see anything more beautiful than +that?" + +They were standing at the port railing, with the little girl between +them, watching the great cliffs across the deep blue sea. + +"Nothing more beautiful than that seen through your eyes, Blythe." + +"I believe you do see it through my eyes, Mumsey," Blythe answered, +thoughtfully, "just as I am getting to see things through Cecilia's +eyes. I never realised before how things open up when you look at them +that way." + +And Mrs. Halliday smiled a quiet, inward smile that Blythe understood +with a new understanding. + +They took little Cecilia ashore with them at Gibraltar the next +morning, and again Blythe experienced the truth of her new theory. + +It was our heroine's first glimpse of Europe, and no delectable detail +of their hour's drive, no exotic bloom, no strange Moorish costume, no +enchanting vista of cliff or sea, was lost upon her. Yet she felt that +even her enthusiasm paled before the deep, speechless ecstasy of the +little Cecilia. It was as if, in the tropical glow and fragrant +warmth, the child were breathing her native air,--as if she had come +to her own. + +On their return, as the grimy old tug which had carried them across +the harbour came alongside the big steamer, the child suddenly +exclaimed, "_Ecco, il Signore!_" and, following the direction of her +gesture, their eyes met those of the Count looking down upon them. He +instantly moved away, and they had soon forgotten him, in the +pleasurable excitement of bestowing upon Giuditta the huge, hat-shaped +basket filled with fruit which they had brought for her. + +Later in the day, as they weighed anchor and sailed out from the +shadow of the great Rock, Blythe found herself standing with Mr. Grey +at the stern-rail of their own deck, watching the face of the mighty +cliff as it changed with the varying perspective. + +"Oh! I wish I were a poet or an artist or something!" she cried. + +"Would you take that monstrous fortress for a subject?" he asked. + +"Yes, and I should do something so splendid with it that nobody would +dare to be satirical!" and she glanced defiantly at her companion, +whose good-humoured countenance was wrinkling with amusement. + +"Let us see," he said. "How would this do?" And he gravely repeated +the following: + + "There once was a fortress named Gib, + Whose manners were haughty and-- + +What rhymes with Gib?" + +"Glib!" Blythe cried. + +"Good! + + Whose manners were haughty and glib. + If you tried to get in, + She replied with a grin,-- + +Quick! Give me another rhyme for Gib." + +"Rib!" Blythe suggested, audaciously. + +"Excellent, excellent! Rib! Now, how does it go? + + There once was a fortress named Gib, + Whose manners were haughty and glib! + If you tried to get in, + She replied, with a grin, + 'I'm Great Britain's impregnable rib!' + +Rather neat! Don't you think?" + +"O Mr. Grey!" Blythe cried. "You've got to write that in my +voyage-book! It's the----" + +At that moment, a gesture from her companion caused her to turn and +look behind her. There, only a few feet from where they were standing, +but with his back to them, was the Count, sitting on one of the long, +stationary benches fastened against the hatchway, while just at his +knees stood little Cecilia. She was balancing herself with some +difficulty on the gently swaying deck, holding out for his acceptance +a small bunch of violets, which one of the market-women at Gibraltar +had bestowed upon her. + +As he appeared to hesitate: "_Prendili!_" she cried, with pretty +wilfulness. Upon which he took the little offering, and lifted it to +his face. + +The child stood her ground resolutely, and presently, "Put me up!" she +commanded, still in her own sweet tongue. + +Obediently he lifted her, and placed her beside him on the seat, where +she sat clinging with one little hand to the sleeve of his coat to +keep from slipping down, with the gentle dip of the vessel. + +The two sat, for a few minutes, quite silent, gazing off toward the +African coast, and Blythe and her companion drew nearer, filled with +curiosity as to the outcome of the interview. + +Presently the child looked up into the Count's face and inquired, with +the pretty Tuscan accent which sounded like an echo of his own +question on the evening of the dance: + +"What is thy name?" + +"Giovanni Battista Allamiraviglia." + +Cecilia repeated after him the long, musical name, without missing a +syllable, and with a certain approving inflection which evidently had +an ingratiating effect upon the many-syllabled aristocrat; for he +lifted his carefully gloved hand and passed it gently over the little +head. + +The child took the caress very naturally, and when, presently, the +hand returned to the knee, she got possession of it, and began +crossing the kid fingers one over the other, quite undisturbed by the +fact that they invariably fell apart again as soon as she loosed her +hold. + +At this juncture the two eavesdroppers moved discreetly away, and +Blythe, leaving her fellow-conspirator far behind, flew to her +mother's side, crying: + +"O Mumsey! She's simply winding him round her finger, and there's +nothing he won't be ready to do for us now!" + +"Yes, dear; I'm delighted to hear it," Mrs. Halliday replied, with +what Blythe was wont to call her "benignant and amused" expression. +"And after a while you will tell me what you are talking about!" + +But Blythe, nothing daunted, only appealed to Mr. Grey, who had just +caught up with her. + +"You agree with me, Mr. Grey; don't you?" she insisted. + +"Perfectly, and in every particular. Mrs. Halliday, your daughter and +I have been eavesdropping, and we have come to confess." + +Whereupon Blythe dropped upon the foot of her mother's chair, Mr. Grey +established himself in the chair adjoining, and they gave their +somewhat bewildered auditor the benefit of a few facts. + +"I really believe," the Englishman remarked, in conclusion,--"I really +believe that haughty old dago can help us if anybody can. And when +your engaging young protegee has completed her conquest,--to-morrow, +it may be, or the day after, for she's making quick work of +it,--we'll see what can be done with him." + +And, after all, what could have been more natural than the attraction +which, from that time forth, manifested itself between the Count and +his small countrywoman? If the little girl, in making her very marked +advances, had been governed by the unwavering instinct which always +guided her choice of companions, the old man, for his part, could not +but find refreshment, after his long, solitary voyage, in the pretty +Tuscan prattle of the child. Most Italians love children, and the +Count Giovanni Battista Allamiraviglia appeared to be no exception to +his race. + +The two would sit together by the hour, absorbed, neither in the +lovely sights of this wonderful Mediterranean voyage, nor in the +movements of those about them, but simply and solely in one another. + +"She's telling her own story better than we could do," Mr. Grey used +to say. + +It was now no unusual thing to see the child established on the old +gentleman's knee, and once Blythe found her fast asleep in his arms. +But it was not until the very last day of the voyage that the most +wonderful thing of all occurred. + +The sea was smooth as a lake, and all day they had been sailing the +length of the Riviera. All day people had been giving names to the +gleaming white points on the distant, dreamy shore,--Nice, Mentone, +San Remo,--names fragrant with association even to the mind of the +young traveller, who knew them only from books and letters. + +Blythe and the little girl were sitting, somewhat apart from the +others, on the long bench by the hatchway where Cecilia had first laid +siege to the Count's affections, and Blythe was allowing the child to +look through the large end of her field-glass,--a source of endless +entertainment to them both. Suddenly Cecilia gave a little shriek of +delight at the way her good friend, Mr. Grey, dwindled into a pigmy; +upon which the Count, attracted apparently by her voice, left his +chair and came and sat down beside them. + +As he lifted his hat, with a polite "_Permetta, Signorina_," Blythe +noticed, for the first time on the whole voyage, that he was without +his gloves. Perhaps the general humanising of his attitude, through +intercourse with the child, had caused him to relax this little point +of punctilio. + +Cecilia, meanwhile, had promptly climbed upon his knee, and now, +laying hold of one of the ungloved hands, she began twisting a large +seal ring which presented itself to her mind as a pleasing novelty. +Presently her attention seemed arrested by the device of the seal, and +she murmured softly, "_Fideliter_." + +Blythe might not have distinguished the word as being Latin rather +than Italian, had she not been struck by the change of countenance in +the wearer of the ring. He turned to her abruptly, and asked, in +French: + +"Does she read?" + +"No," Blythe answered, thankful that she was not obliged to muster her +"conjugations" for the emergency! + +There was a swift interchange of question and answer between the old +man and the child, of which Blythe understood but little. She heard +Cecilia say "Mamma," in answer to an imperative question; the words +"_orologio_" and "_perduto_" were intelligible to her. She was sure +that the crest and motto formed the subject of discussion, and it was +distinctly borne in upon her that the same device--a mailed hand and +arm with the word _Fideliter_ beneath it--had been engraved on a lost +watch which had belonged to the child's mother. But it was all surmise +on her part, and she could hardly refrain from shouting aloud to Mr. +Grey, standing over there, in dense unconsciousness, to come quickly +and interpret this exasperating tongue, which sounded so pretty, and +eluded her understanding so hopelessly. + +The mind of the Count seemed to be turning in the same direction, for, +after a little, he arose abruptly, and, setting the child down beside +Blythe, walked straight across the deck to the Englishman, whom he +accosted so unceremoniously that Blythe's sense of wonders unfolding +was but confirmed. + +The two men turned and walked away to a more secluded part of the +deck, where they remained, deep in conversation, for what seemed to +Blythe a long, long time. She felt as if she must not leave her seat, +lest she miss the thread of the plot,--for a plot it surely was, with +its unravelling close at hand. + +At last she saw the two men striding forward in the direction of the +steerage, and with a conspicuous absence of that aimlessness which +marks the usual promenade at sea. + +The little girl was again amusing herself with the glasses, and, as +the two arbiters of her destiny passed her line of vision, she laughed +aloud at their swiftly diminishing forms. Impelled by a curious +feeling that the child must take some serious part in this crucial +moment of her destiny, Blythe quietly took the glasses from her and +said, as she had done each night when she put her little charge to +bed: + +"Will you say a little prayer, Cecilia?" + +And the child, wondering, yet perfectly docile, pulled out the little +mother-of-pearl rosary that she always wore under her dress, and +reverently murmured one of the prayers her mother had taught her. +After which, as if beguiled by the association of ideas into thinking +it bedtime, she curled herself up on the bench, and, with her head in +Blythe's lap, fell fast asleep. + +And Blythe sat, lost in thought, absently stroking the little head, +until suddenly Mr. Grey appeared before her. + +"You have been outrageously treated, Miss Blythe," he declared, +seating himself beside her, "but I had to let the old fellow have his +head." + +"Oh, don't tell me anything, till we find Mamma," Blythe cried. "It's +all her doing, you know,--letting me have Cecilia up here," and, +gently rousing the sleeper, she said, "Come, Cecilia. We are going to +find the Signora." + +"And you consider it absolutely certain?" Mrs. Halliday asked, when +Mr. Grey had finished his tale. She was far more surprised than +Blythe, for she had had a longer experience of life, to teach her a +distrust in fairy-stories. + +"There does not seem a doubt. The child's familiarity with the crest +was striking enough, but that Bellini _Madonna_ clinches it. And then, +Giuditta's description of both father and mother seems to be +unmistakable." + +"Oh! To think of his finding the child that he had never heard of, +just as he had given up the search for her mother!" Blythe exclaimed. + +Cecilia was again playing happily with the glasses, paying no heed to +her companions. + +"The strangest thing of all to me," Mrs. Halliday declared, "is his +relenting toward his daughter after all these years." + +"You must not forget that Fate had been pounding him pretty hard," Mr. +Grey interposed. "When a man loses in one year two of his children, +and the only grandchild he knows anything about, it's not surprising +that he should soften a bit toward the only child he has left." + +They were still discussing this wonderful subject, when, half an hour +later, the tall figure of the Count emerged from the companionway. As +he bent his steps toward the other side of the deck he was visible +only to the child, who stood facing the rest of the group. She +promptly dropped the glasses upon Blythe's knee, and crying, "_Il +Signore!_" ran and took hold of his hand; whereupon the two walked +away together and were not seen for a long, long time. + +Then Blythe and Mr. Grey went up on the bridge and told the Captain. +No one else was to know--not even Mr. DeWitt--until after they had +landed, but the Captain was certainly entitled to their confidence. + +"For," Blythe said, "you know, Captain Seemann, it never would have +happened if you had not sent us up in the crow's nest that day." + +Upon which the Captain, beaming his brightest, and letting his cigar +go out in the damp breeze for the sake of making his little speech, +declared: + +"I know one thing! It would neffer haf happen at all, if I had sent +anybody else up in the crow's nest but just Miss Blythe Halliday with +her bright eyes and her kind heart!" + +And Blythe was so overpowered by this tremendous compliment from the +Captain of the _Lorelei_ that she had not a word to say for herself. + +That evening Mr. Grey inscribed his nonsense-verse in Blythe's book; +and not that only, for to those classic lines he added the following: + +"The above was composed in collaboration with his esteemed +fellow-passenger, Miss Blythe Halliday, by Hugh Dalton, _alias_ 'Mr. +Grey.'" + +It was, of course, a great distinction to own such an autograph as +that; yet somehow the kind, witty Mr. Grey had been so delightful just +as he was, that Blythe hardly felt as if the famous name added so very +much to her satisfaction in his acquaintance. + +"I knew it all the time," she declared, quietly; "but it didn't make +any difference." + +"That's worth hearing," said Hugh Dalton. + + * * * * * + +They parted from the little Cecilia at sunrise, but with promises on +both sides of a speedy meeting among the hills of Tuscany. + +The old Count, with the child's hand clasped in his, paused as he +reached the gangway, at the foot of which the triumphant Giuditta was +awaiting them, and pointed toward the rosy east which was flushing the +beautiful bay a deep crimson. + +"Signorina," he said in his careful French, made more careful by his +effort to control his voice,--"Signorina, it is to you that I owe a +new dawn,--to you and to your honoured mother." + +Then, as Mr. DeWitt and Mr. Grey approached, to tell them that +everything was in readiness for them to land, Blythe turned, with the +light of the sunrise in her face, and said, under her breath, so that +only her mother could hear: + +"O Mumsey! How beautiful the world is, with you and me right in the +very middle of it!" + + + + +ARTFUL MADGE + +CHAPTER I + +THE PRIZE CONTEST + + +"Artful Madge" was the very flippant name by which Madge Burtwell's +brother Ned had persisted in calling her from the time when, at the +age of sixteen, she gained reluctant permission to become a student at +the Art School. + +"Not that we have any objection to art," Mrs. Burtwell was wont to +explain in a deprecatory tone; "only we should have preferred to have +Madge graduate first, before devoting herself to a mere +accomplishment. It seems a little like putting the trimming on a dress +before sewing the seams up," she would add; "I did it once when I was +a girl, and the dress always had a queer look." + +But Mrs. Burtwell, though firm in her own opinions, was something of +a philosopher in her attitude toward the contrary-minded, and even +where her own children were concerned she never allowed her influence +to degenerate into tyranny. When she found Madge, at the age of +sixteen, more eager than ever before to study art, and nothing else, +she told her husband that they might as well make up their minds to +it, and, at the word, their minds were made up. For Mr. Burtwell was +the one entirely and unreasoningly tractable member of Mrs. Burtwell's +flock; in explanation of which fact he was careful to point out that +only a mature mind could appreciate the true worth of Mrs. Burtwell's +judgment. + +The Burtwells were people of small means and of correspondingly modest +requirements. They lived in an unfashionable quarter of the city, kept +a maid-of-all-work, sent their children to the public schools, and got +their books from the Public Library. Having no expensive tastes, they +regarded themselves as well-to-do and envied no one. + +If Madge Burtwell's eyes had been a whit less clear, or her nature a +thought less guileless, Ned would not have been so enchanted with his +new name for her. Indeed, a few years ago she had been described by an +only half-appreciative friend as "a splendid girl without a mite of +tact," and if she had succeeded in somewhat softening the asperity of +her natural frankness, there was enough of it left to lend a delicate +shade of humour to the name. + +Artful Madge, then, was a student at the Art School, and a very +promising one at that. At the end of three years she had made such +good progress that she was promoted to painting in the Portrait Class, +and since her special friend and crony, Eleanor Merritt, was also a +member of that class, Madge considered her cup of happiness full. Not +that there were not visions in plenty of still better things to come, +but they seemed so far in the future that they hardly took on any +relation with the actual present. Madge and Eleanor dreamed of Europe, +of the old masters and of the great Paris studios, but it is a +question whether the fulfillment of any dream could have made them +happier than they were to-day. Certain it is, that, as they stood side +by side in the great barren studio, clad in their much-bedaubed, +long-sleeved aprons, and working away at a portrait head, they had +little thought for anything but the task in hand. The one vital matter +for the moment was the mixing and applying of their colours, and, in +their eagerness to reproduce the exact contour of a cheek, or the +precise shadow of an unbeautiful nose, they would hardly have +transferred their attention from the most ill-favoured model to the +last and greatest Whistler masterpiece. + +The girls at the Art School had got hold of Ned's name for his sister +and adopted it with enthusiasm. + +"If you want to know the truth, ask Artful Madge," was a very common +saying among them. + +"Artful Madge says it's a good likeness, anyhow!" modest little Minnie +Drayton would maintain, when hard pressed by the teasing of the older +girls. + +The incongruity of the name seemed somehow to throw into brighter +relief the peculiar sincerity of its bearer's character, and by the +time it was generally adopted among the students Madge Burtwell's +popularity was established. + +It was well that Madge was a favourite, for in certain respects she +was the worst sinner in the class. To begin with, her palette was the +very largest in the room, and the most plentifully besmeared with +colours, and woe to the girl who ventured too near it! As Madge stood +before her easel, tall and fair and earnest, painting with an ardour +and concentration which was all too sure to beguile her into her +besetting sin of "exaggerating details," she wielded both brush- and +palette-arm with a genial disregard of consequences. Nor could one +count upon her confining her activities to one location. Like all the +students, she was in the habit of backing away from her natural +anchorage from time to time, the better to judge of her work, and not +one of them all had such a fatal tendency to come up against an +unoffending easel in the rear, sending canvas and paint-tubes rattling +upon the floor. + +Instantly she would drop upon her knees, overcome with contrition, and +help collect the scattered treasures, giving many a jar or joggle to +neighbouring easels in the process. + +"It's a shame, Miss Folsom!" she would cry, struggling to her feet +again, still clutching her beloved palette, which seemed fairly to +rain colours on every surrounding object. "It's a shame! But if you +will just cast your eye upon that thing of mine, you will perceive +that it was the recklessness of desperation. Look at it! There's not a +value in it!" + +Artful Madge was always forgiven, and no one ever thought of calling +her awkward, and when, in the early autumn, a Saturday sketching club +was organised, it was christened "The Artful Daubers" in honor of +Madge, and she was unanimously elected president. + +The girls were not in the habit of paying much attention to chance +visitors who came in from time to time and made the perilous passage +among the easels, and lucky was the "parent" or "art-patron" who +escaped without a streak of colour on some portion of his raiment. +When Mrs. Oliver Jacques looked in upon them one memorable morning in +February no premonition of great things to come stirred the company; +only indifferent glances were directed upon her by the few who deigned +to observe her at all. And this pleased Mrs. Oliver Jacques very much +indeed. + +Yet, if the girls had paused to consider,--a thing which they never +did when there was a model on the platform,--they would have been +aware that their visitor was a person of importance in the world of +Art, for importance in no other world would have secured to her the +personal escort of Mr. Salome, the adored teacher of their class. Yet +Mrs. Jacques was a charming little old lady who would have commanded +attention on her own merits in any less preoccupied assembly than +that of the studio. Her exceedingly bright eyes and her exceedingly +white hair seemed to accentuate her animation of manner; there was so +much sparkle in her face that even her silence did not lack point. + +She had accomplished her tortuous passage among the easels without +meeting with any mishaps in the shape of Cremnitz-white or +crimson-lake. She had paused occasionally and had bestowed a critical +nod upon the one "blocked-in" countenance, or had drawn her brows +together questioningly over a study in which the nose had a +startlingly finished appearance in a still sketchy environment, but +not until she had successfully avoided the last easel, planted at an +erratic angle just where the unwary would be sure to stub his toe, did +she make any remark. + +"A lot of them, aren't there?" she observed. + +"Yes, the school is pretty full," Mr. Salome replied. "In fact, we're +a little bothered for room." + +"Any imagination among them?" + +"Well, as to that, it's rather early to form an opinion. Our aim just +now is to keep them to facts. Some of them," the artist added with a +smile, "are rather too much inclined to draw upon their imagination. +Now there is one girl there who is, humanly speaking, certain to paint +the model's hair jet-black, or as black as paint can be made. And yet, +you see, there is not a black thread in it." + +"I wonder whether you would object to my making an experiment?" Mrs. +Jacques asked, abruptly. + +And from that seemingly unpremeditated question of Mrs. Jacques', and +from the consultation that ensued, grew the Prize Contest, destined to +be famous in the annals of the school. + +When, on that very afternoon, the students were assembled for the +occasion, they had not yet had time to adjust their minds to the +magnitude of the interests involved. Yet the conditions were simple +enough. That student who should, in the space of two hours, produce +the best composition illustrative of "Hope" was to receive a prize of +five hundred dollars! The conviction prevailed among them that the +vivacious little old lady with the white hair could be none other than +the fairy godmother of nursery lore, and it was only too delightful to +find that agile and beneficent myth interesting herself in the cause +of Art. + +When once the class was fairly launched upon its new emprise, a change +in the usual aspect of things became apparent. In the first place, +most of the students were seated; for, in a task of pure composition, +there was no occasion either for standing or for "prowling,"--the term +familiarly applied to the sometimes disastrous backward and forward +movements of which mention has been made, and which ordinarily gave so +much action to the scene. Furthermore, the use of watercolor, as +lending itself more readily than oils to rapid execution, deprived the +scene of one of its most picturesque features,--namely, the +brilliant-hued palette which, with its similarity to a shield, was +wont to lend its bearer an Amazonian air, not lost upon the class +caricaturists. Subdued, however, and almost "lady-like" as the +appearance of the class had become, hardly half an hour had passed +before the genial spirit of creation had so taken possession of the +assembly as to cast a glow and glamour of its own upon it. Here and +there, to be sure, might still be seen an anxious, intent young face +with eyes fixed upon vacancy, or an idle, if somewhat begrimed and +parti-coloured hand, fiercely clutching a dejected head; but nearly +all were already busily at work, eagerly painting, or as eagerly +obliterating strokes too hastily made. The subject, hackneyed as it +certainly is, had pleased and stimulated the girls. There was a +mingled vagueness and familiarity in its suggestion which puzzled them +and spurred them on at the same time. + +Among the most impetuous workers, almost from the outset, was Artful +Madge. She had instantly conceived of Hope as a vague, beckoning +figure, which was to take its significance from the multitude and +variety of its followers. She chose a large sheet of paper and +quickly sketched in the upper left-hand corner a very indefinite hint +of a winged, luminous something,--it might have been an angel or a +bird or a cloud, seen from a great distance, against a somewhat +threatening sky. Without defining the form at all she very cleverly +produced an impression of receding motion;--she ventured even to hope +that there was something alluring in the motion. That, however, must +be made unmistakably clear through the pursuing figures with which she +proposed to fill the foreground. + +She glanced at Eleanor, who had not yet mixed a colour. + +"What are you waiting for?" she asked. + +"I don't seem ready to begin," said Eleanor, in an absent tone of +voice. + +"Have you got an idea?" + +"I think so." + +"Then do hurry up and go ahead, or you'll get left." + +Madge sat a moment, looking straight before her. + +"What are you going to put in there?" asked Eleanor. + +"What I want is all the people in the world," Madge replied, with +perfect gravity. "But there is not room for them." + +A moment later she was working furiously, with hot cheeks and shining +eyes and breath coming faster and faster. + +First she would have a soldier. Madge had always loved a soldier; her +father had been one in the great and splendid days before she was +born. Yes, a soldier must come first. And forthwith a very sketchy +warrior stepped, with a very martial air, upon the paper. Then an +artist ought to come next;--only she could not think of any way of +indicating his calling without the aid of some conventional emblem. A +mere look of inspiration might belong to a poet or a preacher as well +as to an artist. Besides which, she was by no means sure that she knew +how to paint a look of inspiration. And then it came to her that, +unless she could paint just that, her picture must be a failure; and +so she fell upon it, and began sketching in figures of old and young, +rich and poor, trying only to put into each face the eager, upward +look which should focus all, in spirit as well as in actual direction, +upon the flying, luminous figure. In some attempts she succeeded and +in some she failed. There was one old woman, with abnormally deep +wrinkles, and shoulders somewhat out of drawing, whose face had caught +a curiously inspired look; Madge did not dare touch her again for fear +of losing it. Her artist, on the other hand, the young man with the +ideal brow and very large eyes, grew more and more inane and +expressionless the more eagerly his creator worked at him. + +On the whole, the production as a two-hour composition by a three-year +student was rather good than bad. When time was called Madge felt +pretty sure that she should not win the prize; she had undertaken too +much, both for the occasion and for her own ability. And yet it was +borne in upon her to-day that she was going to make a better artist +than she had ever before dared hope. + +So absorbed had she been in her own work, that she had completely +forgotten Eleanor, and had not even been aware that her friend had +begun painting an hour ago. Now she turned to her with compunction in +her heart. Eleanor held her finished sketch in her hand, but her eyes +had wandered to the high, broad north window which was one great sheet +of radiant blue sky. + +Eleanor's composition was very simple, but extremely well done, and in +the glance Madge was able to give it before the sketches were handed +in she saw that it was delicately suggestive. It represented a curving +shore, a quiet sea, and a saffron sky,--no sails on the sea, no clouds +in the sky. Upon the shore stood a solitary pine-tree, almost denuded +of branches, and against the tree leaned the slender figure of a +youth, looking dreamily across the sea to the horizon, where the +saffron colour was tinged with gold. That was all, but Madge felt sure +that it was enough; and, as she thought about it, she felt herself +very small and crude and confused, and she was conscious of a +perfectly calm and dispassionate wish to tear her own sketch in two. +She did not do so, however. There was no irritation, nor envy, nor +even displeasure, in her mind. She had not supposed that either she or +Eleanor could do anything so good as that sketch,--since one of them +could, why, that was just so much clear gain. + +A moment later the studio was in a tumult. The sketches had been +handed over to the three judges, who had gone into instant +consultation over them. Mrs. Jacques had decreed, with characteristic +decision, that the judges were bound to be as prompt as the +competitors, and the award was promised within half an hour. What +wonder if the usual tumult of dispersion was increased tenfold by the +excitement of the occasion? The voices were pitched in a higher key, +the easels clattered more noisily than ever, there was a more lively +movement among the many-hued aprons, as they were pulled off and +consigned with many a shake and a flourish to their respective pegs. + +[Illustration: "Eleanor's eyes had wandered to the high, broad north +window."] + +"What did you paint?" asked one high voice, whose owner was +enthusiastically shaking the water from her paint-brush all over the +floor. + +"I painted you--working for the prize." + +"Not really!" + +"Yes, really! You were just at the right angle for it, and you did +look so hopeful!" + +"You can't make me believe you played such a shabby trick upon me, +Mary Downing!" + +"Shabby! If you knew how good-looking you were at a three-eighths' +angle you would be grateful to me! You did have such an inspired look +for a little while,--before you got disgusted, and began to wash +out." + +"Jane Rhoades did an awfully pretty thing--a white bird with a boy +running after it. But I felt perfectly certain that the little wretch +had a gun in his other hand!" + +"What a fiery head you gave your angel, Mattie Stiles! He looked like +Loge in _Rheingold!_" + +"I don't care," said Mattie, in a tone of voice that showed that she +did care very much indeed. "I do like red hair, and we haven't had a +chance to paint any all winter." + +"Red hair wouldn't make Titians of us," sighed Miss Isabella Ricker, +who was of a despondent temperament. + +"It wouldn't be any hindrance, anyhow!" Mattie insisted. + +Meanwhile the half-hour was drawing to a close. A general air of rough +order had descended upon the studio. The girls were sitting or +standing about in groups, their remarks getting more disjointed and +irrelevant as the nervousness of anticipation grew upon them. Madge +and Eleanor had found a seat on the steps of the platform. The former +was making a pencil sketch of Miss Isabella Ricker, who had abandoned +herself to dejection in a remote corner of the room. Madge looked up +suddenly, and found that Eleanor was watching her work. + +"Your thing is very interesting," she remarked, in a reserved tone, +which, nevertheless, sent the colour mounting slowly up her friend's +sensitive cheek. They both understood that no more commendatory +adjective than "interesting" was to be found in the art-student's +vocabulary. + +"You're partial, Madge." + +"Not a bit of it. But I know an interesting thing when I see it. If +you win the prize," she asked abruptly, "what shall you do with the +money?" + +"If you go to the moon next week, what shall you do with the green +cheese?" Eleanor retorted, with an unprecedented outburst of sarcasm. + +"I think you might answer my question," said Madge; and at that +instant the door opened and a hush fell upon the room. + +The suspense was not painfully prolonged. The Curator of the Art +Museum, who had been associated with Mrs. Jacques and Mr. Salome as +judge, stepped upon the platform, from which Madge and Eleanor had +precipitately retreated, and made the following announcement: + +"We have, on the whole," he said, "been very well pleased with the +work we have had to consider. In fact, several of the sketches were +better than anything we had looked for. Nevertheless our decision was +not a difficult one, and our choice is unanimous. The prize which Mrs. +Jacques has had the originality and the generosity to offer has been +awarded to Mary Eleanor Merritt." + + * * * * * + +"And now will you answer my question?" + +Madge and Eleanor were walking home together through the light snow +which had just begun to fall. They had been curiously shy of speaking, +and, before the silence was broken, a pretty wreath of snow had formed +itself about the rim of each of their black felt hats, while little +ribbons of it were decorating the folds of their garments. + +"What are you going to do with your green cheese?" + +"I shall go to Paris next autumn," said Eleanor, tightly clasping the +check which she held inside her muff. + +"That's what I thought," said Madge; and if her eyes grew a trifle red +and moist it was perhaps natural enough, since the snow was flying +straight into them. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE MINIATURE + + +"What makes you keep looking at me, Eleanor Merritt? You're not a bit +of a good model!" + +Thus reproved, Eleanor once more fixed her eyes upon a very bad +oil-portrait of Great-grandfather Burtwell, an elderly man of a wooden +countenance, in stock and choker, surmounting an expanse of black +broadcloth which occupied two-thirds of the canvas. + +The girls were established in what was known as the spare-room of the +Burtwell house, which, with its north light and usual freedom from +visitors made a very good studio. Madge was painting a miniature of +Eleanor. The diminutive size of her undertaking was causing her a good +deal of embarrassment, and she was consequently inclined to be rather +severe with her sitter. + +"You know I am not going to have many more chances of looking at you +for a year to come," Eleanor urged, in a tone of meek dejection. + +"And I can't see you, even now," Madge persisted, "if you don't turn +more toward the light." + +There was silence again for some minutes, while Madge painted steadily +on. Difficult as was this new task which she had set herself, she was +captivated with it. However the miniature might turn out as a +likeness, she felt sure that each stroke of her brush was making a +prettier picture of it. The eyes already had the real Eleanor look, +and the hair was "pretty nice." The mouth was troublesome, to be sure, +and to-day she did not feel inspired to improve it, and had turned her +attention to less important details. + +"You've got such a pretty ear!" she remarked presently, as she touched +its outermost rim with a hair line, cocking her head to one side, the +while, in a very professional manner; "Did you ever notice what a +pretty ear you have?" + +"Better be careful how you talk about it," Eleanor laughed, "for fear +it should begin to burn!" + +The artist looked in some trepidation at the feature in question, but +its soft hue did not deepen. She took the precaution, however, to +change the subject; to one which she often chose, indeed, for the sake +of the animation it brought into the pretty face of her model. +Eleanor's "repose" sometimes bothered her. + +"What shall you do the first day in Paris?" Madge asked. + +"I shall write to you." + +"Good gracious! You won't write to me before you have seen the +Louvre!" + +"I shall write to you the very first minute. And then I shall write +again that same evening, and tell you whether there really is a +Louvre! If there shouldn't be one, you know, I shouldn't feel so like +a pig in being there without you!" + +"You needn't feel like a pig, as far as that goes," said Madge. "I +couldn't have gone to Paris if I had won the prize." + +"Why not?" + +"Well, I had it out with Father this morning. He says it's not a mere +matter of money; that if he and Mother thought well of my going, they +could manage it." + +"O Madge! Can't you make them think well of it?" + +"I'm afraid not. Father never did really believe in my going in for +art, and I think he believes in it less now than he ever did. He says +I've been at it for three years, and I haven't painted a pretty +picture yet. And he says he doesn't see what good it's going to do me +in after-life; that if I marry I sha'n't keep it up, and there +wouldn't be any good in my trying to;--which is, of course a mistake, +only I can't make him believe that it is,--and he says that if I don't +marry, I've got to earn my living sooner or later." + +"Why, but that's just it, Madge! You're going to be able to earn your +living! You're sure to!" + +But Madge was again engrossed in her work. The afternoon would soon +draw to a close, and if she wished to carry out her designs upon that +ear it behooved her to stop talking. Though her little picture was an +oval of three inches by four, it had cost her more strokes than any +canvas of ten times the size had ever done. And Eleanor was to sail in +a fortnight! + +At last the light began to fade, and Madge knew that she must stop. + +"What do you suppose Father said to me this morning?" she asked, as +she washed out her brushes and put her paint-box in order. + +"I can't imagine." + +"Well, he said that when any good judge thought my pictures worth +paying for in good hard cash, it would be time to think of sending me +'traipsing over the world with my paint-pot.' He said that if I would +come to him with a fifty-dollar bill of my own earning he should begin +to think there was some sense in my art-talk." + +"Did he really say that? Why, Madge, who knows?" + +Madge had shut up her paint-box and moved to the window, where she was +gloomily looking down into her neighbours' backyards. + +"If you mean Noah's Dove," she said, "You might as well give him up. +He's come back for the thirteenth time." + +Now "Noah's Dove" was the name which Madge had bestowed upon a small +bundle of pen-and-ink sketches which she had been sending about to the +illustrated papers for two or three months past, and which had earned +their name by the persistency with which they had found their way back +again. The girls had both thought them funny and original; indeed +Eleanor, with the partiality of one's best friend, did not hesitate to +pronounce them better than many of the things that got accepted. Up to +this time, however, no editor had seemed disposed to recognise their +merits, and they had been repeatedly and ignominiously rejected. + +"But you'll keep on sending them, won't you, Madge?" Eleanor +insisted. + +"Of course I shall, as long as there is a picture-paper left in the +country; though the postage does cost an awful lot!" + +The sun had set, and a tinge of rosy colour was spreading across the +northern sky behind the chimneys. The girls stood silent for a moment, +watching the colour deepen, while a wistful look came into Eleanor's +face. + +"After all, Madge," she said; "it must be nice to have somebody think +for you, even when he doesn't think the way you want him to." + +"Oh, of course, Father's a dear. I don't suppose I would swap him off, +even for Paris!" + +"I wish I could even remember my father or my mother, or anybody that +really belonged to me!" Eleanor said; then, feeling that she was +making an appeal for sympathy, a thing which she was principled +against doing, she turned her eyes away from the tender, beguiling +colour behind the chimneys, and looked, instead, at the big oil +portrait on the wall. "It's something to have even a painted +grandfather of your own!" she declared. + +"How I should love to give you mine!" laughed Madge. "He's such a +horrible daub, and I should so like to have the frame when it comes +time to exhibit! You would not insist upon having him in a frame, +would you, Nell?" + +Presently the girls went down-stairs together and Eleanor stayed to +tea, and told the family all about her Paris plans, and how she felt +like a pig to be going without Madge. And all the time, as she talked +to these kindly, sympathetic people, it seemed to her that Madge was +even more to be envied than she; and she wished she knew how to say so +in an acceptable manner. But Eleanor found as much difficulty as most +of us do, in expressing our best and truest thoughts, and so the +Burtwell family never knew what a heart-warming impression they had +made upon their guest. + +Eleanor had lived for the past three years with a married cousin, a +daughter of the not particularly congenial or affectionate Aunt Sarah, +now deceased, who had brought her up from babyhood. The gentle, +sensitive girl, with the artistic temperament, had never been happy +with her cousin, though the latter was far from suspecting the fact. +Mrs. Hamilton Hicks was fond of Eleanor, or imagined herself to be so, +and she always gave her young cousin her due share of credit, in view +of the fact that they had "never had any words together." +Nevertheless, she had acceded very readily to the Paris plan, and had +herself taken pains to find a suitable chaperon for the young +traveller. + +The result was, that on the fifteenth of September Eleanor went forth +into the great world in company with a lively and voluble Frenchwoman, +a lady whom she had seen but twice before in her life, who had +promised to establish her in a good private family in Paris. And since +Mrs. Hamilton Hicks had negotiated the arrangement, its success was a +foregone conclusion. + +When Madge left the railway station after bidding Eleanor good-bye, +and stepped out into the crowded city thoroughfare, the world seemed +to her very empty and desolate, in spite of the multitude of her +fellow-creatures who jostled against her. She could think of nothing +but Eleanor, standing on the platform of the car as the train moved +out of the station, and she was desperately sorry to have lost the +last sight of her friend's tearful face, because of a curious blur +that had come over her own eyes at the moment. At the recollection, +she mechanically put her hand into her pocket in search of the +miniature which she usually carried about with her. She had left it at +home lest she should lose it in the crowded railway station. It gave +her a pang not to find it, and she made up her mind then and there +that she would never go without it again. + +The moment she reached her own room she seized the picture and had a +good look at it. She had placed it in the inner gilt rim of an old +daguerreotype, which set it off very nicely. She had discarded the +hard leather daguerreotype case, as being too clumsy to carry about in +her pocket, and in its place had made a sort of pocket-book of red +morocco which was a sufficient protection for the glass, in her +careful keeping. + +She had never liked the picture so well as she did to-day, for she +thought of it now for the first time, not as a work of art, but as a +likeness, and imperfect as it was, even from that point of view, it +gave her very great pleasure to look at it. Yes, decidedly, she must +always have it by her hereafter; and she slipped it into her pocket +while she made herself ready for tea. + +But supposing she should have her pocket picked! A pickpocket, she +reflected, might, in the hastiness which must always characterise his +operations, mistake the little leather case for a purse, and then--how +should she ever get the precious miniature back again? "Not that he +would want to keep it," she said to herself, as she took it out once +more for a parting look,--"unless he should lose his heart to that +ear!"--and she regarded the tiny pink object with pardonable pride. +But with the best intentions in the world, how would he be able to +restore it? She must put her address in the case; that would be a +simple matter. + +An hour later, the family were gathered about the great round table in +the pleasant sitting-room, pursuing their various avocations by the +light of an excellent argand burner. Mr. Burtwell was reading his +evening paper, imparting occasional choice bits to his wife and his +eldest daughter, Julia, who were dealing with a heap of mending. The +two younger children were playing lotto, while Ned was having a +hand-to-hand tussle with his Cicero, a foeman likely to prove worthy +of his steel. + +Madge had taken out a sheet of paper, with a view to inscribing her +address upon it. The mere act of doing so had called up to her mind so +vivid an impression of the thief for whose information it was +destined, that she suddenly felt impelled to address to him a few +words of admonition. With an agreeable sense of the absurdity of her +performance, she began a letter to this figment of her imagination, +and this is what she wrote: + + * * * * * + +"DEAR PICKPOCKET, + +"For, as I shall never leave this miniature about anywhere, you must +be a pickpocket if it falls into your hands. To begin with, then; it +is not a good miniature at all, and there is no use in your trying to +sell it. In fact, it is a very bad miniature, as you will see if you +know anything about such things, which you probably don't. But it is +very valuable to me, and so I hope you will return it to me as soon as +you find out how bad it is. You probably won't want to bring it +yourself,--I'm sure I should not think you would!--but you can +perfectly well send it by express, and you can let them collect +charges on delivery, unless you think that, under the circumstances, +you ought to prepay them. My address is, + + Miss Margaret Burtwell," etc. + + * * * * * + +Madge read over her production with an amusement and satisfaction +which quite filled, for the moment, the aching void of which she had +been so painfully conscious. The letter occupied but one-half the +sheet, and, as the young artist's eye fell upon the blank third page, +she was seized with an irresistible impulse to draw a picture on it. + +The figure of the pickpocket was by this time so vivid to her mind, +that she began making a pen-and-ink sketch of him, as a dark-browed +villain in the act of rifling the pocket of a very haughty young woman +proceeding along the street with an air of extreme self-consciousness. +The drawing was on a very small scale, and when it was finished to her +satisfaction there was still half the page unoccupied. Madge hastily +wrote under the sketch the words: "The Crime," and a moment later she +was engrossed in the execution of a still more dramatic design, +representing the criminal in the hands of two stalwart policemen, +being ignominiously dragged through the street toward a sort of +mediaeval fortress, with walls some twenty feet thick, upon which was +inscribed in enormous characters, "JAIL." Still more action was given +the drawing by the introduction of two or three small and gleeful +ragamuffins, dancing a derisive war-dance behind the captive, and of +two dogs of doubtful lineage, barking like mad on the outskirts of the +group. Under this picture was inscribed, "The Consequences of Crime," +and at the bottom of the page appeared the words, "Behold and +tremble!" + +"What's Artful Madge up to?" asked Ned, as he closed his Latin +Dictionary with a bang. + +"Writing a letter," Madge replied, composedly. + +"To the Prize Pig?" + +"The what?" + +"The Prize Pig! You know Eleanor said she felt like a pig to be going +to Paris without you, and as she got the prize----" + +"You impudent boy!" + +"Not in the least. I'm only witty." + +"Witty!" + +"Yes,--I've heard wit defined as the unexpected." + +"The dictionary doesn't define it so, and good manners don't define +impudence as wit." + +"We're not discussing impudence, we're discussing wit. And I know +positively that wit is defined as the unexpected." + +"Let's have your authority," said Mr. Burtwell, who had not heard the +first part of the discussion. + +"Let us see what the dictionary says," suggested Julia, who was the +scholar of the family. + +"Very well; and what will you bet that I'm not right?" + +"We don't bet in this family," said Mr. Burtwell, with decision. + +"Oh, well, that's only a form of speech. What will you do for me, +Madge, if I'm right?" + +"I'll put you into an allegorical sketch." + +"Good! I always wondered that you didn't make use of such good +material in the artful line!" + +The wire dictionary-stand, containing the portly form of Webster +Unabridged, was instantly brought up to the light, and there was half +a minute's silence while Ned turned the leaves. + +"Score me one!" he shouted, in high glee. "Listen to Webster! 'Wit. 3. +Felicitous association of objects not usually connected, so as to +produce a pleasant surprise.' Quite at your service, my artful +relative, whenever you would like a sitting!" + +"I protest! You haven't won!" + +"Haven't won, indeed! I leave it to the gentlemen of the jury. Is not +the name of Prize Pig for Miss Eleanor Merritt a 'felicitous +association of objects not usually connected'?" + +"No! The association is infelicitous, and consequently it does not +produce a 'pleasant surprise.'" + +The family listened with the amused tolerance with which they usually +left such discussions to the two chief wranglers. + +"I maintain," insisted Ned, "that the association of objects is +felicitous, and must be, because it was instituted by Miss Eleanor +Merritt herself. She won the prize, and she said she was a pig." + +"But it doesn't produce a pleasant surprise," Madge objected. + +"I beg your pardon! It _has_ produced a pleasant surprise, as I can +testify, for I have experienced it myself. What is your verdict, +Mother?" + +"My verdict is, that it's a pity, as I always thought it was, that you +are not to be a lawyer, and that Madge can't do better than practise +her drawing by making the allegorical sketch." + +That Mrs. Burtwell should be on Ned's side was a foregone conclusion, +and Madge appealed to her father. + +"Father, is calling Eleanor Merritt a prize pig a form of wit?" + +"Pretty poor wit I should call it!" + +"Father is on my side!" shouted Ned. "He says it's poor wit, which is +only one way of saying that it is wit!" + +"Can wit be poor?" asked Julia. + +"Father says it can." + +"Then it isn't wit!" Madge protested. + +"I should like to know why not. Old Mr. Tanner is a poor man, but he's +a man for all that, and votes at elections for the highest bidder. +And your logic's poor, but I suppose you'd call it logic!" + +"I have an idea!" cried Madge. "I'm going to make my fortune out of +you! I'm going to make a pair of excruciatingly funny pictures of you! +The first shall be called _The Student and Logic_, and the second +shall be called _Logic and the Student!_ In the first the student +shall be patting Logic on the head, and in the second,--oh, it's an +inspiration!" + +And forthwith Madge seized a large sheet of paper and began work. + +"I'm not sure that this won't be the beginning of a series," she +declared. "When it's finished I shall send it to a funny paper and get +fifty dollars for it,--and when I have got fifty dollars for it, +Father will send me to Paris; won't you, Daddy, dear?" + +"What's that? What's that?" asked Mr. Burtwell. + +"When I get fifty dollars,--_or more!_--for my Student, you will send +me to Europe!" + +"Oh, yes! And when you're Queen of England I shall be presented at +Court! Listen to what the paper says: 'The Honourable Jacob Luddington +and family have just returned from an extensive foreign tour. The two +Miss Luddingtons were presented at the Court of St. James, where their +exceptional beauty and elegance are said to have made a marked +impression.' Good for the Honourable Jacob! His father was my father's +chore-man, and here are his daughters hobnobbing with crowned heads!" + +From which digression it is fair to conclude that Mr. Burtwell did not +attach any great importance to his daughter's question or to his own +answer. But Madge put away the promise in the safest recesses of her +memory as carefully as she had tucked the letter to her "dear +pickpocket" inside the red morocco pocket-book. It seemed as if the +one were likely to be called for about as soon as the other,--"which +means never at all!" she said to herself, with a profound sigh. + +"The throes of creation have begun," Ned chuckled; and then, as he +watched his sister's business-like proceedings, marvelling the while +at what he secretly considered her quite phenomenal skill, he let +himself be sufficiently carried away by enthusiasm to remark, "I say, +Madge, you're no fool at that sort of thing, if you _are_ a girl!" + + + + +CHAPTER III + +NOAH'S DOVE + + +"I really think, Miss Burtwell, you might be a little more careful," +Miss Isabella Ricker wailed, in a tone of hopeless remonstrance. It +was the third time that morning that Madge had knocked against her +easel, and human nature could bear no more. + +"I think so too," said Madge, in a voice as dejected as her victim's +own. "If I only knew how to prowl more intelligently, I would, I truly +would." + +"Tie yourself to your own easel," suggested Delia Smith; "then that +will have to go first." + +"You're a good one to talk!" cried Mary Downing. "You've upset my +things twice this very morning!" + +"Put those two behind each other," Josephine Wilkes suggested. "It +will be a lesson to them." + +"And who's going to sit behind the rear one?" somebody asked. + +"Harriet Wells," Delia Smith proposed. "Mr. Salome said 'very good' to +her this morning; she must be proof against adversity." + +"No one is proof against adversity," Madge declared, in a tragic tone; +but her remark passed unheeded. The girls were already at work again, +and nothing short of another wreck was likely to distract their +attention. The scrape of a palette-knife, the tread of a prowler, or +the shoving of a chair to one side, were the only sounds audible in +the room, excepting when the occasional roar of an electric car or the +rattle of a passing waggon came in at the open window. It was the +first warm day in April. + +Artful Madge's sententious observation with regard to adversity was +the fruit of bitter experience. Misfortune's arrows had been raining +thick and fast about her, and although she was holding her ground +against them very well, she felt that adversity was a subject on which +she was fitted to speak with authority. + +In the first place, her Student series was proving to be quite as much +of a Noah's Dove as the first set of sketches which had so signally +failed to find a permanent roosting-place in an inhospitable world. +Only yesterday the familiar parcel had made its appearance on the +front-entry table, that table which, for a year past, she had never +come in sight of without a quicker beating of the heart. If she ever +did have a bit of success, she often reflected, that piece of +ancestral mahogany was likely to be the first to know of it. How often +she had dreamed of the small business envelope, addressed in an +unfamiliar hand, which might one day appear there! It would be half a +second before she should take in the meaning of it. Then would come a +premonitory thrill, instantly justified by a glance at the upper +left-hand corner of the envelope, where the name of some great +periodical would seem literally blazoned forth, however small the +type in which it was printed. And then,--oh, then! the tearing open of +the envelope, the unfolding of the sheet with trembling fingers, the +check! Would it be for $10 or $15 or even $25, and might there be a +word of editorial praise or admonition? Foolish, foolish dreams! And +there was that hideous parcel, which she was getting to hate the very +sight of! As she squeezed a long rope of burnt-sienna upon her +palette, she made up her mind that she would wait a week before +exposing herself to another disappointment. Perhaps the Student would +improve with keeping, like violins and old masters. Certainly if he +was anything like his prototype he needed maturing. + +Meanwhile the model's mouth was proving as troublesome to paint as +Eleanor's had been, and as Madge grew more and more perplexed with the +problem of it she thought of the miniature with a fresh pang. For she +had lost it! Three days ago it had somehow slipped from her +possession. Had she left it lying on the table in the Public Library? +Nobody there had seen anything of it. But on the very day of her loss +she had been at the Library, examining the current numbers of all the +illustrated papers, in the hope of gleaning some hint as to editorial +tastes. She remembered reading Eleanor's last letter there, the letter +in which her friend had written that she was to have two years more of +Paris. She had read the letter through twice, and then she had taken +out the miniature and had a good look at it. To think of Eleanor, +having two more years of Paris! And it had all come about so simply! +She had merely persuaded her cousin, Mr. Hicks, to advance a few +hundred dollars till she should be of age and at liberty to sell a +bond. + +"There isn't anybody that believes in me," Madge had told herself; and +then she had thought of something that Mr. Salome had said to her a +few days ago, something that she would have considered it very +unbecoming to repeat, even to Eleanor, but the memory of which, thus +suddenly recalled, had filled her with such hopefulness that she had +sped homeward to the mahogany table almost with a conviction of +success. Was it in that sudden rush of hopefulness, so mistaken, alas, +so groundless, that she had left the little morocco case lying about? +Or had she pulled it out of her pocket with her handkerchief? Or had +she really had her pocket picked? + +What wonder that in the stress of anxious speculation she was making +bad work of her painting! This would never do! She took a long stride +backwards, and over went Miss Ricker's long-suffering easel, prone +upon the floor, carrying with it a neighbouring structure of similar +unsteadiness, which was, however, happily empty, save for a couple of +jam-pots filled with turpentine and oil! These plunged with headlong +impetuosity into space, forming little rivers of stickiness, as they +rolled half-way across the room. Everybody rushed to the rescue, while +Miss Ricker gazed upon the catastrophe with stony displeasure. + +By a miracle, the canvas, though "butter-side-down," had escaped +unscathed. Not until she was assured of this did the culprit speak. + +"I'm a disgrace to the class," she said, "and expulsion is the only +remedy. Tell Mr. Salome that I have forfeited every right to +membership, and it's quite possible that I may never exaggerate +another detail as long as I live." + +"Time's up in two minutes," Mary Downing remarked, in her +matter-of-fact voice, as she dabbed some yellow-ochre upon her +subject's chin. "I rather think you'll come back to-morrow." + +"But I do think it's somebody's else turn to work behind her," said +Josephine Wilkes. + +Miss Ricker gave a faint, assenting smile. + +"I think Miss Ricker is very much indebted to Artful Madge," Harriet +Wells declared. "There isn't another girl in the class who could have +knocked that easel over without damaging the picture." + +"Practice makes perfect," some one observed; and then, time being +called, everybody began talking at once, and wit and wisdom were +alike lost upon the company. + +But Artful Madge was not to be lightly consoled. + +"Mother," she said, that same afternoon, as she came into the little +sitting-room over the front entry, where her mother was stitching on +the sewing-machine, "I think I should like to do something useful. I'm +kind of tired of art." + +Madge had been helping wash the luncheon dishes, and was beginning to +wonder whether her talents were not, perhaps, of a purely domestic +order. + +"I should think you _would_ be tired of it!" said Mrs. Burtwell, in +perfect good faith, as she snipped the thread at the end of a seam. +"How you can make up your mind to spend all your days bedaubing your +clothes with those nasty paints passes my comprehension." + +"But sometimes I daub the canvas," Madge protested, with unwonted +meekness, as she drew a grey woollen sock over her hand, and pounced +upon a small hole in the toe; and at that very instant, which Madge +was whimsically regarding as a possible turning-point in her career, +the doorbell rang. + +"A gintleman to see you, Miss," said Nora, a moment later, handing +Madge a card. + +"To see me?" asked Madge, incredulously, as she read the name, "Mr. +Philip Spriggs! Are you sure he didn't ask for Father?" + +But Nora was quite clear that she had not made a mistake. + +"Who is it, Madge?" Mrs. Burtwell queried. + +"It's probably a book agent," said Madge, as she went down-stairs to +the parlour, rather begrudging the interruption to her darning bout. + +Standing by the window, hat in hand, was an elderly man of a somewhat +severe cast of countenance, as unsuggestive as possible, in his +general appearance, of the comparatively frivolous name which a +satirical fate had bestowed upon him. + +As Madge entered the room he observed, without advancing a step toward +her: "You are Miss Burtwell, I suppose. I came to answer your letter +in person." + +"My letter?" asked Madge, with a confused impression that something +remarkable was going forward. + +"Yes; this one,"--and he drew from his pocket the red morocco +miniature case. + +"Oh!" cried Madge, "how glad I am to have it!--and how kind you are to +bring it!--and, oh! that dreadful letter!" + +The three aspects of the case had chased each other in rapid +succession through her mind, and each had got its-self expressed in +turn. + +Mr. Spriggs did not relax a muscle of his face. + +"I found this on a table in the Public Library," he stated. "Your +directions were so explicit that I could do no less than be guided by +them." + +There was something so solemn, almost judicial, about her guest that +Madge became quite awestruck. + +"Won't you please take a seat?" she begged, humbly. "I think I could +apologise better if you were to sit down." + +"Then you consider that there is occasion to apologise?" he asked, +taking the proffered chair, and resting his hat upon the floor. + +"Indeed, yes!" said Madge. "It's perfectly dreadful to think of the +letter having fallen into the hands of any one so--" and she broke +short off. + +"So what?" asked Mr. Spriggs. + +"Why, so dignified and so--very different from--" but again she found +herself unable to finish her sentence. + +"From a 'dear pickpocket?'" he suggested. + +"Did I say 'dear pickpocket'?" cried Madge in consternation. "I didn't +know I said 'dear.'" + +"I suppose you desired to make a favourable impression, in order to +get your picture back. There are some very good points about the +picture," he remarked, as he took it out of the case and examined it. +"There's a good deal of drawing in it, and considerable colour." + +"Do you know about pictures?" asked Madge with eager interest. + +"Not much. I've heard more or less art-jargon in my day; that's all." + +Madge looked at him suspiciously. + +"I am sure you will agree with me that I don't know much," he +continued, "when I tell you that I prefer your pen-and-ink work to the +miniature. 'The Consequences of Crime' is full of humour; and I have +been given to understand that you can't produce an effect without +skill,--what you would probably dignify with the name of technique. +The second small boy on the right is not at all bad." + +"You do know about art!" cried Madge. "I rather think you must be an +artist." + +Mr. Spriggs did not exactly change countenance; he only looked as if +he were either trying to smile or trying not to. Madge wished she +could make out just what were the lines and shadows in his face that +produced this singular expression. + +"Have you never thought of doing anything for the papers?" he asked. + +"Thought of it! I've spent four dollars and sixty-one cents in postage +within the last ten months, and he always comes back to the ark!" + +"'He'? Comes back where?" + +"To the ark. I call the package 'Noah's Dove' because it never finds a +place to roost." + +"The original dove did, after a while." Mr. Spriggs spoke as if he +were taking the serious, historical view of the incident. "I imagine +yours will, one of these days. Have you got anything you could show +me?" + +"Would you really care to see?" + +"I can't tell till you show me," he said cautiously; but this time +there was something so very like a smile among the stern features that +Madge could see just what the line was that produced it. + +She flew to her room, and seized Noah's Dove, and in five minutes that +much-travelled bird had spread his wings,--all six of them,--for the +delectation of this mysterious critic. + +Madge watched him, as he leaned back in his chair and examined the +sketches. He seemed inclined to take his time over them, and she felt +sure that her Student had never before been so seriously considered. + +At last Mr. Spriggs laid the drawings upon the table and fixed his +thoughtful gaze upon the artist. His contemplation of her countenance +was prolonged a good many seconds, yet Madge did not feel in the least +self-conscious; it never once occurred to her that this severe old +gentleman was thinking of anything but her Student. She found herself +taking a very low view of her work, and quite ready to believe that +perhaps, after all, those unappreciative editors knew what they were +about. + +"Have you ever sent these to the _Gay Head?_" her visitor inquired +casually. + +"Oh, no! I should not dare send anything to the _Gay Head!_" + +"Why not?" + +"Why! Because it's the best paper in the country. It would never look +at my things." + +"It certainly won't if you never give it a chance. You had better try +it," he went on, in a tone that carried a good deal of weight. "You +know they can do no worse than return it; and I should think, myself, +that the _Gay Head_ was quite as well worth expending postage-stamps +on as any other paper. Mind; I don't say they'll take your +things,--but it's worth trying for. By the way," he added as he rose +to go; "I wouldn't send No. 5 if I were you; it's a chestnut." + +He had picked up his hat and stood on his feet so unexpectedly that +Madge was afraid he would escape her without a word of thanks. + +"Oh, please wait just a minute," she begged. "I haven't told you a +single word of how grateful I am. I feel somehow as if,--as if,--_the +worst were over!_" This time Mr. Spriggs smiled broadly. + +"And you will send Noah's Dove to the _Gay Head?_" + +"Yes, I will, because you advise me to. But you mustn't think I'm +conceited enough to expect him to roost there." + +And that very evening the dove spread his wings,--only five of them +now,--and set forth on the most ambitious flight he had yet ventured +upon. + +In the next few days Madge found her thoughts much occupied with +speculations regarding her mysterious visitor; everything about him, +his name, his errand, both the matter and the manner of his speech, +roused and piqued her curiosity. It was clear that he knew a great +deal about art. And yet, if he were an artist, she would certainly +be familiar with his name. Whatever his calling, he was sure to +be distinguished. Those judicial eyes would be severe with any +work more pretentious than that of a mere student; that firm, +discriminating hand,--she had been struck with the way he handled her +sketches,--would never have signed a poor performance. Perhaps it was +Elihu Vedder in disguise,--or Sargent, or Abbey! Since the descent of +the fairy-godmother upon the class a year ago, no miracle seemed +impossible. And yet, the miracle which actually befell would have +seemed, of all imaginable ones, the most incredible. It took place, +too, in the simplest, most unpremeditated manner, as miracles have a +way of doing. + +One evening, about a week after the return of the miniature, the +family were gathered together as usual about the argand burner. It was +a warm evening, and Ned, who was to devote his energies to the cause +of electrical science, when once he was delivered from the thraldom of +the classics, had made some disparaging remarks about the heat +engendered by gas. + +"By the way," said Mr. Burtwell, "that, reminds me! I have a letter +for you, Madge. I met the postman just after I left the door this +noon, and he handed me this with my gas bill. Who's your New York +correspondent?" + +"I'm sure I don't know," said Madge, with entire sincerity, for it was +far too early to look for any word from the _Gay Head_. + +The letter had the appearance of a friendly note, being enclosed in a +square envelope, undecorated with any business address. Madge opened +it, and glanced at the signature, which was at the bottom of the first +page. The blood rushed to her face as her eye fell upon the name: +"Philip Spriggs, Art Editor of the _Gay Head_." + +She read the letter very slowly, with a curious feeling that this was +a dream, and she must be careful not to wake herself up. This was what +she read: + + * * * * * + +"MY DEAR MISS BURTWELL, + +"We like Noah's Dove as much as I thought we should. We shall hope to +get him out some time next year. Can't you work up the pickpocket +idea? That small boy, the second one from the right, is nucleus enough +for another set. In fact, it is the small-boy element in your Student +that makes him original--and true to life. We think that you have the +knack, and count upon you for better work yet. We take pleasure in +handing you herewith a check for this. + + "Yours truly, + "PHILIP SPRIGGS." + + * * * * * + +The check was a very plain one on thin yellow paper, not in the least +what she had looked for from a great publishing-house; but the amount +inscribed in the upper left-hand corner of the modest slip of paper +seemed to her worthy the proudest traditions of the _Gay Head_ itself. +The check was for sixty dollars. + +As Madge gradually assured herself that she was awake, the first +sensation that took shape in her mind was the very ridiculous one of +regret that the mahogany table should have been deprived of its +legitimate share in this great event. And then she remembered that it +was her father himself who had handed her the letter. + +She was still wondering how she should break the news to him, when she +found herself giving an odd little laugh, and asking, "Father, what is +your favourite line of ocean steamers?" + +Mr. Burtwell, who had really felt no special curiosity as to his +daughter's correspondent, was once more immersed in his evening paper. +He looked up, at her words, as all the family did, and was struck by +the expression of her face. + +"What makes you ask that?" he demanded sharply. + +"Because I know you always keep your promises, and--there's a letter +you might like to read." + +Mr. Burtwell took the letter, frowning darkly, a habit of his when he +was puzzled or anxious. He read the letter through twice, and then he +examined the check. He did not speak at once. There was something so +portentous in this deliberation, and something so very like emotion in +his kind, sensible face, that even Ned was awed into respectful +silence. + +At last Mr. Burtwell turned his eyes to his daughter's face, where +everything, even suspense itself, seemed arrested, and said, in a +matter-of-fact tone: + +"I think you had better go by the North German Lloyd. Shall you start +this week?" + +"Oh, you darling!" cried Madge, throwing her arms about her father's +neck, regardless of letter and check, which, being still in his +hands, were called upon to bear the brunt of this attack; "How can I +ever make up my mind to leave you?" + + + + +THE IDEAS OF POLLY + +CHAPTER I + +DAN'S PLIGHT + + +"_Well_, Mis' Lapham, I _am_ sorry to hear it, I _must_ say! It _doos_ +seem's though you'd _had_ your share of affliction!" + +Mrs. Henry Dodge always emphasised a great many of her words, which +habit gave to her remarks an impression of peculiar sincerity and +warmth; a perfectly correct impression, too, it must be admitted. Her +needle, moreover, being quite as energetic as her tongue, she was a +valuable member of the sewing-circle, at which function she was now +assisting with much spirit. + +Mrs. Lapham accepted this tribute to her many trials with becoming +modesty. She was a dull, colourless woman whose sole distinction lay +in the visitations of affliction, and it is not too much to affirm +that she was proud of them. She was sewing, not too rapidly, on a very +long seam, which occupation was typical of her course of life. She +sighed heavily in response to her neighbour's words of sympathy, and +said: + +"It did seem hard that it should have been Dan, just as he was +beginning to be a help to his uncle, and all. But I s'pose we'd ought +to have been prepared for it." + +"There's been quite a pause in the death-roll," the Widow Criswell +observed. She was engaged in sewing a button on a boy's jacket with a +black thread. + +"How long is it since Eliza went?" asked Miss Louisa Bailey, pursuing +the widow's train of thought. + +"Seven years this month. She began to cough at Christmas, and by +Washington's Birthday she was in her grave." + +"And Jane? They didn't go very far apart, did they?" + +"No, Jane died eleven months before Eliza; and their mother went three +years before that, and their father when Dan was a baby; that's goin' +on sixteen years." + +"_Well_, you _have_ had a hard time, I _will_ say!" exclaimed Mrs. +Dodge. "Your Martha losing her little girl, and John's wife breaking +her collar-bone, and all, and now _this_ to be gone through with! I +_should_ think you'd feel _discouraged_!" + +"I do; real discouraged. But I s'pose it's no more than I'd ought to +expect, with such an inheritance." + +"Have there been many cases of lung-trouble on your side of the +family, Mrs. Lapham?" Miss Bailey inquired with respectful interest. + +"No; Sister Fitch was the first case." + +For a few seconds, conversation languished, and only the snip of Mrs. +Royce's scissors could be heard, and the soft rustle of cotton cloth. +The sewing-circle was going on in the church vestry where there was a +faint odour from the kerosene lamps, which had just been lighted. The +Widow Criswell was the first to break the silence. + +"Polly ain't showed no symptoms yet, has she?" she asked, testing one +of the buttons as if sceptical of her thread. + +"Well, no; not yet. But then Dan seemed as smart as anybody six months +ago, and just look at him to-day!" + +The mental eyes of a score of women were turned upon Dan, as he was +daily seen, round-shouldered and hollow-chested, toiling along the +snowy country roads to and from school, coughing as he went. The topic +was not an uncongenial one to the members of the sewing-circle, who +had really very little to talk about. So absorbed were they, indeed, +in the discussion of poor Dan's fate, and of the long list of +casualties that had preceded it, that no one noticed the entrance of a +young girl, rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed, who had come to help with +the supper. There was an air of peculiar freshness about her, and as +she stood in her blue dress and white apron near the door, her ruddy +brown hair shining in the lamp-light, the effect was like the opening +of a window in a close room. Her step was arrested in the act of +coming forward, and, as she paused to listen, the pretty colour was +quite blotted out of her cheeks. + +"I don't think Dan's will be a lingering case," Mrs. Lapham was +saying. "The lingering cases are the most trying." + +Polly stood motionless. Was it true then, that which she had dreaded, +that which she had shrunk from facing? Was it more than a cold that +Dan had got? Was Dan really ill? Her Dan? Really ill? Her heart was +beating like a trip-hammer, but no one seemed to hear it. + +"Queer that the doctors don't find any cure for lung-trouble," Mrs. +Royce was saying. "Seems as though there must be some way of stopping +it, if you could only find it out." + +"Have you tried Kinderling's Certain Cure?" asked Mrs. Dodge. "They do +say that it's _very_ efficacious." + +"Well, no," said Mrs. Lapham; "I don't hold much to medicines myself; +but if I did I should think it just a wilful waste to try them for +Dan. The boy's doomed, to begin with, and there's no help for it." + +"There _is_ a help for it, there _shall_ be a help for it!" cried a +voice, vibrating with youthful energy and emotion. "I don't see how +you can talk so, Aunt Lucia! Dan _isn't_ doomed! he _sha'n't_ die! I +won't _let_ him die!" + +The women looked at Polly and then they looked at one another, fairly +abashed by the girl's spirit; all, that is, excepting Aunt Lucia, who +was not impressionable enough to feel anything but the superficial +rudeness of Polly's outbreak. + +"That'll do, Polly," she said, with a spiritless severity. "This is no +place for a display of temper." + +The colour had come back into the girl's face now, and there were hot +tears in her eyes. She turned without a word and left the room, nor +was she seen again among the waitresses who came to hand the tea. + +Polly was rather ashamed of having run away from the sewing-circle, +and she had serious thoughts of going back. It was the first time in +her life that she had allowed herself to be routed by circumstances; +but somehow she felt as if she could not find it in her heart to hand +about tea and seed-cakes, sandwiches and quince-preserve, to people +who could think such dreadful thoughts of Dan. And then, besides, she +knew what a pleasant surprise it would be for Dan to have her all to +himself for an evening. Uncle Seth would be sure to go for his weekly +game of checkers with Deacon White, and she could help Dan with his +algebra and Latin, and see that he was warm and "comfy," and perhaps +find that he did not cough so much as he did the evening before. + +They had a very cozy evening, she and Dan, just as she had planned it +in every particular but one, namely, the cough. There was no +improvement in that since the night before, and for the first time the +boy spoke of it. + +"I say, Polly! Isn't it stupid, the way this cold hangs on? Do you +remember how long it is since I caught it?" + +"Why, no, Dan. It does seem a good while, doesn't it? I guess it must +be about over by this time. Don't you know how suddenly those things +go?" + +Dan, who was on his way to bed, had stopped, close to the air-tight +stove, to warm his hands. + +"I wish it were summer, Polly," he said, with a wistful look in his +great black eyes that cut Polly to the heart. "It's been such a cold +winter; and a fellow gets kind of tired of barking all the time." + +"It'll be spring before you know it, Dan, you see if it isn't, and +you'll forget you ever had a cold in your life." + +And when, half an hour later, the evening was over, and Polly was safe +in her bed, she buried her head in her pillow and cried herself to +sleep. + +But tears and bewailings were not a natural resource with Polly, whose +forte was action. Her first thought in the morning was: what should +she do about it? Something must be done, of course, and she was the +only one to do it. What it was she had not the faintest idea, but +then it was her business to find out. Here was she, eighteen years +old, strong and hearty, and with good practical common sense, the +natural guardian and protector of her younger brother. It was time she +bestirred herself! + +As a first step, she got up with the sun and dressed herself, and then +she slipped down-stairs to the parlour where such of her father's +books as had been rescued from auction were lodged; her father had +been the village doctor. All the medical works had been sold, and many +other volumes besides, but among those remaining was an old +encyclopaedia which had proved to Polly a mine of information on many +subjects. As she took down the third volume, she heard a portentous +_Meaouw!_ and there, outside the window, stood Mufty, the grey cat, +rubbing himself against the frosty pane. Polly opened the window and +Mufty sprang in, bringing a puff of frosty air in his wake. Without so +much as a word of thanks he walked over to the stove. Finding it, +however, cold, as only an empty air-tight stove can be cold, he +strolled, with a disengaged air, beneath which lurked a very distinct +intention, toward the only warm object in the room, namely, Polly in +her woollen gown. She had the volume open on the table before her, and +was deep in its perusal, murmuring as she read. + +"Appears to have committed its ravages from the earliest time," Polly +read, "and its distribution is probably universal, though far from +equal." + +At this point Mufty lifted himself lightly in the air, after the +manner peculiar to cats, and landed in Polly's lap. After switching +his tail across her eyes once or twice, and rubbing himself against +the book in rather a disturbing way, he at last settled down, and +began purring vigorously in token of satisfaction. The room was very +cold, and Polly, without interrupting her reading, was glad to bury +her hands in the thick fur. Presently the colour in her cheeks grew +brighter and her breath came quicker. There _was_ a way, after all! +People had been saved, people a good deal sicker than Dan,--saved by +a change of climate. What could be simpler? Just to pick Dan up and +carry him off! And such fun, too! + +"Mufty," she whispered, excitedly, "Mufty, what should you say to Dan +and me going away and never coming back again?" + +"_Brrrrr, brrrrr_," quoth Mufty. + +"I knew you would approve! You know how necessary it is, and you think +it best to do it; don't you, Mufty?" + +"_Brrrr, brrrrrrrrrr_," quoth Mufty, again. + +"O Mufty, what a darling you are, to approve! And there isn't really +any one's opinion that I care more about!" + +She got up and went to the window, while Mufty, not to be dislodged, +hastily established himself across her shoulder, his fore paws well +down her back, his tail contentedly waving before her eyes. The +picture which he thus turned his back upon was a wintry one. + +"Cold morning, isn't it, Mufty?" said Polly. "No kind of a climate for +a delicate person." + +"_Brrrr, brrrrrr!_" Mufty was digging a claw into her shoulder to +adjust himself more comfortably. + +"Ow!" cried Polly. Then, lifting him down: "Mufty, you're a very +intelligent cat, and I haven't a doubt that your judgment is as +penetrating as your claws. All the same, I guess you'd better get down +and come with me and help Susan get the breakfast. Don't you hear her +shaking down the kitchen stove?" + +Whereupon Mufty, finding himself dropped upon the coldly unsympathetic +ingrain carpet, desisted from further encouraging remarks. + +Polly was a schoolgirl still, though she was nearing the dignity of +graduation. She had no special taste for study, but she cherished the +Yankee reverence for education, and although it was not quite clear to +her how Latin declensions and algebraic symbols were to help her in +after-life, she committed them to memory with a very good grace, and +enjoyed all the satisfaction of work for work's sake. + +It happened, therefore, that the pursuit of learning interfered for +several hours with the far more important object which she had at +heart to-day; and it was not until two o'clock that she found herself +at liberty to do what every nerve and fibre of her young organism was +straining to accomplish. + +[Illustration: "Mufty hastily established himself across her shoulder."] + +"I'm not going right home," she said to Dan; "I've got an errand to +do." + +"Polly's got an idea," Dan said to himself, struck with the eagerness +in her face, and the haste with which she walked away. "What a girl +she is for ideas, any way!" and he trudged along the snowy road with +the other boys, getting rather out of breath in the effort to keep up +with them. + +Polly, meanwhile, stepped swiftly on her way. She was thinking of Dan. +He at least was a natural student and had always led his class. She +was not only fond of Dan, but proud of him, too. He was a handsome +boy, with those clear, dark eyes of his in which a less partial +observer than Polly might have read the promise of fine things. + +"Yes," Polly said to herself, as she sped along the road that +glittering winter's day: "Dan isn't just an ordinary boy. He's an +unusual boy. Why, the world couldn't _afford_ to lose Dan!" and she +looked into the faces of the passers-by, as if to challenge their +acquiescence in this bold statement. + +Whether Dan was all that Polly thought him, only the future could +prove,--that future that Polly was about to secure to him. If she +idealised him a bit, why, all the better for Dan, and all the better +for Polly, too. One thing is sure, that no one who could have looked +into the sister's heart that winter's day would have doubted her for +an instant when she said to herself: + +"He sha'n't die! I won't let him die! But, _oh! how I wish that cough +were mine!_" + +From her interview with the doctor, Polly brought away with her only +one word, "_Colorado_"; and with that word shining like a great snowy +peak in her imagination, she took another swift walk to a farmhouse +on the outskirts of the village, where dwelt a man whose son had gone +to Colorado three years ago. + +"Great place!" he told her; "Great place, Colorado! Mile up in the +air! Prairie-dogs and Rocky Mountains! Big cattle ranches that could +put all Fieldham in their vest pockets! Cold as thunder, hot as +thunder! Blizzards and cyclones and water-spouts! Wind! Blow you right +out of your boots! Cures sick folks? Oh, yes. Better than all the +doctors. Braces 'em right up--stands 'em on their legs! Nothing like +it, so Bill says. Costs a sight to get out there; oh, yes! Fifty +dollars and fifteen cents! Queer about that fifteen cents. Seems as +though they might ha' throwed that in on such a long trip's that; but +them railroads ain't got no insides any way; and when you once git out +there, why, _there you are!_" + +The philosophy of that last remark appealed particularly to Polly. +"When you once git out there, why, _there you are!_" Somehow it seemed +to make everything perfectly simple and easy. Blizzards and cyclones? +Yes, to be sure. But then it was the air that you went out for, Polly +reasoned, that was what was going to cure you; and perhaps the more +you got of it the quicker you would get cured. And Polly hurried home +from her last visit, flushed and eager for the fray. She found her +uncle in the barn putting up his horses. + +Mr. Seth Lapham was a good man; there could be no doubt about that. +Nothing but a sincere and very efficient conscience could have so +tempered his natural penuriousness as to cause him to receive into his +family a mere sister-in-law's children and allow them to "want for +nothing"; that, too, at a time when his own children, John and Martha, +were still a bill of expense to him, before their respective +marriages. For many years, Uncle Seth had conscientiously, if not +lavishly, fed and clothed the little orphans, whose entire patrimony +in the Savings Bank scarcely yielded interest enough to pay for their +boots and shoes; but it remained for the present crisis to prove him +as open-minded as he was conscientious. For, no sooner had Polly +finished the rapid exposition of her great plan--how they were to draw +the money from the bank to pay for their tickets and start them in +their new life, and how they were to earn their own living when once +they got started--than he was ready to admit the reasonableness of +it. + +"And when you once get out there, why, there you are!" Polly declared, +in her most convincing tone. + +As she stood before him, flushed and breathless, prepared to do battle +for Dan to the very last extremity, her uncle gave old Dick a slap +that sent him tramping into his stall, and then said, with the +drawling accent peculiar to him: + +"Well, Polly, you're a pretty sensible girl. If the doctor says so, I +guess it's wuth trying." + +Then Polly, who had so courageously braced herself for the contest, +experienced an overwhelming revulsion of feeling, and a great wave of +gratitude and compunction swept over her. To Uncle Seth's speechless +astonishment she flung her arms around his big neck, and, with some +thing very like a sob, she cried: + +"Oh, Uncle Seth, I never loved you half enough!" + +Uncle Seth bore it very well, all things considered. He got pretty red +in the face, but happily a full grizzly beard kept the secret of his +blushes. + +"Why, Polly!" he said, pounding away on her shoulder in an attempt to +be consolatory; "you've always ben a good girl; not a mite of trouble, +not a mite!" + +They walked up to the house, Polly holding the rough, hairy hand as +tightly as if it had been a solid chunk of gold. Before the short walk +to the kitchen door was finished they had become sworn conspirators, +and Uncle Seth was so entirely in the spirit of the piece that he held +Polly back a minute to say, in a sepulchral whisper, + +"Just you leave your Aunt Lucia to me. I'll fix her." + +Polly never knew all the pains Uncle Seth was at to "fix" Aunt Lucia, +but by hook or crook the "fixing" was accomplished, and Aunt Lucia had +given a mournful consent. + +"I shouldn't feel it right," she declared, "to let you suppose I +thought there was any hope of its curing Dan. That boy's doomed, if +ever a boy was, and I don't know how you'll ever manage with the +funeral and all, way out there in Colorado, far from kith and kin. But +your Uncle Seth says you'd better try it, and I ain't one to oppose +just for the sake of opposin'. I've been through too much for that. +Only I warn you; mind, you don't forget I warned you." + +Polly listened to Aunt Lucia's lugubrious views with scarcely a twinge +of alarm, and in five minutes she had plunged into preparations for +the journey. + +As for Dan, the mere thought of Colorado seemed to revive him. "Larks" +of any description had always been very much to his taste, but the +unending "lark" of an escape into the big world with Polly filled him +with a fairly riotous joy. + +And so it happened that by the time the March thaws were setting in +and the March winds were getting ready for their boisterous attack, +Polly and Dan had slipped away, and were travelling as fast as steam +could carry them toward the high, health-giving region of the Rocky +Mountains. + +"A harebrained venture as ever was!" Miss Louisa Bailey declared when +she heard of it. "I don't see what Mr. and Mrs. Lapham were thinking +of, to countenance such a step!" + +The monthly sewing-circle had come round again, and Mrs. Lapham, whose +turn it was to look after the supper, had stepped out of the room for +a moment. + +"Well, I don't know but it's about as well," the Widow Criswell +rejoined, sighing profoundly. She was more out of spirits than usual +to-day, for circumstances, otherwise known as Mrs. Royce, the +president of the sewing-circle, had forced into her hands a baby's +pinafore, the cheerful suggestiveness of which could only serve to +deepen her gloom. "The boy's doomed, wherever he is, and Sister +Lapham never had any real taste for sick-nursing. She's spared a sight +o' trouble and expense." + +"_Well_," said Mrs. Henry Dodge, winding a needleful of No. 20 thread +off the spool, with the hissing sound familiar to the ears of the +seamstress, and breaking it off with a snap, "_I_ think it's the very +_best_ thing that could have been _done_. The minute I _saw_ that +girl's face last sewing-circle, I _knew_ she'd make out to _save that +boy_. Mark my words, he'll outlive us all _yet!_ I declare, I always +_did_ like Polly Fitch. She reminds me of _myself_ when _I_ was a +girl!" + + + + +CHAPTER II + +WESTWARD HO! + + +"Pike's Peak or Bust!" was the chosen motto of those early pilgrims +who, thirty-odd years ago, crossed the continent in a "prairie +schooner," escorted by a cavalry guard to keep Indian marauders at a +respectful distance; and "Pike's Peak or Bust!" was the motto chosen +by Polly and Dan, our two young modern pilgrims, as they journeyed +with greater ease, but with no less courage and venturesomeness, +across the two thousand miles intervening between quiet Fieldham and +their goal. + +"Pike's Peak or Bust!" No one looking into the bright young faces +turned so bravely westward ho! could have had any doubt as to which of +the two alternatives hinted at in that picturesque motto would be +fulfilled for them. On they journeyed, on and on, past populous +cities, across great rivers, over vast plains brown with last year's +stubble or white with newly fallen snow, till at last there came a +morning when they awoke in the tingling dawn, and, looking forth +across miles of shadowy prairie, beheld a great white dome cut clear +against a sapphire sky. On the train rushed, on and on, straight +toward that snowy dome, and, as they drew nearer, other mountains +began to define themselves on either side the central peak, and +presently a town revealed itself, and they knew that it could be no +other than Colorado Springs, sleeping there at the foot of the great +range, all unconscious of the two young pilgrims, coming so +confidingly to seek their fortunes within its borders. + +Their first spring and summer were a very happy time, of which Polly +and Dan could relate a hundred noteworthy incidents. They rented a +tiny cottage of three rooms in the unfashionable part of the town +where rents were low. Here was a bit of ground all about, and a +narrow porch that looked straight into the face of the splendid old +Peak; and here they lived the merriest of lives on the smallest and +most precarious of incomes; for they were determined to infringe as +little as possible upon the slender capital, snugly stowed away in a +Colorado bank. + +Dan soon found employment in a livery-stable at fifty cents a day. His +chief business was the agreeable one of delivering "teams" and +saddle-horses to pleasure-seekers at the north end of the town, riding +back to the stable again on a "led horse" provided for the purpose. If +not a very ambitious calling, it was, at least, exceedingly good fun, +and it also had the merit of conforming to the doctor's directions. +"Don't let him get behind a counter or into any stuffy back-office," +the doctor had said to Polly. "Whatever he does, let it keep him in +the open air as much as possible." Had the very obvious wisdom of this +advice required demonstration, Dan's rapid improvement would have been +sufficient. + +They did not shock the sensibilities of the sewing-circle by writing +home exactly what the employment was that Dan had found, while, for +themselves, Polly had her own little ways of embellishing the somewhat +prosaic situation. She dubbed the young stable-boy Hercules, and +always spoke of the establishment he served as "The Augaeans." Nor did +her invention fail when, a month or two later, Dan got a place at +somewhat higher wages as druggist's messenger; for then he was +promptly informed that his name was Mercury, and that there were wings +on his heels, though he could not himself see them, by reason of their +being turned back, and visible only when his feet were in rapid +motion! + +Meanwhile, Polly, too, was doing her part, though it had not yet +proved very lucrative. When they first took the house, Dan painted a +sign for her, bearing the following announcement: + + FINE NEEDLEWORK AND EMBROIDERY TO ORDER. + +But the spring and summer went by, and autumn came, and still the sign +which had ornamented their house-front for so many months had as yet +attracted the notice of only the impecunious class of customers their +immediate neighbourhood afforded. Polly had gratefully taken coarse +work at low prices, but she still hoped for better things. The street +where their tiny cottage stood, though at the wrong end of the town, +was a thoroughfare for pleasure parties driving to the great canyons, +and Polly never saw the approach of a pretty turnout without a thrill +of hope that the occupants might be attracted by her sign. She knew +herself to be a quick and skilful needlewoman, and she thought that if +only she might once get started in well-paid work, Dan, who was +growing stronger every day, might go on with his education at the +Colorado College Preparatory School. She had found out all about the +college, of which she had formed a very high opinion, and she told +herself proudly that Dan had such a good mind that he would not need +to study too hard. + +One evening in September they were clearing the supper table, +preparatory to washing up the dishes, which ceremony was one of the +numerous "larks" by which brother and sister found life diversified +and enlivened. + +"Mercury, I have an idea!" Polly suddenly cried. + +"Never saw the time you hadn't, Polly." + +"But this is a great idea, a really great one, because it includes all +the little ones, like Milton's universe in the crescent moon; don't +you remember?" + +"My goody, Polly! But it must be a corker!"--and Dan was all +attention. + +Now Polly, it is needless to repeat, was a young person of ideas; that +was her strong point, and Dan at least considered her a marvel of +ingenuity and invention. Their tiny sitting-room, where Dan slept, was +a witness to her taste and originality. There were picturesque shelves +which Dan had made in accordance with her directions; there were +cheesecloth window-curtains, with rustic boughs in place of poles; +there were barrels standing bottom upward for tables, draped with +ancient "duds"--a changeable-silk skirt of her mother's over one, a +moth-eaten camel's-hair shawl over another. The crack in the only +mirror which a munificent landlord had provided was concealed by a +kinikinick vine; a piece of Turkey-red at five cents a yard, their one +bit of extravagance, converted Dan's cot-bed into a canopy of state. +And having heard Dan chant the praises of her "ideas" with gratifying +persistence for a month past, Polly had begun to wonder whether they +might not be turned to account. + +"What's the latest idea, Polly?" Dan asked, seizing a dripping handful +of what they were pleased to call their "family plate." + +"Well, Dan, I want you to paint something more on my sign. Only two +words; it won't take you long." + +"What two words?" + +"_Also Ideas!_" + +Dan reflected a moment, and then he proceeded to dance a jig of +delight, wildly waving his dish-cloth about Polly's head. + +"Polly, you beat the world!" he cried. + +A house-painter lived next door, from whom Dan borrowed paint and +brushes, and before they slept the old sign was further decorated with +two magic words done in brilliant scarlet. The inscription now read: + + FINE NEEDLEWORK AND EMBROIDERY TO ORDER. + ALSO IDEAS + +There was something positively dazzling about those two words in +flaming scarlet, and Polly and Dan stepped out twice in the course of +their early breakfast to have a look at them. + +"Don't you feel scared, Polly?" asked Dan, as he left her at her +dish-washing. + +"Scared? Not I!" and she walked down the path with him, drying her +hands on a dish-towel. + +It was a delicious morning in late September; the air dry and +sparkling as a jewel, the mountains baring their shoulders to the +morning sun. The Peak had already a dash of winter on his crown, but +the barren slope of rock below looked like an impregnable fortress. +Polly and Dan were never tired of wondering at the changing moods that +played so gloriously upon that steadfast front. + +"Seems as if they must almost see him from Fieldham this morning, he's +so bright," said Polly. + +"That's so," Dan agreed. "I say, Polly, isn't he enjoying himself, +though?" + +"Course he is!" Polly answered. "Isn't everybody?" + +Then Polly went back to her splashing water and flopping dish-towels, +and was busy for an hour about the house. By and bye she sat herself +down in the little porch and proceeded to put good honest stitches +into a child's frock, for the making of which she was to receive +twenty-five cents. Not very good pay for a day's work, but +"twenty-five-hundred-million per cent. better than nothing," as she +had assured the doubtful Dan. + +Life looked very different to her since those two bright words had +been added to the sign. Not that it had looked otherwise than pleasant +before; but there was so little originality in the idea of doing +needlework that it had scarcely merited success, while this,--of +course it must succeed! + +In truth, she had sat there hardly an hour, when she distinctly heard +the occupant of a yellow buckboard read the sign, and then turn to her +companion with a word of comment. Polly had always had an idea that +one of those yellow buckboards would be the making of her fortune yet. +The one in question was drawn by a pretty pair of ponies, and two +young girls were in possession of it. + +"I have an idea they'll notice it again, when they come back this +way," Polly surmised. "But if they're going up the canyon they won't +come back till just as I'm getting dinner." + +And, sure enough, the mutton stew was just beginning to simmer, when +there came a rap at the door. + +The front door opened directly into the little sitting-room, and was +never closed in pleasant weather. As Polly emerged from the kitchen, +her face very red from hobnobbing with the stove, she found one of +the girls of the yellow buckboard standing in the doorway. + +"Good morning, Miss----" + +"Fitch. My name is Polly Fitch." + +"What a jolly name!" the visitor exclaimed. "I think you must be the +one with ideas." + +"Yes," said Polly, "Do you want one? Come in and take a seat." + +"I do want an idea most dreadfully," the young lady rejoined, taking +the proffered chair. "I want something for a booby prize for a +backgammon tournament. I don't suppose anybody ever heard of a +backgammon tournament before, but it's going to be great fun. We are +doing it to take the conceit out of a young man we know, who declares +that there's nothing in backgammon that he didn't learn the first time +he played it with his grandfather." + +"And you want a booby prize?" Polly looked thoughtful for the space of +sixteen seconds. Then she cried; "Oh, I have an idea! Get somebody to +whittle you a couple of wooden dice; then paint them white and mark +them with black sixes on each of the six sides of each die. You could +call it '_a booby pair-o'-dice_' if you don't object to puns!" + +"What a good idea! It's simply perfect! I wonder whom I could get to +do it for me?" + +"Why, Dan could do it with his jackknife, just as well as not. If +you'll come to-morrow morning you shall have them." + +Accordingly, the next morning, the young lady appeared, and was +enchanted with her prize. + +"And how much will they be?" she asked. + +"Well, I had thought of charging twenty-five cents for an idea, and +the dice didn't cost us anything and only took a few minutes to +make." + +"Supposing we call it a dollar. Would that be fair?" + +"I don't believe they are worth a dollar." + +"Yes, they are; I should be ashamed to take them for less. What a +splendid idea that was of yours, to put out that sign!" + +"I should think it was, if I could get any more customers like you!" + +"I'll send them to you,--never you fear!" + +Miss Beatrice Compton returned to her buckboard a captive to Polly. + +"She's the sweetest thing," she told her mother, who chanced to be her +passenger on this occasion. "She's got eyes and hair exactly of a +colour, a sort of reddish brown, and her eyes twinkle at you in the +dearest way, and she wears her hair in the quaintest pug, just in the +right place on her head, sort of up in the air; and she's a lady, too; +anybody can see that. I wonder who 'Dan' is; you don't suppose she's +married, do you?" + +"You can't tell," Mrs. Compton replied. "Persons in that walk of life +marry very young." + +"But, Mamma, she isn't a 'person,' and she doesn't belong to 'that +walk of life.' She's a lady." + +Miss Beatrice was as good as her word, and three days had not passed +when a horseman stopped before the little cottage, sprang from his +horse, and looked about for a place to tie; there was no hitching-post +near by. Polly was sitting in the porch making buttonholes. + +"If you were coming in here, you'd better lead him right up the walk," +she said, "and tie him to the porch-post." + +"That's a good idea!" the young man replied, promptly acting upon the +advice. "You are Miss Polly Fitch, are you not?" + +"Yes." + +"I knew you the minute I saw you, because Miss Compton described you +to me." This was meant to be very flattering, but Polly, who seldom +missed a point, was quite unconscious that one had been made. + +"Have you come for an idea?" she asked, quite innocently, and Mr. +Reginald Axton, who was rather sensitive, wondered whether she "meant +anything." On second thoughts he concluded that she did not, and he +began again: + +"I got that booby prize you made." + +"Did you?" cried Polly, with animation. "Oh, I wonder whether you +were the one--" she paused. + +"The one that what?" he asked hastily. + +"The one that thought there wasn't anything in the game." + +"Well, yes, I was. And the others had all the luck, and so of course I +got beaten." + +"Of course!" said Polly, with a twinkle of delight. + +"I see you're on their side, but all the same I want you to help me to +pay them back. You see I wanted to do something about it, and I +thought of sending Miss Compton some flowers with a verse, and I +thought perhaps you could do the verse." + +"Did you expect me to furnish the idea, too?" + +"Why, of course! That's why I came to you. I thought, if you were so +awfully bright, perhaps you could make verses." + +Polly looked thoughtful. + +"I should charge you quite a lot for it," she said,--"much as a dollar +perhaps; for you know writing verses is quite an accomplishment." + +"I'll pay a dollar a line for it! I know a fellow that gets more than +that from the magazines. And I'm sure that it will be good if you do +it." + +"My gracious! that's great pay!" cried Polly, with sparkling eyes, +ignoring the compliment, but enchanted to hear what a price verses +brought. "I'll send it to you by mail." + +"No, I guess I'll look in every once in a while and see how you're +getting on!" + +"Dear me!" said Polly, "you don't expect me to spend a week over it, +do you? That isn't why you offered such high pay?" + +"Oh, no; the quicker you got it done the more I should be willing to +pay for it." He paused a moment. "And, Miss Fitch," he went on, "I +don't care if you make it a little,--well,--a little soft. She +deserves it, she's such a tease! Her name's Beatrice," he added. "We +call her Trix, if that'll help you any." + +Polly understood Mr. Reginald perfectly, and she dismissed him with a +twinkle which promised well. Then Polly proceeded to cudgel her +brain, while the needle went in and out, and a buttonhole formed +itself in the firm, narrow line that makes of a buttonhole a work of +art. + +"I wish I could rhyme words as well as I can stitches," Polly thought +to herself, as she held up a completed buttonhole, with the honest +pride of a good workman. "Sixes,--Trixes! that heart were Trix's! That +ought to be made to go. A double rhyme, too! I don't believe he +expects a double rhyme." And in and out and in and out her thoughts +plied themselves round and about the two words, and her cheeks got +quite hot with the pleasurable excitement of this new mental +exercise. + +At last she tossed down her work, and, fetching a piece of brown +wrapping-paper, proceeded, with many erasures and tinkerings, to +inscribe upon it the following verse: + + Were hearts the dice and love the game, + Of no avail were double sixes; + On every heart is but one name, + We nought could throw but _double-Trixes!_ + +"Rather neat," said Polly to herself, "rather neat! Now if he were to +send it with two bunches of roses of six each, I think it could not +fail to make an impression. I should rather hate to pay another person +to make love for me, though," she went on, with a little toss of the +head; and then she picked up her work and began again to "rhyme +buttonholes." + +When Dan came home to supper he had much to learn. He was lost in +wonder over the rhyme which Polly repeated to him, but still more +impressed by the four great silver dollars she had to show; for her +impatient customer had already called for the verses. + +"Jiminy!" cried Dan; "that's most a week's earnings for some of us!" + +"Yes," Polly replied, demurely; "that's what Mrs. O'Toole would have +paid me for sixteen baby-dresses. Things even themselves out in the +long run, don't they, Dan?" As though Polly knew anything about the +long run, by the way! + +Before Christmas Polly was driving a pretty trade, not only in ideas +but in sewing. She had in all ten dozen pocket handkerchiefs to mark +for Christmas customers, besides towels and table-linen, sheets and +pillow-cases. People had found her out, and she had to refuse more +than one good order for lack of time. But needlework alone, quick as +she was in doing it, would have given her but a meagre income, had she +not been able to furnish "also ideas." + +One lady, for instance, came to ask her for an "idea" for a +Thanksgiving dinner, and Polly not only suggested the idea, but +carried it out for her. She went about with a big basket to all the +markets and collected perfect specimens of vegetables with which to +make a centrepiece for the dinner table. The dinner was given in a +house where the round dining table would seat twenty-four guests. In +this ample centre she erected a pyramid of fruits of the earth. There +were crimson beets, pale yellow squashes, scarlet tomatoes, and the +long, thin fingers of the string-bean; potatoes furnished a +comfortable brown, which, together with the soft bronze of the onion, +harmonized discordant colours; and, crowning all, the silken tassel of +the red-eared corn raised its graceful crest. + +The hostess was delighted with her table, and more delighted still +with the pretty decorator. Polly's fame flew from one to another +throughout that kindly and prosperous community, and she found herself +accumulating a goodly hoard. As Christmas drew near, many a perplexed +shopper came to her for "ideas," and all went away content. She had +long since discovered that the Colorado shops were treasure-houses of +pretty things. She never passed a jeweller's window without taking +note of his latest novelties; she kept an eye upon Mexican and Indian +bazaars, and Chinese bric-a-brac collections; she made a study of +Colorado gems, and knew where the prizes lay hidden; she ran through +the books in the bookstores; she was alert for new inventions in +harness decoration and bridle trimmings; she gave hints for fancy-work +of divers kinds. + +Mercury, meanwhile, sped about the town, dispensing healing, as Polly +often reminded him, and "getting more than I dispense, Polly," he +would declare in return. "I feel so well that everything is a regular +lark!" + +And so Dan made a "lark" of his work, and trotted all day in his +capacity of Mercury, little dreaming of the wealth that was +accumulating for his use; while Polly went on with her hoarding, of +which she made a great secret, and thought of a still better time +coming. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +A MERRY CHRISTMAS + + +Of all Polly's new friends, not one took a warmer interest in the +young idea-vendor than that first customer of hers, Miss Beatrice +Compton. Miss Beatrice was a warm-hearted and enthusiastic girl, who +never did anything by halves; and when she talked of Polly, of Polly's +skill and of Polly's originality, when she extolled Polly's eyes and +Polly's hair, Polly's wit and Polly's sweetness, few listeners +remained quite unmoved and incurious. Among the many who were thus +stirred to seek out this youthful paragon, was Miss Compton's +brother-in-law, Mr. Horace Clapp. Nor was an idle curiosity his only +motive in taking the step. Beneath the pretext he found for paying the +visit lurked a rather shamefaced purpose of doing this "plucky little +genius" a good turn. + +It happened, therefore, one morning in December, that Polly came home +from her marketing to find a stranger sitting in her porch. A +dog-cart, driven by a groom in livery, was passing and repassing her +door; and one look at the occupant of the porch sufficed to fix the +connection between the two. He was a well-dressed man of thirty or +more, who rose as she opened the gate and saluted her as if she had +been a duchess. + +"Miss Polly Fitch?" he inquired, as he stood before her, hat in hand. + +It was noticeable that no one ever omitted the "Polly" from the girl's +name. It seemed as much a part of her as the ruddy hair and the dimple +in her chin. That dimple, by the way, should have been mentioned long +ago; but that, in its turn, was so essential a feature, that one would +as soon think it necessary to state that Polly's nose had an upward +tilt as that her chin had a dimple. Any one who had ever heard of +Polly must know that her nose would tilt and her chin have a dimple. + +Polly had a large market-basket on her arm, and as she felt in her +pocket for the key to the front door, her visitor took possession of +the basket. She was a good deal impressed by the attention from so +magnificent a personage, and one, moreover, of advanced years. She +began to think that she must be mistaken about his being thirty; why, +that was Cousin John's age, and Cousin John was quite an oldish man. +She motioned her visitor to enter, and it must be admitted that there +was no oppressive reverence in her tone as she said: + +"If you would tell me _your_ name, now we should be starting fair!" + +"My name is Horace Clapp. Did you ever hear of me?" + +"No, I don't think so. Ought I to have?" + +"Well, no, there's no obligation in the matter. I only had an idea +that I was a local celebrity, like you." + +"Like me?" + +"Yes! You're a surprise to the town and so am I." + +"What have you done to surprise the town?" asked Polly, filled with +curiosity. + +"I've only got rich very fast." + +"Why, so have I!" said Polly. "We _are_ a good deal alike." + +"Really? Then you will be in an even better position to advise me than +I thought for." + +"I _supposed_ you had come for an idea," said Polly, as naturally as +if her wares had consisted in tape and buttons. + +Offering her visitor the only fairly comfortable chair in the room, +she seated herself by the window, near which was one of the draped +barrels with her work-basket on top. + +"You won't mind my sewing, please," she said, picking up a bit of +embroidery; "I can think better that way." + +The new customer meanwhile was wondering whether Miss Polly would +guess that he had come partly from curiosity, and partly with that +other far more daring motive of finding a way to do her a service. +And yet, who could tell? Perhaps she _could_ give him a hint; perhaps +she _was_ the youthful sibyl people seemed half inclined to believe +her. + +"Miss Polly," he said, leaning forward in his chair, with his elbows +on his knees,--"Miss Polly, I've got an awful lot of money, and I +don't know what to do with it." + +Mere words had not often the power of staying Polly's needle, but at +this astounding declaration she actually let her work fall in her lap, +and gazed with wide-eyed wonder at the speaker. + +"Yes," he went on, "I really want to do some good with it, and I've +tried in lots of ways and I've never hit it off. I should just like to +tell you about some of the things I've made a fizzle of in the last +year,--if it wouldn't bore you?" + +"Oh, no, it wouldn't bore me; nothing ever does. Only,--I can't +understand it. Why, I think I could give away _a thousand dollars a +year_ just there at home, where we used to live, and every dollar of +it would be well spent!" + +"Yes, Miss Polly," he said very meekly, "but, you see, what I've got +to consider is _two hundred thousand_ dollars a year!" + +He looked positively ashamed of himself, and Polly did not wonder. She +had given a little gasp at mention of the sum; then she shook her head +with decision. Polly knew her limits. + +"I haven't any ideas big enough for that" she said. "I should as soon +think of advising the President of the United States!" + +"Well, if you won't advise me about mine, perhaps you will tell me +what you are going to do with your own riches. You said you were +getting rich, did you not? You know," he added, "it isn't necessary to +make the map of a State as big as the State itself." + +"You have ideas, too," Polly remarked appreciatively, resuming her +embroidery. + +"But you have not told me how you are going to use your riches." + +"Oh, I'm going to use mine for education." + +"Going up to the college?" he asked. + +"Oh, no; there'd be no good in my knowing a lot. I've been nearly +through the Fieldham High School already, and the little that I've +learned doesn't seem to stick very well. No, indeed! I'm going to--" +she paused with a feeling of loyalty to Dan--"I'm only going to help +on the general cause of education," she finished demurely. + +As she made this sphinx-like remark, Mr. Horace Clapp wished she would +relinquish the pursuit of wealth long enough to put her work down and +let him see exactly what she meant. + +"I think that is the best use to put money to," he said gravely, "but +I'm not in the way of knowing about people who need help. Couldn't you +tell me of somebody, some young man who wanted to go to college, or +some girl who would like to go abroad? Of course, I could found a +scholarship, or endow a 'chair,' but one likes a bit of the personal +element in one's work." + +Polly's heart gave a thump. Here was a chance for Dan; a word from her +was all that was needed to make his path an easy one. Had she a right +to withhold that word,--to cramp and hinder him? She did not speak for +a good many seconds; she simply plied her needle with more and more +diligence, while her breath came fast and unevenly. Suddenly a furious +blush went mounting up into her temples and spread itself down her +neck. Her visitor thought he had never seen any one blush like that, +and it somehow struck him that his little plan was swamped. Quite +right he was, too. Polly blushed to think that she had thought of Dan +in such a connection for a single instant. + +It was very unreasoning, this impulse of rebellious shame: are we not +admonished to help one another? And what could the helpers do if all +their benefactions were indignantly thrust back? Very unreasoning +indeed, but natural!--natural as the colour of her hair and the +quickness of her wit, natural as all the graces and virtues, all the +misconceptions and foibles, that went to make up the personality of +Polly Fitch,--of Polly Fitch, the daughter of Puritan ancestors; men +and women who could starve, body and mind, but who never had learned +to accept a charity. + +Before the flush had died away, Polly was quite herself again, and +looked up so brightly and sweetly that Mr. Clapp took heart of hope. + +"You do know somebody like that; I'm sure you do!" he said +insinuatingly. + +"I?" said Polly. "I know hardly anybody. But I'm sure the president of +the college could tell you of a dozen boys who would be grateful for +help." + +And so Mr. Horace Clapp's little plan had come to nought, and he took +his leave more than ever convinced that it is a very difficult thing +to spend one's money in a good cause. As he stood a moment, waiting +for his dog-cart, a boy came down the street with a parcel under his +arm. + +"Say, Mister, do you know whether Daniel Fitch lives here?" he asked. + +"Daniel Fitch?" thought Mr. Clapp, as the boy turned in at the gate. +"Daniel Fitch? Where have I heard that name? Oh, yes, Beatrice said +there was a brother; runs errands for Jones, the druggist. Plucky +children! It would be pleasant to give them a lift!" + +As for Polly, she had not a twinge of regret. In fact, she rather +enjoyed dwelling upon the splendour of the opportunity she had thrust +from her, the better to glory in her escape. And she looked forward +with entire confidence to the time when she should test Dan's feeling +on the point. + +On Christmas Eve they hung up their stockings, fairly bulging with +materialised jokes and ideas which the morning was to bring to light, +and we may be sure that they did not wait for the lazy winter sun to +put in an appearance before beginning their investigations. Amid +shouts of merriment the revelations of a remarkably inventive Santa +Claus were greeted, while Polly held her climbing excitement in check +until the hour should be ripe for greater things. But when, at last, +just as the sun was peeping in at the kitchen window, Dan's ferret +fingers penetrated the extreme toe of his sock, she grew so agitated +that she quite forgot to make a certain witty observation she had been +saving up for that particular moment. And so it came about that an +unwonted silence reigned as the unsuspecting Dan drew forth a small +flat parcel labelled: "A Merry Christmas from Polly." + +Within was their familiar bank-book, wrapped about with a less +familiar sheet of note-paper bearing the following inscription: + +"An Idea! Namely, to wit: That Daniel Reddiman Fitch, Esq., lay aside +his character of Mercury, and become a student at Colorado College! + +"P. S.--An examination of the within balance will assure the said Dan +that there is nothing to prevent his thus delighting the heart of his +faithful Polly." + +A glance at the balance recorded, a reperusal of the "idea," and the +impressive silence was broken into a thousand fragments. + +"For you see, Dan," Polly explained, when, at last, she had secured a +hearing, "I shouldn't know what in the world to do with so much +money,--some rich people don't, they say,--and I've got plenty of +ideas to last us for years to come. Then, just as they begin to give +out, you'll have got to be a mining engineer, with your pockets +cram-full of money, and you'll have to support me for the rest of my +life. So I don't see but that I'm getting the best of the bargain, +after all!" + +It all seemed perfectly natural to Dan. This sister of his had always +lent a hand when he needed it. Of course he would accept her help, and +let the future, the glorious, inexhaustible future straighten out the +account between them. He did not express himself even in his inmost +thoughts in any such high-flown manner as this. He simply gave an +Indian war-whoop, administered to Polly a portentous hug, and declared +for the hundredth time, "Polly, you _beat the world!_" + +When everything was thus amicably settled and Dan had agreed to "give +notice" in his capacity as Mercury, the following day, Polly said: +"You won't mind being poor, will you, Dan? You don't wish we were +rich, do you?" + +"Rich? Why, we _are_ rich!" + +"But, Dan, if any one came along and offered you a lot of money, say a +thousand dollars a year, you wouldn't take it, would you?" + +"Do you mean a stranger, Polly, some one we hadn't any claim on?" + +"Yes; but somebody who had such a lot he wouldn't miss it. Would you +take it, Dan? Say, would you take it?" + +"What a goose you are, Polly! Of course I wouldn't take it! I would +rather go back to the Augaeans for the rest of my life!" + +On the evening of that momentous Christmas Day, our two young people +had out their Latin books and began industriously to polish up their +somewhat rusty acquirements in that classic tongue. A year ago they +might not have regarded this as precisely a holiday pastime, but their +ideas had undergone a great change since then. + +They sat at the little centre-table, the ruddy head and the black one +close together in the lamp-light, reading their Cicero. A rap at the +door seemed a rude interruption; yet so unusual was the excitement of +an evening visitor that they could not be quite indifferent to the +event,--the less so when the visitor proved to be Polly's client of +the cumbrous income. + +"Good evening, Miss Polly," he called, from the door, and Polly +fancied that his voice had a particularly cheerful ring in it. As he +spoke, he glanced at Dan, who had opened the door. + +"This is my brother, Dan. Won't you come in, Mr. Clapp?" + +"With all the pleasure in the world, for I have come in the character +of Santa Claus." + +"Have you indeed?" thought Polly to herself; "we'll see about that!" +Perhaps there was something in her manner that betrayed her thoughts, +for her visitor said, with evident amusement: + +"You take alarm too easily, Miss Polly. I should as soon think of +offering a gift in my own name to,--to any other extremely rich young +woman." + +"I was glad to hear that your brother's name was Dan," he continued +with apparent irrelevance, as he took his seat. "And more delighted +still when I found out his middle name. Didn't it strike you," he +asked, turning abruptly to Dan, "that your employer, Mr. Jones, was +developing rather a sudden interest in your antecedents?" + +"Yes," Polly thought, "he is pleased about something." + +"Why, yes," Dan answered, with boyish bluntness. "But what do you know +about it?" + +"Only that it was I that put Jones up to making his inquiries." + +"You?" Dan looked half inclined to resent the liberty. But Polly saw +that there was something coming. + +"Would you mind telling us what it's all about?" she asked. "You look +as if you knew something nice." + +"I do; it's one of the nicest things I ever knew in my life. I didn't +tell you the other day, did I, that I had made most of my money in +mines?" + +"No," said Polly, wondering why he should want to tell them how he +made "his old money." + +"Well, that is the case; nearly all in one mine, too. It's a great +placer mine up north. I don't suppose you know much about placer +mines?" + +Polly, disclaiming such knowledge, tried to look politely interested, +while Dan's interest, fortunately for his manners, was very genuine. +Was he not to be a mining engineer, and did he not want to learn all +he could? + +"Well," Mr. Clapp went on, "a placer mine is one where the gold lies +embedded in the soil and has to be washed out, and if there doesn't +happen to be running water near by it costs an awful lot to bring it +in." + +"Yes," said the polite Polly, with a vision of a fire-brigade running +about with buckets in their hands, as they used to do in Fieldham. + +"What they call hydraulic mining," Dan put in. + +"Yes, that's it. Big ditches to be dug, and all that sort of thing. +Well, this 'Big Bonus Mine' was discovered twenty years ago. A company +was started and the stock was put on the market at a dollar a share. +The management made a mess of it, as a management usually does, and it +fizzled out. It was believed that the thing was chock-full of gold, +but they couldn't get it out." + +Polly was beginning to be interested; she usually did find things +interesting when she gave her mind to them. + +"Well, what did they do?" asked Dan. + +"They gave it up for a bad job, and tried to forget all the money they +had put into it." + +"Then where did your money come from?" + +"Out of the 'Big Bonus Placer Gold Mine!' We scoop it right out +to-day." + +"I wish you'd go ahead!" said Dan, for the guest had paused, and was +examining the _Cicero_. + +"Well, hydraulic mining improves, like every thing else, and three +years ago a new company was formed. Luckily the old company had not +gone into debt; perhaps they could not borrow money on their elephant. +However that may be, they agreed to put half their stock back into the +treasury, and it was sold at fifty cents a share, which gave us money +to work with." + +"And it was a howling success!" cried Dan. "I remember; I've heard all +about it." + +"Yes, we've paid out two dollars a share in dividends in the last six +months, and the stock is held at fifteen or sixteen dollars a share +to-day. The beauty of it is," Mr. Horace Clapp added, glancing quietly +from Dan to Polly, "I am convinced that you are both stockholders." + +"We?" they cried in a breath. + +"Yes! For Jones tells me that your father was a doctor; that his name +was Daniel Reddiman Fitch, and that he once lived in Bington, Ohio." + +"Yes," said Polly; "that was when he was first married; before old +Doctor Royce died, and left an opening in Fieldham, so that Father +came back home again." + +"The name of such a stockholder stands on our books, but we haven't +heretofore been able to trace him." + +"That's why old Jones pumped me so," Dan remarked, giving his mind +first to the more familiar aspects of the case. + +"What a pity he never knew!" said Polly, with glistening eyes. "He was +always so poor." + +"Your father's original holdings were five thousand shares, so that +you are the possessors of twenty-five hundred shares. If you sell it +pretty soon, as I think you may as well do, you will have something +over forty thousand dollars to invest; for there is, in addition to +the stock, five thousand dollars in back dividends due you." + +Dan and Polly looked at each other almost aghast; but that was only +for a moment. + +"Why, Dan, you can have a saddle-horse of your own!" cried Polly. + +"And so can you!" + +"And we can--O Mr. Clapp, how rude we are!" + +Mr. Clapp looked as if it were a kind of rudeness that he was enjoying +very much. As he rose to go, he said: + +"Don't you think I'm a pretty good sort of a Santa Claus after all, +Miss Polly?" + +Polly seized his outstretched hand. + +"I didn't believe any one person could be so rich, and so good, too!" +she declared. + +"And, O Dan!" cried Polly, the minute they were alone together, "let's +send a New-Year's box home. There'll be just time enough. We can get +one of those great carriage rugs for Uncle Seth, and a China silk for +Aunt Lucia." + +"And I'll send Cousin John's boys some Indian bows and arrows." + +"And Cousin Martha a dozen Chinese cups and saucers." + +"And the old Professor a meerschaum pipe." + +"And Miss Louisa Bailey, and dear Mrs. Dodge, and the Widow +Criswell,--what _shall_ we send the Widow Criswell, Dan?" + +"Some black-bordered pocket-handkerchiefs!" cried the irreverent Dan. + +Before going to bed they stepped out on the porch to bid the Peak +good-night. + +"Going to be a fine day to-morrow, Polly." + +"All the days are fine in Colorado," said Polly. + +"You forget the blizzard last month." + +"Oh, but it was _such a dear blizzard_ not to do you any harm when it +caught you out!" + +Dan grew thoughtful. + +"Do you ever think, Polly, that we should never have come out here if +it hadn't been for you?" + +"You know it was 'Pike's Peak or bust!' with both of us, Dan." + +Dan looked critically from the great Peak, gleaming there in the +starlight, to Polly's uplifted face, and then, as they turned to go +in, he exclaimed, for the hundred-and-first time: + +"Polly, _you beat the world!_" + + + + +NANNIE'S THEATRE PARTY + +CHAPTER I + +NANNIE'S THEATRE PARTY + + +"Yes, my dear, I went to the the_ett_er myself once when I was quite a +girl, younger 'n you be, I guess. 'Twas Uncle 'Bijah Lane that took +me, 'n' he was so upsot by their hevin' a fun'ral all acted out on the +stage, that he come home and told Ma 'twa'n't no fit place for young +girls to go to, 'n' I ain't never ben inside a the_ett_er sence. Doos +seem good to see play-actin' agin after all these years, I declare it +doos!"--and Miss Becky took up her sewing, which she had laid down in +a moment of enthusiasm. + +"If you liked it half as well as I like to do it, Miss Becky, you'd +like it even better than you do now," replied Lady Macbeth, with a +cheerful gusto, somewhat at odds with her tragic character. + +Nannie Ray, herself still very new to the delights of theatre-going, +had recently seen a great actress play Lady Macbeth, and, fired with +the spirit of emulation, she had been enacting the sleep-walking scene +for the benefit of her country neighbour. Miss Becky Crawlin lived +only half a mile down the road from the old Ray homestead, where the +family were in the habit of spending six months of the year. She and +Nannie had always been great cronies, Miss Becky finding a perennial +delight in "that child's goin's on." + +The "child" meanwhile had come to be sixteen years old, but no one +would have given her credit for such dignity who had seen the +incongruous little figure perched upon the slippery haircloth sofa, +twinkling with delight at Miss Becky's encomiums. She wore a +voluminous nightgown, from under the hem of which a pink gingham +ruffle insisted upon poking itself out; her long black hair hung over +her shoulders in sufficiently tragic strands; her cheeks, liberally +powdered with flour, gleamed treacherously pink through a chance +break in their highly artificial pallor, while portentous brows of +burnt cork did their best to make terrible a pair of very girlish and +innocent eyes. A touch of realism which the original Lady Macbeth +lacked was given by a streak of red crayon which lent a murderous +significance to the small brown hand. + +"I declare!" her admiring auditor went on, stitching away to make up +for lost time, "I can't see but you do's well's the lady I saw--only +she was dressed prettier, and went round with a wreath on her head. A +wreath's always so becomin'! We used to wear 'em May Day, when I was a +girl. They was made o' paper flowers, all colours, so's you could suit +your complexion, and when it didn't rain I must say we looked reel +nice. 'Twas surprisin', though, how quick a few drops o' rain would +wilt one o' them paper wreaths right down so's you could scurcely tell +what 'twas meant for." + +"Tell me some more about the girl with the wreath, Miss Becky," said +Lady Macbeth, longing to curl herself up in a corner, but too mindful +of her tragic dignity to unbend. + +"Well, she looked reel pretty, but she didn't hev _sperit_ enough to +suit my idees. She was kind o' lackadaisical and namby-pamby, 'n' when +her young man sarsed her she didn't seem to hev nothin' to say for +herself. I must say 'twas a heathenish kind of a play anyway, 'n' I +ain't surprised that Uncle 'Bijah got sot agin it. The language wa'n't +sech as I'd ben brought up to, either." + +Lady Macbeth had leaned forward and was clasping her knees, thus +unconsciously widening the expanse of pink gingham visible beneath the +white robe. She was glad she had modified her Shakespeare to suit her +listener, though "Out, _dreadful_ spot!" was not nearly as +bloodcurdling as the original. + +Miss Becky, meanwhile, had not paused in her narration. + +"There was a long-winded young man," she was saying, "him that sarsed +his girl, 'n' he went slashin' round, killin' folks off in a kind of +an aimless way, an'----" + +"It must have been _Hamlet_ that you saw!" cried Nannie, much excited. +"Oh, I do so want to see _Hamlet_!" + +"Yes, _Hamlet_; that was it. And then there was a ghost in it that +sent the shivers down my back; 'n' a king 'n' queen; 'n' the king +looked for all the world like Deacon Ember, Jenny Lowe's grandpa, that +died before you was born; 'n' I declare, I _did_ enjoy it! 'Twas jest +like bein' alive in history times! Why, I ain't had sech shivers down +my spine's the ghost give me, sence that day, till I seen you standin' +there tryin' to wash your hands without any water, 'n' your eyes +rollin' fit to scare the cat!" + +"Would you like to have me do it again for you, Miss Becky?" asked +Nan, springing to her feet with renewed ardour. And straightway she +stationed herself at the end of the little room and began propelling +herself forward with occasional erratic halts. + +The September sunshine came slanting through the tiny panes of glass +at the window, and touched with impartial grace the youthful figure +of distracted mien, the worsted tidies on the haircloth sofa, and the +neat alpaca occupant of the stuffed "rocker." Again the sewing was +forgotten, and Miss Becky's glittering spectacles were fixed upon the +tragic queen. As the queer little figure stalked solemnly down the +room, eyes fixed in a glassy stare, hands wringing one another +distressfully; as a moving wail rent the air, to the effect that "all +the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand," a most +agreeable succession of shivers made a highway of Miss Becky's spine. + +"Why don't you ever go to the theatre now, Miss Becky?" Nannie asked, +when, having laid aside her tragic toggery, she came in her own person +to take her leave. "I should think you'd like to go again." + +"Oh, yes, I should be reel tickled to go again, but I ain't got nobody +to go with, and, well--there's other reasons besides." + +[Illustration: "All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little +hand."] + +Nannie blushed to think how inconsiderate she had been to force her +old friend to allude, even indirectly, to her poverty, and she walked +up the dusty road to her own gate, filled with compunction. Just +outside the gate was a little wilderness of goldenrod and asters. She +thought what a pity it was they should get so gray with dust. Poor +things, they could not help it; they had to stay where chance had +planted them unless somebody picked them and carried them away, and +even then they left their roots behind them. Somehow they made her +think of Miss Becky, living her little narrow, stationary life all +alone in the old tumble-down farmhouse. And just at this point in her +reflections a delightful scheme came into her head. + +Now, Nannie was the recipient of a slender monthly allowance intended +for gloves and ruchings, postage stamps, and the like, and, having +spent the last four months far from the allurements of city shops, she +happened at this juncture to be in funds. Her stock of gloves, to be +sure, was pretty well exhausted, and Christmas was only a few months +away. But Miss Becky was nearer still, and Nannie had no hesitation +between the two claims. As a natural consequence it happened that, +one pleasant day early in October, Miss Becky, in her best black +bonnet, found herself steaming up to Boston, about to do Nannie "a +real favour" by chaperoning her to the theatre. Miss Becky was so much +impressed by the gravity of her responsibility that she hardly took in +the fact that she was going to the theatre herself! + +They were to see _The Shaughraun_--a play which her best friend had +assured Nannie was "just great"; and as the train rushed up to town +the young hostess was at a loss to decide whether she was happier on +her own account or on Miss Becky's. To be sure, she was just a little +disappointed about Miss Becky, who seemed curiously silent and stiff; +and when they came out of the station and walked up the crowded city +street, the old lady held her by the sleeve and looked bewildered and +frightened. + +"How long is it since you've been in Boston?" Nannie asked, looking up +into the anxious old face framed in the black silk bonnet which +looked twice as old-fashioned as ever before. + +"Not sence Sophia was married 'n' we came up to select her weddin' +gownd. I was quite a girl then, an' I guess I felt more at home in a +crowd than I do now. We don't often hev much of a crowd out our way." + +They were among the first to take their seats at the theatre. Mr. Ray +had got places for them only three rows back from the stage, and, once +established there, Nannie felt that they were in a safe haven, where +her guest could grow calm and responsive again. + +At first Miss Becky was almost too overawed to speak, but after a +while she got the better of the situation and began telling Nannie all +about Sophia and her "true-so," and how they got lost on their way to +the station and almost missed their train, which was the only train +"out" in old times. + +"I do hope we sha'n't miss our train to-night, my dear! It doos seem's +though we might 'f they don't begin pretty soon," and the old +lady--for a very old lady she seemed to have become all of a +sudden--fidgeted in her chair, and looked over her shoulder to see if +the seats were not filling up. + +"We sha'n't lose our train, Miss Becky," Nannie assured her. "You know +it doesn't go until half-past five o'clock, and the play is always +over before five. And even if we did miss it we could take the +seven-fifteen." + +"Oh, dear, no! I sh'd feel reel bad to miss the train. Why, it gits +dark by six o'clock, 'n' 'twouldn't be safe for us to be goin' round +the city streets after dark. We might git garroted or, or--_spoken +to!_ Dear me! I _wish_ they would begin!" + +"If it gets late, Miss Becky, we won't wait for the end of the play," +said Nannie, while a very distinct pang seized her at thought of +missing anything. + +"I think that _would_ be better!" Miss Becky cried, with evident +relief. "Don't you think it might be better to go out a little early, +anyway? They'll be such a crowd when everybody tries to go out to +once that we might git delayed. _My!_ what a sight of people there is +already! And up in the galleries, too! Ain't you 'most afeared to stay +in sech a crowd?" + +"Oh, no, Miss Becky. It's just like this always, and nothing ever +happens." + +"Them galleries don't look strong enough to hold many people. Why, +Nannie, see! They ain't any _pillows_ under 'em! What do you suppose +keeps 'em up?" + +"I don't know, I'm sure; but they're safe enough." + +At this point the orchestra struck up a popular tune and silence fell +upon Miss Becky. She sat, stiff and severe, gazing straight before +her, and when Nannie ventured to make a remark she received only a +reproving look in reply. + +How strange it was, Nannie thought! She had meant to give Miss Becky +such a treat, and here sat her guest, looking anxious and +distressed--yes, more anxious and distressed than she looked a year +ago when her cow died. But then the play had not begun yet, Nannie +reflected, with a gleam of hope. When the play had once begun, Miss +Becky would forget all her worries and be as "tickled" as she had +counted on her being. And when once the curtain had gone up, Nannie at +least had no more misgivings. Her fancy was instantly taken captive, +first by the charming young officer and his pretty Irish sweetheart, +then by the fine old priest, then by Con himself,--dear, droll, +happy-go-lucky Con, with his picturesque foibles, his bubbling humour, +and his phenomenal virtues. From the moment of his entry, with +"Tatters" just not at his heels, Nannie was all smiles and tears. + +Miss Becky, meanwhile, sat erect as a ramrod, a look of perplexity +screwing her wrinkles all out of shape. Her bonnet had got somewhat +askew from her constant effort to keep an eye on those unsupported +galleries, and there was a general air of discomfort about her, which +was the first thing that struck Nannie when, as the curtain fell upon +the first act, she turned to look at her. + +"Aren't you enjoying it, Miss Becky?" she asked, with quick anxiety. + +"Oh, yes, I'm hevin' a reel pleasant time. 'T ain't through yet, is +it?" + +"Why, no; it's only just begun. There's lots more! May Colby says that +Con gets them all out of all their troubles and almost gets killed +himself!" + +"I sh'd think 't would take a long time. Are you sure 't ain't most +five o'clock?" + +"Oh, no; it's only three. See! And my watch is fast, too. Wasn't it +funny about the letter?" + +"Well, I didn't quite understand about that. What made 'em laugh so?" + +"Why, that was because he couldn't read, and so he had to make it all +up out of his head." + +"Well!" declared Miss Becky, with strong disapproval, "I don't think +he'd ought to hev deceived his mother that way; do you?" + +This was a poser; but at that moment the orchestra came to the rescue +with a new tune, and Nannie was spared the necessity of replying. + +After that the play became every moment more exciting and the central +figure more entirely captivating, and even between the acts Nannie +was preoccupied and unobservant. They had got to the prison scene, +with all its ingenious intricacies of plot and stage machinery; Con +had accomplished the rescue, and was scrambling over the rocks, when +suddenly the sharp report of a rifle rang out, followed by another, +and then another, in quick succession. + +Instantly Nannie felt her arm clutched, and she heard Miss Becky +saying: "You must come right away, this very minute!" + +"Oh, please not, Miss Becky," she implored. + +But there was a resolute gleam in Miss Becky's eye. + +"Come right along, child," she whispered, hoarsely, "come right along +with me!"--and poor Nannie, to her consternation and chagrin, found +herself absolutely obliged to follow. + +The whole row of people stood up to let them pass, and every kind of +look--glances of amusement and curiosity, of annoyance and of +sympathy--followed the oddly assorted pair, as they made their way +out of the slip and then up the aisle. + +Once outside the door, the tension of Miss Becky's face relaxed, but +she did not waver in her determination. + +"There, child!" she cried, as they walked down the slight incline of +the long passageway to the street. "There! I am glad I had strength +given me to do my duty by you!" + +"But, Miss Becky, there wasn't a bit of danger," Nannie protested, +bravely keeping the tears back in her cruel disappointment. "Really, +there wasn't. Won't you _please_ go back with me, and just stand +inside the door and see the end of it? I'm sure they'd let us stand +inside the door." + +"Nannie Ray," Miss Becky replied, looking very fiercely at the girl's +flushed cheeks and imploring eyes, "if you knew as much about firearms +as I do, you wouldn't ask such a thing. But there! It's jest because +you're young and inexperienced that your ma wanted me to come and look +after you. I guess she'll be thankful she was so foresighted when she +hears of the danger you was in." + +In her exultation and relief of mind, Miss Becky marched on, +regardless of jostling crowds and thronging teams. Her whole attitude +had changed. She was no longer the timid, shrinking old woman; she was +the responsible guardian, aware of the importance of her charge, and +nothing was ever to convince her that she had not as good as saved +Nannie's life on that occasion. + +Then Nannie, as became a hostess, accepted the situation with the best +grace in the world. + +"I tell you what let's do, Miss Becky," she said. "Let's go and get +some ice-cream. That is, if you like it." + +The stern old face relaxed. + +"Oh, yes; I like ice-cream, especially vanilla. But--do you think +we've got time enough?" + +"We've got an hour and a quarter before the train goes. Let's come in +here and get it." + +From the crowded street they passed in at the doorway and walked +between marble counters to what seemed to Miss Becky a scene in +fairyland. Ascending two or three broad steps, on each side of which +an antlered stag kept guard, they stepped upon a great carpeted space, +lighted from above,--a space in the middle of which was a fountain, +springing high into the air, and splashing back into a round basin +lined with shining shells and pebbles, over and among which goldfish +swam and dove like animated jewels. Ferns and palms grew all about the +basin, and in among the greenery was a little table where Nannie and +her guest sat hidden safe away from the world. + +"Well, this doos beat all!" the old lady exclaimed, gazing at the +fountain with an expression of rapt delight--just the expression that +Nannie had counted upon seeing among the wrinkles. + +"Do you like it?" she asked, all her disappointment and chagrin +forgotten. + +"Like it? Why, it's the most tasty place I was ever in! It's better +than any play; it's like bein' in a play yourself! Jest see them +pillows supportin' that gallery! 'N' them picters of tropical fruits! +'N' this ice-cream! Why, it's different from what we hev at the +Sunday-school picnics! 'Pears to me it's more creamy!" + +Now, at last, Miss Becky had lost all thought of the passage of time. +She took her ice-cream, just a little at a time, off the tip-end of +her spoon, and with every mouthful the look of content grew deeper. +One of the little cakes that were served with the ice-cream was a +macaroon with a sugar swan upon it--"a reel little statoo of a swan," +Miss Becky called it. She could not be persuaded to eat it, but she +studied it with such undisguised admiration that Nannie ventured to +suggest that she take it home with her. Again Miss Becky was +enchanted. She wrapped it in her pocket-handkerchief, and placed it +carefully in her reticule, whence it was to emerge only to enter upon +a long and admired career as a parlour ornament. + +"And now, Miss Becky," Nannie queried, as they sat there embowered in +palms and ferns, listening to the plash of the fountain, "didn't you +enjoy the play at all?" + +"Oh, yes," said Miss Becky, "I had a very pleasant time before they +got so reckless with their guns. But--I wonder whether they take sech +pains with the the-etter's they used to? Why, when I went with Uncle +'Bijah Lane that time, they all wore the most beautiful clothes. Even +the men was dressed out in velvets and satins, and they wa'n't anybody +on the stage that didn't make a good appearance." + +"But, you know, this was a different sort of play, Miss Becky. The +folks in _The Shaughraun_ weren't kings and queens, but just every-day +people." + +"Well, s'posin' they was! I don't see no excuse for that man Con goin' +round lookin' so slack. I sh'd think he might at least git a whole +coat to wear when he 'pears before the public!" + +"I'm afraid you're sorry you came," said Nannie, very meekly, feeling +quite ashamed of her poor little party. + +"Oh, no, I ain't! Why, child, I'd hev come _barefoot_ to see this +place here, with the founting a-splashin' and the fishes a-gleamin'! +_Barefoot_, I tell ye!" + +It was a forcible expression, yet Nannie was not quite reassured. She +still demurred. + +"But the play was the principal thing, you know." + +"The play? Well, I don't know," said Miss Becky, thoughtfully. "I +don't know's I'm so terrible sot on the the_ett_er's I thought for. +I'd a good deal ruther hev you come over 'n do that sleep-walkin' +piece for me. I don't want nothin' better'n that. 'F I can see you act +that once in a while, 'n' hev this here Garding of Eden to think +about,--a founting playin' right in the house, 'n' all,--I ain't +likely to want for amusement." + +The best bonnet was still very much askew, but the pleasant old face +within, whose wrinkles had resumed their accustomed grooves, was +irradiated with a look of unmistakable beatitude; and somehow it was +borne in upon Nannie that her theatre party had been a success after +all. + + + + +OLIVIA'S SUN-DIAL + +CHAPTER I + +OLIVIA'S SUN-DIAL + + +"It's all we need to make it the prettiest garden in Dunbridge." + +"Hm! And why must we have the prettiest garden in Dunbridge?" + +"Why shouldn't we?" + +Here was a deadlock--a thing quite shockingly out of place in a +garden, and one's own particular garden at that! + +Olivia Page could make almost anything grow, as she had abundantly +proved, but even her garden-craft could hardly suffice for the setting +of a sun-dial on a pedestal of snow-white marble over there where the +four triangular rose-beds converged to a circle, and where the south +sun would play on it all day long. + +For a year Olivia had dreamed of this, and, since she was not a +churlishly reticent young person, it was not the first intimation her +father had received of her desire. Not until to-day, however, had she +asked outright for what she wanted. + +"I wish you would say something more," she remarked, glancing sidewise +at the professor's deeply corrugated countenance, which, for all their +intimacy, was sometimes difficult to decipher. She had heard of girls +who could twist their parents round their fingers; she wondered how +they did it. + +The two were sitting on the white half-circle of a bench that stood at +the west boundary of the old tennis-court, just where one end of the +net used to be staked up. Excepting for that break, three sides of the +garden were fenced in by the high wire screen originally designed to +keep the tennis balls within bounds, and now doing duty as a trellis +over which a luxuriant woodbine clambered, waving its reddening +tendrils in the light September breeze. Wide flowerbeds bordered the +entire court, the central turf being broken only by the cluster of +rose-beds at the further end. From the white bench one looked across +the grass to a broad flight of veranda steps, flanked on the right by +a mass of white boltonia, while on the left a superb growth of New +England asters reared their sturdy heads. + +The garden had been a great success this year, quite the admiration of +the neighbourhood. Really, Papa must be proud of it, and it was all +Olivia's doing. Who would ever guess that it had had its modest +beginnings in half a dozen tin cracker-boxes with holes bored in the +bottoms, where, in March, two years ago, she had planted queer little +brown seeds as hard as pebbles, which Nature had straightway taken in +hand, softening and expanding them down there in the dark, till they +came alive, and began feeling their way up to meet the sun. Ah, the +bliss of seeing those first tiny shoots turn into stems and leaflets, +ready to play their part in the great spring awakening! Would Olivia +ever love any flowers quite as she had loved those first seedlings, +especially a certain pentstemon, which blossomed "white with purple +spots," exactly as the seed-catalogue had promised? + +Yes, the garden was a great success, and just now it was at one of its +prettiest moments, gay with autumn colours; the rudbeckia in its +glory, and the great pink blossoms of the hibiscus spreading their +skirts for all the world like ladies in an old-time minuet, while over +yonder the soldier spikes of the flame-flower threatened to set the +woodbine afire. Olivia loved the Latin names, but somehow "tritonia" +did not seem to express those spikes of burning colour. And the roses! +How lovely those late hybrids were! Why, the way that Margaret Dickson +drooped her head above the pansies, still blooming freely at her feet, +was enough to melt the heart of a Salem gibraltar! A pity that the +professor's attention seemed for the moment to be riveted upon the toe +of his boot! + +"I wish you would say something more," Olivia repeated. + +"Something different, you mean," and Doctor Page smiled, benignly and +stubbornly. + +"For instance, you might tell me why you are opposed to it." + +"You wouldn't understand." + +"I might; you said, only the other day, that I sometimes displayed +almost human intelligence!" + +The professor liked to have his jokes remembered; but still he seemed +inclined to temporise. + +"I might say that we couldn't afford it. It is generally conceded that +Alma Mater is not a munificent provider." + +"Yes; and you might say that my great-grandfather was not an East +India trader--only you don't tell fibs." + +"Or that a sun-dial is an anachronism." + +"You are too good a Latin scholar for that." + +"So a subterfuge won't do? Very well; then you'll have to put up with +a psychological proposition." + +"How interesting!" + +The professor glanced at the expectant young face turned toward him, +and he could not but admit that his estimate of its owner's +intelligence had been well within the truth. + +"You think a sun-dial would make it the prettiest garden in +Dunbridge?" + +"I'm sure it would." + +"And that is what you are aiming at?" + +"Yes." + +"Now, I have noticed that when you have got what you are aiming at you +lose interest in it." + +"O Papa!" + +"There was tennis," he went on, marking off the list on a combative +forefinger, "and cookery; there was the Polyglot Club, and the +Sketching Club, and----" + +"But, Papa! They were every one of them good things, and I got a lot +out of them; truly, I did." + +"No doubt; but as soon as you could play tennis, or sketch a pine +tree, or toss an omelette a little better than the other girls, you +had squeezed your orange dry." + +"But, Papa! I've stuck to gardening for more than two years!" Olivia's +tone seemed to give those years the dignity of centuries. + +"True; but you haven't got your sun-dial. You will consider that the +finishing touch, and then before we know it you will be wanting to +turn the whole thing into a sand-garden for the little micks at the +Corners." + +"Not such a bad idea," Olivia admitted unguardedly. + +"There you are! The mere mention of a new scheme is enough to set you +agog!" + +But this was not their first fencing match, and Olivia had learned to +parry. + +"I thought you believed in people being open-minded," she ventured +demurely. + +"And so I do; but not so open-minded that for every new idea that +comes in an old one goes out." + +"Oh, the sun-dial hasn't got away yet," she laughed, springing to her +feet and going over to the court-end of the garden, where she placed +herself in the exact centre of the converging rose-beds. + +"There!" she cried; "don't you see how my white gown lights up the +whole place? It's just the high light that it needs." + +And so it was: a fact of which no one was better aware than the +professor. As he, too, rose and sauntered toward the house he could +not deny that Olivia's ideas were usually good. The only trouble was +that she had too many of them; and here was the kernel of truth that +gave substance to his whimsical argument. The beauty of the garden was +not lost upon him, nor yet the skill and industry of the young +gardener. But more important than either was the advantage to the +girl's health. Olivia was sound as a nut; of course she was! There +could be no doubt of that. But--so had her mother seemed, until that +fatal winter ten years ago. He did not fear for Olivia; why should he? +Only--well, this out-of-door life was a capital thing for anybody. No, +he could not have her tire of her garden. + +At the foot of the veranda steps Dr. Page paused and glanced again at +his daughter. She had left the rose-beds and was already intent upon +her work, pulling seeds from the hollyhocks over yonder. She made a +pretty picture in her white gown, standing shoulder-high among the +brown stalks, her slender fingers deftly gleaning from such as showed +no rust. The child was really very persistent about her gardening; she +had fairly earned an indulgence. Perhaps, after all, she might be +trusted. He moved a few steps toward her. + +"Olivia," he said,--and the first word betrayed his relenting,--"Olivia, +your sun-dial scheme is not such a bad idea. I should rather like that +white-petticoat effect myself. Supposing we say that if between now and +next June you don't think of anything you want more, we'll have it." + +"Oh, you blessed angel! What could I want more?" + +"Time will show," the blessed angel replied, retracing his steps +toward the house--unaided by angelic wings! + +"Yes," Olivia called confidently. "It's the sun-dial that time will +show, and afterward--why, the sun-dial will show the time!"--and +although he made no sign, she knew there were little puckers of +amused approval about her father's mouth. + +As if she could ever want anything more than a sun-dial! she thought, +while she passed along the borders, harvesting her little crop. She +had finished with the hollyhocks, and now she was bending over a bed +of withered columbines. And there were the foxglove seeds still +clinging. Really, it was almost impossible to keep up. How brilliant +the salvia was to-day, and what a brave second blossoming that was of +the delphinium, its knightly spurs, metallic blue, gleaming in the +sun! + +"No," she declared to herself, "there will never be anything so much +worth while as the garden. Why, of course there won't; because Nature +is the best thing in the world--the very best." + +"Plase, ma'am, will ye gimme a bowkay?" + +Olivia turned, startled by a voice so near at hand, for she had heard +no footfall on the thick turf. There, in the centre of the grass-grown +space, stood two comical little midgets, their smutty yet cherubic +faces blooming brightly above garments highly coloured and earthy, +too, as the autumn garden-beds. + +[Illustration: "Please ma'am, will ye gimme a bowkay?"] + +"Dear me!" Olivia laughed, "how things do sprout in a garden! Did you +come right up out of the ground?" + +"Plase, ma'am, a bowkay! Me mudder's sick an' me fader's goned away." + +The speaker, a boy of five, stood holding by the hand something in the +way of a sister, about two sizes smaller. At Olivia's little joke, +which they did not in the least understand, they had both grinned +sympathetically, showing rows of diminutive teeth as white and even as +snow-berries. + +"Bless your little hearts, of course you shall have a bouquet! Come +and choose one,"--and taking a hand of each Olivia led them slowly +along the brilliant borders. + +They were a bit shy at first, but they soon picked up their courage, +and Patsy fell to accumulating a mass of incongruous blossoms whose +colours fought each other tooth and nail. Little Biddy, more modest, +as beseemed her inferior rank in the scale of being, fixed her heart +upon a single flame-flower which absolutely refused to reconcile +itself with the ingenuous pink of her calico frock. + +"How long has your mother been ill?" Olivia asked of the boy, who by +this time was quite hidden behind a perfect forest of asters and +larkspur and lobelia cardinalis. + +"Me mudder's always sick. She coughs an' coughs, and den she lays on +de bed long whiles." + +"And she likes flowers?" + +"Yes, ma'am; me an' Biddy picked a bowkay outen a ashba'l oncet, an' +me mudder sticked it in a tumbler an' loved it. Come, Biddy, make de +lady a bow!" Upon which the small Chesterfield stood off a few steps +and gave an absurd little bob of a bow which Biddy gravely endeavoured +to imitate. + +"I think I'll go with you," said Olivia, open-minded as ever to a new +interest; and hand in hand and chattering amicably, the three moved +across the turf and down the long gravel walk to the dusty street. +Surprising how short the distance was between the sweet seclusion of +the old tennis-court and the squalid quarter where these little human +blossoms grew! + +Olivia was thinking of that as she stood on the veranda an hour later, +looking down upon the flowery kingdom to which all her interest and +ambition had been pledged. Yes, it was lovely, lovely in the long +afternoon light, and it would have been lovelier still with the +gleaming marble she had dreamed of. She really tried to keep her mind +upon it, to forget the little drama over there in the stuffy tenement. +But no; she was too good a gardener for that. Was not a whole family +broken and wilting for lack of means to transplant it? + +The doctor had ordered Mrs. O'Trannon to Colorado, and Mike had +dropped his work as "finisher"--whatever that might be--and had gone +out to prepare the way for the others to follow. He had found no +chance to work at his trade, but he had got a job on a ranch, where +the pay was small, but the living good. A fine place it would be for +the invalid and the children, when once he could get together the +money to send for them. But meanwhile here they were, and the winter +coming on. + +As Olivia stood looking down upon her beloved garden, she could not +seem to see anything but brown stalks and dead blossoms. All that +lavish colour looked fictitious and transitory; she had somehow lost +faith in it. + +Mrs. O'Trannon had been pleased with the flowers; she had grown up on +a farm, she said. Sure she never'd ha' got sick at all if she'd ha' +stayed where she belonged. But then, where would Mike have been, and +the babies? And where would Mike be, and the babies, Olivia thought +with a pang,--where would they be if the mother wilted and died? She +turned, suddenly, and passed in at the glass doors and on to her +father's study. + +At sight of the kind, quizzical face lifted at her entrance, Olivia +winced a bit. About an hour and a half it must be, since he said it, +and he had given her a year! As if that made any difference! she told +herself, with a little defiant movement of the chin, as she crossed +the room and seated herself at the opposite side of the big +writing-table where she could face the music handsomely. + +"Well, Olivia; changed your mind yet?" the professor inquired, struck, +perhaps, by the resolution of her aspect. + +"Yes," she answered, in an impressive tone, "I've thought of something +I should prefer to a sun-dial." + +Dr. Page took off his glasses and laid them upon his open book. He did +not really imagine that she was serious--such a turn-about-face was +too precipitate even for Olivia; but it pleased him to meet her on her +own ground. + +"And what is it this time? A sixty-inch telescope? Or a diamond +tiara?" + +"Well, no. Those are things I had not thought of--before! It's a kind +of gardening project--a little matter of transplanting." + +"Will it cost a hundred and fifty dollars?" + +"About that, I should think, to do it properly and comfortably. +And--it can't wait till June. It's the kind of transplanting that has +to be done in the autumn." + +Then, dropping the little fiction, and resting her chin upon her +folded hands, the better to transfix her father's mocking +countenance,--"Papa," she said, "there's a poor family down at the +Corners,--our neighbours, you know,--and the mother is dying for want +of transplanting, just like the beautiful hydrangea--you +remember?--that I didn't understand about till it was too late. I +never knew what too late meant, till I saw that splendid great bush +lying stone-dead on the ground when we came home from the Adirondacks +last year. A great healthy hydrangea dying just for lack of the right +kind of soil! And now, here is this good human woman, that might live +out her life and bring up her little family, and be happy and useful +for years to come. Such a nice woman she must be to name her babies +Patsy and Biddy, when she might have called them Algernon and +Celestina, you know, and just spoiled it all!--and such a nice, kind +husband to take care of her on a big ranch where there's good air, +and lots to eat, and plenty of work and not too much, and--why Papa! +they might have a garden out there! who knows? What a thing that would +be for the prairie! A real New England garden!" + +"With a sun-dial?" the professor interposed. + +For an instant Olivia's face fell, but only for an instant. + +"I've been thinking," she said, with a very convincing seriousness, +"that perhaps a sun-dial is not so important, after all. At any rate +it's not so important as the mother of a family; now, is it, Papa?" + +"That depends upon the point of view," the professor opined. "As a +high light among the rose-bushes I should be constrained to give my +vote for the sun-dial." + +Olivia sprang to her feet. + +"That means that you are coming straight over with me to see Mrs. +O'Trannon," she cried, "and that you are going to have the whole +family packed off to Colorado quicker'n a wink! Come along, please! +There's plenty of time before dinner!" + + * * * * * + +"It's just another of Nature's miracles!" Olivia observed, as she and +her father stood one morning in late October watching the workmen pack +the sods about the beautiful pedestal, now securely planted upon its +base of cement and broken stone. "It always makes me think of the +wonderful things that came up in those tin cracker-boxes you used to +make such fun of. There really doesn't seem to be any place too +unlikely for Nature to set things going in." + +The marble was but roughly hewn, in lines that held the suggestion of +an hourglass. The top only was smoothly finished, while here and there +on the curving sides the hint of a leaf, a blossom, a trailing vine, +came and went with the point of view, like cloud-pictures or the +pencillings of Jack Frost. It was as if a 'prentice-hand had tried to +express the soul of an artist, too self-distrustful to work more +boldly. + +"Funny, how things come into your head," Olivia went on. "Do you know, +Papa, that day when I was helping Mrs. O'Trannon with her preposterous +packing and suddenly came upon this miracle hidden away under an old +bedquilt, the only thing I could think of was the way my first +pentstemons came out, 'white with purple spots,' exactly as I had +chosen them by the seed-catalogue. And to think that she had bought it +for a dollar of that poor stone-cutter's widow that was moving +out--bought it to make pastry on because the top was smooth and cold! +And then had never had time to make but one pie in the three years! I +wish you could have heard her tell about it. 'Faith, it cost me a +dollar, me one pie did, an' Mike says it's lucky it was that I didn't +make a dozen whin they come so high! Silly b'y, that Mike!' O Papa, +isn't it heavenly that they're together again?" + +"So you think there is nothing Nature can't do?" Dr. Page mused, with +apparent irrelevance. "How about the sun-dial itself?" + +"Oh, Nature will attend to that, too." + +"She will, will she? And in what particular tin cracker-box should you +look for it to come up?" + +"It wouldn't be polite to say," Olivia declared, looking with +unmistakable significance straight into her father's face. + +"Saucebox!" he chuckled. + +And when, in early June, the brass disk of the sun-dial had begun its +record of happy hours, and still Olivia toiled with unabated zeal at +her garden, the rose of health blooming ever brighter in her face, a +great sense of satisfaction and approval took possession of her +father's mind. But he only remarked, in a casual manner, as they sat +together on the white bench one fragrant sunset hour: + +"After all, I'm not sure but Nature's biggest miracle has been +performed in the saucebox." + +And Olivia, smiling softly, answered: "I told you, you know, that +there isn't any place too unlikely for Nature to set things going +in!" + + + + +BAGGING A GRANDFATHER + + +"I'll warrant that 'he, she, or it' will come! Di usually bags her +game!" + +The speaker, Mr. Thomas Crosby, must have had implicit faith in his +daughter's prowess to venture such a confident assertion as that, for +he was quite in the dark as to who "he, she, or it" might be. + +It was a cozy November evening, when open fires and friendly +drop-lights are in order, and the three grown-folks of the family were +enjoying these luxuries. Mr. Crosby was supposed to be reading his +paper, but he had a sociable way of letting fall an occasional item of +interest, or of letting fall the paper itself, at the first hint of +interest in the remarks of his wife and daughter. + +Only within a very short time had there been three grown-folks in the +family, unless, indeed, we count Rollo, the Gordon setter, who had +attained his majority years ago. Di, who was but just turned sixteen, +really did not like to remember how very recently she had been sent to +bed at eight o'clock! + +Could Mr. Crosby have guessed the scheme which was occupying the +active brain of the young person engaged in embroidering harmless +bachelor's buttons upon a linen centrepiece, he would have been very +much astonished,--whether pleasurably or otherwise, events alone must +show. And since events had been taken in hand by Di the revelation was +not likely to be long delayed. + +The incident which had elicited her father's declaration of confidence +was a request on Di's part to be allowed the privilege of inviting a +guest of her own choosing to the Thanksgiving dinner. The family party +was to be materially reduced this year, for Mrs. Crosby's mother and +sister, their only available relatives, were at that moment sojourning +in Rome, where, if they were sufficiently mindful of current maxims +to do as the Romans do, they were very unlikely to meet with any +satisfactory combination of turkey and plum-pudding. It was with that +fact in view, that Di felt a fair degree of assurance in preferring +her request. They all liked each other, of course, better than they +liked anybody else, but, really, one must do something a little out of +the common on Thanksgiving day. + +"Certainly," Di's mother had agreed; "you shall invite any one you +choose. I have been wishing we could think of some one to ask, but +people all have their own family parties on Thanksgiving day. Is it to +be one of your girl friends?" + +"That is my secret," Di had replied, sedately; "but, whoever it is, +he, she, or it is a very important personage, and will have to be +treated with great consideration!" + +"And how is that very _un_important personage, Di Crosby, going to get +hold of so great a dignitary?" Mrs. Crosby had laughingly inquired. At +which juncture Mr. Crosby had expressed his belief that Di would bag +her game. + +That the prospective dinner should be incomplete was all the harder, +considering the fact that the Crosbys were, by good rights, the +possessors of that most desired ornament of such an occasion,--a _bona +fide_ grandfather. Not only was old Mr. Crosby living, and in +excellent health, but his residence was not above a dozen blocks +removed from his son's house. And yet no grandfather had ever graced +their Thanksgiving feast. + +Family quarrels are an unpleasant subject at the best, and since Di +herself had never learned the precise cause of the long estrangement +between father and son, in which the old gentleman had decreed that +his son's wife and children should share, it is hardly worth while to +recount it here. Suffice it to say, that it was a very old quarrel +indeed, older than Di herself, and one to which Mr. and Mrs. Crosby +never alluded. + +It was six years ago, when Di, the eldest of the children, was ten +years of age, that she had come home from school one day, breathless +with excitement. + +"Mamma!" she cried, bursting into the room where her mother was +changing the baby's frock: "Mamma! Have I got a grandfather?" + +Mrs. Crosby glanced furtively at the round eyes of the baby, and took +the precaution of smothering him in billows of white lawn before +replying, rather softly: "Yes, dear; Papa's father is living. Why do +you ask?" + +"I saw him to-day." + +"You saw him? Where?" + +"On the street." + +"How did you know it was he?" + +"Sallie Watson asked me why I didn't bow to my grandfather." + +"And what did you say?" + +"I said: 'Never you mind!' And then I ran home all the way, as tight +as ever I could run! Mamma, why don't we ever see him?" + +The baby's head was just emerging from temporary eclipse, and Mrs. +Crosby's voice dropped still lower, as she answered: + +"Because, dear, _he doesn't wish it_." + +There was something so gently conclusive in this answer that little Di +was silenced. Yet the look in her mother's face had not escaped her; a +wistful, hurt look, such as the child had never seen there before. And +in her own mind Di asked many questions. + +What did it all mean? How did it happen that her grandfather did not +wish it? Why was he so different from other girls' grandfathers? There +must be something very wrong somewhere, but where was it? Since it +could not possibly be with her father or mother, it must be that her +grandfather was himself at fault. + +The object of Di's perplexities, Mr. Horatio Crosby, lived all alone +in a very good house, and was in the habit of driving about in a very +pretty victoria; people bowed to him, people who were friends of Di's +father and mother, and must therefore be creditable acquaintances. All +this she soon discovered, for, having once come to know her +grandfather by sight, she seemed to be constantly crossing his path. + +Little by little, as she grew older, Di picked up certain stray bits +of information, but she never tried to piece them together. She felt +that she would a little rather not know any more. A quarrel there had +certainly been, some time in the dark ages before she was born, and +the old man had proved himself obstinate and implacable. Friendly +overtures had been made from time to time, but he had set his face +against all such advances, and now, for many, many years,--as many as +three or four, little Di had gathered,--the friendly overtures had +ceased. + +One gets used to things, and Di got used to having a grandfather who +did not know her by sight. She was sure he did not know her, because +once, when she was twelve years old, he had stopped her on the street +to tell her that she had dropped her pocket-handkerchief. It had been +very polite of the old gentleman, and she had been glad not to lose +her handkerchief. Yet, as she thanked him, she gave him one searching +look, and she told herself that he had a very cross expression, as +well as a very harsh voice. + +This uncomplimentary verdict was largely due to the fact that, at this +period, Di had quite made up her mind that her grandfather was a +hateful, unreasonable old despot, and that it served him right never +to come to the family parties, nor to have any Christmas presents, nor +to have seen the baby, which Mamma said was the prettiest of all her +babies, and which Di considered the most enchanting object on the face +of the earth. + +But again many years had passed,--four, in this instance,--and there +came a time, only a few weeks previous to the opening of our story, +when Di found herself constrained to modify her view of her +grandfather. + +It happened that she had gone with her drawing teacher, Miss Downs, to +an exhibition of paintings. Among the pictures was a very striking one +entitled _Le Grandpere_. It represented an old French peasant, just +stopping off work for the day, with a flock of grandchildren clinging +about his knees. Miss Downs called Di's attention to the wonderful +reach of upland meadow, and the exquisite effect of the sunset light +on the face of the old man; but, to Di, the meadow and the sunset +light were unimportant accessories to the central idea. It was the +grandfather himself that commanded all her attention,--the look of +blissful indulgence on the old man's face; his attitude of protecting +affection towards one young girl in particular, on whose head the +toil-stained hand rested. + +"Yes," she said, after several minutes of rapt contemplation: "Yes; +the sunset is very nice, and the fields; but, oh, the old man is such +a darling!" + +As she spoke she turned to see how her teacher took her remark, and +found herself face to face, not with Miss Downs, but with her own +grandfather! She gave a little gasp of surprise, which he appeared not +to notice. + +"So you think him a darling, do you?" he asked, and somehow his voice +did not sound quite as harsh as it had done four years ago. + +Miss Downs had passed on, and there was no one standing near them, no +one at all in the gallery who shared Di's knowledge of the strange +situation. She felt sure that the old man had no suspicion of her +identity. + +"Yes, I do," she answered boldly. + +"What makes a darling of him?" the old gentleman inquired. + +Di felt that this was her opportunity, and that she was letting it +slip. But she could not help herself, and she only answered rather +lamely: + +"Oh, nothing, except that he is _such a good grandfather!_" Upon which +she beat a hasty retreat, and fled to the protection of Miss Downs, +whom she found in an adjoining room. + +It was perhaps twenty minutes later that Di and her teacher passed the +picture again, and, behold, there was the old gentleman standing, lost +in thought, exactly on the spot where she had left him. He did not +seem to be looking at the picture, but Di felt certain that he was +thinking of it. And, suddenly, it passed through her mind like a flash +that he was sorry. + +"Yes; he's sorry," she said to herself. "He's sorry, and he doesn't +know how to say so!" + +The more she thought of it in the days that followed,--and she seemed +to be thinking pretty much all the time of the old man and the look on +his face as he stood before the picture,--the more convinced she +became that he was sorry and did not know how to say so. + +"And he ought not to have to say so," she told herself. "He's an old, +old man, and he ought not to have to say that he is sorry." + +The old, old man--aged sixty-five--might have taken exception to that +part of her proposition touching his extreme antiquity, but we may be +pretty sure that he would have cordially endorsed her opinion that the +dignity of his years forbade his saying that he was sorry. + +In those days Di used to walk often past her grandfather's house. It +was a very big house for a single occupant. Even the stout footman, +whom she had once seen at the door, did not seem stout enough, nor +numerous enough to relieve the big house of its vacancy. There were +heavy woollen draperies in the parlor windows, but not a hint of the +pretty white muslin which a woman would have had up in no time. Once +she passed the house just at dusk, after the lights were lighted. +Through the long windows she looked into the empty room. Not so much +as a cat or a dog was awaiting the master. In the swift glance with +which she swept the interior she noted that the fireplace was boarded +in. That seemed to Di indescribably dreary. Perhaps her grandfather +did not sit here; perhaps he had a library somewhere, like their own. +But, no; there was the portly footman entering with the evening paper, +which he laid upon the table before coming to close the shutters. + +"He's too old to say he is sorry," Di said to herself, as she turned +dejectedly away; "a great deal too old--and lonely--and dreary!" + +And it was on that very evening that she made her little petition to +her mother, and that her father declared that Di was sure to bag her +game. + +Old Mr. Crosby, meanwhile, was too well-used to his empty house and to +his boarded-in fireplace to mind them very much, too unaccustomed to +muslin curtains to miss them. Yet he had not been on very good terms +with himself for the past few weeks, and that was something which he +did mind particularly. + +The result of his long cogitation in front of the grandfather picture +had been highly uncomplimentary to the artist. He pronounced the +homespun subject unworthy of artistic treatment, and he told himself +that it merited just that order of criticism which it had received at +the hands of the young person with the rather pretty turn of +countenance, who had regarded it with such enthusiasm. Nevertheless, +he did not forget the picture,--nor yet the young person! + +It was the afternoon of Thanksgiving day, and there was a light fall +of snow outside. He remembered that in old times there used always to +be a lot of snow on Thanksgiving day. Things were very different in +old times. He wondered what would have been thought of a man fifty +years ago,--or seventeen years ago, for the matter of that,--who was +giving his servants a holiday and dining at the club. As if those +foreign servants had any concern in the Yankee festival! But then, +what concern had he, Horatio Crosby, in it nowadays? What had he to be +thankful for? Whom had he to be thankful with? He was very lucky to +have a club to go to! He might as well go now, though it was still two +or three hours to dinner time. He would ring for his overcoat and +snow-shoes. + +His hand was on the bell-rope--for Mr. Horatio Crosby was +old-fashioned, and had never yet admitted an electric button to his +domain. + +At that moment the door opened softly--what was Burns thinking of, not +to knock?--and there stood, not Burns, not Nora, but a slender +apparition in petticoats, with a dash of snow on hat and jacket, and a +dash of daring in a pair of very bright eyes. + +"Good afternoon, Grandfather," was the apparition's cheerful greeting, +and involuntarily the old gentleman found himself replying with a +"Good afternoon" of his own. + +The apparition moved swiftly forward, and, before he knew what he was +about, an unmistakable kiss had got itself applied to his countenance +and--more amazing still--he was strongly of the impression that there +had been--no robbery! + +Greatly agitated by so unusual an experience, he only managed to say: +"So you are----?" + +"Yes; I am Di Crosby,--your granddaughter, you know, and--this is +Thanksgiving day!" + +"You don't say so!" and the old man gazed down at her in growing +trepidation. + +"Let's sit down," Di suggested, feeling that she gained every point +that her adversary lost. "This must be your chair. And I'll sit here. +There! Isn't this cozy?" + +"Oh, very!" + +The master of the house had sufficiently recovered himself to put on +his spectacles, the use of which was affording him much satisfaction. +He really did not know that the young girl of the day was so pretty! + +"I don't suppose you smoke a pipe," Di remarked, in a strictly +conversational tone. + +"Well, no; I can't say I do. Why?" + +"I only thought I should like to light one for you. You know," she +added, confidentially, "girls always light their grandfathers' pipes +in books. And I've had so little practice in that sort of thing!" + +"In pipes?" + +"No--in grandfathers!" + +There came a pause, occupied, on Di's part, by a swift, not altogether +approving survey of the stiff, high-studded room. This time it was the +old gentleman who broke the silence. + +[Illustration: "'Good afternoon, Grandfather,' was the apparition's +cheerful greeting."] + +"I believe you are the young lady who admired that old clodhopper in +the picture," he remarked. + +"Oh, yes; he was a great darling!" + +"He wasn't very handsome." + +"No, but--there is always something so dear about a grandfather!" + +"Always?" + +"Yes; always!" and suddenly Di left her seat, and, taking a few steps +forward, she dropped on her knees before him. + +"Grandfather," she said, clasping her small gloved hands on his knee, +"Grandfather!" + +She was meaning to be very eloquent indeed,--that is, if it were to +become necessary. She did not dream that that one word, so +persuasively spoken, was more eloquent than a whole oration. + +"Well, Miss Di?" + +"Grandfather, I've a great favour to ask of you, and I should like to +have you say 'yes' beforehand!" + +He looked down upon her with a heart rendered surprisingly soft by +that first word,--and a mind much tickled by the audacity of the rest +of it. + +"And are you in the habit of getting favours granted in the dark?" he +inquired. + +"Papa says I usually bag my game!" + +Now old Mr. Crosby had been a sportsman in his day, and he was +mightily pleased with the little jest. But he only asked: + +"And what's your game in this instance, if you please?" + +"You!" + +"Oh, I! And you want to bag me? Bag me for what?" + +"For dinner!" + +"Oh, for dinner!" + +"Yes! We are all by ourselves to-day, and you'll just make the table +even. There's only Papa and Mamma, and Louise, and Beth, and Alice, +and the baby." Somehow the succession of sweet, soft names sounded +very attractive to the crabbed old man. + +"The baby is six years old," Di continued, unconsciously adding +another touch to the attractiveness of the picture. + +"And what is her name?" + +"_His_ name is Horatio. I never liked it very well; it seemed too long +for a baby. But, do you know?--I think I shall like it better now." + +She was still kneeling before him, with her small gloved hands clasped +on his knee. It was clear that she had not the faintest idea of being +refused. Yet even had she been somewhat less confident, she might well +have taken heart of hope, for, at this point, he gently laid his +wrinkled hand upon hers. + +"You _will_ come to dinner?" she begged, apparently quite unconscious +of the little caress. "We dine at five on Thanksgiving day, and you +and I can walk over together. They will all be so surprised,--and so +happy!" + +"Then they are not expecting me?" and the old man gave her a very +piercing look, which did not seem to pierce at all. + +"No; they didn't know who it was to be. I only said it was a very +important personage." + +"Coming in a bag!" he suggested. + +"Oh, that's only a sportsman's expression!" + +"Indeed! And is it customary nowadays to go a-hunting for your +Thanksgiving dinner?" + +Di's eyes danced. This was indeed a grandfather worth waiting for! But +she only answered demurely: + +"That depends upon your quarry!" + +Lucky Di, to have hit upon that pretty, old-fashioned word! She had, +indeed, read her Sir Walter to good purpose. + +Now, Mr. Horatio Crosby had held out stoutly against every appeal of +natural affection, of reason, of conscience. He was not a +quick-tempered man like his son; he was not, like his daughter-in-law, +easily rebuffed; but there was about him a toughness of fibre which +yielded neither to blows nor to pressure, and which, for many years, +neither friend nor foe had penetrated. And here was this young thing +simply ignoring the hitherto impenetrable barrier! The clear young +eyes looked straight through it, the fresh young voice made nothing of +it, the playful fancies overleapt it. A quarry, indeed! Where had the +child got hold of the word? + +Of a sudden the old man bent forward and lightly touched the laughing +face in token of surrender. + +"It's an old bird you've winged, little girl," he said, as he rose to +his feet and stepped once more to the bell-rope; and this time he +really rang for his coat and overshoes. + + * * * * * + +"And so you've named this little chap Horatio?" + +Dinner was over,--a very pleasant, natural kind of dinner, too, in +spite of the difficulty some of the family had found in eating +it,--and they were all gathered about a roaring woodfire, fortifying +themselves, with the aid of coffee, cigars, and chocolate-drops,--each +according to his kind,--for a game of blind-man's-buff. The small +scion of the house was seated on his grandfather's knee, playing with +his grandfather's fob, after the immemorial habit of small scions. + +"Of course we named him Horatio!" It was Mrs. Crosby who answered, +and, as her father-in-law looked across at her face with the +firelight playing upon it, he seemed to remember that he had always +wished for a daughter. + +"And what do you call him for short?" + +"Just Horatio!" piped up little Alice, who was sitting on the rug at +the old gentleman's feet, gently pulling Rollo's long-suffering ears. + +"Yes," said Mr. Thomas Crosby; "we have always been proud of the +name." + +Then Di, perceiving a slight unsteadiness in the voice in which this +was said, stepped behind her grandfather's chair, and, dropping a +small kiss on the top of his head, looked across at her father, and +exclaimed: + +"Oh, Papa! To think of our having bagged a grandfather!" + + + + * * * * * + + + +A Selection from the Catalogue of + +G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS + +Complete Catalogue sent on application + + + + +BY ANNA FULLER + +A LITERARY COURTSHIP + +Under the Auspices of Pike's Peak. 28th thousand. Illustrated. +Sextodecimo, gilt top. $1.25 + +"A delightful little love story. Like her other books it is bright +and breezy; its humor is crisp, and the general idea decidedly +original."--Boston Times. + +A VENETIAN JUNE + +Illustrated by George Sloane. 15th thousand. Sextodecimo, gilt top +$1.25 + +"Full of the picturesqueness, the novelty, the beauty of life in the +city of gondolas and gondoliers."--Literary World. + +Handsome Holiday Edition, Illustrated by Frederick Simpson Coburn. +Octavo, $3.00 + +PRATT PORTRAITS + +Sketched in a New England Suburb. 12th thousand. Illustrated by +George Sloane. Duodecimo, gilt top $1.25 + +"The lines the author cuts in her vignette are sharp and clear, but she +has, too, not alone the knack of color, but what is rarer, the gift of +humor."--New York Times. + +ONE OF THE PILGRIMS + +A Bank Story. 6th thousand. Duodecimo, gilt top, $1.25 + +"The story is graceful and delightful, full of vivacity, and is not +without pathos. It is thoroughly interesting."--Congregationalist. + +G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS +New York--London + + + + +BY ANNA FULLER + +PEAK AND PRAIRIE +From a Colorado Sketch Book. +Duodecimo. Illustrated. 7th thousand $1.50 + +"The stories are as varied as our Colorado wild-flowers, and through +each one, whether grave or gay, runs a wholesome cheeriness and moral +uplift which leaves the reader not only happier but better."--Colorado +Springs Evening Telegraph. + +KATHERINE DAY +Duodecimo. 8th thousand $1.50 + +"A love story of the first water. The heroine is a woman's woman, and +the hero is a man's man.... The spirit of 'Katherine Day' is very +gallant, very humorously tender. The lightest passages, like the +gravest, are sane and true."--Louise Imogen Guiney in The Critic. + +A BOOKFUL OF GIRLS +Duodecimo. 4th thousand. With 6 Full-Page Illustrations $1.50 + +This book is filled to the brim with happy school-girls, and overflowing +with innocent mischief and fun. Madge and Patty, Blythe and Olivia, are +at that "betwixt and between" age when the great questions are how +high up the hair should go, and just how much boot-top should be left +below the skirt. + +LATER PRATT PORTRAITS +With 8 Full-Page Illustrations by Maud Tousey Faugel +net $1.25 + +The author's style is unaffected and charming; her humor is subtle and +delightful; her characters are sharply drawn, and their stories told +with fidelity and sympathy. + +G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS +New York--London + + + + +The Thunderhead Lady +By Anna Fuller and Brian Read +With about 40 Line Drawings. $1.00 net. By mail, $1.10 + +"Wanted: By a Harvard Graduate, a permanent position as husband. +Carefully trained by an anxious mother, and used to feminine +domination." + +So begins a clipping from the Boston Herald, written in jest, and +printed from bravado, which elicits a reply from a chance reader and +results in the correspondence that forms the substance of this little +skit. From mock seriousness the writers drift off into more or less +casual chat upon books and people, illumined from time to time with a +touch of romance. The whole forms a bit of light reading which should +appeal in equal measure to the thoughtful and the frivolous. + +New York--G. P. Putnam's Sons London + + + + +By the Author of + +"Aunt Olive in Bohemia," "The Notch in the Stick," etc. + +The Peacock Feather By Leslie Moore +$1.35 net. By mail, $1.50 + +In a moment of reminiscent detachment the wearer of the Peacock +feather describes himself as "one whom Fate in one of her freakish +moods had wedded to the roads, the highways and hedges, the fields +and woods. Once Cupid had touched him with his wing--the merest flick +of a feather. The man--poor fool!--fancied himself wounded. Later +when he looked for the scar, he found there was none." And so he +wandered. + +Here is a rare love story, that breathes of the open spaces and is +filled with the lure of the road. + +G. P. Putnam's Sons +New York--London + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BOOKFUL OF GIRLS*** + + +******* This file should be named 28538.txt or 28538.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/8/5/3/28538 + + + +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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. 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