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diff --git a/28538-h/28538-h.htm b/28538-h/28538-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6eaa8af --- /dev/null +++ b/28538-h/28538-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7164 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Bookful of Girls, by Anna Fuller</title> +<style type="text/css"> + p {margin-top: 0.5em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + body {margin-left: 11%; margin-right: 10%;} + a {text-decoration: none;} + @media screen { + hr.pb {margin:30px 0; width:100%; border:none;border-top:thin dashed silver;} + .pagenum {display: inline; font-size: x-small; text-align: right; position: absolute; right: 2%; padding: 1px 3px; font-style: normal; font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration: none; background-color: inherit; border:1px solid #eee;} + .pncolor {color: silver;} + } + @media print { + hr.pb {border:none;page-break-after: always;} + .pagenum { display:none; } + } + h3 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal; font-size:1.2em;} + .figcenter {margin: 2em auto 2em auto; text-align: center;} + hr.p10 {border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; width:10%} + p.tp {font-size:1em; margin-top:0em; margin-bottom:0em; text-align:center;} + .caption {font-size:.8em;} + hr.tb {border:none; margin-top: 2em;} + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + hr.chapter {border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; width:75%; margin: 40px auto;} + h1 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal; font-size:1.6em;} + h1.pg {text-align:center; font-weight:bold; font-size:190%;} + h3.pg {text-align:center; font-weight:bold; font-size:110%;} + hr.major {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver; clear:both;} + h2 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal; font-size:1.4em;} + + hr.full { width: 100%; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + height: 4px; + border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ + border-style: solid; + border-color: #000000; + clear: both; } + pre {font-size: 85%;} +</style> +</head> +<body> +<h1 class="pg">The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Bookful of Girls, by Anna Fuller</h1> +<pre> +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 <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! 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