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diff --git a/35593-0.txt b/35593-0.txt index 2d35f65..1269d3a 100644 --- a/35593-0.txt +++ b/35593-0.txt @@ -1,25 +1,4 @@ - Jane Lends A Hand - - -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 http://www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Title: Jane Lends A Hand - -Author: Shirley Watkins - -Release Date: March 17, 2011 [EBook #35593] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JANE LENDS A HAND *** - - - +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 35593 *** Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. @@ -8325,376 +8304,4 @@ saying, “And now I think everything is quite as it should be!” THE END - - - - - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JANE LENDS A HAND *** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/35593 - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one -owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and -you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission -and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it -under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this -eBook or online at http://www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Title: Jane Lends A Hand - -Author: Shirley Watkins - -Release Date: March 17, 2011 [EBook #35593] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JANE LENDS A HAND *** - - - - -Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net. - - - - - - - - Jane Lends A Hand - - BY - - Shirley Watkins - - _Author of "Nancy of Paradise Cottage,"_ - _and "Georgina Finds Herself"_ - - The GOLDSMITH Publishing Co. - CHICAGO ILL. - MADE IN USA - - - - - _Copyright 1923, by_ - _George W. Jacobs & Company_ - - All rights reserved - PRINTED IN U.S.A. - - - - - - -Contents - - - - CHAPTER I--AFFAIRS OF THE LAMBERT FAMILY - - CHAPTER II--BUSYBODY JANE - - CHAPTER III--CIVIC INTEREST - - CHAPTER IV--THE APPEARANCE OF PAUL - - CHAPTER V--PAUL HESITATES - - CHAPTER VI--A REBEL IN THE HOUSE - - CHAPTER VII--GIRLS - - CHAPTER VIII--JANE LENDS A HAND - - CHAPTER IX--"THE BEST LAID PLANS--" - - CHAPTER X--PAUL AND CARL - - CHAPTER XI--CARL SQUARES HIS DEBT - - CHAPTER XII--JEFF ROBERTS - - CHAPTER XIII--DISASTER - - CHAPTER XIV--THE CROSSROADS - - CHAPTER XV--AN UNSUSPECTED HERO - - CHAPTER XVI--A FAMILY MATTER - - CHAPTER XVII--AN HONOR TO THE FAMILY - - CHAPTER XVIII--THE WANDERER COMES HOME - - - ------------------------------------------------------ - - JANE LENDS A HAND - - - - - - -CHAPTER I--AFFAIRS OF THE LAMBERT FAMILY - - -At six o'clock Jane had awakened, and, lifting her tousled head from her -pillow, sniffed the frosty air. - -The red sunlight of an October morning was sending its first ruddy beams -into the bare little room, but notwithstanding this sign that the -morning was advancing, and the fact that all the children had had their -first summons to get up and dress, Jane, this lazy Jane, merely burrowed -down deeper into her warm nest, and buried her round nose in the -patchwork quilt. - -She had a strong disinclination to leaving her cosy bed, and braving the -penetrating chill of an autumn morning. Owing to Mr. Lambert's Spartan -ideas on the up-bringing of children, the little bed-rooms under the -irregular roof of the old house were never heated until the bitterest -days of mid-winter. _His_ children were not, said he, to be softened and -rendered unfit to endure the various hardships of life by pampering. His -wife, the jolly comfort-loving Gertrude, sometimes confided privately to -Grandmother Winkler that she thought it was too hard on the children to -have to leave their warm beds, and dress in rooms where the ice formed a -film in the water pitchers, and in which they could see their breath; -but when anyone in the Lambert household had ideas contrary to those of -the master, they did not advertise them publicly. - -Among Mr. Lambert's pet aversions were Unpunctuality and Laziness, and -no one had better reason to know this than Jane. Nevertheless, she -infringed upon the iron-bound rules of the household every day of her -life, and cheerfully paid her penalties with a sort of serene stoicism. -She had inherited from her placid, happy-tempered mother a vigorous -dislike of physical discomfort, and a calm way of doing what she wanted, -and then good-naturedly paying the piper as circumstances demanded. - -In the adjoining room, the twins, Wilhelmine (or Minie) and Lottie could -be heard chattering and laughing in their fresh, sweet voices. -Shivering, but rosy and wide-awake, the two little girls were dressed in -their warm woolen frocks inside of ten minutes. Since they were six -years old, Mr. Lambert had permitted no one to help them but themselves; -and so, with their little cold red fingers they buttoned each other's -dress and plaited each other's smooth, shining yellow hair; then set to -work making up their wooden beds, sweeping, dusting, and putting their -room to rights. - -At half-past six came the summons to breakfast, which had already been -announced by appetizing odors of porridge and frying bacon. - -Little Minie, running past her sister's door, glanced in, and stood -transfixed with horror at the sight of Jane rolled up like a dormouse, -and still dozing peacefully. - -"Oh, _Ja-ane_!" - -A head covered with curly, reddish hair rose above the mountain of -bed-clothes; a pair of sleepy eyes blinked at the little girl. - -"Um." A yawn. "What time is it?" - -"It's _half-past thix_, and breakfath's all ready, and you'll be late -_again_, Jane. Whatever will Papa thay!" This was Lottie, who never -failed to join her twin on any occasion of grave importance. The two -plump, rosy-cheeked little girls, with their stiffly starched white -pinafores, and with their yellow pig-tails sticking out at the sides of -their heads, were as much alike as a pair of Dresden ornaments. They -stood now, hand-in-hand, their china-blue eyes round with reproof and -dismay, gazing at lazy Jane. - -"I've got a--a headache," announced Jane unblushingly, "I don't think -I'll go to school to-day." - -"O-oh, Jane!" remonstrated the twins in chorus. - -"Well, I haven't exactly got one _now_," said Jane, "but I would have if -I got up too suddenly. I've been studying too hard. That's what." - -"Ooooh, Jane!" The twins covered their rosy mouths with their hands, and -tittered. - -"You don't know anything about it," said Jane, tartly. She reflected for -a moment. On second thought the plea of a headache seemed weak; -furthermore, if it were accepted the chances that Mr. Lambert would -recommend a bitter dose and a dull day in the house had to be -considered; for the stern parent had a certain grim humour of his own, -and was not easily to be imposed on even by Jane's fertile invention. - -"Well, then put down the windows, Minie--like a good little darling, and -I'll be down-stairs in three minutes. The day after to-morrow's Saturday -anyhow." And encouraged by this cheerful thought, Jane at length -prepared to rise. - -Her idea of "three minutes" was astonishingly inaccurate. She dawdled -into her clothes, interrupted by fits of abstraction, during which, with -one foot on the chair, and the button-hook thrust through the -button-holes of her sturdy shoes, she stared out of the uncurtained -window. - -The old house, a rambling two storey building, half-wood, half-brick, -abounding in gables and dormer windows which gave it its quaintly -picturesque outline, fronted on the busiest street of the industrious -but placid little town. - -For more than a hundred years the Winkler family had held there a -certain calm, unassailable position; rightly theirs as the unfailing -reward of industry, honesty, and the other simple, respectable virtues -of conscientious, self-respecting citizens and tradesfolk. - -One hundred and thirty years ago, to be exact, old Johann Winkler had -settled there, and had founded what deserves the name of an Institution. -Certainly, it was the most wonderful bakeshop in the world. - -Now, no one but a true Winkler had ever been intrusted with the precious -recipes for those spiced fruit cookies, or those rich snow-cakes, those -golden breakfast-rolls, or those plum-puddings which have immortalized -the name. And in view of the importance which such a family must have in -the eyes of all who respect supremely excellent baking, a short history -of its affairs may be admitted here. - -It is hardly necessary to say that it prospered for no Winkler had ever -been born lacking the virtue of wise thriftiness, or the ability to make -small savings bring in generous increase. At the same time, the shop was -never moved from the spot where it had first been opened, nor was any -attempt ever made to give it a more pretentious appearance. - -The corner stone which old Johann Winkler had laid himself with so much -pride bore the date, "A.D. 1789." - -A good many generations of little Winklers had grown up in the shelter -of the quaint old house; and a good many generations of little -townspeople had stuffed their round stomachs with those incomparable -spice-cakes and ginger-nuts, had loitered hungrily around the tempting -show-window, and had scrawled caricatures on the walls and the worn -stone steps. - -The business had been inherited in a direct line from father to son; -until the day when Uncle Franz Winkler had gone to sea, and left his -domestic patrimony in the hands of his sister. - -This sister was no other than the jolly Gertrude, once the prettiest, -most blooming maiden in Frederickstown; who, in the course of time -married one Peter Carl Lambert, a grave, practical-minded young man; and -this grave, practical-minded young man (who, as the years went on became -more and more grave, not to say, severe, and more and more practical) -was no other than the father of all the young Lamberts, a portion of -whose history is going to be the subject of this story. - -Mr. Lambert was, himself, the owner of a moderately prosperous business, -dealing in the whole-sale and retail distribution of hay and grain; but -at the some time he had no inclination to allow his wife's inheritance -to decline, and while he managed his own affairs, Gertrude and -Grandmother Winkler continued in charge of the bakery, which under his -shrewd supervision became more flourishing than ever. - -On one point and only one did husband and wife find cause for -dissension. It had become a tradition in the family, as has already been -said, that no one but a Winkler had ever possessed the magical recipes -for those cakes and pies which had no rivals. Now, since the outrageous -and even impious conduct of Uncle Franz, the question had risen, who -should be regarded as the heir to the business and the name? For there -were no more Winklers. Gertrude wanted her only son, Carl, to be her -heir, although he was a Lambert. But Mr. Lambert had other ideas for the -youth, and the hope that his son would, by becoming a professional man, -take a step up in the world, was dear to his heart. Furthermore, Carl -himself, a calm, phlegmatic and determined boy, shared his father's -views. He had announced his intention of becoming a lawyer. - -So matters stood. There seemed to be no solution to the problem. But -these family difficulties had no place in Jane's mind as she took her -time to wash and dress on that October morning. What engrossed _her_ -thoughts was the concocting of a feasible plan to avoid the distasteful -prospect of going to school. - -The sun had fully risen now, and already the frosty air had been -softened by its genial warmth. She opened her window again, and leaned -out, looking critically from east to west with the gaze of an old -seaman, calculating the possibilities of the weather. - -There was not a cloud in the sky. Never before, it seemed to her, had -the heavens displayed such a vast expanse of deep, untroubled blue. A -light, fresh wind rustled through the hazel-nut tree whose boughs -touched her window; and sent a few of the ruddy, copper-colored leaves -drifting lazily down to the uneven brick pavement below. - -Across the square, she could see the broad, open door of Mr. Lambert's -warehouse, where already two men in blue shirts were at work tossing a -fresh wagon-load of corn husks into the well-filled loft. Early to bed -and early to rise was the motto of the industrious folk of -Frederickstown, one and all. Wagons covered with white canvas hoods, and -filled with tobacco, others, overflowing with pumpkins, celery, apples -and cranberries--all the rich autumn produce of the fertile farming -country beyond the town--were rumbling over the cobblestones in a -picturesque procession, on their way to the market-place. And the -well-known smell of the rimy vegetables was to the adventuresome Jane an -almost irresistible call to the open. - -Her meditations were soon cut short by a final summons--and this in the -firm cold tones of Mr. Lambert himself--to breakfast. - -"Jane! Coming? Or must I fetch you?" - -"Jiminy!" said Jane, and banging down the window she fled, clattering -down the old wooden staircase like a whirlwind. - -In the large, sunny room, which served nearly all purposes, the family -had gathered for breakfast; Granny Winkler at one end of the table--a -miniature old lady with a frilled cap,--Mr. Lambert at the other end, -Carl at his right and flaxen haired Elise at his left, Mrs. Lambert with -one twin beside her and another facing her. Jane's chair, between Elise -and Lottie was still conspicuously empty. - -A door at the right of the dining room opened into the bakeshop, and a -second door at the back led to the kitchen, from which the exquisite -odors of the day's outlay of fresh cakes and bread were already issuing. -The big, bright room, with its casement windows opening onto the small -garden hemmed in by high brick walls, with its pots of geraniums, and -Chinese lilies,--which were Elise's special care--its immaculately -dusted cupboards on whose shelves gleamed rows of solid old German -pewter ware, was the scene in which the Lambert's, great and small, -carried on a large part of their daily affairs. In one corner stood Mr. -Lambert's squat, business-like desk, where every evening, from nine to -ten, he went over his accounts. At the round table in the center, the -family ate their meals, and at night, the children prepared their -lessons, while Grandmother Winkler, seated in her padded rocking chair, -read her Bible, or nodded over her knitting. - -When Jane made her unceremonious entry, the family was seated, and, with -their heads bent reverently over their plates of steaming porridge, were -reciting grace in unison. - -Mrs. Lambert, glancing up, made her a sign to take her place as -inconspicuously as possible; and accordingly just before Mr. Lambert -raised his head, she slipped into her chair. - -Her father eyed her for a moment with uncertainty and displeasure; but -this morning he had another matter on his mind of greater importance -than that of reprimanding incorrigible Jane. Moreover, he had made it a -rule, always, if possible, to avoid unpleasantness at meals, owing to -the unfavorable effects upon the digestion. Consequently, after a brief, -cold stare at his daughter, whose shining morning face was as bland as -if her conscience were completely innocent of guilt, he said, solemnly, - -"Good morning, Jane." - -And Jane said, beaming at him, "Good morning, Papa," and rose to kiss -his cheek, and then to give her mother a hug that left the plump, -smiling, dimpling Gertrude quite breathless. - -"Sit down now, you bad child," whispered Mrs. Lambert, patting Jane's -ruddy cheek, "and don't talk. Your father is going to." - -The family sat silent and expectant, while Mr. Lambert gravely salted -his porridge, then fumbled for his steel-rimmed spectacles in the pocket -of his coat, fitted them on his high-bridged nose, and at length cleared -his throat. - -By this time Jane, whose curiosity was of the most irrepressible -variety, had all but broken her neck by craning and wriggling in her -chair to see the letter which lay beside her father's plate. It bore a -foreign stamp, and she guessed, and guessed rightly that it had some -bearing on Mr. Lambert's gravity of demeanor. Finally, unable to endure -her father's pompous preparations for speech any longer she pointed to -the envelope, and inquired timidly, - -"Who's that from, Papa?" - -"That is none of your affair, Jane," said Carl, with perfect truth, but -in his unfortunately superior and reproving way, "and you are very -ill-mannered." - -He spoke with his characteristically priggish air, with a pomposity -ludicrously like his father's, and doubly ludicrous in a lad of barely -sixteen. - -Carl, who was Mr. Lambert's darling, was at that time a tall, thin, -delicate looking boy, with a long pale face, straight brown hair, which -was cut in a bang across his forehead, and a pair of nearsighted, light -grey eyes, that blinked owlishly behind the thick lenses of his -spectacles. - -It is true that his character was as nearly faultless as it is possible -for any youth's character to be; he was quiet, studious, and dutiful. At -school he shone as by far the best of all the pupils, and at home he was -never known to disobey a single rule of the household. Intelligent -beyond the average, with a precocious love of accuracy; astonishingly, -even irritatingly self-controlled, and with a dry judicial quickness and -keenness already strongly developed, he was an unusually promising boy, -in whom one already saw the successful, complacent, cool-tempered man. -But at the same time he neither cared for, nor could boast of great -popularity. His mother felt more awe than affection for him; in all of -his sisters but Jane, he inspired only a sort of timid admiration and -respect; and his school-companions summed him up tersely as a "muff" and -a "grind." For, while he walked away with the highest honors at the -close of every session, he was, if the truth must be told, something of -a coward. He had moods of sulkiness, and moods of maddening superiority. -His brain was nimble enough, but he had never been known to accept any -challenge to match his physical strength and courage with theirs. He -professed a deep contempt for their primitive and barbaric methods of -settling difficulties, and adroitly evaded the outcome of any -schoolboy's discussion that seemed likely to end in mortal combat, by -yielding his point with a self-contained, contemptuous politeness, and a -premature diplomacy which mystified and enraged his companions. - -Jane only was not to be dominated by his assumption of patronizing -authority; and at his unsolicited correction, she promptly bristled up. -It rarely took much to rouse the fiery, impulsive Jane. - -"Mind your _own_ business!" - -"_Jane_!" Mr. Lambert turned to her, his spectacles glistening -warningly. There was a moment's silence. - -"Do you wish to leave the table?" - -"No, Papa, but--" - -"Very well, then. Have the goodness to be quiet." - -"Yes, Papa. But--" - -"Silence, ma'am! Your brother was quite right. He is older than you, and -he had good reason to reprimand you." - -Jane meekly subsided; but when her father had withdrawn his gaze, she -refreshed herself by making a most hideous grimace at her brother, who, -more complacent than ever, retaliated with a look of icy and withering -scorn. - -By this time, Mr. Lambert had almost finished a second reading of the -letter, while his wife scanned his face anxiously, not daring to urge -him to share its news with her. It covered three or four pages of cheap -paper, and was written in a great, sprawling script that consumed one -sheet in six or seven lines. - -"It looks as if it were written by a _sailor_," murmured Jane, without -lifting her eyes, and seemingly speaking to herself; and in the same -dreamy undertone, she explained this singular observation, "Everything -about a sailor is sort of loose and blowy; they've got blowy coats, and -blowy neckties, and blowy trousers--" - -"You've never seen a sailor," said Carl also in a low tone, "so you -don't know what you're talking about." - -"I _do_ know what I'm talking about," returned Jane, "I wrote a story -about a sailor once, and I could see him inside of my head just as -plainly as anything. He had red hair, and a fuzzy wart on his cheek, -like a caterpillar, and his name was Moses Thomson--" - -"Well, wife, after all there is no choice left us," said Mr. Lambert -laying down the letter. "Without a doubt, this will be a burden, a heavy -responsibility; but I hope I am not deficient in generosity. I think no -one can accuse me of that. I am prepared to do my duty in this matter as -in all others." - -"But--but what does the letter say, Peter?" asked Mrs. Lambert timidly. -"I haven't seen it." - -"This letter is from your brother--" - -"Yes. From Franz. I recognized his hand after all these years--" - -"Your poor brother. Far be it from me to judge him. I have nothing to -say about him. A shiftless idler, a hair-brained, irresponsible -ne'er-do-well comes to no good end, and leaves better folk to take up -his burdens. But it is not for _us_ to judge. I have nothing to say -about him--" - -"Peter! My poor brother--my poor Franz!" cried Mrs. Lambert, greatly -agitated, "what are you saying?" She stretched out her hand to take the -letter, and, in her concern, half-rose from her chair. - -"I will read you his letter, my dear," said Mr. Lambert. "Try to control -yourself." He looked at her calmly and firmly, and she sat down again, -with tears welling up in her soft, beautiful eyes. - -Mr. Lambert cleared his throat, and read: - - "Dear brother and Honored Sir; I hope this finds you and my - good, dear mother, and my dear sister, Gertrude, and all your - dear little ones in good health. I am not in good health. I am - thinking that my time is about up although not an old man, just - forty-two which is the Prime of life. The doctor, who is a good - fellow, thinks it is about up with me but I have got a lot out - of life and have no complaints to make. But I would ask you a - favor, and hope that you will see your way to granting me this, - seeing that I am a dying man and have no one to turn to and - being in a forran country. My son, Paul, will soon be left - alone, I fear, which is a bad thing for a young lad and I am - hoping that perhaps being kinsfolk and he being a likely young - fellow, good hearted though a bit unlicked, you may find your - way to giving him a home until he can shift for himself. I - haven't done all I should have done by the lad, perhaps, living - a kind of touch and go life, and I am hoping that you may find - your way to letting him get some education which I think a - valuable thing for a man, though having no great love of letters - myself. This is a great favor I am asking I know but I trust you - may find it in your heart to do me this favor and the boy will - not forget it. The boy will work for you also and do as you say. - He is sixteen years old now, and an orphan my wife being dead - these ten years or so. - - "My dear brother, I beg you to forget me and my failings, which - have been many and show your kindness to my poor boy. And now I - will close with respectful regards to yourself and give my love - to my dear old mother and to my dear sister and all her sweet - children who must be big youngsters now. - - - "Respectfully your brother, - "Franz Winkler. - - - - "P. S. Am not letting on to the boy what the doctor says as he - will take it hard and I can't bear that. Have just told him that - I am sending him back to America with a friend, Mr. Morse, and - that I will join him as soon as I am in better shape, and have - told him how to find you." - -A silence followed the reading of this letter, and the emotions that it -had roused among the members of the little family, were plainly to be -seen in their faces. The twins who had not been able to understand it -but who felt that it had brought some grave news, looked first at their -father and then at their mother. Carl watched Mr. Lambert, and Elise's -plump, rosy face was solemn; but Jane, as if she were pierced by an -understanding of the pathos that was magnified by the very clumsy -illiterateness of the letter, sat perfectly still; her vivid face -contracted with a look of genuine pain. - -Mrs. Lambert was weeping. Then, suddenly, old Grandmother Winkler, who -had not said a word, got up, took her son's letter out of Mr. Lambert's -hand, and leaning on her cane, went out of the room. - -The astonishment and awkwardness depicted in Mr. Lambert's face showed -that he had not guessed that the letter would produce such an effect. - -After a moment or two, he cleared his throat, and said in a gentle but -somewhat unctuous tone to his wife: - -"My dear, we must not be impatient under our afflictions. This is very -sad; but it is the will of heaven, and we should learn to endure our -sorrows--er--uncomplainingly. Furthermore, Providence has seen fit to -soften this blow by--er--that is after all, you have not seen Franz in -ten years or more." - -"Yes, Peter. Of course," answered Mrs. Lambert, meekly wiping her eyes -on her napkin. "But when I think of poor Franz--all alone--and the -boy--that poor child--" - -"Of course my dear, your brother may have deceived himself. Come, he may -be on the road to health at this moment. Let us hope for the best. Let -us prepare to welcome our nephew, and perhaps,--who knows, Franz himself -may be spared to us." - -Mrs. Lambert's face brightened. She was naturally optimistic, and -eagerly grasped this ray of hope. Moreover, while she had been very fond -of her brother, in years of absence his features had somewhat faded from -her memory. She was not fond of sorrow or melancholy, and was ready to -exchange grief for hope, and tears for sanguine smiles the moment she -saw a possibility of the future setting her fears at nothing. - -"Yes, yes. What you say is quite true, Peter. After all Franz may -recover completely." - -"Certainly," said Mr. Lambert, briskly. "And now my dear, let us -consider." - -"Is Paul our cousin, Papa?" asked Jane. - -Mr. Lambert ignored her question. - -"I feel great sympathy for the boy," he said to his wife. "It is hard -indeed to lose a father at his tender age. For after all, to whom can -one turn for such disinterested guidance? Who will have his welfare more -deeply at heart? I hope my son, that in comparing _your_ lot," he turned -to Carl, "with that of this unfortunate young man, you will realize your -blessings. And I hope, nay, I believe that in me, this orphaned youth -will find one who in every way will strive to fill in his life a place -worthy of the revered name of 'father.'" - -"Then," continued Jane, who had been following up her own train of -thought, "then Paul is a Winkler. And so he can go into the business -when he is a man." - -This simple observation, which had not yet occurred to anyone, called -forth looks of surprise. - -"That is quite true!" exclaimed Mr. Lambert. - -"But of course!" cried his wife. - -"I see the beneficent hand of Providence in this," said Mr. Lambert, who -was fond of thinking that Heaven had his domestic affairs very much in -mind. "Yes, we must prepare to welcome our nephew. I hope, my dear, that -he will not prove difficult to manage. I hope that he is not lacking in -a grateful heart." - -"Poor child. No father or mother, and so young," murmured Mrs. Lambert, -her eyes again filling with tears. "And I never even knew that Franz had -a child. I had forgotten even that he had married." - -"Yon can put a cot in Carl's room," suggested Mr. Lambert; "I presume -that the boy will arrive in a day or two. And now, children, it is a -quarter past seven." - -Everyone rose from the table, and the day's routine began again in its -accustomed groove. Mr. Lambert departed for the warehouse. Elise helped -the fat young servant girl to clear away the dishes; Carl went out to -bring in wood for the stove; even the twins had their household tasks -which had to be finished before they started to school at eight o'clock. - -But Jane went off to find her Grandmother. Behind the counter, in the -bakeshop, the old woman was sitting, weeping quietly; and the slow tears -of age were trickling down her wrinkled, brown face, while she strained -her eyes to read the crooked awkward lines of her son's letter. - -"He was a good boy," she said, taking Jane's little hand in her gnarled -old one. "I understood him, never fear. He was a brave, fine boy--and he -always loved his old mother. I know that. Didn't he send me this pretty -shawl--" - -"But Granny, darling, he may get well. Don't cry, Granny. Don't you -cry." She kissed the old woman, and patted her, feeling awed and -oppressed by this aged sorrow that she could not share. - -After a minute, she quietly left Grandmother Winkler, and in an -unusually silent, and subdued mood, went away to help the twins. - - - - -CHAPTER II--BUSYBODY JANE - - -At half past eight, Elise had seen that the two little girls had their -books and their packages of sandwiches, and started them off to school, -Carl and Jane marching behind. - -"Oh, and Janey!" she called, hastening back to the doorway. "Will you -remember to give those patterns back to Lily Deacon for me. I'm going to -be _so_ busy. Any time this afternoon will do. I put them in your school -bag." - -"All right," said Jane, and Elise, always busy, always placid and -gentle, went back to her work. - -"Well, what do _you_ think about it?" Jane asked, presently. She had -quite forgotten her recent friction with Carl, for quick tempered as she -was, she rarely remembered a quarrel ten minutes after it occurred. - -"Think about what?" said Carl, gruffly. - -"About Paul's coming, of course. It's awfully sad about Uncle Franz--but -it _is_ sort of exciting having a new cousin to stay with us, I think." - -"You wouldn't think it so awfully exciting if _you_ had to share your -room with someone you never saw in your life," returned Carl, sulkily. -"I don't see why one of the store-rooms couldn't be cleared out for him. -All I know is that I won't stand for it a second if he tries to sling my -things around, or scatter his all over the place." - -Carl was never very enthusiastic about sharing anything with anyone -(though in this instance one might sympathize with his annoyance) and -his fussy love of neatness reached a degree that one would far sooner -expect to find in a crabbed old maid than in a boy of sixteen years. - -Jane did not reply to this indignant objection. - -"What do you think he'll be like?" she asked next, scuffling through the -piles of ruddy brown leaves that lay thick on the uneven brick walk. - -"I think he'll be a big, roistering bully. That's what I think," -answered Carl savagely; his lips set in a stubborn line, and the lenses -of his spectacles glinted so angrily, that Jane decided to drop the -subject. - -For several minutes they walked along in silence: the twins marching -ahead, chattering like little magpies, their yellow pigtails bobbing -under their round brown felt hats. Each clutched her spelling book and -reader, and her package of sandwiches and cookies; each wore a bright -blue dress, a bright red sweater, and a snow white pinafore. - -It was fully a mile to the school, but as a rule the brisk young -Lamberts walked it in twenty minutes. This morning, however, Jane -dawdled shamelessly. - -"I don't feel like school to-day a bit," she remarked, looking up -through the trees. - -"You never do," returned Carl, dryly, "but you've got to go all the -same. I bet you don't play hookey again in a hurry." - -"H'm?" said Jane, "why not?" - -"Why not?" the first really mirthful grin that Carl had shown that day -spread slowly over his serious features. "Didn't you catch it hot enough -last time? You're such an idiot anyway. If you'd only do your work -conscientiously you wouldn't mind school. I'd hate it too if I were as -big a dunce as you." - -"Oh,--you would, would you, Goody-goody?" retorted Jane with spirit. -"I'm not a dunce. I'm the brightest girl in my class." - -"Whoo-ee!" whooped Carl, staggered by this cool conceit. "Well! If you -haven't got cheek!" - -"'Tisn't cheek," said Jane, calmly, "I am. I heard Dr. Andrews say so to -Miss Trowbridge." - -"Well--he must have been talking through his hat, then," observed Carl. -"He was _probably_ talking about someone else." - -"No, he wasn't. They were standing outside the school-room door, at -lunch-hour, and I was in there, and I heard Dr. Andrews say, 'That -little Jane Lambert has brains. She's one of the brightest children--'" - -"That's the trouble with you!" broke in Carl, thoroughly exasperated. -"You've got such a swell-head that you won't work at all. And I don't -see how anyone could say that you were clever when you get about one -problem right out of a dozen." - -"I don't see how either," said Jane placidly; "but he did. Oh, -look--Miss Clementina has got a new canary!" - -There was no event that occurred in Frederickstown which did not excite -Jane's interest. She stopped to peer into the front window of a small -brick house, where amid a perfect jungle of banana plants and ferns, a -brightly gilded cage hung between two much befrilled net curtains. - -"Poor old lady, I'm glad she got her bird. He has a black spot on his -head just like her old one. I daresay her cat will eat him too. I wonder -what she has named him. Her old one was named William." Jane giggled. - -"What an idiotic name for a bird!" said Carl. Like his father, he was -never amused by anything that seemed to him fantastic. "You'd better -hurry up and stop peeking into everyone's window. Come on." - -Jane reluctantly obeyed. - -"William is a queer name for a bird," she agreed amicably, "but it's no -queerer than calling her cat Alfred, and that awful little monkey of -hers, Howard. She told me that she named her pets for all her old -sweethearts." - -"Her old sweethearts!" echoed Carl derisively. - -"Yes. She said that she had dozens. And you know what? I believe it's -true. Anyhow, she has lots of pictures of beautiful gentlemen, with -black moustaches and curly side-whiskers. I've seen the whole -collection. She said she never could bear fair men." - -"Humph!" said Carl. - -"She said that she was dreadfully heartless when she was a girl. An -awful flirt. Professor Dodge still calls on her every Sunday -afternoon--all dressed up with a flower in his button-hole, and kid -gloves, and a little bouquet wrapped up in wet paper. And she plays the -piano for him, and sings 'Alice Ben Bolt' and 'The Mocking Bird' and -'Coming Thro' the Rye.'" - -"What a busybody you are. Always prying into other people's affairs. It -wouldn't hurt you to mind your own business for a while, I must say." - -"I don't pry into other people's affairs," said Jane, quite unruffled. -"Most of 'em seem to like to talk, and I just listen--that's all." - -"There's the bell, now! Hang it, we're late. Why can't you--" but here -Carl set off in a race for the school-house, outstripping the two -squealing, panting twins. And in another moment, Jane, too, was -scampering across the square as fast as her legs would carry her. - -That was, in truth, not destined to be a very successful day for Jane. -To begin with, she was marked "tardy" for the third time that month. The -first classes went off passably; but she came to grief as she was -congratulating herself on the fact that she had managed to scrape along -fairly well. - -With all her quickness and curiosity, Jane had small love for hard -study; but her aptness in gathering the general sense of a lesson at -almost a glance stood her in good stead, and with very little trouble on -her part she succeeded in shining quite brilliantly in history, general -science, and geography. When it came to mathematics however, she met her -Waterloo. - -This class was presided over by Miss Farrel, a vague old lady, with -near-sighted, reproachful blue eyes, and an almost inaudible voice, who -taught a dry subject in the dryest possible manner. - -For some reason, Jane found it more difficult than ever to keep her mind -on square roots and unknown quantities that morning. Her eyes wandered -longingly to the window. It was open, for the day had grown warmer -toward noon, and in the quiet square an old man was raking up the fallen -leaves into a row of small bonfires, and lifting them in bundles into a -little wheeled cart. Patiently he limped back and forth, stopping every -now and then to push his old felt hat back on his head and mop his -forehead with a colored handkerchief, which in between times waved -jauntily from his hip pocket. The pungent smell of leaf smoke drifted in -through the window. The golden and ruddy foliage of the elm-trees and -lindens made a fretted canopy over the drowsy green, through which -sifted the mellow light of an Indian summer sun. - -Fat Lulu Pierson's thick, glossy pig-tails next engrossed Jane's -attention. She took one gently in her fingers; the evenly clipped end of -it reminded her of the brush that Sam Lung, the Chinese laundry-man used -when he wrote out his receipts. She dipped it in the ink, and began to -make hieroglyphics on her scratch-tablet. Then Lulu gave an impatient -jerk, and the wet pig-tail just missed causing general disaster. Jane -carefully took it again, dried it on her blotter, and made a serious -effort to concentrate her attention by fixing her gaze gravely on Miss -Farrel's wrinkled face. But she soon found that she was merely wondering -why that prim old dame took the trouble to wear a little bunch of false -curls across her forehead--such a remarkable cluster, as smooth and -crisp as spun glass, pinned with a little bow of black taffeta ribbon. -And so honestly false--certainly they could not have been selected with -the intention of deceiving, for not even Miss Farrel, near-sighted as -she was, could have imagined for a moment that they matched the -diminutive nubbin into which her own grey locks were twisted every -morning. - -"Why doesn't she wear a wig? Though after all that auburn is rather -nice. I don't see why she doesn't change 'em around sometimes--" - -"Well, Jane, perhaps you can tell us," Miss Farrel's soft voice broke in -upon these reflections, and Jane started as if she had been awakened -from a sound sleep. She gasped, and then quickly recovering herself, -said blandly, - -"Yes, Miss Farrel." - -There was a dead silence. Jane looked about her in surprise, to find -every eye in the room fixed on her. - -"Well?" prompted Miss Farrel. - -Jane swallowed. She had not the remotest idea what the question was. -Nevertheless she made a bold attempt to conceal this fact, and with an -aplomb admirable under the circumstances, said, - -"I didn't exactly understand the question, Miss Farrel." - -A faint tinge of color appeared upon each of Miss Farrel's cheekbones, -and her almost invisible eyebrows went up. - -"And what didn't you understand about it? I am sure I don't see how it -could be expressed in any clearer terms. Will you repeat it to me? Then -we can soon find out just where my words confused you." The old lady -felt that she was being exceedingly cunning. - -Jane winked her eyes rapidly, opened her mouth, shut it, and moistened -her lower lip with the tip of her tongue. She knew she was cornered. - -"Yes, Jane. And stand up please when you recite," said Miss Farrel in -ominously gentle tones. "And don't fidget, Jane. Put that eraser down. -We are waiting, Jane." - -"Well, what I didn't understand was--was--I didn't understand--I didn't -understand the question." - -Another silence. - -"Did you _hear_ the question?" - -"No, Miss Farrel." - -"Oh. And what, pray, have you been doing?" - -"Why--just thinking." - -"Ah. How interesting. And what were you thinking of?" - -Jane tried to keep her face straight, and looked down to hide the -laughter in her eyes. - -"Nothing, Miss Farrel." - -Silence again. Miss Farrel opened her little black record book, and -slowly and deliberately registered Jane's crime. - -"Sit down, Jane. And will you please wait for me here after school. At -three o'clock. Well, Isabel, will _you_ give me the formula for finding -the area of a circle." - -Jane took her seat. - -"What a goose I am, anyway," she thought, and accepted her punishment -with her usual calmness. - -At three o'clock, when the other girls, chattering and laughing gathered -their books and left the school-room singly and in groups, she sat at -her desk waiting for Miss Farrel. The cleaning woman came in, with her -mop and bucket, and began to splash the dusty wooden floor. She was a -talkative, good-natured old thing, and one of Jane's numerous intimates. - -"Well, now, what are they keepin' you here for, this fine afternoon, -Miss Janey?" she said sympathetically. - -"Oh, I don't mind much. How's Amelia, Mrs. Tinker?" - -"Fine. Fine, miss, thank yer." - -"And how's Henry Clay?" - -"He's fine, too, I thank yer." - -"Is Mr. Tinker out of the hospital yet?" - -"Not yet, I thank yer," said Mrs. Tinker, cheerfully. "They think as how -he'll have to be there another six weeks or so. Well, I'm not one to -complain against what the Lord thinks best, and I says to Henry Clay, -'Don't complain, Henry. You let well enough alone,' says I." - -"Is Henry Clay the one that's going to be an undertaker?" - -"That's right, miss. The boy's always had his heart set on it, and as I -says to Mr. Tinker, 'Don't oppose him.' And Henry shows wonderful talent -for it, miss. Wonderful." - -Jane was going to ask how a precocious talent for undertaking manifested -itself, when Miss Farrel appeared. - -"Perhaps, Mrs. Tinker, you might work just now in one of the other -rooms," she suggested with dignity. "You may return in an hour." - -And then she turned her attention to Jane. - -The old lady began by a plaintive little discourse on Jane's -shortcomings, and on the future disasters that they would most certainly -lead to. She tried to sound severe and cold, but now and then she said -"my dear," and once she laid her small, old hand on Janey's. It was so -difficult to be severe with Jane. - -"And now, Jane, we must review all last week's work. You see how much -time you lose?" - -The lesson began; but it turned out that Jane was able to answer very -nearly every question that Miss Farrel asked. - -"Now, you see? Oh, if you would only put your mind on your work, my -dear, it would really be a pleasure to teach you. My dear old teacher -used to say--" - -And here, veering away from the discussion of altitudes and bases, the -good dame began to prattle in the friendliest way about her own -girlhood, and about the little school she used to go to, way up in the -country, where half the tuition was paid in salt pork and other -provisions, and about her father and brothers. Everybody seemed to drift -into talking about their own affairs to Jane, and Jane remembered -everything they told her. There was hardly a soul in Frederickstown -whose general history she was not familiar with; very simple histories -for the most part, for the inhabitants of Frederickstown were simple -souls, yet each had its measure of comedy and tragedy, and each had its -mysterious relationship to the character of its confiding narrator. - -So now Miss Farrel told her about her sister, Miss Elizabeth, who was, -she said, so much the cleverer and better in every way--the last of her -whole family, and crippled with inflammatory rheumatism; and about her -wonderful cat, Amaryllis, and so on, and so on. - -It was nearly half-past four when the old lady suddenly realized how -little of the time she had given to the lesson. Then she made a last -attempt to assume her dignity. - -"Well, now, my dear. Let me see. I think that if only you will train -yourself--so much depends on our own selves, you know, my dear." And -then after a second little discourse, delivered no doubt principally to -assure herself that everything she had been saying had had some bearing -on Jane's particular case, she picked up her inevitable knitting-bag, -and took her departure. - -Jane, remembering her promise to Elise, to return Lily's patterns, set -out toward the Deacon's house. - -It stood just at the top of Sheridan Lane, a sleepy, prim old street, -regarded as being rather fashionable and aristocratic, principally -because at the lower end of it stood the deserted Sheridan mansion, -which, notwithstanding the fact that its owners had not deigned to pay -any attention to it in fifteen years, was still one of the prides of -Frederickstown. - -The quiet street was paved with cobblestones as it descended the hill -from Frederickstown itself, as far as the ancient rusty fountain, in -whose basin the leaves collected in the autumn, and the birds bathed in -the spring; but on the opposite side, where the hill began its rise, the -street became simply a white dusty road, leading on through sweet -smelling fields, over wooden bridges, where a meadow stream doubled back -on itself in loops, past the Sheridan mansion, which marked the limits -of Frederickstown proper, and on to the open country. - -The branches of the elm trees arched over Janey's head, and now and -then, shaken by a drowsy breeze, the yellowed leaves fell noiselessly. - -Through the open window of the Deacon's little parlour, came the sound -of chords struck on a tinkling square piano, followed by scales and -arpeggios sung in a sweet, if rather timid and unsubstantial, feminine -voice. - -"Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah." Chord. "Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah." -Chord. And so on, patiently up the scale. Miss Deacon was practising. It -was a part of her daily program, and never would it have entered Lily's -head to deviate from that daily program, mapped out by her excellent but -strong-minded and dictatorial mamma. Singing was a very genteel -accomplishment for a young lady, and Mrs. Deacon desired above all -things that Lily should be elegant. - -Jane leaned on the window sill, and listened to the scales for a little -while, watching Miss Lily's slender throat swell and quiver like a -bird's. - -"How pretty she is. If I were as pretty as that, I think I'd be -perfectly happy; but she always looks sort of sad. Maybe it's because -she's always being fussed at." - -There was indeed no girl in Frederickstown who could claim to be quite -as pretty as Lily Deacon. Slender and small, with a little tip-tilted -nose, which gave the most unexpected and charming spice of coquetry to -her delicate face, with large serious blue eyes, and glossy black hair -so neatly coiled on the nape of her neck, with beautifully drawn -eyebrows, and a tiny mole at the corner of her under lip, accentuating -the whiteness of her skin, she would have drawn her tributes of -admiration from any pair of eyes that rested on her--and would have been -perfectly blind to them. Lily's mother would not have allowed her for a -moment to imagine that she was pretty, and Lily never thought of -disobeying mamma. Prettiness, according to Mrs. Deacon's severe -judgement, counted for nothing; as she had once observed, "It was only -as deep as the epidermis." Elegance alone was desirable. You should -never say that you were "hot"--a lady spoke of being "warm." And the -word "scared" was abominable; you should speak of being "startled" or -"alarmed." Lily was almost perfectly elegant. She wore a silk dress, and -her pink nails were polished, and even when she sat at the piano, she -was so afraid of not having her feet demurely crossed, that she did not -dare to use the pedals. - -"But, Miss Lily, don't you ever sing anything but scales?" demanded Jane -presently. Miss Deacon jumped, put her hand to her throat, and then -slowly turned her head. - -"Oh--Janey! How you sc-alarmed me!" - -"I'm sorry," said Jane, "Elise told me to give you these patterns. Here -they are in my bag. No--I don't believe she put 'em in at all. Well, -then it's her fault this time--no, here they are." - -"Thank you so much. How thoughtful of you. Won't you come in?" - -"Well, you're practising, aren't you?" - -Lily shook her head. - -"It's nearly five. And I'm tired." - -"What a lovely day it is," she got up, and came to the window, where she -stood, looking up the street, one hand resting on the frame above her -head. The wind ruffled her hair a little, and blew the end of her lacy -kerchief against her cheek, shaking free a faint scent of sachet. - -She sighed gently, and a momentary frown ruffled her smooth forehead. - -"I wish--" she began impetuously, and then abruptly checked herself. - -"What?" prompted Jane, curiously. For some reason, she really wanted -very much to know what Miss Lily wished. But Lily shook her head, -smiling a little awkwardly as if she regretted even having said so much; -or as if she wasn't sure herself what she did wish. Every now and again, -one caught that quick, vanishing expression in her large blue eyes, -which seemed to say, "I wish--" and never got any farther. - -"Oh, I don't know what I was going to say. Something foolish, no doubt," -and then to change the subject, she said hastily, - -"I suppose you have heard the news about the Sheridan house?" - -"No! What? It isn't sold, is it? If they tear it down, and build a -horrid old factory there, I don't know what I'll do." - -"Oh, no--not that. But some member of the family is going to live there -again, and is already moving in." - -"Why, that's nice," said Jane. What a lot of events were taking place in -Frederickstown! "Do you know who it is? Man, woman or child? Any people -of my age? Anybody _interesting_?" - -Lily blushed slightly. - -"Why, I'm not sure. I think there's only one--a Mr. Sheridan, I -suppose." - -"Young, old or middle-aged?" inquired Jane, who had already rather lost -interest. - -"Why, he seemed rather youngish," said Lily, blushing again, "but I -couldn't tell very well." - -"When did you see him?" - -"Why, I didn't exactly see him. I heard mamma talking about it last -night, and then this morning I just happened to see a carriage drive -past--in my mirror, while I was doing my hair, so of course, I couldn't -be sure--but, anyhow, someone was sitting in it leaning back, with a -stick--but it seemed to be fairly young--though I couldn't tell," Lily -explained confusedly. It seemed to her to be a little indelicate perhaps -to look at a fairly young man in a mirror, while you were doing your -hair. - -"Um," said Jane. "Well, I suppose it's too late to go and investigate -now. But I think I'll go to-morrow." - -"Oh, Jane! You couldn't do that!" said Lily, in a shocked tone. - -"Why not? How else'll I find out." - -"Why, I don't know." - -"Very well then. Somebody's got to know something about strangers when -they come here." - -"Yes--that's true," said Lily. - -"Of course," said Jane. "It's what you call civic interest." - -"Oh," said Lily,--she had been taught to call "it" curiosity; but then -mamma's vocabulary was not like other peoples'. - -"I have a tremendous amount of civic interest," said Jane, complacently, -"I ought to be able to do this town a lot of good." - -And with a jaunty wave of her hand, she took her leave. As she turned -out of Sheridan Lane, she once more heard the light, pure tones of -Lily's voice, but now they sounded a little gayer, a little warmer and -sweeter than they had before, and what was more, instead of the -monotonous scales, Lily was singing a pert song, which mamma, had she -heard it, would probably not have thought elegant at all. - - - - -CHAPTER III--CIVIC INTEREST - - -Young Mr. Sheridan might perhaps have grudgingly admitted that the -morning was beautiful. It would have been hard even for a young man who -had definitely made up his mind to be no longer pleased with anything, -to deny that there was something almost pleasant in a day as soft and -quiet as that June itself could bring, in a garden all enmeshed in net -of stirring shadows, and in a free outlook toward hills that glowed with -autumn colors. - -The old "home place" wasn't so bad; rather overgrown with weeds and -vines and somewhat dilapidated; the roof leaked on the third floor -front, and the wooden steps at the back had broken down completely; but -this crumbling and tumbling state harmonized with the state of young Mr. -Sheridan's mind. He accepted it with a sort of gloomy satisfaction. This -general poetic decay seemed to him quite touchingly suitable to the mood -which he fully believed was to color the declining years of his short -and blasted life. Mr. Sheridan had convinced himself that he had -received a crushing blow; a blow that no self-respecting gentleman -_ought_ to survive for very long. He had convinced himself that he -neither could nor should be happy again. He had quite made up his mind -that the world was a dreary waste, and all human beings, rascals and -base deceivers, whose society a wise man would shun. This unfriendly -humor was directed to mankind in general and to the feminine element in -particular. - -He had awakened that morning--his first in the old mansion--in a -gigantic mahogany bed. Peterson, his servant, was kindling a fire to -drive the lingering dampness out of the long unused room. - -"Good morning, Mr. Tim, sir," said Peterson with objectionable -cheerfulness, "I hope sir, ye had a good night?" - -Mr. Sheridan eyed the old man with melancholy suspicion. He was loath to -class Peterson in with the rest of the miserable human race; -nevertheless, it was wiser to trust no one absolutely--not even -Peterson. - -"Oh, well, I suppose I slept as well as I could expect, Peterson. An owl -or something woke me up at about one o'clock, and I couldn't get to -sleep for hours. But still--" - -As a matter of fact, Mr. Sheridan had slept as soundly as a baby, but -having been entirely unconscious while he did so, he certainly could not -have _known_ whether he was asleep or awake. But his latest fancy was -that he suffered from insomnia. Insomnia was the traditional affliction -of all broken-hearted lovers, and there was no ailment common to the -broken hearted that Mr. Sheridan would allow himself to forego. - -"Any letters, Peterson?" - -Of course there were no letters. In the first place, who knew or cared -that he had buried himself away in this forsaken corner of the earth, -and in the second place, what did letters mean to him, who with all the -contempt that they deserved had severed his relations with his fellow -beings--especially the feminine ones--forever. He must remember not to -ask Peterson again if there were any letters. Peterson might imagine -that he was so weak as to hope that Miss Abbot had repented of her cruel -and barbarous treatment, and under no circumstances was Peterson to -imagine anything of the sort. Why, on the contrary, if Mary, that is to -say, Miss Abbot--were to come to him and beg his pardon on her knees, -and tell him that she knew she was a wicked coquette, and unworthy of -his slightest notice, he would say to her, - -"No, Mary--or, No, Madam, what you ask now is no longer in my power to -give. My forgiveness is yours--gladly, but neither you nor I can -revive--or, but never again, I fear, can that sweet emotion--" or -anyhow, something to the effect that while he forgave her gladly--he -wouldn't forgive her at all. But magnanimously. He would be very -magnanimous. Nothing could be more crushing than a lofty and -unapproachable kindness. He would let her know the extent of the damage -she had wrought, but she should also be made to feel that he was capable -of supporting it without bitterness--to the end. - -So engrossed was he in the composition of that final speech of -forgiveness and farewell--which he had composed at least a dozen times -already--that he absent-mindedly tucked away every morsel of Peterson's -generously provided breakfast, comprising fruit and coffee, poached -eggs, bacon, marmalade, and half a dozen of the most exquisite rolls he -had ever eaten. - -"Those rolls, Peterson--they are rather nice," he remarked, with a touch -of enthusiasm that he quickly suppressed. - -"Yes, sir. Thank you, Mr. Tim. I'm glad to have found something as -pleases you, sir," said Peterson, with a perfectly grave face. - -"Yes. My appetite hasn't been very good lately." - -"No, Mr. Tim," agreed Peterson, tactfully. - -After a short silence, Mr. Sheridan asked indifferently, - -"Where did you get them?" - -"Up in the town, sir. There's a Bakery there sir as I never see the like -of, Mr. Tim. Why, what with the cakes and rolls and puddin's and -what-not, I fairly lost me eyes, sir! You should stroll up to the town, -like, Mr. Tim. It's a neat little place, sure enough--" - -His young master checked him gently, reminding him with a little wave of -his hand, that he could not be expected to be interested in all that. - -"But the rolls, Peterson. You might see that I have them for breakfast -every morning." So saying, he lit a cigarette, and walked out through -the open window into his garden to meditate; leaving Peterson to -meditate in his turn on this absolutely novel way of acting that Mr. Tim -had adopted. Why, he could hardly believe that this formal and taciturn -gentleman was Mr. Tim at all, and the old man who remembered the days, -not long since, when he had connived in all sorts of pranks and waggery; -when he had, many's the time, been called in as judge and counsel as to -how his young master should get himself out of this and that "scrape," -when in fact, Mr. Tim never dreamed of doing anything without Peterson's -opinion--remembering those jolly days when he had been honored with Mr. -Tim's perfect confidence, Peterson felt wounded. Then he glanced through -the window. Mr. Tim, who had been promenading back and forth, leaning on -a stick, in keeping with his extraordinary notion that blighted love -always left one a semi-invalid, had now allowed himself to sink wearily -onto a stone bench. On second thought, Peterson did not feel wounded; he -felt rather like shaking dear Mr. Tim. - -"Say what you like, that's no way to go on, now. Life's too easy for -him, and that's the truth, though I don't say I wouldn't hate to see it -hard for him. But to take on so, just because a young lady was pleased -to make up her mind not to have him! 'Tisn't every young feller has the -leisure to sit and mope himself into the vapors over a chip in his -heart, that'll be whole again in three months." Then Peterson grinned. -After all, such absurdities had not been entirely absent from his own -youth; and he could not find it in his heart to censure Mr. Tim severely -for any of his eccentricities. In his opinion this young man whom he had -systematically spoiled since his childhood was not to be judged by -common standards. Things that one might call faults in other young -gentlemen, became merely "peculiarities" in the case of Mr. Tim. And it -was not Peterson alone who inclined to shameless leniency with young Mr. -Sheridan. His friends always managed to explain why it was perfectly all -right for Tim to do things he oughtn't to do, and leave undone all the -things he ought to do; at college his teachers were forever giving him -one more chance, and at home his grumpy uncle scolded him and pampered -him, and feebly allowed his usually sharp old wits to be completely -fuddled by Tim's airy arguments. - -"Somehow or other you'll manage to persuade all your devoted friends and -wellwishers to help you to the dogs," Major Sheridan had once remarked -acidly; and as proof of the truth of this, as the Major himself pointed -out, the old man, notwithstanding many threats of disinheritance, had -left every sou of his fortune to his nephew, simply because, while his -common sense told him that the best thing in the world for the young man -would be to leave him nothing at all, like Peterson he couldn't quite -bear the thought of Tim's lacking anything. - -At the age of twenty-seven, then, Timothy Sheridan possessed of an -honorable name, health, wealth, good looks, and a very fair measure of -intelligence, could consider himself sufficiently unencumbered by duties -and responsibilities to indulge in the luxury of doing nothing whatever. -But somebody has said that no one can be thoroughly happy without -finding something to be unhappy about; and the truth of the matter is -that Mr. Sheridan was exceedingly gratified to discover that his heart -was broken; though it need hardly be said that this was the last thing -in the world he would ever have admitted. It was such a refreshingly new -experience. His only fear was that he was not getting out of it all that -some people claimed to feel. He checked up all his symptoms to make sure -that he had the real disease. Sleeplessness, loss of appetite, a longing -for solitude--yes, he was quite sure that he had all these symptoms, and -the satisfactory conclusion was that his heart was broken. He might -really consider the matter settled. Now, what is the next thing to be -done? Under the circumstances one should make no effort. One simply -shunned society, amused oneself with solitary walks perhaps, looked on -sceptically from afar at the insipid lives of other human beings, and -made sweet melancholy a constant companion. But how long did one keep -this up? The very fact that he could ask himself such a crudely -practical question, made him feel rather uncomfortable; how could he -even imagine the possibility of _wanting_ to do anything else? - -He leaned back, and looked about him with an indifferent eye. From where -he sat, he could see beyond the wall that enclosed the garden--a wall -seven or eight feet high, its cracked plaster laced together by the -strong black tendrils of the ivy-vine. If he turned his head he could -see the whole length of Sheridan Lane. All the trees on Sheridan Lane -had turned yellow, and the leaves strewing its cobblestones, looked like -golden coins--the generous largess scattered in the progress of jovial -King Autumn. Above the mass of frost-nipped foliage rose the rounded -belfry of the old church, and underneath lay the double rows of pretty -gardens all glowing with their asters and chrysanthemums. - -Then, if he looked in front of him he saw those wine-tinted hills, -rising beyond the gentle basin of the valley meadows, where the sun was -melting the early morning frost, and scattering the light mists. Two men -with leggins laced up to their sturdy knees, and carrying guns and game -bags, were striding across the field, followed by their dogs. A glint of -interest sparkled up in Mr. Sheridan's listless eyes. - -"By Jove, I'll bet there's shooting here. I wonder if Peterson had the -sense to pack my guns. I'll wire Phil to-night--" then he checked -himself hastily. Such diversions were premature to say the least. But as -he resumed his seat on the bench, his attention was attracted by another -object. On the wall was something which had not been there when he had -last looked in the direction of Sheridan Lane. Calmly planted on its -broad flat top, with a pair of slender black-stockinged legs swinging, -calmly polishing off a monstrous scarlet apple on the front of a bright -green sweater, sat a perfectly strange specimen of the condemned human -race; and, what was more, it was unmistakably _feminine_. It was, in -short, a girl of about fourteen years of age, though apparently not very -tall for her years, with a dense mop of curly, reddish hair, a pair of -uncommonly bright, and observant eyes, and the beaming hospitable smile -of one who has the rare faculty of making herself thoroughly at home in -any circumstances. Even Mr. Sheridan's cold and unmistakably hostile -stare did not seem to make her feel that she was not welcome, or that -she ought to offer any explanation for her presence. She looked at her -apple, polished it some more, and at length fastened her sharp little -teeth in its red cheek, biting off what seemed to be at least one half -of the entire fruit. - -After a pause, Mr. Sheridan said, with freezing courtesy, - -"Is there anything I can do for you?" - -"Oh, no," said Jane, kindly. "Nothing at all." And until she had -finished her apple, and flung the core with admirable markmanship -against a tree at the other side of the road, silence reigned--the -silence of indignation and helplessness on Mr. Sheridan's part, of -serene composure on Jane's. - -"I am just looking around," she condescended to explain at last. - -"I see," said Mr. Sheridan politely. "Do you know that you are -trespassing?" - -"Oh, yes. But that's all right. I'm always trespassing. I can't help it. -Out there--" she jerked her head in the direction of the fields, "there -are signs everywhere you go, 'No trespassing.' But by the time I come to -'em I've already been trespassing for miles, so I might as well go on. -Besides, I've often done it purposely just to see what would happen, but -nothing ever does." And having said this in a most reassuring tone, she -fished a second apple out of the pocket of her sweater and began to -polish it as she had the first. To his horror, Mr. Sheridan saw that -those green pockets were bulging. - -"You'll make yourself ill," he remarked. - -"Oh, no. I never make myself ill," said Jane. - -"Are you going to eat _all_ those?" he demanded, pointing with his stick -at her crammed pockets. - -"Well, I could, easily," said Jane, "but you can have as many as you -like. Catch." And she pulled out a third apple, and tossed it to him. He -caught it; but feeling that it was not dignified even to pretend that he -wanted it, he laid it down beside him on the bench. - -"Try it," said Jane, "it's a good one. It's still wet, because I just -picked it up. Mr. Webster has millions, and he _said_ I could take all I -wanted. Here, I'll dry it for you if you don't want to get your -handkerchief all wet." - -"Thank you," said Mr. Sheridan, "I don't believe I care for it just -now." - -Another silence. Then as if the idea had just occurred to her, Jane said -almost with alarm, - -"_You_ don't mind my trespassing, do you, Mr. Sheridan?" - -"How did you know my name?" he asked in surprise, and at the same time, -feeling a trifle flattered. Like most people he was vain enough to be -pleased when anyone seemed to know who he was without being told. - -"Oh, I recognized you." - -"Recognized me? When did you--" - -"By your stick. Miss Lily said that you had a stick, and that you were -youngish." - -"Oh." A brief pause, during which Mr. Sheridan did not look displeased. -Jane, who never missed a change of expression, felt that she had hit -upon a happy thread of conversation, and she ventured to commence -another apple. - -"Who is Miss Lily?" inquired Mr. Sheridan, forgetting that he was not in -the least interested in hearing about his fellow creatures--especially -the feminine ones. - -"Why, Miss Lily Deacon. She lives up there," Jane jerked her head -casually in the direction, "in the first house on the left hand side -just as you turn into Sheridan Lane. The one with iron deers on each -side of the gate. She's _very_ pretty. Mrs. Deacon is very fat, but she -certainly is what you'd called impressive looking, and she does a lot of -good. I mean she's on committees and things, and _always_ president." - -"Um," said Mr. Sheridan. Then, boring the end of his cane through a dead -leaf, he asked carelessly, - -"But when did Miss Lily see me? I've never been here before." - -"Yesterday morning she said. She said she couldn't tell exactly what you -were like, because she only saw you in her handmirror while she was -brushing her hair, but _I_ think she got a pretty good idea." - -Poor Miss Lily. If she had ever dreamed that Jane would be placidly -repeating her indiscreet little confidences, she would have died of -mortification. But Jane, who, in her own peculiar way, was immeasurably -more astute than Miss Lily, saw very plainly that Mr. Sheridan was -trying to suppress a complacent smile. - -"And how did _she_ know who I was?" - -"Why, in the first place, she'd heard that one of the family was going -to live in this house again, and then she saw you drive in here, so she -just used her common sense, I suppose." - -"Ah--of course." - -After a moment, he said, with the most engaging friendliness, - -"I think you might tell me _your_ name." - -"My name? Jane." - -"Jane what?" - -"Lambert. Are you going to live here a long time?" - -Mr. Sheridan sighed. - -"I think so." - -"What are you going to do?" - -"Do? Well,--that would be a little difficult to explain. I came here -primarily for--solitude." The melancholy tone of his voice prompted a -dozen inquisitive questions to the tip of Jane's tongue. - -"Oh. Are you sick?" - -"There are different kinds of illness," said Mr. Sheridan gloomily and -mysteriously. Jane's grave eyes considered him attentively. Perhaps he -was suffering from a guilty conscience. He might have embezzled money -from a bank. He might even have killed someone. She felt very sorry for -him. - -"Don't you ever want to see anybody? I can't understand that." - -"My dear child," said Mr. Sheridan in a patronizing tone, "there are -probably several things that you don't understand yet. How old are you, -may I ask?" - -"Fourteen. Fifteen really. My birthday comes next month. But don't you -remember that it says in the Bible that it isn't good for people to be -alone. That was the text just last Sunday, and I remember thinking that -that was why we are all crowded together into this town, instead of -scattering out over there--" she waved in the direction of the country, -"where it seems much nicer." - -Mr. Sheridan made no reply, for a moment. Then as Jane made a motion to -depart, he said hastily, - -"What do _you_ do?" - -"Oh, _I_ go to school, and help mother, and go on adventures--" - -"Go on adventures?" - -"Yes. Long, long walks. Sometimes with the twins, and sometimes with -Carl, though he never wants to go where I want to go, and often by -myself. I take a package of bread and cheese because I get hungry very -easily, or sometimes some Raisin Delights, and I pretend that I'm going -out into the world to seek my fortune. And I walk and walk, sometimes -taking this road and sometimes that--until it's time to turn around and -come home." - -"Don't you ever get lost?" - -"Oh, often. That makes it more exciting than ever." - -"What are Raisin Delights?" - -"Oh, just sort of cookies, with raisins and cinnamon and orange peel. No -one knows how to make them but mother, because you see, she's the only -real Winkler--except Granny, and Granny's too old to do much in the -Bakery any more. When Paul comes of course he'll learn how, because he's -a real Winkler too." - -"Who is Paul?" - -Jane, at this, launched into the complete history of her family, charmed -to find her listener who was far more interested than he himself was -aware of being. - -"And--and is this Miss Lily a cousin or something of yours?" inquired -Mr. Sheridan, artfully bringing the topic around to the subject that for -some reason he found particularly agreeable. - -"No. She's just Elise's best friend." - -"And what does _she_ do?" - -"Oh, she practises on the piano, and sings, and embroiders, and goes to -committees with her mother--though I don't think she likes that much. -And then she makes up bundles of things to send to people in China, and -goes to see sick people." - -"Does she like that?" - -"I guess so. She takes things to poor people--there are a whole lot of -them who live along the creek, and she's awfully good to them." - -"I see," said Mr. Sheridan. He could not think of anything more to say -just then, and after a pause, Jane began to think that she ought to be -going. - -"Well, good-bye. I hope you'll feel better after a while," she said, -catching hold of a low hanging branch, preparatory to swinging herself -down to earth. - -"Thank you." Mr. Sheridan did not understand why he felt just a trifle -foolish. "I hope you will pay me another visit." - -"Oh, but I thought you wanted to be alone," said Jane, innocently. - -Mr. Sheridan hesitated. - -"People in general are terrible nuisances," he said, at length. "I came -here to avoid the boredom--that is, at present I am very little in the -mood for being bothered by the curiosity of a host of friends and -acquaintances. But on the other hand, it would be a pleasure to chat -with you now and then." - -Jane was tremendously flattered. - -"Oh, I can understand that perfectly," she said, nodding her curly head -with a great air of wisdom. "Well, I'll come and see you again. Aren't -you really going to eat that apple?" - -Mr. Sheridan laughed, and tossed it back to her. - -"There you are, Eve. Like Adam, I'd be much better without it." - -With the agility of a monkey, Jane, holding the apple between her teeth, -swung herself lightly and easily to the ground. A little later Mr. -Sheridan saw the curly auburn head and the green sweater moving up the -hill, and with the feeling that he would very much like to be going in -the same direction, toward that busy little town--yes, in the very same -direction of that human society which he had resolved to shun--he turned -away. - -He had already begun to doubt his wisdom in allowing this slight -infringement of the iron rule of seclusion he had resolved to follow. -Already he felt very little inclined to spend the rest of the morning -going over the battalions of musty volumes in the Major's library, as he -had planned,--his idea had been to bury his sorrows in grave -bookishness. Already he found himself possessed by a desire to venture -out beyond the security of his garden. And if he had followed Janey up -the hill, if he had seen her stop for a few moments, at the gate of the -house on the left hand side, to report to a demure and shocked and -vastly interested young lady on various features of her late venture, he -would have felt that all his doubts on the wisdom of allowing anything -feminine within thirty yards of him, were more than justified. - - - - -CHAPTER IV--THE APPEARANCE OF PAUL - - -Jane lay on her stomach, stretched out comfortably on the window-seat in -Granny's room, her elbows propped on a cushion, her chin in her hands -and a book open on another cushion. The light was already waning, for -the days were growing perceptibly shorter, and furthermore the afternoon -had been dark and stormy. A driving autumn rain pattered steadily -against the window, drummed on the roof, gushed from the drain pipes, -and angrily stripped the branches of the trees of their gaudy foliage. -Now, only the stark black boughs creaked in the wind; here and there one -stubborn brown leaf still clung to a twig, but you could see the whole -lead grey sky clearly, and the irregular outlines of glistening roofs. - -But Granny's room, always cosy, was cosiest when the outside world was -bleakest. A coal fire glowed brightly in the old fashioned open stove, -reflecting in the window panes, on the elaborately carved head-board of -the great four-poster bed, and in the plump, bulging surfaces of the -well-polished pewter jugs which stood in a row along the -shelf--treasured heirlooms, glistening self-complacently, as if they -knew that they had outlived four generations of human beings. Granny's -room, was in fact, a regular museum; a big, speckled sea shell served as -the door prop; chunks of rock sparkling with mica lay on each side of -the stove; a stuffed owl, with only one glass eye stared down from the -lintel of the door. Wherever you looked you saw some singular object -which interested you simply because you could not imagine what it was -for, why it had been treasured, or how it had ever got into Granny's -room in the first place. But there was not an article that Granny would -not have missed sadly if it had been removed. Each curiosity had its -particular association which made it valuable to her; each was linked to -some memory, and she could not have parted with one without parting with -the thing it stood for. - -The atmosphere, warm almost to the point of suffocation, was permeated -with a peculiar, and far from unpleasant odor, of apples, spices, and -camphor, emanating from the gigantic chest on one side of the room. Like -all good Winklers, Granny had a sweet tooth, which was one reason why -the young Lamberts found her society so desirable. To be sure, some -people might not care much for the flavor of camphor or cedar in their -candied orange peel, or Smyrna figs, but it was inseparable from -Granny's tid-bits, and her grandchildren had cultivated an especial -taste for it. - -The twins sat on the floor in front of the fire, playing with their -paper dolls, while Granny nodded over the many-coloured quilt she was -knitting, happily unconscious of the fact that Phyllis, her maltese cat, -had playfully carried the ball of red wool off to a far corner, and was -gleefully tangling it around the legs of the dressing table. Every now -and then a burst of fresh laughter from one of the flaxen haired twins -roused her, and she smiled sympathetically, and for a little while -listened to their chatter; then her head drooped again, her steel-rimmed -spectacles slid down on her nose, and lulled by the heat of the fire, -the drumming of the rain, and the sound of their soft, happy voices, she -dozed off peacefully. - -Lottie, looking up, and seeing that Jane was no longer engrossed in -"John Halifax," ventured to suggest timidly, - -"Will you play with uth, Janey?" - -Occasionally, Jane condescended to forget her fifteen years, and to take -part in their infantile games. - -"All right." She rolled herself off the window seat. "Want to play -'French Revolution'?" Jane had little taste for the domestic character -of the twin's doll games. - -"How do you play that?" asked Minie. - -"Why, first of all you get me some books out of my room," ordered Jane, -and Minie obediently trotted off to return grunting under the burden of -"stage properties." - -"Now, you see, build a prison out of 'em," went on Jane; "this is the -Conciergerie, and it has to be full of prisoners; princesses and -duchesses, and of course Marie Antoinette. Now, we'll make a guillotine, -and chop all their heads off. Don't you think that'll be fun?" - -The twins were enchanted. Lottie piled the hooks into a "scaffold," -while Minie sat by, clashing the scissors, eagerly. And presently, one -by one, the poor paper prisoners were marched to their doom, Jane -directing the carnage, describing the history of each victim, like a -Greek chorus, and delivering their last speeches, while Minie, -hypnotized into passive obedience, snipped off the paper heads of her -innocent, and dearly treasured dolls. - -Suddenly Jane jumped up. - -"I think this is an _awful_ game!" she exclaimed. - -"Oh, Jane, aren't you going to play any more?" cried Lottie in dismay. -Jane shook her head. - -"And all my poor dollies are dead!" wailed Minie, suddenly realizing the -extent of the disaster. Jane looked really guilty. - -"We can make some more," she said hastily; "there are lots of old -magazines in mother's room." - -"But you can't make Isabel again," wept Minie. - -"Well, _you_ cut her head off," said Jane. - -"But _you_ told her to," cried Lottie, taking up her twin's cause. - -"Well, you asked me to play with you, didn't you?" But Minie's tears -went to Jane's heart. "I'm sorry, Minie, darling. Please don't cry. I'll -tell you a story if you like." - -Minie's chubby, tearful face brightened. - -"A fairy story?" - -"Yes. About a prince and princess." - -"And you won't have it end up badly?" - -"No. I promise." So Jane, whose mind was a perfect storehouse of stories -and legends, had soon charmed the twins into forgetfulness of their late -bereavement while she launched forth upon her tale of giants and -enchanted princes. - - ---- - -On this very afternoon, and in fact, at exactly the time that Jane had -staged her disastrous amusement, a boy was tramping stolidly with his -head bent against the rain, along one of the country roads a good three -miles from Frederickstown. He was a big, raw-boned boy, whose shabby -clothes originally much too loose for his lean frame, and now soaked -through, gave him an almost grotesque appearance. A faded dark blue cap, -with a patent leather visor, such as sea-captains wear, and the upturned -collar of his coat, almost concealed his long brown face, in which the -most striking features were a pair of black eyes, set rather close -together, and a big handsome Roman nose. With a bundle slung over his -shoulder on the end of a stick, he looked like any one of the foreign -immigrants who were frequently seen seeking for work as laborers on the -neighboring farms. - -He did not raise his head until he reached a cross-roads. Then he -stopped, pushed back his cap from his face, which was flushed and hot -from his long walk, and looked up at the signs. On the left, the white -board, roughly carved into the semblance of a pointing finger, read, -"Frederickstown, 2- Miles." The name on the right-hand sign-post was -too badly damaged by weather to be intelligible to a stranger's eyes; -only the distance, "30 miles" was legible. - -There was no reason why the boy should have hesitated for a moment; his -destination was Frederickstown, the second direction did not concern him -in the least; and yet, perhaps because the vagueness of the destination -of the second road appealed to his imagination; perhaps because the -greater distance lent it greater charm, and the very impossibility of -walking thirty miles that day made it seem the more desirable, at any -rate there he stood, looking uncertainly to the right, then to the left, -and back to the right again. A gust of wind, flapping the skirts of his -coat rudely, seemed to shove him forward, as if impatient of his -indecision, but he planted his feet firmly, and continued to gape -uncertainly up at the sign posts. "I'll make up my own mind, thank you, -and I'm not to be hurried," was the reply which his determined attitude -made to the impatience of the wind. - -There was little difference in the features of the country traversed by -the two roads; all that he could see through the blur of the rain, were -bleak fields, muddy furrows, here and there a clump of leafless trees, -the skeleton of a forest, or, down in a hollow the sheds and barns of a -little farm. A cheerless prospect for a hungry and footsore Wanderer. - -Behind him he heard the weary splashing of a horse's feet, and the -creaking of wheels. He turned around. A covered wagon, drawn by a tired, -steaming horse was approaching. - -"Hey!" he hailed the driver, who pulled in the horse to a stand-still, -and thrust out a grizzled face from under the canvas. - -"Where does that road go to?" asked the boy, pointing to the right. - -The driver tilted his hat, scratched his head, and straightened his hat -again before replying, thus gaining time to cast a shrewd eye over the -appearance of the questioner. He was one of those excellent back-country -farmers who regard every stranger with suspicion, and do not like to be -hurried into speech. - -"That road," he said at length, "goes to the City--thirty miles. Going -to walk it, stranger?" - -"Which way are you going?" - -The farmer jerked his head in the direction of Frederickstown. - -"Will you let me go with you?" asked the boy, feeling nervously in his -pocket. "I cannot pay you much, but I will gladly give you what I can." -He pulled the last coin out of his pocket, and looked at it uncertainly -as if he were not at all sure how much it was. "I will give you -twenty-five cents." - -"That's all right. Keep your money, young feller, and get in if you want -to. I'll be glad of yer company." - -The boy looked surprised and grateful, and without wasting any more -words, clambered up to the hard wooden seat, and settled himself beside -the farmer. - -The road was rough, the wheels were rimmed with iron, and the board seat -joggled unmercifully, so that the boy found it hard to answer his -neighbor's endless questions without biting his tongue in two; moreover, -now that he was sitting down, after walking almost steadily since early -morning, he found himself almost too tired to think; but he tried to be -civil, since it seemed that if his companion was kind enough to refuse -payment, the least he could do was to gratify his curiosity. - -"Where might you be goin', now?" - -"My uncle lives in Frederickstown. His name is Lambert. Mr. Peter -Lambert." - -"That so? I know Mr. Lambert. Well, I took you for a furriner." - -"I am not a foreigner." - -"Not but that you don't talk good English, only sort of care-ful like. -Like it wasn't yer natural langwidge. What part of the country might yer -be from, now?" - -"I have never been in this country before. My father, who--who was Mr. -Lambert's brother-in-law, was a sailor, captain, also a trader. I don't -belong to any country. I have come back to work with my uncle, because -my father is dead, and I have no other relatives." The boy explained -this in a dry, precise way, as if it were an answer that he had already -had to make many times. - -"Well! I'll be!" exclaimed the farmer, much interested. "And what might -yer name be, young feller?" - -"Paul Winkler." - -After a short pause, during which Paul fervently hoped that the -catechism was over, his companion asked again. - -"And why was you askin' me where that other road went to?" - -The boy smiled, and shook his head. - -"I don't know." - -"Jes' for curiosity?" - -"Yes." - -"Hum. How old might you be?" - -"Seventeen." - -"Yer a well grown lad for yer years. I should have taken yer to be -older." - -This time Paul broke the silence that followed. - -"What is the City like?" - -"Like? Why like any other city. Lots of houses, lots of streets, lots of -people, lots of noise. I'm a countryman myself, and don't have much -hankerin' for the big towns. Though there's my son now, my second boy, -he can't stand the farm. No, he has to be off to the city. I suppose -that's the way all you youngsters are feeling nowadays. What you're -after is always somewhere different from where the Lord put you. -Opportunity--that's what my boy's forever chatterin' about--you got to -get where you have opportunities. I says to him, 'Well, Tom, what is it -ye're after?' 'Independence, Dad,' says he, 'Like George Washington.' 'A -good thing,' says I. 'And what do ye call independence?' Well, sir, we -argue away for hours, and for the life of me I can't see that he ain't -just about the most _de_pendant feller I know. No sir, when ye live the -sort of life I live ye get plenty time to think, and I tell ye when ye -sift down to rock bottom just what ye _do_ want, and don't dress it up -in a lot of fine words, ye find that there's precious little as really -matters to ye, that ye can't get without having to trot all over the -country after it." - -Notwithstanding his companion's challenging tone, and evident eagerness -for further discussion, Paul made no reply to this speech. - -They had now gained the top of a hill; and at last the comfortable -lights of Frederickstown shone through the dusk. - -"There ye are," said the farmer pointing ahead with his whip, "and I've -no doubt it's a glad sight to ye, youngster. Have ye walked far?" - -"Fifteen miles, I think." - -"Fifteen miles! Pretty hungry, eh?" - -"Yes." - -"Did ye come across the water alone?" - -"No. There was a friend of my father's travelling to this country also. -I left him last night." - -Now the wagon was jolting over the cobblestones, jarring every bone in -Paul's weary body. And, he was so hungry! All at once he caught the odor -of spices, of fresh ginger-bread--such a friendly smell, such a homey, -domestic smell, that made you think of a warm hearth, and familiar -faces-- - -The horse stopped. - -"Well, young man, I guess we part now." - -Paul felt as if he were asleep. He climbed stiffly out of the cart, -shook the friendly, horny paw that his erstwhile companion thrust out, -and tried to mutter his thanks. The wagon rumbled away up the -street--and here he was. - -He stood in the shelter of the quaint wooden balcony which extended from -the second story of the Lambert's dwelling out over the pavement. In -front of him the light shone cheerily through the bakeshop window. -Somehow, he rather dreaded to go up and knock at the door. Suppose that -after all it was the wrong place? Suppose that no one knew that he was -coming? Or, suppose that they wouldn't believe he was Paul Winkler? - - ---- - -"So the prince took his knife and cut the third of the golden apples in -half, and to his astonishment--" - -"Janey, _who_ is that talking to your father?" demanded Granny, opening -her eyes suddenly. - -Jane stopped and listened. Granny's room was directly over the dining -room, and sounds carried easily through the thin walls of the old house. - -"I don't know, Granny," said Jane. "Nobody in particular, I guess." - -But the old lady felt nervously for her stick. - -"Heavens! It _couldn't_ be--Janey, just run to the head of the stairs -and see. Minie, darling, do you see Granny's stick? Run, Janey--just -peep over." - -But the door of the dining room was half closed, and Janey, hanging over -the bannister, had to wait several moments before she caught a glimpse -of the stranger, whose low voice occasionally interrupted her father's -eloquent talk. - -"My dear boy, we will go into this at length, later this evening. I see -that you are tired now. You say you _walked_ from Allenboro?" - -"It was necessary. I did not discover that my money had been stolen -until after I left the ship." - -"Did Mr. Morse know of your misfortune?" - -"No. I did not tell him." - -Then Jane caught her first glimpse of the speaker, as he took a step -back toward the fireplace, and into her line of vision through the half -opened door. - -"It's _Paul_!" The thought flashed across her mind instantly. Her first -impression of her new cousin was disappointing. Though such matters -rarely counted for much with Jane, she was really shocked by the -shabbiness of his appearance; for covered as he was with mud, his -ill-fitting, outworn clothes made him look like a veritable ragamuffin. -But it was not this so much as his whole bearing and expression that -displeased her. There was something both sullen and stubborn in his -face, which, combined with lines of weariness and hunger, made him seem -much older than he really was, and decidedly unattractive. And she had -been so sure that she was going to like her new cousin; she had pictured -him as a jolly, ruddy, lively boy who would probably enter heart and -soul into her enjoyments; someone with whom you could make friends in -five minutes; whereas unsociability was stamped on every feature of -_this_ boy's sallow, unsmiling face. - -Just then the sharp tapping of Granny's cane resounded through the -corridor. The old lady's singular impatience to know who the stranger -was, had not allowed her to wait for Jane's tardy report. With her cap -askew, she appeared at the head of the stairs. - -"Who is it? Who is it?" she demanded, almost breathlessly. "Stand aside, -child." And without waiting for a reply, she descended the stairs with -wonderful rapidity, marched to the dining room door, and flung it open. - -"Peter! Gertrude!" she blinked nervously into the room, where only the -firelight illumined the two figures in the dusk. Then she stared into -Paul's face. It was only a moment before her uncertainty disappeared. - -"I knew it! I knew it!" she cried. "Peter Lambert, why didn't you tell -me? Ah, heaven's! My dear boy, _I_ am your old Granny!" And weeping from -sheer joy, she unhesitatingly flung her arms around his neck and kissed -him. - -A few moments later the entire family had collected to welcome the -newcomer. The twins with their round blue eyes fastened on him gravely, -clung to their mother, who kissed him warmly, exclaimed over his size, -and at once began to worry affectionately about his wet clothes. Elise -greeted him with her usual gentle, modest smile, Carl with a -patronizing, "How do you do, cousin?" and a keen glance, as if he were -"sizing up" an opponent of some sort. - -During these proceedings Paul looked utterly bewildered, and exceedingly -awkward, as if he could not believe that all these good people who were -smiling at him, shaking hands with him, and asking him if he were tired, -were really his family. All that interested him was the fact that he -smelt supper cooking. - -Last of all to welcome him was Jane, who had stood aside, watching him -intently; and it was he who turned to her, and with the polite smile -that he had forced for the occasion, held out his hand. - -"How do you do, cousin?" - -"How do you do, cousin Paul?" repeated Jane decorously. - -Jane was not over impulsive, and she had not yet made up her mind as to -the degree of liking she felt for this tall, reticent youth, this sober, -chilly, self-assured boy, whom Destiny had now placed at the head of the -House of Winkler. - - - - -CHAPTER V--PAUL HESITATES - - -"Poor child, you are dripping wet! You'll catch your death of cold!" -cried Mrs. Lambert, noticing Paul's state for the first time. "What can -I be thinking of! You must have a hot bath and some dry things at once. -Carl, take Paul up to your room, dear, and see that he makes himself -_very_ comfortable. I must see to supper. You must be starving, too!" - -Accordingly, Carl undertook his duties as host as hospitably as he -could, and Paul followed him upstairs. - -In a moment or two Carl returned, wearing the prim expression of one who -would like to express his opinion, and is merely waiting to be asked, -and at length, one by one, the family began, naturally enough, to -discuss the impression that the newcomer had made on them, severally. -The criticisms were very kindly, but at the same time, it soon became -clear that so far no one felt any great enthusiasm for the stranger. His -curt manner had hurt his aunt and his grandmother, who had been so eager -in their welcome to the fatherless boy, and had irritated Mr. Lambert. -The short, brusque answers he had given to the endless kindly questions -with which he had been plied, had discouraged the well-meant, and very -natural curiosity of his relatives, and had made them feel rather -uncomfortable. - -Grandmother Winkler and Mrs. Lambert staunchly insisted that the poor -boy was only lonely and unhappy; but down in their hearts they had been -sadly disappointed in Franz's son. Elise also ranged herself in his -defense, feeling that any disapproval, expressed or unexpressed, of the -new head of the clan, was a form of treason. - -"Think how you would feel, Carl," she said, "if you had lost your -father, and had landed in a strange country among strangers--for after -all we _are_ strangers to Paul." - -"That's all right," returned Carl, "I could understand it if he were -just gloomy. But I don't see any reason why he has to be downright -disagreeable." - -"I'm sure he doesn't mean to be disagreeable, my dear," said Mrs. -Lambert. - -"Well, we mustn't lose any time in getting the boy settled down to his -work," said Mr. Lambert. "That will take his mind off his own troubles. -I shall have a talk with him after supper." - -"I shook hands with him, and said I was glad to see him, and he just -stared at me as if I were a--a fish," went on Carl, still dwelling on -his own grievances. "I know he's here to stay, and I'll try to get on -with him, though I'll tell you right now, it's not going to be an easy -job. And I hope to goodness I won't have to room with him permanently, -mother. Can't you find somewhere to put him? Can't you--" Carl broke off -abruptly, reddening, for at that moment Paul entered the room. He was -scrubbed and brushed, and, dressed in Mr. Lambert's summer suit, looked -vastly better than the young tramp who had entered their midst an hour -before. Unfortunately he had overheard Carl's remark, and his expression -had changed from one that was almost friendly to the stony, immobile -look that absolutely altered the whole character of his face. The cozy -family scene in the dining room, where now the table had been set, and -the lamp lighted, and where the firelight shone upon the faces of three -generations, from Granny to little Minie, had done much to make Paul -feel that he would be happy after all among these simple, happy -people--until his quick ears caught Carl's unkind remark. - -Only Jane had seen the look that showed he had overheard; but everyone -felt that he had, and an awkward little silence followed his entrance, -during which Elise glanced at her brother in distress, and Mrs. Lambert -struggled to think of something to say that would mend matters a little. -But Carl met his cousin's eyes defiantly, and from that moment the tacit -hostility of the two boys was sealed. - -So Paul, who had been on the verge of thawing a little, had frozen up -again. He concluded immediately that _everyone_ disliked him, and like -many sensitive people, instead of attempting to overcome this imagined -dislike, he carefully hid all that was winning in his nature, under his -cold, unsympathetic manner. He even fancied that his aunt's affectionate -little attentions were only assumed to hide her real feelings. Poor Aunt -Gertrude! No one in the world was less capable of insincerity than she, -and her gentle heart ached over the forlorn, taciturn youth. - -Supper was a decidedly uncomfortable meal; and Paul, who had felt that -he could have eaten the proverbial fatted calf, found it difficult to -swallow a mouthful. During the journey there had been too much to occupy -him, too many difficulties and strange events for him to think much -about the abrupt change that had taken place in his life; but now, as he -sat with his eyes on his plate, in the midst of these strange faces, he -felt as if the bottom had dropped out of everything. A perfect wave of -depression engulfed him, and all he wished for was to get off by -himself. - -"Well, my boy, are you too tired to have a little talk?" asked Mr. -Lambert, at length pushing back his chair. - -"No, sir," muttered Paul, curtly, thinking to himself, "I don't suppose -that they want to have me on their hands any longer than is necessary." - -"Children, you may prepare your lessons in your own rooms to-night. -Well, Paul, suppose you and I get over here into my corner," suggested -Mr. Lambert, walking across to his desk. "Sit down." - -Paul sat down, folded his hands in his lap, and fixed his eyes -attentively on the window. The rain still rattled on the glass panes, -and the wind banged the shutters, and moaned through the leafless trees. - -"I am only going to acquaint you with the wishes which your father--my -poor brother--expressed in a recent letter," began Mr. Lambert, -rummaging through his orderly pigeon-holes. "It might be best for you to -read it for yourself." But Paul declined the letter with a gesture. - -"Ah, well," said Mr. Lambert, replacing the poor, blotted sheets in the -envelope, "I don't want to pain you, my dear boy, and I would not touch -on the subject at all, if I did not feel that it were best for you to -find something to occupy your thoughts at this time." He paused, but as -Paul did not seem to think it necessary to make any reply, he continued: - -"You must understand how deeply I am interested in your affairs. Er--how -old are you?" - -"Seventeen, sir." - -"Seventeen? I should have thought you were older. But seventeen is not -an age of childhood, and in any event I feel that you are fully capable -of assuming the responsibilities which must fall upon you as the -only--living--male descendant--of--the Winkler Family." Mr. Lambert -uttered these last words with an impressiveness that cannot be -described. Paul looked up, suddenly interested, and with a wary, -defensive expression. - -"No doubt your father acquainted you with his wishes?" - -"My father told me to come to you, and that you would help me," said -Paul. - -"Help you? Indeed I will help you. I would help you in any event because -you are my nephew, and blood runs thicker than water, my boy. Always -remember that. But believe me, it is not family duty alone that impels -me to give you all the assistance I can,--I feel that you are a young -man who is _worthy_--worthy to enter upon the duties of your position." - -Paul was puzzled. He could not understand these allusions to his -"position," and his "responsibilities." - -"Never hesitate to come to me for any advice. Do not allow little -discouragements to overwhelm you," continued Mr. Lambert. "Your aunt, of -course, will be your real teacher--" - -"My _aunt_?" echoed Paul, completely bewildered. "I don't understand--" - -"Ah," said Mr. Lambert, smiling, "perhaps you are not familiar with the -traditions of your family. Then, I will tell you; your -great-great-grandfather, on your father's side, Johann Winkler, was, as -you surely know, the founder of this Bakery. He was, moreover, the -inventor of certain delicacies which have made it famous, and which -cannot possibly be made by any other baker in this country--in the -world, I may say. It was his wish that the fruits of his labors should -be the heritage of his descendants, and that only those who bore the -name of Winkler, should learn the secret recipes by which those cakes -are mixed. A moment's thought will make it clear to you that you are the -next in line to be initiated into these secrets, which are sealed from -me, and my children. In a word, you are the only living heir to this -business. Your aunt, of course, is the present proprietor, and she and -she alone can instruct you in the work in which you must follow her." - -Paul was speechless, and Mr. Lambert, mistaking his astonished silence, -for a calm acceptance of what he had said, now drew forth a large -parchment from a drawer of his desk, and spread it out with a pompous -air. - -"This, my boy, is the family tree of the Winklers, which establishes -your claim to your inheritance. Here, you see--" his broad forefinger -began to trace the branches, "Johann Winkler had two sons, Frederick and -Samuel. Frederick, the elder had two sons, also Samuel and Johann. In -this case, the younger became the Baker, and Samuel became a hardware -merchant in Missouri. Thus, Johann was the father of your Aunt Gertrude, -and _your_ father, who also relinquished his inheritance, like Esau--" - -"But what of Samuel's children?" stammered Paul. "Maybe he has a son or -a grandson--" - -"However that may be they have forfeited their claims," replied Mr. -Lambert. "No, you need have no fears of any disputes, my boy. Surely, -your father must have acquainted you with all these matters which relate -to you so closely." - -"My father never even mentioned anything of the sort!" exclaimed Paul, -pushing back his chair, as if he were thinking of sudden flight. - -"I need hardly tell you that you are doubly welcome, my dear boy," -continued Mr. Lambert placidly, totally misunderstanding Paul's -astonishment. - -"But, sir! One moment! I don't understand! You surely can't mean that -you think I am going to learn how to _bake bread_, and make _pies_!" -burst out Paul at last. "Great heavens! My father couldn't have -dreamed--_I_! Making biscuits!" - -"And why not, pray?" demanded Mr. Lambert, sharply. "Am I to understand -that you consider yourself too good for a profession that the great -Johann Winkler thought worthy of his genius? Is it that you do not -consider it _manly_? Surely, you do not mean me to understand this?" Mr. -Lambert's face hardened a little; the expression of bland benevolence -left his eyes, which now grew cold and piercing. He had not expected -rebellion, but recovering quickly from his surprise he prepared to cope -with it as only he could. - -"Of course I don't mean that, sir!" exclaimed Paul. "But don't you -see--I can't--I'm not fitted for such work. I couldn't learn how to bake -a pie in a life time. I--" - -"Oh, I am sure you underrate your intelligence, my boy. Don't give way -to discouragement so soon. A little patience, a little industry--" - -Paul began to laugh, almost hysterically. Even in the midst of his -serious anxiety, the idea of himself demurely kneading dough was too -much for his gravity. - -"But I'd poison everyone in town in twenty-four hours! Bake bread! -Rolls! Tarts! Sir, I could far more easily learn how to trim hats!" - -"I don't doubt it. Any silly schoolgirl can learn that. I freely admit -that the art of a great baker is not readily acquired. I admit that in -some measure it requires an inborn gift, and a gift that is by no means -a common one. Great cooks are far rarer, believe me, than great orators, -or great artists, although the world in general does not rank them as it -should. There was a time when a fine pastry or a sauce composed with -genius called forth the applause of kings, and when eminent bakers were -honored by the noblest in the land. But to-day, through the ignorance -and indifference of the world, the profession is fallen in value, -because, forsooth, it is fancied that it caters to the less noble tastes -of mankind. My dear boy, it is for you, in whose veins flows the blood -of the King of Bakers, to maintain the fame and dignity of your -profession. Do not imagine that you lack the gift. It has lain idle, but -a little practice will soon prove that it is in your possession." - -Paul, feeling that he had come up against a wall of adamant, got up and -began to pace the floor. Here he was with exactly twenty-five cents in -his pocket, without even a suit of clothes that deserved the name, -without a friend within three thousand miles, nor the faintest idea of -where he could go, if he rashly broke away from the family roof-tree. - -"It seems that you had other ideas," remarked Mr. Lambert in a politely -interested tone, which said, "I don't mind _listening_ to any of your -fantastic notions." Paul hesitated. He most certainly _had_ had other -ideas, and, what was more, he did not have the slightest intention of -relinquishing them. The question was, could he lay them simply before -his uncle? One glance at Mr. Lambert's smooth, practical face was -sufficient to make him feel that anything of the sort was not to be -considered; certainly not at this time, in any case. Mr. Lambert had -fixed his mind on one idea, and tenacity was his most striking -characteristic. It was his boast that he never changed his mind, and the -truth of this statement was recognized by everyone who had any dealings -with him. - -"I should like to think over all that you have said, Uncle Peter," Paul -at length said warily. "All this has been very unexpected, and I don't -know just what to say." - -"You mean that you are still doubtful as to whether you will accept or -reject the position, to which Providence has called you, and which it is -plainly your Duty to accept?" inquired Mr. Lambert, raising his -eyebrows. He was surprised and annoyed by his nephew's resistance, but -knowing the boy's circumstances he had no fear that Paul would decide -against his own wishes. - -Paul was quick to perceive this underlying cocksureness, and his whole -soul rose in rebellion. - -"I don't see that either Providence or Duty has anything to do with the -case," he retorted, instantly firing up. - -Mr. Lambert shrugged his shoulders. - -"You do not feel that you are under obligations to your Family? I don't -like to believe that you have so slight a sense of your -responsibilities. No, I am sure that a few moments reflection will -convince you to the contrary. By all means consider the matter. I -should, however, like to have your answer to-night, if it is convenient -for you. I have several letters to write, and shall be here when you -have reached your decision." And with a curt nod, he swung around to his -desk, and took up the old-fashioned goose-quill pen, which he was in the -habit of using under the impression that it lent him an air of business -solidity. - -Paul, lost in thought, went up to Carl's room for the "few moments of -reflection" that his uncle had advised. - -His cousin, wearing a brown dressing gown, with a hideous pattern of -yellow fleurs-de-lis, was sitting at the table, with a book in his -hands, and a greenshade over his nearsighted eyes, engrossed in his -studies. The two boys glanced at each other, and nodded brusquely -without speaking. - -Paul threw himself across the bed. - -"Duty! Providence!" All he could see in the matter was that he had got -into a pretty kettle of fish. "And uncle thinks that just because I'm -broke, I'll knuckle under without a murmur." - -Obligations! That was a nice thing to preach to him. - -"Would you mind not kicking the bed?" said Carl's thin, querulous voice. -"It makes it rather hard to concentrate." This petition, uttered in a -studiedly polite tone, was accompanied by a dark look, which this time, -however, Paul failed to see. - -"Sorry," said Paul, gruffly, and got up. - -Now he began to walk the floor; but at length stopped at the window, -pressing his face to the glass so that he could see something besides -the reflection of his cousin's mouse-colored head, and monotonous -rocking in his chair. - -He peered out over the roofs of the town, up the street, all sleek and -shining with the rain, in the direction of the cross-roads at which he -had stood, less than four hours ago. Why hadn't he taken the Other One, -anyway? He had been perfectly free to choose--no one had been preaching -Duty and all the rest of it to him then. He hadn't taken it, because he -had been tired and hungry, and almost penniless--and lonely, too, and -the farmer had turned up. Perhaps he had been a coward. It had led to -the City, where, even if he were penniless, he would at least have been -his own master, free to work according to his own ideas, and not Uncle -Peter's. - -"Would you mind not whistling!" snapped Carl. "It's the most maddening -sound. Hang it! I'm trying to study." - -Paul's mournful whistling stopped. - -Baking pies! So that was to be his future, was it? Well, he still had -something to say. It wasn't too late to take the other road yet. He'd -walk a _thousand_ miles before he would let himself be trussed up in a -canvas apron, and put to kneading dough for the rest of his days. - -He glanced around for his cast off clothes, and saw them hanging, still -dismally wet over a chair. But not even the cheerless prospect of a -clammy shirt dampened his resolution. He began to fling off his dry -clothing, sending collar, necktie, socks and shoes flying in all -directions. - -Presently Carl, aroused by the commotion, put down his book. Then he -stared in astonishment, at the sight of his cousin rapidly climbing into -the soaking, muddy garments. But he felt that it was not in keeping with -the dignity he had assumed, to inquire into the reasons for this strange -proceeding. All he said was, - -"Would you mind not shaking that mud over my things?" - -Without replying, Paul shouldered his ridiculous bundle, felt in his -pocket to make sure that his quarter was still there, and marched out of -the room, down the stairs, and to the door. - -Then it occurred to him that this abrupt departure, without a word of -farewell to anyone was rather a shabby way of returning the hospitality -he had received, and he hesitated. - -"Well, if I don't get out now, it'll mean a lot of argument and -explanation. I could write a note." But he had no paper, and he did not -want to go back to Carl's room. So there he stood uneasily enough, -wriggling in his damp clothes, and glancing uncertainly toward the -closed door of the dining room behind which his uncle sat waiting for -his decision. Overhead, he heard the low murmur of his aunt's voice, and -the thudding of the twins' little bare feet as they romped and squealed -in a pillow fight. Paul felt his resolution waver, and then anger at his -own weakness steadied his determination. He opened the door, strode out, -and pulled it to quietly behind him. - -A wild gust of wind nearly robbed him of his breath, and made him -stagger. The rain had gathered up its forces, and now came down in a -solid sheet, swept this way and that by the wind. - -"Whew!" Paul bent his head, and ploughed his way against it, without -looking to the right or to the left. The branches groaned and tossed, -creaking as if they were being torn from the trunks of the swaying -trees. - -Then all at once, with a crash a dead bough fell in front of him, -missing him by not more than fifteen inches. Paul stopped. The very -elements seemed opposed to his unmannerly flight, and again he -hesitated, looked back, and saw the friendly, ruddy windows of the -Bakery. Thirty miles in this tempest! He smiled sheepishly, and then -frowned. His impetuousness had put him in a very ridiculous position. -His pride rebelled at the idea of returning, and with the thought of -Carl's smothered amusement, came the memory of his cousin's inhospitable -speech. On the other hand, he saw that it was no less absurd to follow -up his plan of flight, and the streak of common sense underlying his -hasty, high-handed nature told him that it was less foolish to go back -and undertake the immediate problem that had been thrust upon him, than -to plunge himself into the serious difficulties that his adventure would -entail. And at length, inwardly raging at his own folly, he retraced his -steps. - -As the dining room door opened, Mr. Lambert looked up, started to remove -his spectacles, and then with a start, adjusted them more accurately. -Paul, who had left his cap and bundle in the hall tried to stand in the -shadow so that his clothes would not be noticed. After a short silence, -Mr. Lambert preferring to observe nothing extraordinary in his nephew's -appearance, folded up his spectacles, put them in the breast pocket of -his frock coat and said, pleasantly, - -"Well? What have you decided?" - -Paul cleared his throat. - -"I have decided--I have decided--" he finished by spreading his hands -and shrugging his shoulders. - -"To undertake your--er--responsibilities?" prompted Mr. Lambert, as if -he were administering an oath. - -"To learn how to bake pies," said Paul, feebly, and then mumbling some -vague excuse he backed out of the room, leaving Mr. Lambert to indulge -in a short chuckle. - -Paul hid himself in the bakeshop until he felt reasonably sure that his -cousin had gone to bed, and then, boots in hand tiptoed shamefacedly up -to the bedroom, and began to undress in the dark. But Carl was not -asleep, and after listening to Paul's smothered exclamations as he -struggled with wet button holes and laces, could not resist a polite -jibe. - -"Oh," came in interested tones from the bed, "where did you go, cousin?" - -"For a walk," replied Paul, laconically, and a certain note in his voice -warned Carl that it would be wiser not to refer to the delicate subject -again. - - - - -CHAPTER VI--A REBEL IN THE HOUSE - - -"You take a tablespoonful of butter, a pound of sugar, half a -teaspoonful each of cinnamon and all-spice, a pound of raisins, and a -cupful of molasses," said Aunt Gertrude timidly, reading from the -yellowed pages of the century-old book of recipes, in which were traced -in brown ink, and in the quaint, tremulous handwriting of old Johann -Winkler himself, the secret formulas of the "King of Bakers." Then she -closed the book. - -"And now, my dear, I have to show you the rest." - -Paul submitted to his instructions meekly enough but nevertheless his -aunt felt singularly at a loss with this strange pupil on her hands, and -she had her own grave doubts as to whether the culinary genius of the -Winklers really lay dormant in him at all. - -On that bright, windy afternoon, aunt and nephew were closeted in the -room off the kitchen, which was called the Mixing Room. It was here that -the book of recipes was kept, and here that the bread and cakes were -mixed, according to the time-honored tradition of secrecy. No one had -the right of entry without Mrs. Lambert's permission, and that -permission was never given while she was engaged in preparing her doughs -and batters. It was a cheerful little room, snug and warm, lined with -the old, well polished cupboards in which the tins of spices and dried -fruits and crocks of mysterious, delicious mixtures were kept safely -locked. Seated at the table, was plump, rosy, beautiful Aunt Gertrude, -full of the importance of her business, but a trifle uncertain of her -six-foot disciple, who, shrouded in a great white apron, and with his -sleeves rolled up on his muscular, brown arms, stood soberly measuring -out flour and sugar with hands that looked better fitted for a lumber -camp. - -But little by little, as the lessons progressed, Paul became less -austere; and as he unbent, Aunt Gertrude regained her natural jollity; -until she actually dared to tease him. - -"What a frown! You will frighten all my customers away," she said, -gaily, peeping up into his swarthy face. "You must practice how to look -very cheerful." - -"Must I? Well, how is this?" And Paul promptly expanded his mouth into -the empty grin of a comic mask. "Only I can't remember to grin while I -count out spoonfuls of cinnamon. It's like trying to pat your head and -rub your stomach at the same time." - -"In a little while you won't have to think so hard while you are -measuring your ingredients. I do it by instinct," said Aunt Gertrude, -proudly. And Paul smiled at her air of naive vanity. - -"Oh, _you_ are a very remarkable person, Aunt Gertrude," he said -gravely. - -"Tut! You mustn't laugh at me, you impudent boy," said Mrs. Lambert, -shaking her head, and pretending to be severe. "You must be _very_ -respectful." But she was tremendously pleased with herself for having -discovered a vein of gaiety in her unsociable nephew. His slight smile, -the first spontaneous expression she had seen on his face, was like a -light thrown across his harsh, aquiline features, giving the first -glimpse that anyone of the family had seen, into the gentler traits of -his character; and Aunt Gertrude felt that she had been right in -attributing his abrupt, ungracious manner to loneliness and depression. - -"Now," she said briskly, "_I_ shall finish this first batch, just to -show you how it is done, and then you must do one all by yourself. How -nice it is to have you to help me! You can't think how I dislike being -shut up in this room for hours every day without anyone to talk to." -Indeed, there was nothing that Aunt Gertrude disliked more heartily than -solitude and silence. Like Jane, she adored people in general, she loved -chat and gossip, she loved to hear all that was going on, and could -never escape too quickly to the shop, where all day long the townspeople -were running in and out, always stopping for a short chat with the -lively, inquisitive merry proprietress. - -"You see, now, you have to knead this dough _quite_ vigorously," was her -next instruction, and turning her sleeves back from her strong, white -arms, she proceeded to give a demonstration, while Paul sat by, with his -elbow on the table, resting his head on one hand, and smiling at her -_very_ vigorous treatment of the meek, flabby dough. - -"You're certainly giving that poor stuff an awful trouncing, Aunt -Gertrude. Don't you think you ought to let up a bit?" - -"Not at all," returned Mrs. Lambert, seriously, "I never let up, once I -begin." - -"What a terrible character you are, Aunt Gertrude! Here, do you want me -to take a hand at it?" - -"No, no," panted Aunt Gertrude. "Now don't interfere. Just _watch_ me." -And again she began her pummelling with redoubled energy. The exercise -brought a deep flush to her smooth cheeks; a lock of brown hair barely -tinged with grey kept falling over her forehead, and she kept tucking it -back with the patience of absent-mindedness. - -"You can't imagine how good these cakes are, my dear. They are my very -favorites, though I know I shouldn't eat so many myself. I'm afraid I'm -going to be a very fat old lady." - -"Then we'll put you in the window as an advertisement." - -Aunt Gertrude thought this a huge joke. - -"But what will people think when they see you, my dear? We'll have to -get you fatter, too. Then people will say, 'Do you see that fine, stout, -rosy, cheerful man? Well, once he was as thin as a poker. Winkler's -Pastry gave him that lovely figure.'" - -At the end of twenty minutes she had finished kneading and rolling the -dough, and with a sigh of relief, turned to Paul. - -"There now, you see exactly how it is done, don't you?" - -But Paul did not answer. With a stub of charcoal which he had fished -from his pocket, the future baker was sketching busily on the smooth -round top of a flour barrel. Aunt Gertrude's mouth opened in speechless -indignation. - -"Tut! what are you doing?" - -Paul looked up. Then, seeing Mrs. Lambert's face, he began to laugh. - -"Well, you told me to watch you, Aunt Gertrude. I've been watching you. -Why are you cross?" - -"But is that any way to do?" demanded Mrs. Lambert, clasping her hands -with a gesture of indignant reproach. "Here I've been working and -working, and there you sit, you bad boy--what are you drawing?" - -Here her curiosity got the better of her annoyance, and she peered over -his shoulder. The hasty sketch, which had been executed with a skill -that Aunt Gertrude could not fully appreciate, showed a woman with her -arms in a basin of dough--Aunt Gertrude herself, in fact. In -arrangement, and in the freedom and vigor of every line, the rough -picture gave evidence of really exceptional talent. Aunt Gertrude tried -to look like a connoisseur. - -"Now, that is very clever. Where did you learn to make pictures?" - -Paul shrugged his shoulders. - -"I don't know." - -Then Aunt Gertrude, suddenly remembering the business in hand, put on a -severe expression. - -"That is all very well; but what have you learned to-day from me? -Nothing! I have wasted my time! Oh, you are--" - -"There, Aunt Gertrude,--I know all about those old cakes. Please just -let me--" - -"Old cakes, indeed!" - -"Beautiful, wo-onderful cakes, then. Please just let me finish this, -like a nice good aunt. And then, I'll tell you what--I'll finish it in -colors, and I'll give it to you. You haven't any idea how lovely you are -to draw, Aunt Gertrude--you're so nice and round." - -Aunt Gertrude tried not to simper; she was as susceptible to flattery as -a girl of sixteen, and found it impossible to resist even when she knew -perfectly that she was being cozened. - -"What nonsense!" But nonetheless she resumed her position at the bowl of -dough again, and Paul chatted artfully, to distract her thoughts from -his lesson in cooking, while he hastily completed the sketch. - -From that afternoon on, there was no longer the slightest shadow of -constraint between aunt and nephew. But Paul was very slow to drop his -aloof curt manner with the rest of the family, and except for Mrs. -Lambert and Granny none of them had penetrated his shell. - -Carl had by no means lost his dislike of his cousin, and indeed he was -not entirely to blame. To begin with he inspired Paul with an -uncontrollable desire to annoy him, and when he felt like it, Paul had a -perfect genius for irritating people. He had found all the joints in -Carl's armour, and he took a thoroughly infuriating delight in probing -him in every unguarded spot. Every now and again, Carl would adopt a -peculiar, affected accent in his speech, and would use very grand -language; then Paul would mimic him perfectly gravely, until Carl was -fairly writhing with suppressed rage. Again, Carl was rather given to -boasting about himself in an indirect way, and Paul would promptly cap -these little bursts of vanity with some outrageous story about -_himself_, making himself out the hero of some high-flown adventure, and -modestly describing his own feats of strength until Carl, who could not -decide whether his cousin was serious or slyly making fun of him, came -at length to the opinion that Paul was the most insufferable braggart -that ever lived. He was particularly vulnerable on this point, because -he had, secretly, a great admiration of physical strength and courage, -and Paul's superiority to him in these qualities had much to do with his -dislike. - -As the weeks went on, the twins were next to lose their timidity with -their strange cousin. He teased them fearfully, and tweaked their yellow -pig-tails, and told them they looked like a pair of little butter balls; -but on Saturday nights, while Elise read "Ivanhoe" aloud, and the family -gathered around the big fireplace in the dining room, he used to make -them the most wonderful paper dolls, beautifully drawn and colored, and -in the greatest variety; medival ladies and knights, brigands, Italian -and Rumanian peasants, and hosts of comic ones; until Minie and Lottie -finally came to regard him as quite the most enchanting and remarkable -member of the family. - -Jane, however, was still neutral; she neither liked nor disliked him, -and was perfectly indifferent as to whether he liked or disliked her. - -And meanwhile, under Aunt Gertrude's guidance, he struggled, more -manfully than successfully with the difficult art of baking cakes and -bread. It cannot be said that he showed the slightest signs of the gift -which Mr. Lambert believed that Johann Winkler had bequeathed to all his -descendants; and so far not one of his attempts had been fit to go into -the shop. His bread was as heavy as lead, his rolls were like sticks of -dynamite, his cakes invariably scorched, or had too much baking soda in -them. - -Notwithstanding the fact that he really tried hard to learn, as much to -please his aunt as for any other reason, and cheerfully rose before -daylight on those wintry mornings to knead his dough, and see that the -ovens were properly heated, Mr. Lambert chose to believe that his nephew -was deliberately trying _not_ to be successful; and seeing in Paul's -repeated failures a sly rebellion against his plans, he became more and -more out of humour with the boy. - -"See here, young man, how long is this business going to go on?" he -demanded at length, losing patience altogether. "All of us have got to -earn our own salt. I'm not a rich man, and I simply can't afford to -provide for a big, strapping boy who can't even learn a simple trade--" - -"'A little patience, Uncle--'" quoted Paul serenely. Mr. Lambert -flushed. - -"You are impudent. Patience, indeed. I have been patient. But I feel -that it is high time that you proved yourself in earnest, or at least -told me frankly whether you intend to make yourself of some use or not." - -Paul thought for a moment, then he said slowly, - -"Uncle, I _am_ trying to learn this confounded business. There is no use -in getting angry with me--it isn't my fault if I don't succeed. Ask Aunt -Gertrude whether I've worked hard or not. But I don't want to be a -burden to you--you've been very kind, and I should hate to feel that you -think I'm simply sponging on you. If you aren't satisfied with me, -please just say so." - -"Oh, come now, my boy, there's nothing to take offense about," said Mr. -Lambert hastily, changing his tactics immediately. "It merely occurred -to me that _you_ were not satisfied, and to urge you, if that is the -case, to speak out frankly." - -Paul hesitated. During the last three or four weeks he had been -repeatedly on the point of coming to an understanding with his uncle, -and had put it off, certain that it would not be an "understanding" at -all, but simply a good old-fashioned row. There was not one chance in a -hundred that Mr. Lambert could be made to understand his ideas or -sympathize with them in the least, and Paul, financially, as well as in -other ways, was too helpless to struggle just then. At the same time, it -had occurred to him, that from one point of view, he was not acting -fairly. He was ashamed of accepting Mr. Lambert's hospitality when, -plainly, it was extended to him only on the condition that he conformed -with Mr. Lambert's wishes, and when he had not the slightest intention -of fulfilling his uncle's desires. - -"It's a pretty shabby trick, and cowardly too, to live here until I get -ready to do what I want, when all of them are depending on my being a -fixture. It would be better to put the whole business up to uncle, and -stand my ground openly. Then, if he wants to kick me out, he can." - -Paul reached this decision in the pause that followed Mr. Lambert's last -remark, during which his uncle eyed him narrowly. - -"I see that you are deliberating," said Mr. Lambert, coldly. "Again let -me urge you to be frank." - -"Very well, sir. I will!" declared Paul impetuously. "I'll be telling -you very little more than I told you when I first came. I can never -learn to be a baker. You can see that for yourself. And what's more, it -isn't as if I hadn't tried. I don't want charity, and I thought that if -for a while I could be of some help to Aunt Gertrude, it might be one -way of paying for my board and lodging. And that's why--whatever you may -think--I've done my best to learn how to make all this stuff. But it's -no use. I never can be a baker, and _I don't want to be a baker_!" - -"Ah!" said Mr. Lambert, leaning back in his chair. "I thought that was -how the land lay." He was silent for a moment, and then, carefully -plucking a thread from the buttonhole in his lapel, he inquired. - -"And what _do_ you want to be?" - -"I want to be--" ("Here's where the music starts," thought Paul), "I -want to be a painter." - -Mr. Lambert looked as if a cannon had suddenly been discharged in his -ear. For fully thirty seconds he was quite speechless; then pulling -himself together, he articulated, - -"A _what_?" - -"A painter," Paul repeated. - -"Do you mean a house-painter, or--" here Mr. Lambert raised his eyes to -the ceiling as if invoking the mercy of the gods upon this benighted -youth, "or an _artist_?" - -"I'm afraid I mean an artist, sir." - -"A person who," Mr. Lambert went through a tragic pantomime of painting -in the air, "who paints _pictures_?" - -"Yes," said Paul briefly. - -There was a long pause while Mr. Lambert struggled to assimilate this -preposterous idea. At last a tolerant, half-pitying smile spread over -his features. - -"My dear boy, we all have foolish notions in our youth. You will get -over this nonsense. Meanwhile, be so good as never to mention it to me -again." And without another word, he left the room. - -"Well!" said Paul aloud, "I certainly didn't accomplish much. Where do I -stand, anyhow?" Again the picture of the cross-roads rose in his mind, -again the thought of the city. - -"Here I am, just because I didn't have the _nerve_ to make a break for -the other direction," he thought bitterly, recalling his ignominious -attempt at flight, "because I was afraid of being cold and hungry, and -now, I'm in a worse fix than I was before." For while he cared very -little about his uncle's opinions, he had grown to love his aunt, and -the thought of disappointing her hopes troubled him deeply. - -Well, at least his uncle knew his intentions. If he did not choose to -regard them seriously, that was his own affair. Paul decided to let -matters take their own course for a while. - -Now, as a matter of fact, Mr. Lambert considered his nephew's -declaration a great deal more seriously than he appeared to. He knew -just enough about people to realize quite clearly that there was a good -likelihood of Paul's _not_ getting over his absurd notions; but he was -quite determined that they should be suppressed with a firm hand. He -made no reference whatever to their conversation, and continued to act -as if Paul's expostulation had never been uttered, but at the same time -he was keenly alert to note any further symptoms that Paul still -harbored his outlandish, preposterous, ridiculous, and treasonable idea. - -It was not long before he discovered that these symptoms were very -alarming indeed. - -One Sunday afternoon early in December, he returned from a two days' -trip to Allenboro to find his family gathered in the dining room, -indulging in a general spirit of gaiety, which in Mr. Lambert's opinion -was exceedingly out of place on the Sabbath. He was strongly persuaded -in favor of the most rigid observation of Sunday, not as a day of rest, -but of strenuous inactivity. All out of door games were forbidden, any -books not of the most serious character were sternly prohibited, and -laughter was frowned upon by the worthy old merchant, who ruled his -household with a rod of iron. Furthermore, he had not accomplished all -that he had wished at Allenboro, and he was in no very genial humour to -begin with. What were his feelings, therefore, when, appearing in the -doorway, tall and formidable in his burly overcoat, and wide-brimmed -black felt hat, he discovered his family enjoying themselves in defiance -of every rule of Sabbath decorum and solemnity. - -The twins were popping corn over the fire, Granny was _knitting_! While -over by the window, Elise, Jane and Aunt Gertrude were grouped around -Paul, all talking at once, and apparently in great excitement. What they -were talking about, and exclaiming over, Mr. Lambert did not know. The -window shade was run up as far as it would go, admitting the wintry -twilight, and under the window, propped against the back of a chair was -an object which looked like the top of a flour barrel. Paul, evidently -in a most unfamiliarly happy and animated frame of mind, was talking -vivaciously. - -"You see, if I only had some decent colors! But it's not so bad, either. -What it needs, now--" here he broke off abruptly, as Mr. Lambert, with a -loud, and threatening "Ha-hum!" announced his presence. - -Everyone turned around with as much consternation, as if they had been -caught conspiring to rob a bank, and blank, guilty silence fell over the -room. - -"Ah!" said Mr. Lambert. He allowed his displeasure to show very plainly -in his face, through the chilly smile with which he received his wife's -timid kiss. - -"Elise, will you take my coat?" - -"You are cold, Peter. Do get warm, while I see about supper," said Aunt -Gertrude hastily. - -"But I am anxious to see what it is that interests you all so much," -said Mr. Lambert, walking over to the window. Paul, with a rather -defiant expression, stepped aside to allow his uncle a full view of the -picture. - -"You have been painting? My dear boy, you must know that I cannot allow -you to indulge in such frivolous pastimes on this day of the week," said -Mr. Lambert calmly. "Gertrude, I am surprised that you allowed this -infringement of our rules." Poor Aunt Gertrude blushed red under this -reproof, and stammered like a school-girl. - -"But, Peter, I didn't know--you never said--" - -Mr. Lambert checked her with a slight gesture; then adjusting his -glasses, leant forward to inspect the painting, while Paul, with his -hand on his hip, looked dreamily out of the window. Granny, who was -rather deaf, had been very little disturbed, and went on brazenly with -her knitting. Elise had hastened out to the kitchen to help her mother; -but Jane, intensely interested in the proceedings, stood her ground, -looking keenly from Paul's face to her father's. - -"You have been painting your aunt, I see," remarked Mr. Lambert, -presently. "It seems to me that an occupation more suitable to the -Sabbath could have been found." He looked at the picture closely. -Ignorant as he was of anything concerning the fine arts, he felt that -the painting was far from being merely a school-boyish production; and, -in fact, the very skill it revealed increased his determination to put -an end to his nephew's efforts once and for all. He did not overlook the -fact that in lieu of proper materials Paul had made a surprisingly -successful use of a piece of raw wood, and a few mediocre oil paints--a -rather bad sign, in Mr. Lambert's opinion, showing as it did, a -dangerous tendency to surmount difficulties. Moreover, it seemed to him -that the whole thing showed a stubborn, deliberate disobedience to his -orders. He was very angry, too angry to act with tact and good judgment. - -Straightening up, with a flush showing on his cheekbones, he said -abruptly, - -"I thought I had expressed myself clearly to you before; but evidently I -did not make myself understood. I cannot and I will not have you wasting -your time on this tom-foolery. While you are in my house, you must obey -my orders implicitly, do you understand?" - -"You only told me not to--" - -"Don't argue with me, sir! I will not tolerate your disrespect! Let it -be enough for you that I forbid--I _forbid_ your idling over this -useless and childish nonsense." - -Without a word, Paul began to gather together his few brushes and tubes -of paint, but when he started to leave the room with his picture, Mr. -Lambert stopped him peremptorily. - -"Leave those things just where they were, please." Paul did as he was -told. - -"You'll throw them out, uncle?" - -"Kindly learn to obey without asking questions!" - -All that day, Jane had seen her cousin gay, full of good spirits, -utterly unlike the moody, disagreeable boy that he had been for so long; -but now the old, hard, obdurate expression came into his face. - -"These things are mine, uncle," he said, quietly. - -"Indeed? The top of that flour barrel?" inquired Mr. Lambert, pointing -to the picture. Paul hesitated for a moment, and then with a slight -shrug, put it down again on the chair. - -"No, that is yours," he said, and walked out of the room. - -Mr. Lambert took the picture, looked at it for a moment or two, as if -uncertain whether it too, were guilty of some heinous crime against his -rule; then, he took it; but instead of breaking it in two, placed it -quite carefully behind his desk. - -Paul did not appear at supper; but Mr. Lambert preferred not to notice -his absence. Everyone was aware that civil war was brewing in the -household, and with varying degrees of curiosity or anxiety, made their -private conjectures as to what the future would develop in the way of -open hostilities or amicable compromise between uncle and nephew. - -It was at about half-past ten that night, that Jane, who was rarely in -bed at the prescribed time, happened to remember that Elise had left -"Ivanhoe" on the dining room mantel piece; she felt also, that an apple -or two was just what she wanted to subdue a certain mild emptiness. The -household was perfectly still, and so, taking off her slippers, she -stole down-stairs in her stocking feet, to get her book, and rummage in -the larder. - -There was still a faint glow of firelight in the dining room. - -Half-way to the kitchen door she stopped, arrested by a movement in the -room, and with her heart beating violently, peered about her. Then she -saw that someone was sitting in Granny's chair. For a moment, she could -not move a muscle, then, mustering up her courage, she quavered, - -"Who--who is that?" - -The figure in the chair gave a violent start, then with a little laugh -Paul's voice said, - -"Is that you, Jane?" - -"Oh, _Paul_!" Jane gave a great sigh of relief. - -"Did I frighten you?" Paul asked, getting up. - -"Well, you _startled_ me," said Jane, who had always maintained that she -was not afraid of ghosts or burglars--never having met a sample of -either. "What are you doing?" - -"Nothing," said Paul. "What are _you_ doing?" - -"I want some food," said Jane, succinctly. "Do you?" - -"I'm not very hungry. What are you going to get?" - -"Well, if there's enough wood there to fix up the fire a little, I could -make some cocoa. It's awfully cold in here." - -Paul picked up a stout log and flung it onto the smouldering ashes, and -in a few moments, a bright flame crackled up, sending its ruddy light -into every corner of the room. - -Everyone is familiar with the exquisite feeling of sympathy, which food, -produced at just the right moment, can excite between the most hostile -natures, and over their cups of cocoa, Jane and Paul, who had never been -really hostile, began to see each other in a new light. For the first -time they talked with unguarded friendliness, and gradually Paul became -more confiding, and Jane listened with her usual eager interest. - -At first he talked about his life with his father, his wanderings, and -strange adventures, without however, the least exaggeration or the -braggadocio with which he had teased and disgusted Carl. It was not -strange that Jane, who had never seen any part of the world save the few -square miles of earth, bounded by the hills of Frederickstown, listened -to his stories of foreign seas and foreign lands as if she were -bewitched. - -Never before had Paul talked to any of them about himself or his past -life; loquaciousness on any subject was not one of his characteristics -and concerning his own affairs he had been particularly reticent; but -now it was as if he could no longer smother down all that was pent up -within him. In the presence of his sympathetic listener, his words now -fairly tumbled over each other, and his face grew tight and weird with -earnestness and enthusiasm. - -At length Jane asked him, - -"You don't want to live here and take over the business after all, do -you?" - -"Ah, Janey, what kind of a baker would I make?" responded Paul, smiling -half-sadly. - -"You want to be an artist?" - -"Yes. Don't think that I expected to have everything just as I wanted -it. Naturally I knew that I would have to work here. I have no money. -You don't imagine that I expected Uncle to plant me comfortably in some -art school, and support me while I went through years of study? I -planned, do you see, to work at anything that I could make enough to -repay Uncle for boarding me, and to save a little so that in five or six -years even, I could manage to study. I hadn't any idea of looking for -help to anyone but myself, and as a matter of fact, I very nearly went -on to the city to look for work instead of plumping myself on uncle. But -I didn't.--I _did_ happen to be 'broke,' and the city was thirty miles -away, and then I hoped that uncle would advise me. I had no one else to -turn to, and it seemed natural to come to him. Then, when I got here, I -found that everything had been arranged for me. What I was to do was all -mapped out--for my whole life--and I hadn't a word to say about it. And -what was more, Uncle won't let me mention having plans of my own. And -to-day--well, you were here--he forbade my even playing with paints, 'As -long as I am in his house.' Don't think that I am criticizing him, -Janey. No doubt he is doing exactly what he thinks is best--but what am -I to do? Will you tell me that? I've been sitting here thinking and -thinking, and the only answer seems to be for me to get up and go." - -Jane was silent. - -"Oh, I _do_ understand uncle's point of view perfectly. I was awfully -angry to-day, but I've tried to look at it reasonably, and I can see why -it seems like rot to him. Thousands of boys of my age have crazy ideas -about what they think they want to do, and thousands of them think -differently as soon as they've got some sense. And Uncle thinks, I -guess, that I'll do the same. If I could only _show_ him how much it -means to me! If I could only show him that I've got something in me -besides a lot of high-falutin notions! I _have_ tried to learn how to -bake cakes. But I'll never learn in this world. Even Aunt Gertrude has -given up on me, and she knows that I haven't loafed on the job, either. -I've been pummelling dough every day at five in the morning for the last -six weeks, and still not a single roll has turned out decently. - -"But Uncle won't hear of my getting any other job, all because of this -idiotic tradition about the Winklers. I never heard of--" he broke off -and began to pace up and down the room, while Jane sat silently nibbling -her thumb-nail. - -"Well, what shall I do?" he demanded presently--"_You_ suggest something -Janey, you're a wise little worm." This sincere, if rather inelegant -tribute brought a pleased smile to Jane's face. "What would you do if -you were in my boots?" - -Jane meditated a moment; then she said, - -"Well, I wouldn't get up and go--yet. I'd wait and see." - -"Wait and see what?" Paul rapped out a little impatiently, and frowning -as if this piece of advice were not exactly to his taste. But Jane was -unmoved. - -"I'd wait and see--lots of things. First of all, you _might_ find that -you don't care as much about painting pictures as you think you do." -This observation surprised and angered Paul, and his face showed it. His -startled, resentful look said plainly, "I thought that _you_ understood -me!" But Jane neither retracted nor explained. "And then," she went on, -calmly, "Daddy _might_ change his mind a little, if you took good care -not to make him angry about unimportant things--especially about -squabbling with Carl. And last of all, it's just barely possible that -another Winkler _might_ turn up--you never _can_ tell." - -Paul stared at her for fully thirty seconds in absolute silence. Then he -honored these sage remarks with a contemptuous grunt. - -"Well, that helps a lot I must say," he said, sarcastically. "If I -waited for any one of those things to happen, I'd be pounding dough -until doomsday! Thanks!" and with that he turned away and resumed his -restless promenade around the room. Jane shrugged her shoulders. A -rather long and chilly pause followed. Paul was disappointed in her; but -his silent indignation seemed to trouble her very little, and after a -while, he threw a cold glance at her. But she was sitting with her back -toward him, and so he felt the need of rousing her attention in another -way. - -"You think, I may not care about painting as much as I think I do?" - -"Maybe, maybe not. I said, _I'd_ wait and see," returned Jane placidly. - -"Humph. And you think Uncle might change his mind?" - -"He might." - -"And what chance is there of another Winkler showing up, I'd like to -know? One in ten thousand!" - -"It _might_ be better than that." Paul sat down on the edge of the -table, and glowered at the back of her head. Then gradually a slow, -unwilling grin broke over his face. - -"You're a nice one to preach patience!" - -"Oh, I'm quite patient _sometimes_." - -"Well, look here--I'll wait and see, then. But I'll tell you one -thing--if things don't begin to get different pretty soon, I'm off!" - -"All right," said Jane, getting up. Paul stood up, too. Then suddenly he -held out his hand. - -"Listen, Janey--please don't mind me when I get rough and short. You've -got more sense than I have, and I need someone to talk to like the -dickens." - -"_I've_ got more sense than _you_ have, Paul!" repeated Jane, sincerely -amazed. "How can you say that? Why, you're the most--the most clever -person I ever knew in my life!" - -Nothing cements friendship like mutual admiration; but Jane felt -something warmer and better than mere admiration, as she put her hand -into Paul's big paw; she felt that rare, happy pleasure that is stirred -in a responsive young soul when it is first called upon to give sympathy -and help; and their firm handclasp sealed a friendship that was to last -to the end of their lives. - - - - -CHAPTER VII--GIRLS - - -Half a dozen feminine tongues babbled cheerfully. For once the Deacon's -chilly parlor, with its slippery, horse-hair furniture, its -stiff-featured portraits, and its big, black square piano, had lost a -little of its funereal aspect, and a great deal of its oppressive -neatness. Over the chairs, over the Brussels carpet, over the bow-legged -table were scattered pieces of bright sateen, blue, red, orange and -black, scraps of lace and gold tinsel, spangles and feathers. A coal -fire glowed amiably in the grate, adding a deeper color to six blooming -faces, and flashing on the bright needles that were so industriously -plied. Outside, the first heavy snow of the winter was falling, in big, -lazy flakes, which had already covered streets and roofs, and weighted -the twigs and branches of the trees. - -"Well, I've got every one of my Christmas presents ready," remarked one -young lady with a comfortable sigh of relief. "I start making them in -June, but somehow I never get done until the _last_ minute." - -"I just never try to make mine," said another, "I take a day, and buy -all of them in the city, when I go to visit Cousin Mary. It saves time -and trouble, and _I_ think it's really more economical." - -"Oh, but then they don't have the personal touch," said a third, a tall, -thin anmic-looking girl, with large, soulful eyes, and a tiny mouth. -"And that is what counts. It's what makes Christmas presents mean -something. I always say that I never think of the gift, but of the -thought of the giver." - -"But you make such clever things, Amelia," said the one who bought her -Christmas presents, feeling ashamed of her lack of sentiment. - -"Very simple things, Dolly," said Amelia, rinsing off her watercolor -brush, and then dabbing it in a square of holly-red paint. "But I think -that just a little card, with a tasteful design, and an appropriate -verse is a very suitable way of expressing the spirit of Christmas." - -"And quite right, my dear," boomed in Mrs. Deacon, appearing in the -doorway. "But then you have such a charming gift of poesy. Not all of us -are blessed with _your_ magniloquence." She lifted one of Amelia's -cards, and inspected it, through a pair of lorgnettes, which she held -about six inches from her eyes, spreading out her little finger. "_How_ -charming! How effete with taste! Lily, my dear, you too should try to -emulate Amelia's Christmastide mementos. You are not entirely devoid of -poetic genius. Why, I have many little emblems of your youthful flights -of fancy--where is that album, my dear?" - -"Oh, mamma!" cried Lily, blushing crimson. "Those silly poems of mine!" - -"Indeed they are not silly," said Mrs. Deacon, rummaging in the drawer -of the table. "No, the album is not here. Lily, my dear, when will you -remember that everything has its proper place? Now, I did want to read -Amelia that delightful little Bandeau of yours on the Pine-Tree. She -would be interested, I'm sure. And the Album is not here. Perhaps -though, I put it away myself." - -"Oh, mamma, don't get it now," begged Lily, overcome with embarrassment, -adding, desperately, "Do look at the lovely thing Elise is making." - -Mrs. Deacon, huge and majestic in her rustling black silk, turned her -lorgnette on Elise's exquisite embroidery. - -"Charming. Absolutely charming. Do not rise, my dear. Well, I see that -you are all happily occupied. What are these gay colors?" she asked -presently, indicating the pieces of sateen. - -"Oh, I brought some things that I thought might do for costumes, Mrs. -Deacon," said Annie Lee Webster. "For our party you know, on New Year's -Eve." - -"Ah! A Masquerade? How charming." - -"What are you going as, Amelia?" asked the fourth girl, the lively, -apple-cheeked Dolly Webster. The poetess looked up dreamily. - -"As Sappho," she replied. Mrs. Deacon looked astonished, and interested. - -"Sappho, my dear? How will you do that? Sappho was a race-horse!" - -There was an irrepressible chuckle from the window embrasure, where, -concealed by the long, dark-red curtains, Jane was curled, with a book, -and a half-sucked orange. - -Mrs. Deacon turned swiftly, her lorgnette levelled on the younger Miss -Lambert like a microscope. - -"Ah, Jane!" she observed a little coldly. Jane stood up respectfully, -concealing her vulgar orange under her pinafore. "What are you laughing -at, my dear?" asked Mrs. Deacon suspiciously. - -"I thought it would be funny for Amelia to go as a race-horse," replied -Jane, simply, quite at her ease under Mrs. Deacon's prolonged stare. -Amelia, who took herself very seriously, and hated to appear in a -ridiculous light even for a moment, said rather indignantly, - -"A race-horse! Sappho was a poetess." - -"Ah, of course!" said Mrs. Deacon hastily, "that will be charming. And -_so_ well chosen. How will you signify yourself?" - -"I am going to wear a simple Grecian robe of white muslin, with laurel -leaves in my hair. And I shall carry a lyre," replied Amelia. "I thought -I would let my hair hang loose." - -"Ravishing! Simply ravishing!" cried Mrs. Deacon in perfect raptures. -"So simple. And after all, is there anything like simplicity?" - -"How will you get a lyre?" asked the practical Annie Lee. - -"I shall try to make one out of card-board and gold paper." - -"Or you could borrow old Mr. Poindexter's banjo," suggested Jane, -gravely. "That would really be better, because you _could_ twang on it." - -Amelia did not deign to reply to this remark. - -"What are you going to wear, Lily?" Elise put in hurriedly, throwing a -reproving look at Jane. - -Lily glanced at her mother. - -"I wish I could go as--as a Spanish dancer!" she said timidly. - -"A Spanish dancer, Lily!" cried Mrs. Deacon. "Indeed I could not permit -anything of the sort! No. But it seems to me that it would be very -delightful if you should affect a character very similar to Amelia's. -Why would it not be sweet for you to go together as the Two Muses, the -one fair, the other brunette, representing, as it were, the poetical -talent of Frederickstown? I would suggest, too, that each of you recite -some little poem of her own composition. Lily, I must find that album." -And with this, Mrs. Deacon hastened from the room. - -Lily looked distressed. She was terribly shy, and the thought of having -her poor little verses publicly read and appraised, dyed her smooth -face, with one of her frequent blushes. - -"I _would_ like to go as a Spanish Dancer, though," she said, presently, -biting off a thread with her little white teeth, "I don't know why, but -I do. I'd like to wear a comb in my hair, and a black fan, and _scarlet -heels_!" - -"You'd look lovely. I'm sure if you beg hard, your mother would let -you," wheedled Annie Lee. Lily shook her head. - -"I don't think so. And I'm afraid mamma thinks its awfully bold of me -even to think of such a thing." - -"There's nothing bold about a Spanish dancer. Just dashing," said Dolly. - -"But Lily isn't at all dashing," remarked Amelia. - -"I want to be, though," said Lily suddenly. "I'd like to be very, very -dashing just for once in my life. I want to know what it feels like. I'm -sick of being demure and lady-like. Yes, I am! And I want to wear a comb -in my hair and scarlet heels." The color rose in her cheeks, and her -blue eyes shone with a rebellious light. "I--I want to--to _flirt_!" - -"Lily!" cried Amelia, in pained astonishment, "why, whatever is the -matter with you? You want to _flirt_? Why, I never heard of such a -thing. You, of all people! Why, flirting is beneath you!" - -"Oh, no, it's not!" returned Lily, audaciously. "Do you think it's -beneath _you_?" - -"Of course it's beneath Amelia," interrupted Dolly, whose brown eyes -were twinkling, "Amelia's too intellectual to care about anything like -that, aren't you?" - -Amelia hesitated. - -"I think that flirting is very trivial," she said at length, in her -superior way, "and no flirt ever wins a man's solid respect. My -brother-in-law says that every man really cares more about good sense, -even though he may show a passing interest in frivolous people." - -"I don't care what your brother-in-law thinks," returned Lily, with a -spirit that astounded her friends. "_I_ feel like flirting. I'm tired of -being sensible. I want to be gay, and--and _dangerous_." - -"Amelia, you make me weary," said Dolly; "you pretend you aren't the -least bit interested in beaux, but I know that you pose as being -intellectual, just to--well, because you think it's one way of -attracting 'em! And why are you going as Sappho if it isn't to show off -your long hair?" - -A titter of mirth greeted this observation, which struck everyone but -Amelia as being remarkably astute. - -"Come on, Lily--let's just see how you _would_ look in a Spanish -costume," coaxed Annie Lee. "We can use this yellow stuff for a skirt. -Has anybody got a black lace scarf and a comb?" - -"I have," said Lily, herself. "I got them about four years ago and I've -had them hidden in my lowest bureau drawer ever since. I knew I never -could use them, but I couldn't resist them. I--I put them on sometimes -when I'm alone, just to see what I look like. Aren't I silly?" - -"Go and get them," commanded Annie Lee. But at that moment, Mrs. Deacon -reappeared. - -"Now here is the album," she announced. "I just want to read you these -few little things that I think perfectly dear, Amelia. You with your -veins of poesy will appreciate them." - -"Oh, mamma, _please_," implored the hapless Lily, turning red as fire. -"Don't! They are so _awful_!" - -"You are so modest, Lily. Now, here is a little thing that Lily wrote -when she was only fifteen, Amelia. It's called The Pinetree." And with a -preparatory "Ahem!" Mrs. Deacon proceeded to read amidst a profound -silence, - - "The Pinetree stood lonely and bare, In the ghastly--no, - ghostly, white light of the moon, And I wondered why it made me - Feel so very full of gloom. It made me think of all the friends, - Whom--Lily, dear what is this next word?" - -But Lily had fled. "That child is perfectly ridiculous," said Mrs. -Deacon, with annoyance. "Now, I think these little things are full of -poetic feeling. So melancholy, you know. Lily was quite a melancholy -child. Just look over some of these little things, Amelia, and tell me, -if you don't think they are sweet. Read the one beginning, - - "Alone, alone, why am I so alone?" - -Just as this point the clock struck four, followed by the low chimes -from the belfry of the nearby church, and Mrs. Deacon suddenly -remembered that she was due at a committee meeting at four-fifteen. - -Lily was persuaded to return, and the unfortunate subject of her "poesy" -was tactfully abandoned, and now that Mrs. Deacon's overwhelming -presence was withdrawn, the discussion of scarf and scarlet heels was -renewed. - -"We'll dress you up, anyway. And I'm sure that when she sees you Mrs. -Deacon will let you have your way," said Annie Lee. "Get all your -things, and _I'll_ direct." - -Jane, from the window embrasure, watched the proceedings with a critical -eye. Of all the older girls of the town--in fact of all the girls in -general,--the gentle Lily was her favorite. There was not an atom of -heroine-worship in her attitude; on the contrary, she felt almost older -than Lily in many ways, notwithstanding the four years difference in -their ages; and she felt rather sorry for Lily, without exactly knowing -why. Jane, so capable herself of getting what she wanted, had the -tendency of many vigorous natures, to feel a certain good-natured, -wondering contempt for weaker and timid characters; but there was -something about Lily's weakness and timidity that was so perfectly in -keeping with her delicately lovely face, with her daintiness and -maidenliness, that it was really one of her charms, a beauty in itself. - -With a sort of benevolent smile Jane observed Lily's face color with -naive pleasure, as she saw her ambition to appear "dashing and -dangerous" gradually being realized under Annie Lee's skillful -manipulation of the very simple materials at hand. - -In less than half an hour, the heavy, mahogany-framed mirror, reflected -the gayest vision that had ever peered into its mottled surface. Jane -clapped her hands delightedly. - -"_Now_ don't you like yourself!" she crowed. Annie Lee sat back on her -heels, thoroughly satisfied with her achievement. And well she might be. -The vivid yellow skirt, which looked almost exactly like real satin, had -been judiciously shortened to show the prettiest ankles in -Frederickstown, clad in a pair of black silk stockings with scarlet -clocks!--another of Lily's hidden treasures. The black lace scarf, -draped like a mantilla over the high tortoise-shell comb, fell over -Lily's slender white shoulders, and framing her face, made her skin seem -more transparent, her hair blacker, her eyes bluer, and her mouth redder -than before. Mrs. Deacon's spangled black fan had been boldly rifled -from her bureau drawer, and from the humble duty of stirring the -listless air in church on a summer morning, had been promoted to that of -fluttering coquettishly in Lily's hand. - -"If you must have scarlet heels," said Annie Lee, "you can tear the -satin off the heels of your black slippers and paint the wooden part -red." - -"You _do_ look perfectly scrumptious, Lily," said Dolly; "there isn't a -thing wrong, and you've simply got to wear that costume." - -Lily, with her closed fan laid against her lips, gazed into the mirror, -as if uncertain that the reflection that gazed back were really she, -herself. - -"I wish--" she began, and then broke off with a shame-faced, confused -little smile. - -Just then, Jane, who happened to glance out of the window to see how -deep the snow was getting, remarked, - -"There goes Mr. Sheridan. I wonder what on earth--" - -"Where?" cried a chorus of voices in great excitement, and instantly -every girl was at the window peering over each other's shoulders, and -fairly bursting with curiosity to see the eccentric young man, whose -habits had for several weeks been the subject of much speculation in -that busybody little town. Even Amelia forgot her dignity and scrambled -to see him. Lily, only, tried to appear indifferent, but without -complete success; for after a moment's hesitation, she too was peeping -out from behind the substantial Dolly. - -The object of this flattering interest was sauntering along with his -hands in his pockets, and his head bent; but presently, as if he felt -the magnetism of all this concentrated attention, he looked up to the -window. His expression of surprise,--even of indignation, as if he -resented this notice from the "feminine element"--was almost instantly -replaced by one of alertness. Jane beamed at him, and waved her hand, -and he smiled back at her and lifted his hat; but, in that brief -second--and Jane did not fail to note this--his eye travelled swiftly -over the cluster of pretty faces, and with remarkable keenness, singled -out Lily's, and again he lifted his hat, and bowed slightly. - -Jane turned quickly to see Lily blushing pink, and with an answering -smile just fading from her eyes. - -"Do _you_ know him too?" she demanded. Lily pretended not to hear. -Shrinking back, and pursing up her lips, she said primly, - -"Aren't you all ashamed of yourselves--rushing to stare at a stranger -like that, and letting him see you, too?" - -"I'd like to know why I shouldn't," said Annie Lee. "Anyone who is as -queer as he is, deserves to be stared at." - -"What's queer about him?" cried Lily, quite indignantly. - -"Well, he never goes anywhere, and never sees anyone, and lives all -alone in that big house. You may not call that queer, but _I_ do." -returned Annie Lee. - -"And he's _so_ handsome," murmured Dolly, sentimentally. "I'm sure he's -had some unhappy love-affair." - -"Pooh!" said Jane, who was not romantic, "he's no more heart-broken than -I am." - -"You know very little, as yet, concerning the secret sorrows that many -people hide," said Amelia. - -"When they hide them that's one thing," retorted Jane, "but he -advertises his like a breakfast food." Then once more she turned on -Lily, remorselessly, "Do _you_ know him, too, Miss Lily?" she repeated. - -"I? Why, n-no," said Lily, pretending to be studying her own dimpled -chin in the mirror. - -"He bowed to you," insisted Jane. - -"To me? Why, he didn't do anything of the sort!" - -"Lily Deacon!" cried Dolly, "you know very well he did! Any why are you -blushing?" - -"I'm not blushing. I don't know him. How could that be? I-I only--" - -"You only what?" - -"Why, nothing!" - -"Lily, you're concealing something!" cried Annie Lee. - -"Oh, I'm not. Don't be so silly. It isn't anything at all. Only last -Thursday, when I was coming home from Mrs. McTavish's I happened to take -a short cut through the field there, and that hateful dog that belongs -to Mr. Jenkins started to run after me, barking and growling the way he -always does. I got over the stile, but he crawled under the fence, and -followed me again. And I started to run, and he ran after me, and jumped -up at me and frightened me to death. And Mr. Sheridan happened to be -coming through the field. And he caught the dog, and told me I was a -silly to run. And that's all." - -"My _dear_!" breathed Dolly, "and is that all he said?" - -"Oh, he just asked me if I was afraid of dogs, and I said only of some. -And he said he liked them, they were so intelligent. And--and then I -said I hated cats, and he said he did too; and asked me if I liked -horses--" - -"How long did this keep up?" inquired Annie Lee. - -"There are lots of animals," said Jane. "Did you find out how he liked -cows and pigs and ducks and porcupines--" - -"I think you are all mean to laugh!" cried Lily indignantly. "It was -perfectly natural to say _something_. And he was very nice and polite." - -"And what was the dog doing meanwhile?" - -"The dog? What dog? Oh--I guess it must have gone home." - -"Well!" said Amelia, "I must say, Lily, that I think it would have been -quite enough if you had simply thanked him, and gone on your way. And -_I_ think that Mr. Sheridan should hardly have asked you if you liked -dogs when he had never been introduced to you." - -Lily, who was easily crushed, hung her head at this reproof, and did not -attempt to defend herself. Now that she thought of it in the light that -Amelia's words threw on it, it seemed nothing short of shocking that she -had spoken in such a familiar vein with a young man to whom she had -never been introduced. Why had she said anything about it? Now, it was -all spoiled, that innocent little episode, which had given her so much -pleasure just to think about. Jane, however, quickly came to her -defense. - -"How silly! I don't think anyone but a prig would be as proper as all -that." - -"Jane!" remonstrated Elise, "that isn't a very nice thing to say." - -"How do _you_ happen to know him Janey?" asked Annie Lee. - -"Oh, I called on him," replied Jane, nonchalantly. - -"_Called_ on him!" - -"Well, I thought someone ought to see what he was like. And he was very -nice. What I've been wondering is what he does with himself all the -time. He says he wants solitude, and that he doesn't want to have to see -any people, but I think that's all nonsense. _I_ think he's bored to -death with himself." - -"Do you know what?" said Annie Lee, "I'm going to ask mother to invite -him to our party. If he doesn't want to he doesn't have to come; but -everyone else in Frederickstown _is_ invited, and its all so informal -and everything, I don't see why we shouldn't ask him too. It would be -perfectly all right, because I think father knows him. I _know_ father -used to know Major Sheridan, because I've heard him talk about when they -were in the Spanish American war." - -This idea became popular immediately. Even Amelia had no objections to -make, and was in fact already making certain mental improvements on the -costume she had planned. - -But Lily was silent. Amelia's criticism of her behavior had wounded her -to the quick, and with a sober face she began quietly to take off her -finery, as if some of the fascination had evaporated from that dashing -Spanish comb, and even from the thought of scarlet heels. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII--JANE LENDS A HAND - - -Mr. Sheridan, like Achilles, had been sulking for a remarkably long -time. It is true that some men and women are able to nurse a grievance -for life; but Mr. Sheridan was too young, and too healthy not to find -himself, at the end of some eight weeks, thoroughly bored, restless and -dissatisfied with himself. He was not ready to admit this yet, however. -He believed that he had proved conclusively that it was in every way the -wisest thing to withdraw in lofty disgust from the arena of human -affairs, and while his present course of life had the charm of novelty, -he was unwilling to admit that he was possibly mistaken. For a time he -rather enjoyed the rle of the misanthrope, and cynic. But it was not -his natural character, by any means, and notwithstanding the fact that -he _believed_ that he did not want to have anything to do with anyone, -he found his new rle exceedingly tiresome to play day in and day out -without an audience. Peterson, who was as bored as he, and who could not -understand "what had gotten into Mr. Tim," was sour and unsympathetic; -and finding the need of someone as confidant, absolutely imperative, the -embittered recluse of five-and-twenty, resorted to writing long letters -to his one-time boon companion, Philip Blackstone, in which he poured -forth his uncomplimentary opinions of human nature, gave lengthy -descriptions of his states of mind, and accounts of his mode of living. -Phil, a hearty young man, who loved horses and dogs, who was quite -helpless without his friends, and hated writing letters, responded -tersely enough, inquiring what was the matter with him anyway. The -correspondence died out. Mr. Sheridan tried to devote himself to books, -but the long, unbroken hours of silence in the musty old library -depressed him terribly. He took long walks, and long rides for exercise, -but his own thoughts were dull company. He rode through the woods and -the idle, untilled fields of his own estate, and was struck by the -contrast between his own barren, unkempt lands with the thriving farms -of his neighbors. It occurred to him to go in for farming in the spring, -to plant corn and wheat, and to get cows and horses, to build barns and -paddocks, and to rent out part of his land to some of the thrifty, -shrewd young farmers, the newly married ones. The idea delighted him; he -wanted to talk about it, to get the opinions of some of the intelligent -land-owners of the neighborhood, and to air his own notions. But -gradually his enthusiasm waned again. He was getting lazy and listless. -Every effort seemed useless to him. He began to feel very much abused -because no one was interested in him. Miss Abbott had treated him very -badly, even Peterson was as cross with him as the old servant's good -manners would allow, Phil scolded him in his short dry letters, and -finally had stopped writing altogether, and that bright little -red-headed girl had never come to see him again. When he walked through -the town he felt abused because everyone seemed to be having a better -time than he. They all knew each other; the women stopped to chat on -their way to market, the men talked local politics and business in the -doorways of the warehouses; when he passed they touched their hats -respectfully, and stared after him curiously, as if he were something -that had dropped from another planet. He was in a chronically bad humor. -That the world in general had taken him at his word, and left him -entirely alone put him still more at odds with it, and the fact that he -knew he was living idly and uselessly put him at odds with himself. If -he had stopped to consider, he would have discovered very quickly that -he was not heart-broken as he imagined at all; he was simply angry. He -tried to excuse himself for his aimless existence by arguing that no one -cared what he did, and that it was impossible for a man to keep up his -enthusiasm about anything when there was no one to please but himself. -He told himself that everything was the fault of the heartless Miss -Abbott; but as a matter of fact if he thought a great deal about Miss -Abbott's unkind treatment, he thought surprisingly little about Miss -Abbott herself. He was quite shocked one day to discover how blurred her -very features had become in his memory. A lot of fair, curly hair--which -somehow changed to smooth black tresses when he tried to represent it in -his fancy--a rosy, coquettish face, and the arch, self-confident smile -of a girl who had begun to learn when she was less than sixteen that she -was beautiful and irresistible. But all the features of that pretty, -imperious face were indistinct, and when he tried to picture it very -clearly, he found to his dismay and amazement that he wasn't thinking of -_that_ face at all. Another one had replaced it, a shy, demure little -face, the features of which were very distinct indeed, so distinct that -he could not doubt for a moment to whom it belonged. This was rather an -alarming discovery to be made by a young man who had definitely decided -that all women were henceforth to be indignantly and strictly avoided. -And it was with dismay that he found himself repeatedly thinking about a -certain brief accidental conversation that he had had with the timid, -black-haired maiden in the field. - -"Dogs are so intelligent,"--and then they had spoken of the relative -intelligence of cats. Not a very brilliant conversation, certainly, and -it piqued him a little to think that he had not been able to say -something more interesting and original; yet the girl had listened as -intently as if every word he had uttered was a mine of wisdom. - -On the other hand, it was certainly quite possible that _all_ girls were -not as treacherous as the beautiful Miss Abbott. Here he pulled himself -up short, and displeased at his own weakness, firmly resolved not to -waste another thought on Lily. It was all the fault of that little -red-headed Jane, who had popped in on his solitude, and roused his -interest in Lily Deacon by flattering his vanity. - -One morning, early in Christmas week, Peterson brought him a note. Mrs. -Webster had couched her invitation in the ceremonious, courtly style of -her generation, reminding him of the friendship that had existed between -her husband and his uncle, and expressing her hope that he would give -them the pleasure of his company on New Year's Eve. - -After the gloomiest Christmas that he had ever spent in his life, Mr. -Sheridan's determination to avoid human society wavered feebly under -this hospitable attack; and after five or ten minutes reflection, this -hardened misanthropist sat down, and accepted Mrs. Webster's invitation -in a tone that fairly overflowed with gratitude. - -On New Year's Eve there was a full moon, a huge, silver-white disk that -flooded the whole sky with light, riding high above the happy, festive -little town. New fallen snow glistened on the roofs, lined the black -branches of the trees, and flew up in a sparkling mist from the swift -runners of the sleighs. - -All Frederickstown was bound for the Webster's big farm. The streets -were filled with the sounds of laughter, shouts, jovial singing, and the -jingling of sleigh-bells. One horse sleighs and two horse sleighs, old -ones with the straw coming through the worn felt covering of the seats, -and new ones shining with red paint and polished brass, all were crowded -with holiday-makers. All the younger people, and even many of the older -ones were in masquerade, under their burly overcoats and mufflers, and -vast entertainment was derived from trying to guess who was who, as one -sleigh passed another, the occupants waving and shouting. And it was -amusing to see that of the older people, it was usually the most serious -and sedate who wore the most comic disguises, and the most grotesque -masks; evidently bent upon showing for once in the year that they too -had not forgotten how to frolic. There was old Mr. Pyncheon, with green -pantaloons appearing from beneath his great bearskin coat, and a huge -red false nose hiding his own thin, impressive eagle's beak; there was -grave, bearded Professor Dodge with red Mephistophelean tights on his -lean nobby limbs, spryly tucking Miss Clementina into his little -single-seated sleigh. (Miss Clementina, aged fifty-two, was representing -"Spring," in pink tartalan with yards of green cotton vine leaves, and -bunches of pink cotton roses garlanding her spare, bony little figure, -though at present this delightfully symbolical costume was hidden under -piles of cosy-jackets, mufflers, veils and cloaks.) And lastly, there -was Mr. Lambert himself, representing a medival astrologer, with a -black sateen robe ornamented with silver-paper stars and crescents, a -long white beard held in place with black tape, and a great pointed cap -nearly a yard high. The entire Lambert family, by no means excluding -either Granny or the twins was packed into the big three-seated sleigh. -Mr. Lambert mounted in front, with Aunt Gertrude beside him, and Minie -between them, snapped his whip in a positively dashing fashion, and off -lumbered the two fat old horses. Sledges flew out from the side lanes, -joining the lively procession, and of course there were races and near -accidents, and once indeed the Todd's sleigh overturned into a big drift -depositing most of its occupants head downwards into the snow. - -"There's Miss Lily, right in front of us!" cried Jane, "and I do believe -that she's wearing her Spanish costume after all!" - -The Deacons, mother and daughter, were in fact being driven along by old -Mr. Buchanan, who had gallantly placed its sleigh at the service of the -two ladies. At the same time, to judge from Mrs. Deacon's face, there -seemed to be some reason for uneasiness in the chesterfieldian old man's -very zeal. He was an ardent, if not an exactly comfortable driver; he -shouted to his horses and the two lean, shaggy animals alternately -stopped short, and leapt forward with terrific suddenness and speed; and -at each jolt, Mrs. Deacon groaned in suppressed alarm. She had begun to -suspect that her escort had already been celebrating the coming New -Year, and, indeed, it was not unlikely; for the poor old bachelor was as -noted for his convivial temperament as for his gallantry. - -"Pray, Mr. Buchanan, would it not be as well to drive less rapidly?" -suggested Mrs. Deacon, as casually as she could. But Mr. Buchanan would -not hear of this; he felt that she hinted at a veiled doubt as to his -ability for managing his fiery steeds. - -"Have no fears, ma'am. You may place entire confidence in me, ma'am. I -may seem reckless--and there's dash of the old Harry in my nature, I -won't deny--but there ain't a man in Frederickstown, I may say in the -whole _county_, ma'am, as understands this team of horses like me. Why I -was drivin' this here Jerry and Tom afore you was born, -Miss--er--ma'am;--it's the living truth. Why, they are like my own -children--they love me, and I l-o-ove them, like they was my own -brothers!" And the tenderness of his emotion so wrought upon Mr. -Buchanan's spirit, that large tears stood in his childish blue eyes. It -cannot be said that even these assurances calmed Mrs. Deacon's fears; -but if to her that five mile drive was a thing of sudden alarms and -constant terrors, to Lily it was an unmixed delight. It was not often -that Lily was able to take part in the various merry-makings of the -town; there always seemed to be so many other things for her to do, and -she was far oftener spending her hours in company with her mother's -serious-minded friends than with the lively boys and girls of her own -age. She attended innumerable meetings of the Ladies' Civic Uplift -Society, she made innumerable red flannel petticoats with -feather-stitched hems for little heathen girls, she prepared innumerable -sandwiches for various parish entertainments, she made innumerable calls -on fretful invalids; but she did not very often find a chance to have -simply a good time. - -Now, snuggling down into a corner of the rickety old sleigh, with the -musty moth-eaten old bearskin robe pulled up to her chin, she sat lost -in complete rapture. The fresh, cold air, stinging her cheeks, the -brilliant moon, the sweetly dissonant jingling of the sleigh-bells, and -the scraps of singing carrying back from the jolly groups ahead of her, -the wide, free stretches of snow-covered fields, glistening under -moonlight so bright that one could detect a rabbit track across their -smooth expanse--all filled her with unutterable delight. She was very -glad that she hadn't gone with any of the others; then she would have -had to talk, and she wasn't ready to talk yet. It was too nice just to -be able to sit still, and enjoy it all, and think. Her thoughts must -have been pleasant ones. Pleasant? That is not the word, but then there -is no word that can describe the timid, bold, incoherent, romantic and -beautifully absurd thoughts of an eighteen-year old girl. It is enough -to say that her shining eyes were filled with them, that the dimples -came, and that when she smiled to herself, she bent her head so that no -one would be able to see that smile, and perhaps read its meaning. - -Mrs. Deacon had been persuaded to permit the Spanish costume, and under -her scarfs and furs, Lily was very dashing indeed, with the high comb, -and the clocked stockings, the spangled fan, and the scarlet heels. And -she pictured herself navely as the belle of the ball; yes, all the -young men should besiege her--but she didn't care about that in itself. -What she longed for was to appear fascinating and irresistible, just so -that--well, just so that, _he_ could see. Dolly had told her that he -would be there. Would he recognize her? Would he dance with her? Well, -it might be this way; he would see her of course, but she would pretend -not to see him, and he would think that she had forgotten all about him. -Then perhaps he might ask someone to present him, but still she would -pretend to have forgotten all about that day in the field; then he would -ask her to dance with him; but already someone would have claimed that -dance. Then--what if he did not ask her again? Suppose he should just -bow, and go away. There was a possibility. - -"What a silly girl I am!" thought Lily, unconsciously shaking her head. -Just then she was flung violently to one side, her mother half tumbling -upon her. At breakneck speed, and with a great flourish of his whip, Mr. -Buchanan had just negotiated the abrupt and difficult turn into the gate -of the Webster's farm. - -Once past the gate, a long and rather narrow road descended gradually -between two snake-fences to the hollow where the big, rambling, -comfortable old homestead stood. The road leading from the house to the -barn was illuminated with colored lanterns, which threw weird tints over -the faces of the masqueraders as they sped past. - -Already a dozen sleighs had emptied on the wooden platform in front of -the big sliding doors; already the huge room, with its high ceiling -crossed by solid rafters, was half full of people. It was gaily -decorated. Ropes of cedar entwined the rafters, branches of holly were -tacked to the walls, colored lanterns, with sly sprays of mistletoe -hanging from them, dangled from the ceiling. A huge fire blazed in a -great brick fireplace, in front of which the older men had collected to -drink a toast with Mr. Webster. And up in the erstwhile hayloft, which -now did duty as a sort of musicians' gallery, a negro band was already -playing "Old Uncle Ned," with such irresistible liveliness that many -dancers had begun to spin about the floor without having paused to take -off their heavy wraps. - -For a New Year's party at the Websters to be anything but -jolly,--superlatively merry--was an unheard of thing. Indeed it could -not have been otherwise. Theirs was quite the merriest family in the -world. To see the four big boys, with their irresistible grins, and the -two rosy-cheeked bright-eyed girls, and Mrs. Webster, a -dignified-looking woman, with a pair of twinkling eyes, and a lively -tongue, and old Mr. Webster, rotund and ruddy, was sufficient to dispose -the most melancholy soul in the world to jocund mirth. - -Around the fire the old wags were cracking jokes and recounting their -favorite anecdotes. Then the darkies, grinning from ear to ear, and -showing rows of teeth like ears of corn, struck up a Virginia Reel. - -"Ah-ha!" cried Mr. Webster. "Choose your partners, gentlemen!" and -dashing across the room, he singled out Janey. - -"Here's my girl!" and executing the most wonderful bow imaginable, he -led "his girl" out onto the floor. The Virginia reel went on at a lively -pace, and Mr. Webster, leading with the laughing and muddled Jane, -introduced the most remarkable figures, turning the dance into a sort of -pot-pourri of all the steps he had learned in his youth, including a -cake-walk and a sailor's horn-pipe. Everyone seemed to want to dance and -no one seemed to have any difficulty in finding a partner; but the two -undisputed belles of the evening were Lily Deacon and--Miss Clementina! -Yes, Miss Clementina, little and wizened and brown as a walnut proved -beyond argument her right to boast of having been once the queen of -hearts in Frederickstown; and although thirty years and more had passed -since her cheeks were rosy, and her sharp little elbows had had dimples -in them, she still had her faithful admirers, grey-haired, portly -gentlemen, a trifle stiff, and a trifle gouty, who still saw in the -wiry, black-eyed little old maid, the charmer of auld lang syne. And how -outrageously she coquetted, and how everyone applauded when she and the -professor danced a schottische together--most gracefully; the professor -spinning about, on his red legs, pointing his toes, skipping and sliding -in the lively dance with all the sprightliness of a stripling of twenty; -and Miss Clementina pirouetting and skipping along beside him, her pink -tartalan skirts swirling around her tiny little feet, and her black eyes -sparkling in her brown little face, as if saying, "Who says that _my_ -day is over!" - -But Lily held sway over the youth of the gathering. Every moment she was -dancing, light and tireless, as if there were wings on her scarlet -heels. But now and then she lost the thread of what her partner was -saying, and her blue eyes strayed shyly toward the door. Then suddenly, -the bright red color flushed up into her cheeks. - -In front of the fire, with a glass of cider in his hand, and talking to -Mr. Webster (who was at last forced to confess himself "a bit winded") -stood Mr. Sheridan. - -He seemed quite content to stand there listening to his host's -reminiscences of his uncle and the times they had had together; and to -talk about the various features of country life as compared to life in -the city; and to laugh at the droll yarns of the other old gentlemen; -and to watch the multi-colored swarm of dancers spinning about to the -lively rhythms of the negro music. But as a matter of fact, Mr. Sheridan -had, in a remarkably short time singled out one slim figure, and -followed it through the kaleidoscopic motion of the crowd. - -"Well, sir, I hope you have decided to settle down here for good," said -Mr. Webster, heartily. - -"I--I haven't exactly decided. But I shall probably be here for some -time." - -"You have a fine old place there. You don't happen to be thinking of -getting rid of any of that land of yours?" - -"It all depends," replied Mr. Sheridan vaguely. - -"Bless me!" exclaimed Mr. Webster suddenly bethinking himself of his -duties. "I'm nearly forgetting that you're not an old fellow like -myself." - -And the hospitable old soul took his guest by the arm and dragged him -off to be presented to the young ladies. - -First, Mr. Sheridan danced a lively two-step with the plump but agile -Dolly. He enjoyed it, and he enjoyed talking to Dolly, and he enjoyed -the music. - -Then Dolly, with a wicked twinkle in her eye, said, - -"I want to introduce you to one of my dearest friends." A hopeful, eager -expression came into Mr. Sheridan's face, until Dolly, greatly enjoying -his disappointment (which he hastily concealed under a pleasant smile) -betrayed him into the hands of a pallid young lady, wearing a -wilted-looking Grecian robe, and a wreath of laurel leaves in her long, -scanty, mouse-coloured hair. It was Amelia, the poetess. - -These proceedings aroused great interest in a quarter to which none of -the guests had given a thought: namely, in the hayloft, or musicians' -gallery. Here since the early part of the evening, Paul had ensconced -himself, his long legs dangling over the edge, his chin between his -hands, brooding above the jolly turmoil of the dance floor like a large, -thoughtful crow; and here several of the younger folk had joined him, -disdaining the flighty amusements of their elders, and greatly -preferring to spend their time in the more solid enjoyment of devouring -nuts and raisins and oranges. - -Jane was the latest addition to this noble company. Having ascended the -wooden ladder, she slid along the edge of the loft to Paul's side. - -"Hullo," she said. - -"Hullo," responded Paul, "been having a good time?" - -"Yes. What are you doing?" - -"Watching." - -"It's nice up here. It's near the music. You know, I'd like to learn how -to play the bassoon," said Jane. - -"Then you probably will. How would the trombone suit you? That seems -more your style." - -Jane turned up her nose at him, and then without replying focussed her -attention on the dancers below. - -Suddenly, half laughing and half annoyed she exclaimed, - -"Oh, that _is_ too mean of Dolly!" - -"What's too mean?" - -"Why--oh, she is a wicked-hearted girl!--she _knows_, just as well as I -do that the main reason Mr. Sheridan came was so that he might meet Lily -Deacon. And she's gone and tied him up with Mealy Amelia!" - -"Huh?" said Paul. - -"He'll be with Amelia until the dance is _over_!" - -"Is that your friend, Sheridan, down there? He's sort of a nice-looking -fellow," remarked Paul, condescendingly. "I thought he was about ninety. -Seems a bit glum, doesn't he?" - -"Well, you'd be, too, if you had Amelia talking about the infinite with -you for a whole evening. I saw Dolly introduce him to her at least half -an hour ago, and he hasn't been rescued yet. Dolly did that on -purpose--just to tease me!" - -"To tease you? Humph, you seem to think yourself a pretty important -person, don't you?" observed Paul with a grin. - -"Well, I asked Dolly myself please to introduce him to Miss Lily as soon -as she could. I _told_ her he was very sad, and needed cheering up--and -just see what she's done!" - -"I must say you aren't very easy on Amelia. You usually seem to like -everyone. What's the matter with her?" - -"I _do_ like nearly everyone, but I _do not_ like Amelia. She's a--a -hypocrite," said Jane. "She's a _fake_. That's what I don't like about -her. I don't like people who write about the stars, and then turn around -and say mean, nasty, cattish little things just because they're jealous. -Oh, _poor_ Mr. Sheridan!" - -The object of Jane's ardent sympathy really deserved it. He was doing -his duty manfully and gallantly; but every now and then a haunted and -desperate expression came into his face, as he summoned up all his -faculties to respond to Amelia's discourse. - -She was trying, by various subtle, melancholy little observations to -make him feel that she understood that he was not a happy man, and that -he might confide in her. His only escape from this harassing -conversation was to dance with her (tripping at every second step on her -Grecian draperies) and--his only escape from the disasters of the dance -was to talk to her. - -"Paul!" said Jane in a tone of decision, "something must be done." - -"Eh?" - -"I'll tell you what. _You_ must go down, and ask Amelia to dance with -you!" - -"_What!_" - -"Yes. Now, do an unselfish act, and it shall be returned to you a -thousandfold," said Jane, unctuously. - -"Not interested in any such bargains," returned Paul. - -"Yes. Now, Paul, don't be stubborn. It'll only be for a minute. I'll ask -mother to get Daddy to go and rescue you--or Mr. Webster, or Mr. -Buchanan." - -"Can't. Thank heaven, I don't know how to dance anything but a highland -fling." - -"Well, teach Amelia how to do that. Come on, now, Paul--like a good, -delicious angel." And with that she began to tug at his arm. - -"Jane, you're going to be a horrible, horrible old woman. You're going -to be a matchmaker. You're going to make all your friends hide in ambush -when they see you coming, and you'll probably be assassinated." - -"I don't care. Come along, now--ni-ice little Paul, and teach Amelia how -to do the pretty highland fling!" And actually, so irresistible was her -determination, she coaxed the enraged Paul down the ladder, and standing -disinterestedly at a certain distance away, heard him say meekly, -according to her instructions, - -"Miss Hartshorn, may I have the pleasure of this waltz?" his voice -fading away to an anguished whisper. Mr. Sheridan, beaming with -satisfaction, professed abysmal regrets at being forced to lose his -charming partner; and then Paul, with the sweetly wan expression of an -early martyr, placed one arm around Amelia's waist, and began the -peculiar, grave capering which in his dazed condition, he believed to be -a waltz. - - - - -CHAPTER IX--"THE BEST LAID PLANS--" - - -Mr. Sheridan, turning about, suppressing a vast sigh, beheld Jane, -standing and smiling at him with her most benevolent expression. - -"Why--so there you are again! How glad I am to see you! Why haven't you -ever come to call on me? I've missed you," he said, taking her hand. His -pleasure was too sincere not to be extremely flattering. - -"I _would_ have come, only I've been pretty busy," she explained; then -her eyes twinkled. "That was Paul," she said. "You remember I told you -that he was coming. Isn't he a nice boy?" - -It was only the mischievous sparkle in her eyes that told Mr. Sheridan -that she had a double meaning. - -"A _charming_ boy!" he declared with fervor; and then he laughed -guiltily. - -"That was mean of Dolly," said Jane. - -"What was mean?" - -"To tie you up with Amelia Hartshorn." - -"Why, on the contrary, I--I thought Miss Hartshorn very agreeable," -replied Mr. Sheridan, fibbing like a gentleman. - -Jane shrugged her shoulders. - -"I was afraid that Dolly might have forgotten that you were a stranger, -and leave you with one partner for the rest of the dance. And then you'd -have been bored, and--and would have wanted solitude worse than ever." - -This remark brought first a puzzled expression and then a burst of -half-shamefaced amusement from Mr. Sheridan. - -"You evidently remember our conversation very clearly," he remarked. - -"Oh, yes, I do. I've thought about it quite often--that is, about some -of the things you said." - -"And I must add that you seem to take great interest in your friends." - -"I suppose," replied Jane with a sigh, "that _you_ think I'm an awful -busybody, too. Well, if I am I can't help it. I mean well." - -Mr. Sheridan chuckled again. He had never before met any youngster who -amused him quite as much as Jane did. - -"Was it because you brought some pressure to bear on--er--Paul that he -interrupted my dance with Miss Hartshorn?" - -"Yes," answered Jane absently. - -"You seem to find it easy to make people do what you want." - -"No, not really--not at all. I had an awful time with Paul." Then after -a short pause, she added, "I'm awfully glad you came to-night. It seems -to have cheered you up." - -"Why do you think I needed cheering up?" - -"Because you were so gloomy." - -With a smile Mr. Sheridan changed the topic by suggesting that he get -some refreshments, and to this proposition Jane assented -enthusiastically. - -"Do you remember that Miss Lily I told you about?" she inquired -casually, when she had finished her ice. "There she is." - -"The very pretty young lady in the Spanish costume?" - -"Yes. She's horribly pretty, isn't she? Would you like to dance with -her?" - -"Very much. Only I haven't had the pleasure----" - -"Oh, _I'll_ introduce you to her, if you like," interrupted Jane, -putting her plate on the window sill. - -Mr. Sheridan raised his head, and looked at Jane with a touch of -wariness. But her face was innocence itself, utterly disarming in its -childlike simplicity. - -Enormously amused, he gravely followed her across the room, to where -Lily was sitting, chatting gaily to the two Webster boys; and Jane -sedately performed the ceremony of introduction. Then, well-satisfied -with her accomplishment, and feeling that she could do no more at -present for these two, she retired to her eyrie in the hayloft, entirely -forgetful of the unhappy Paul. - -It is just possible that, as, out of the corner of her eyes she saw Mr. -Sheridan approaching, Lily pretended to be enjoying the conversation of -the Webster boys a little more than she really was. She felt the color -burning in her cheeks, and was angry with herself. - -"He'll think I'm just a--a silly village girl," she thought. Her natural -shyness was greatly increased by the presence of this young man with his -indescribable air of self-confidence; he was not at all like the two -simple hearty, countrified Webster boys. There was something about him -that marked him unmistakably as a product of city life, of ease, and -rather varied worldly experience, and for some reason this made her a -little bit afraid of him; or, perhaps afraid of herself. Usually the -least self-conscious person in the world, she now found herself filled -with misgivings about herself. She was afraid that there were numberless -shortcomings about her of which she was unaware, but which he would not -fail to notice; and this thought stung her pride. Furthermore, she was a -trifle piqued at his attentiveness to Amelia, though not for worlds -would she have admitted that any such silly vanity existed in her. Added -to all this, was the sting that Amelia had left in her sensitive mind. -Perhaps he had thought it undignified of her to have chatted with him so -informally that day in the field--and then he had seen her peeping at -him from the window. - -All these doubts excited in her a desire to snub him a little. He was -_not_ to think her just a "silly village girl." Perhaps her gay, dashing -costume made her feel unlike herself, and gave her some of the -self-confidence that she lacked by nature. Indeed, the pretty senorita -was altogether quite a different person, from the simple, artless girl -that Timothy Sheridan remembered so vividly. He was himself a thoroughly -simple young man, and he was puzzled by the change in her. - -Fluttering her fan nervously, she chatted with him, asked him questions, -laughed,--all with a little air of frivolity, and carelessness. She felt -a sort of resentment toward him, and this lead her once or twice to make -a remark designed "to take him down off the high horse" that she -imagined (on no grounds whatever) that he had mounted. His expression of -bewilderment and polite surprise gave her a satisfaction that was not -unmixed with regret and displeasure at herself. At length, when the -music started up again, he asked her to dance. By this time, his manner -had grown a little cold and formal, and Lily was piqued. So, with a -little shake of her head, she told him that she had promised this one to -Mr. Webster. There was something in her slight hesitation before she -answered that made him feel that this was not quite true; and, hurt and -puzzled, he bowed, expressed his regret, and the hope that he might have -the pleasure later, and withdrew. On the whole, Jane's diplomacy had -been anything but successful. - -Mr. Sheridan slipped out to smoke a cigar in the fresh, cold air, and to -meditate on the irritating vagaries of the feminine gender. Lily's -reception had hurt him more than he liked to admit even to himself. - -"What was the matter with her? She wasn't a bit like that before--she -seemed so gentle and unspoiled and kind. Hang it, there's no way of -understanding what a girl really is like, anyhow. I've just been an -idiot." - -After a moment or two, he told himself fiercely, - -"Well, if she doesn't want to dance with me, I certainly shan't bother -her." - -A little later, he threw away his cigar, and went in again. But he did -not dance. He sat and talked pleasantly to Mrs. Webster for twenty -minutes or so, and then joined his host by the fire, with whom he -discussed agriculture and politics for the rest of the evening. - -In the meantime, Paul, deserted by Jane, had managed to extricate -himself from the toils of the fair Amelia, and possessed by a deep sense -of injury, had climbed up again to the hayloft, with the double purpose -of expressing his indignant feelings to Jane, and getting well out of -the reach of his recent partner. - -"Well, I must say--if that's the way you keep a bargain--" he began. -Jane looked around at him with an abstracted expression, and then unable -to control herself at the sight of his aggrieved face, burst into the -most unsympathetic laughter. - -"Oh, you poor creature! I _am_ sorry! I forgot all about you!" - -"Do you think you're giving me fresh information?" inquired Paul, in -tones of bitterest sarcasm. - -"How _did_ you get away?" - -"Much you care!" - -"There, don't be angry. Tell me how you _did_ get away?" - -"If you must know--I just bolted." - -"Paul!" - -"Couldn't help it. Just had to. Sorry if it was uncouth and all -that--but there are limits to human endurance!" - -"Now who's hard on Amelia?" - -Paul grinned unwillingly. - -"I guess you were about right. The whole time I was with her, she was -picking on things about people--all the other girls who were the least -bit pretty. Not plain, straight-forward out-and-out wallops, mind you, -but all sorts of sweet and sly--" - -"Oh, I know her way. And did you just up and leave her?" - -"No. We pranced around a while, and then she sat down, and made me fan -her. And then we pranced around some more--until I thought I was going -to die, and she kept talking--first about what she thought about girls -nowadays, and then about poetry--you can imagine about how much I had to -say to that sort of stuff. And then we pranced around some more, and by -that time I'd concluded that I had only myself to rely on"--this with -renewed bitterness, "so I told the woman that I had a--a weak heart, and -guessed I'd better get a little air--" - -"Paul, you didn't!" cried Jane, horrified. - -"Yes, I did," said Paul, grimly. "I'd gotten to the point where I'd have -flopped down, and played dead if necessary. She seemed to swallow the -story, bait, line and hook, and was quite sympathetic--and here I am, -and the next time you try to get me into a fix like that--" - -"I say," interrupted Jane, "Mr. Sheridan hasn't danced with Lily at all! -He's gone and plopped himself down with all those old fogies around the -fire!" - -At this Paul took his turn to chuckle. - -"Serves you right! _Now_ will you keep your fingers out of other -people's pies? I told you you were too young to be meddling with such -things. But I guess you're just like all women--jump at conclusions, and -then start trying to run things--" - -"You think you're awfully clever, don't you?" retorted Jane acidly. - -"Not clever--just humanly intelligent. Intuition may be all right for -women, but plain horse-sense is good enough for me." - -"What's intuition?" demanded Jane. - -"The thing that makes girls think they know more than men do," replied -Paul, scornfully. "Your friend Amelia says she's got a lot of it. Ask -her what it is." Then he turned to her with an exasperating grin; he was -getting immeasurable satisfaction out of her discomfiture. "Practice -what you preach, old lady. I guess it's about time that _you_ left a -thing or two to Providence." - -Jane felt that it was time to change the subject. - -"People are queer," she remarked. - -"I've heard that before," said Paul, rubbing his nose, "I've observed -it, and I know it." - -"I think you're sort of detestable to-night." - -"It's your fault, then. I think you've ruined my disposition for life. -The next thing you'll be trying to make me be sweet to that fat old -dowager with the moustaches!" - -"_Hush_, Paul! That's Mrs. Deacon." - -"Nobody could hear me in all this noise. She seems in an awful stew -about something, doesn't she?" - -Jane did not answer. Paul stared at her. - -"What's the matter with you? You look as if you were going to have a -fit." Still Jane did not answer. There was indeed a frozen look on her -face. - -"Well," said Paul, eyeing her, "what have you been up to now?" - -"N-nothing," said Jane. - -"That won't go with me, old salt. What have you done to that poor, -defenseless old widow?" - -"I--I'm afraid I've made rather a mess," Jane confessed, faintly. - -"Oh, I'm quite sure of that. And you won't catch me coming to the rescue -again. Here I am and here I stay until I go home under Uncle Peter's -sheltering wing. Well, what have you done?" - -"I--I didn't mean--" - -"Of course not. Your kind never do. They'll have a revolution in this -town, if they keep you here until you've grown up--which I doubt very -much." Then, seeing that she was really distressed, he patted her hand, -and said, consolingly, "There, tell your Aunt Rebecca what you've -done--I'll help you out, if I must." - -"No one can help me," said Jane, darkly. - -"Is it murder this time? Well, tell me anyhow. I'm always prepared for -the worst with you." - -"Don't tease, Paul. I sent her sleigh away," said Jane, with the calm of -deep trouble. - -"You--_what_?" - -"I said--I sent Mrs. Deacon's sleigh away." - -There was a pause, during which Paul made every effort to guess what -earthly designs Jane had had in perpetrating such a peculiar deed. Then -he gave up. - -"You have something against Mrs. Deacon?" he suggested, delicately. "You -don't like her moustaches, perhaps? Or perhaps you think that a five -mile walk would be good for her health?" - -Jane was not listening. - -"I--you see, I thought it would be nice if Mr. Sheridan took Lily home. -And a little while ago I was talking to Mr. Buchanan who brought the -Deacons here. He was sitting outside, and he seemed awfully tired and -sleepy, and kept saying that late hours were bad for young and old; and -then I said that--that the Deacons weren't going back with him. And he -didn't wait a minute. He just got into his sleigh, and went off like -Santa Claus. And now, it looks as if Mr. Sheridan and Lily were mad at -each other--and if Mrs. Deacon finds out that I told Mr. Buchanan to -go--I don't know _what_ to do!" - -"Well!" said Paul, "I suppose you're about the _coolest_--rascal I ever -met in my life. I don't think I've ever even heard of anyone like you." - -"What shall I do?" - -"Do? Why, to be perfectly consistent with your kind, after having gotten -everything into a sweet kettle-of-fish, just wash your hands of it. -Leave it to Providence--and hike for the tall timber." Then he began to -chuckle, hugging himself, and shaking up and down, in a rapture of -mirth. - -"Oh, don't bother about it. They'll get home all right--" - -"I'm not bothering about that. I'm thinking about what'll happen if Mrs. -Deacon finds out that I sent Mr. Buchanan away." - -"Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. She hasn't found out yet." - -"I wonder why Mr. Sheridan and Lily are mad at each other." Then she -jumped up. - -"What are you going to do now?" demanded Paul. - -"I'm going down." - -"Take my advice and stay where you are." But Jane was already on her way -down the ladder. - -The party was beginning to break up. The wild tooting of horns, the -shrill notes of whistles, and showers of confetti announced the New -Year. Jane made her way through the tangles of colored streamers, and -the knots of merry-makers toward the huge chimney-place where a group of -older people were standing, watching the picturesque scene. - -"Ah-ha, here's my girl again!" cried Mr. Webster. "Come here and watch -the fun with your old god-father." - -With his big hands on her shoulders, Jane leant against him, and looked -on as placidly as if there were not a care in the world troubling her -peace of mind. When the noise had subsided a little, she looked round -and up at Mr. Webster's face, and raising her voice a little so that it -was impossible for Mr. Sheridan not to hear what she said, remarked, - -"Mr. Buchanan has gone home, and left the Deacons here." - -"What? What is that?" said Mr. Webster hastily. Jane repeated her -remark, glancing furtively at Mr. Sheridan, whose face had suddenly -grown rather red. But he stared straight ahead and pretended not to have -heard her. - -"Ah, well, Sam can hitch up our sleigh in a moment," said Mr. Webster. -"I daresay he'll be only too glad to take Lily home." And he chuckled -slyly. - -For some reason, Mr. Sheridan was able to hear _this_ remark quite -distinctly. He looked around, and after a momentary hesitation said, - -"There is no reason for that. Mrs. Deacon and her daughter are near -neighbors of mine, and I--I'd be delighted to take them home." And -without giving his host a chance to argue the point, strode off hastily -in the direction of the majestic dowager. - -By this time the old lady, undergoing the process of being wrapped up in -a dense cocoon of furs and mantles, while the two Webster boys clamored -for the pleasure of putting on her carriage boots, was quite besieged by -young men begging to be allowed to drive her home. Lily stood behind her -chair, smiling, but a little tired-looking. - -Mr. Sheridan worked his way deftly and determinedly through the group. - -"Will you let me drive you home, Mrs. Deacon?" He did not look at Lily, -and Lily dropped her eyes. - -"I am taking Miss--Mrs. Deacon home," said Sam Webster firmly, -unconsciously grasping that dignified lady's plump foot more tightly, as -if he intended to hold her by it, should she attempt to evade him. - -Now Mr. Sheridan _did_ look, at Lily. Would she or would she not prefer -to go with him? - -"Why, if Mr. Sheridan has--has room for us, we needn't trouble Sam, -mamma," said Lily, demurely. "That is--" - -"It's no trouble," interrupted Sam,--which was quite true--"and I've got -the sleigh already hitched up"--which was not true. He sent an almost -belligerent glance at Mr. Sheridan, who ignored it. - -Mr. Sheridan felt extraordinarily jubilant. Nothing should prevent his -taking Lily home--not if he had to slaughter this mob of impertinent -young men in cold blood. - -Then Mrs. Deacon, extricating her foot from Sam's convulsive grip, rose -up. There was a warm light in her eye, the peculiar, benevolent beam -which enlivens the glance of the far-sighted mamma as it rests upon an -eligible young man. - -"Mr. Sheridan, I thank you. I accept your pusillanimous offer," she -said, in the full, bell-like tone of a public official. "Samuel, we -shall not emburden you." - -In vain did Sam assure her that he would be only too happy, that there -was nothing he would like to do more; meanwhile sending at Lily -reproachful looks fit to melt a heart of stone. Lily simply did not see -them. In cool triumph, Mr. Sheridan escorted the two ladies to his -sleigh. - -An hour later,--it was after one o'clock--he entered his library, where -Peterson had kept the fire burning, threw off his coat, and sat down to -try to work out the puzzle of Lily's conduct. On the way home, they had -exchanged hardly six words. But if Lily had been silent, the same could -not be said for her mamma. Even now he seemed to hear the incessant, -rich tones of Mrs. Deacon's voice ringing in his ear, as they say the -booming of the sea echoes in certain shells. He could not remember -whether he had ever answered her or not. But Lily? It seemed evident to -him that she had not wanted to talk with him or to dance with him during -the party. It seemed equally evident that she _had_ wanted to drive home -in his sleigh. Now what was the meaning of behavior like that? - -By two o'clock he had come to the conclusion that she was a coquette, -that he was a donkey, and that the best thing he could do was to tell -Peterson to pack up and be ready to pull up their stakes the day after -to-morrow. He had been acting like an awful fool anyway. He was -twenty-five years old; too old to be acting like a schoolboy. How in the -world had Mary Abbott been able to-- - -By three o'clock he had come to another conclusion. He wasn't going to -go away at all. He'd be hanged if he'd be chased around the earth by -_women_. He was going to stay where he was. He was going to go in for -farming. He liked the quaint old town, he liked the solid, intelligent, -industrious, practical people. He liked Mr. Webster for instance, and -Mrs. Webster, and Dolly, and old Mr. Pyncheon, and he quite loved that -little Janey Lambert, and he liked--well, already the list had grown to -a fairly respectable length for a confirmed misanthrope. - -At half past six, Peterson coming into the library to see that -everything was in order, discovered his master sleeping placidly in the -huge armchair, surrounded by, almost buried under books, pamphlets and -almanacs which had never been taken down from their shelves since the -late Major had been a young and hopeful devotee of farming. He picked -one up, and holding it at arm's length read the title, "Fertilizers and -Fertilization." The old man drew a deep, long-suffering sigh. - -"Lord, it was bad enough before," he thought despondently, looking down -at Mr. Tim, and shaking his head slowly. "It can't be that he's goin' in -to be a useful citizen. Whatever would the Major say to that?" - -Then he suddenly remembered the old Major's invariable reply to such -propositions. Quite undisturbed, and in the most astounding French, he -used to say, "Searchez le Femme." - - - - -CHAPTER X--PAUL AND CARL - - -Paul, in his heavy canvas apron, his sleeves rolled up, flour in his -hair, on his eyelashes, and on the end of his nose, sat on a -three-legged stool in front of the door of the big oven. There was an -expression of such dogged concentration on his face, such fierce -intensity in the grim frown between his eyebrows, that one might have -thought he was expecting to draw forth a new universe, remodelled nearer -to his heart's desire, from the roasting bakeoven. The event he was -anticipating was indeed of great moment not only to him but to at least -four other members of the household who had gathered in the -kitchen--Aunt Gertrude, Jane, Elise, and ruddy little Anna, the bouncing -little assistant cook and shop-keeper, who never could watch Paul's -culinary struggles without going into a fit of giggling. - -"It's been in twenty minutes," announced Jane, glancing at the clock. -Paul raised his head and glowered at her. - -"Can you or can you not hold your tongue?" - -"I can not," answered Jane, frankly. - -"Who's making this cake?" - -"Come, Janey, leave Paul alone and don't bother him," said Elise. "Come -over here and let me try this sleeve to see if it fits." Elise was -engaged in making over one of her mother's gowns into a school-dress for -Jane. Jane obediently stood through the process of a fitting, but -craning around to keep her eye on Paul. - -Suddenly, taking hold of the hot handle of the oven-door with his apron, -he flung it open; and reaching in, pulled forth the huge cake pan. - -"There! Now, Aunt Gertrude, come and look at this fellow! How's _that_ -for a blooming success?" His face simply beamed with pride as a chorus -of "Oh's" and "Ah's" greeted his first real triumph. Five big disks of -cake, delicately, perfectly browned, light as a feather, he turned out -onto the wooden board. - -"Beautiful!" cried Aunt Gertrude. "I've never made a better one myself, -have I Elise? No, not even your grandfather could make that cake more -perfectly." - -Paul swelled out his broad chest. - -"Now I am a Baker!" he announced. "_I'm_ the boss around here, and I -think I'll begin by firing--Jane!" - -Jane, delighted and quite as triumphant as he, made a spring for him, -and flinging both arms around his waist hugged him ecstatically, -shouting, - -"I knew you could do it! _I_ said you could!" - -Paul tweaked her nose. - -"I suppose you'll be saying _you_ made that cake, next. You couldn't -learn to bake an article like that in a life time. Unhand me, woman, -I've got to fix the frosting." - -His satisfaction sprang from a deeper source than that of the mere -success. Some people might think it quite a trivial matter to make a -good cake, but Paul, during weeks of abject failure, had come to -consider that it required superhuman powers. It must be remembered of -course, that Winkler's cakes were not like any others, and that into the -mixing and baking of those delectable goodies there had to go a skill -and care that not many people could give. Repeated failure had made Paul -moody; he had even begun to think that his lack of success was -attributable to some deep-rooted weakness in himself. He had, in fact, -begun to give it quite an important significance; and, in his -earnestness, had even gone to the length of making a curious pact with -himself. He had determined not to touch a pencil, not even to open the -precious box of paints that Jane had given him, until he had learned to -make cakes and bread that should be an honor to the venerable traditions -of his family. Moreover, considerable reflection had convinced him that -Jane had been right in advising him to try to win his uncle's good will; -and he had not liked to have Mr. Lambert believe that he was -deliberately trying _not_ to make good. - -Jane understood very well the real cause of his satisfaction; and she -was as pleased as if he had accomplished a Herculean task. - -That night Mr. Lambert expressed his satisfaction in Paul's final -success. He was a very just man, and he did not fail to commend his -nephew for his patience. - -"I am glad to see, my boy, that you have taken a reasonable view of your -situation; and have so fully realized your peculiar responsibilities." - -Thereafter he began to treat Paul with a marked difference of manner; he -consulted him quite as often as he consulted Carl, discussed domestic -and public business with him, entrusted important errands to him, and, -in a word, no longer treated him as if he were an eccentric and willful -child. - -Within the three months that had passed since Paul had come to live with -his relatives his position had changed astonishingly. At the beginning -of February he found himself looked up to by the "women-folk" as if he -were a prime minister. He suggested, and was allowed to carry into -effect several important changes in the simple business system of the -Bakery; and customers with special requests were now referred to the big -boy, who handled their concerns and their temperaments with perfect tact -and good sense. - -But if Paul seemed at last to have given in to his uncle's wishes, he -was in truth no more reconciled to the lot which destiny had flung in -his way than before. He simply kept his own counsel. - -On the other hand two things had contributed to teach patience to the -impetuous boy, who never in his life before had known anything like -restraint. At first he had consoled himself for his repeated defeats in -the simple matter of cake-baking by the thought that he was designed for -more impressive things. But the impressive things were not ready to be -done yet, and he was being measured by his failure in that which _was_ -at hand. And so it came about that he put all his will to the simple, -woman's task, until he had mastered it. In the process, he had come, -also, to take a more personal interest in the family affairs; and no -longer to think of himself as an outsider, to whom the interests of his -kindly relatives were matters of total indifference. He was proud, too, -to bear the name of one of the first inhabitants of Frederickstown. It -made him feel that he had some share in the little community; he was no -longer a boy "without a country," as he had told his farmer -acquaintance. He knew everyone; and he was more or less interested in -their various affairs. Once, after he had been listening to some of the -older men discussing, in his uncle's warehouse, a question which had -arisen concerning the matter of running the state highway through the -town, or turning it off from one of the outlying roads, he had said -laughingly to Jane that he was getting a mild attack of "civic -interest"; and then after a moment's thought, he had added more -seriously, "But it's true. I've gotten pretty fond of this place. I -almost feel as if I belong to it, and it belongs to me. I'd like to make -it proud of me some day. It's all very nice and fine to say that you're -an independent citizen, and don't hail from anywhere in particular, but -you _do_ feel lonely and left-out, and there are lots of things you -never can understand. Lots of things," he repeated, with more emphasis. -"I've seen dozens of fellows knocking around the world, coming from -nowhere in particular, and going nowhere in particular. Some of 'em were -pretty clever, I guess--I'd hear 'em talking, sometimes on board ship, -sometimes around the tables in the taverns. I used to listen to -them--they talked as if they knew a lot, and were usually worked up over -something,--Americans, and Italians and down-and-out Englishmen. Lord, -how they used to shout and argue and pound their fists. But, now that I -think of it, all they said was nothing much but a lot of noise. They -were like sea-weed floating around without its roots sticking anywhere. -They sounded awfully fiery and patriotic, but I don't think they -honestly cared much about any place under the sun, or about any _thing_. -And that's a bad way to be. It would be better, I think, to spend all -your days in one place and to love that place, even if you got kind of -narrowed down--than to belong nowhere." These grave views surprised -Jane, and perhaps she did not wholly understand Paul's meaning. He was -older than she, and was beginning to think like a man, and sometimes she -could not quite follow his thoughts. But she hoped that he meant that he -would find it possible to work out his own ambitions without going away. -Sometimes she wondered--he spoke so little now about his plans--whether -he had given them up altogether; and this she did not like to believe. -But Jane, inquisitive as she was, could hold her peace very patiently -when she felt that it was better so. - -In the second place, Paul had become very conscious of his almost total -lack of education. He could read, and write, and figure well enough to -cast up the accounts with accuracy; but beyond these elements he knew -nothing save what he had gleaned from his rough contact with the world. -His ignorance of many things which even the twins had learned, sometimes -startled even Jane; and Carl had never left off making sly fun of him -for counting on his fingers like a kindergarten child when he had to -calculate a simple problem in multiplication. - -At first he had pretended to scorn his cousin's book-learning, but -little by little he found himself envying Carl's extensive knowledge, -which that youth was rather overfond of airing. Every generation of -Winklers had seen to it that the young ones acquired a sound, simple, -thorough education; and among them poor Uncle Franz had stood out as the -"dunce." - -There was something quite pathetic in the sight of the big boy sitting -on those winter evenings, listening to the twins lisp out their next -day's lessons to Elise, and storing away as well as he could the simple -things he heard; and many times, he sat up until after midnight, over -the ashes of the fire, poring over an old "Elementary History of the -United States," humbly beginning where Janey had long since finished; -and stumbling over words that even Lottie could spell easily. - -In the midst of these occupation, Paul spent little time in dwelling -upon plans for departure. He seemed content to bide his time, if -necessary, for an indefinite period; and had settled into a state of -peace and amity toward all the world, with one and only one exception. - -That exception was Carl. Just where the rub came between the two boys it -would be hard to say; but hard as he tried to hold his temper in check, -Paul found it impossible either to hit it off with Carl, or to discover -the root of his cousin's grudge against him; and it often seemed to him -that Carl deliberately tried to rouse the old Adam in him. Every day -Carl's disposition became more acid, and as the spring progressed he -became positively intolerable. Paul had put up with his ill-humors as -well as he could, partly because, during the latter part of the winter, -Carl, who was the least sturdy of his cousins had not been very well. He -suffered frequently from severe headaches, and his constant studying, -which he doubled as the spring examinations approached, certainly did -not improve either his health or his disposition. Aunt Gertrude was -worried about him, and tried to coax him to spend more of his time out -of doors, for by the end of March the snow had melted away from the -hills, the sun was growing warmer, and the trees already turning green -with buds opening in the genial warmth of an early southern spring. He -resisted these gentle efforts, however, and even when the long Easter -holiday came, settled down to a process of cramming, utterly indifferent -to the delicious weather. Even his father had one or two slight -difficulties with him, so uncertain was his temper, and the other -members of his family treated him with kid gloves, but with Paul he -squabbled almost continually. Now Paul had mislaid some of his papers; -now he had left the stopper off the inkwell, now he had put his shoes -where he couldn't find them. More than once it occurred to Paul that -Carl was actually trying to goad him into leaving. "But what on earth -have I ever done to the idiot?" he wondered. That Carl was jealous of -him never dawned on his mind; and yet it was the case. Carl was jealous -of the position his cousin had taken in the household; he was jealous of -his physical strength; he was even jealous of the self-control with -which Paul curbed his anything but mild temper, under his continual -nagging. - -One day, flying into a rage over some trivial matter, Carl informed him -that the trouble with him was "his confounded swell-head." By this time, -Paul had reached the end of his tether; he retaliated, with a sudden -thrust that went home to Carl's most vulnerable spot. - -"What's the matter with you, anyway?" he demanded whirling upon his -cousin. There was a black frown on his face; and suddenly losing his -temper altogether, he seized Carl's shoulder fiercely. "I'm sick of your -eternal whining, and snarling. You snap at me at every chance you -get,--but nothing on earth would make you fight like a--a man! Would it? -Hey?" - -Carl wrenched himself out of his grip, and backed toward the door, -trembling with fury. - -"You've a swell-head," he repeated, stubbornly, his eyes flashing, "and -you're a--don't you dare to touch me! I hate you! You're a bully--that's -what you are!" - -"A bully! It's you that's the bully. You know darn well that _you're_ -safe in nagging the life out of me--you're pretty sure that I wouldn't -hurt a little fellow like you. You're a little coward, Carl Lambert, but -I tell you now that if you don't stop your eternal whining, -I'll--I'll--" - -"You'll what?" sneered Carl. - -"I'll thrash you until you can't stand up. Do you understand me?" And -once more Paul's big hand clamped down on his shoulder. Carl's face went -white, and a look of such utter terror superseded the one of rage, that -Paul was astonished. - -"What on earth is the matter with you?" he repeated, in a milder tone. -"Will you tell me what I've ever done to you?" - -"I hate you! I've hated you ever since you came here! Thrash me if you -want to! Nothing will ever make me hate you any worse than I do now!" - -Paul frowning more in bewilderment than anger stared into his cousin's -pale, distorted face. Then suddenly he asked, - -"If you hate me so much, why didn't _you_ tell Uncle Peter about my -playing billiards--for money--with Jeff Roberts?" - -Carl did not answer. - -"I can't make you out," went on Paul, as if he were talking to himself. -"You bother the life out of me, you squabble and row from morning to -night, and you never say _what_ you're down on me for. I honestly -believe that until recently you had a lot to do with Uncle Peter's bad -opinion of me, and yet--somehow, I _don't_ believe you hate me as much -as you think you do. If _you_ had told Uncle Peter about that business -with Jeff Roberts he would certainly--not certainly, perhaps, but very -likely--have sent me packing, and you would have been rid of me, and yet -you didn't do it. And it wasn't as if you weren't a tell-tale, because -you are. And what under the sun makes you say I've got a swell-head?" - -"It's the truth," repeated Carl, doggedly, and not another word would he -say. There was nothing to do but to leave him alone; but the strain of -putting up with his sullen silence--which he maintained for a full -week--wore on Paul's patience, until more than once he was on the point -of declaring his definite intention to put up with it no longer. It was -at the end of that week--the last in a warm, summery April--that matters -changed suddenly, bringing the first trouble that Paul had yet had to -share with his kinsfolk. - -One warm Saturday afternoon, when it was May in everything but name, -Jane revelling in the last days of the spring vacation proposed a long -walk into the country. The twins, Paul, and Elise approved heartily. - -"And try to coax Carl out, too, Lisa," said Aunt Gertrude, who wanted to -stay at home to do some mending while she took charge of the shop. "He -doesn't take any exercise at all these days." - -At first Carl growled, and said he wished they'd leave him alone, but -just as Elise had given up trying to persuade him, he suddenly changed -his mind; though still grumbling as if they were making him do something -against his will, joined the jolly little party. But it cannot be said -that he was a particularly lively member of it. He looked pale and -sulky, walked by himself, and with a moody expression kept his eyes on -Jane and Paul as if their high spirits, their perfect camaraderie -angered him. And in fact, not the least of his grievances against Paul -was Jane's affection for him; for cold and selfish as Carl might be, he -loved Jane in his own way, and in addition, he hated not to be the chief -object of interest. Besides, he was feeling half ill again. - -"Shall we ask Lily to come with us?" suggested Elise, as they reached -the top of Sheridan Lane. - -"Let's ask everyone we meet," said Jane, "everybody! Nobody ought to -stay cooped up indoors to-day. Poor Lily--she's practising again." - -And in fact Lily's voice, a little listless and monotonous to-day came -sweetly through the quiet air; there did not seem to be much joy in -Schubert's beautiful little spring song as she sang it--"And winking -Mary-buds begin, to ope their golden eyes--" she broke off in the middle -of the second part. - -"Lily!" - -A moment later she appeared at the window. - -"Come along! You've got to come along with us!" - -"Where are you going?" - -"A-maying." - -"But it isn't May," said Lily trying to sound merry. Nevertheless, in -another minute she was with them, swinging her straw hat on her arm. On -down the lane they went, under the light shade of the budding trees, -past the old iron fountain. - -"Whoa. Where are you off to?" shouted the voice of some invisible being; -there was a scrambling, scraping sound in the branches of a tree that, -growing inside of the wall around the Sheridan place, extended its -patriarchal boughs across the road; and presently the lord of the manor, -hot, and red, with a three foot saw in his hand swung gracefully into -view. - -"Are you going to have a party without _me_?" he asked in an injured -tone. "Can't I come, too?" - -"There!" said Jane in a low tone, giving Paul a surreptitious pinch, -"what did I tell you?" - -"Are you going to begin meddling with that again?" demanded Paul, also -in a low tone, remembering bitterly the unhappy part he had been called -upon to play at the Webster's party. "Because if so, I'm going home." - -"I'll meddle if I think it's necessary," returned Jane, calmly, "but I -don't believe it will be." - -And, indeed, from the first it seemed quite plain that her valuable -services were not required. With the air of one who feels that her small -tasks have been well done, she watched Lily and Mr. Sheridan who -wandered on ahead, leading the way across the old wooden bridge, and up -the hill. - -Jane said frankly to Paul that she would "sort of like to hear what they -were talking about," but Paul was pained, and undertook to lecture her -on the spot for her deplorable habits. - -On each side of the road lay the broad fields, where, in the furrows of -dark earth, freshly ploughed, young corn was already thrusting upwards -its vivid green blades. - -"How do you like my scare-crow?" Mr. Sheridan called back, waving gaily -toward the grotesque figure which bore an absurd resemblance to -Peterson. "I made Peterson dress him up in his winter suit. Isn't he a -fine, impressive fellow, though. How do you think he'd strike you if you -were a crow?" Then without waiting for an answer, he went on talking to -Lily, describing all his late activities in the line of agriculture, his -plans for new buildings on his land, and airing, boyishly all his newly -acquired--and perhaps not entirely assimilated--knowledge of farming. -Jane might have found this talk distinctly disappointing, but to Lily -everything that he said seemed remarkable. - -"And then, perhaps, you are going to live here--a good deal of the -time?" she asked timidly. "I very glad that you have found so much to -interest you." - -Mr. Sheridan turned to help her over a stile. For some reason, her -words, so simply said, and without the slightest tinge of coquetry, -seemed to disconcert him. - -"I--yes. I--have grown very much attached to Frederickstown--and farming -is interesting because--because--" But for the life of him he could not -think of any reason _why_. - -The little party trailed across the field, all walking together now, -laughing and talking. Only Carl hung behind. To begin with, he was not -yet on speaking terms with Paul, and he was piqued at Jane, and the -sunlight made his over-strained eyes ache, and he was thoroughly tired -out already. Lily was walking arm in arm with Elise, and both were -talking to Mr. Sheridan, the twins were running ahead, trying to catch -the yellow butterflies that they frightened away from the early -field-flowers; and Paul and Jane strolled along side by side sometimes -joining in the talk of the others, sometimes discussing their own -affairs. But at last Jane turned around, and noticing for the first time -how Carl was lagging, called to him. - -"Why don't you come and walk with us, Carl?" - -"I'm all right as I am, amn't I?" he returned. Jane shrugged her -shoulders. - -"What's the matter with him?" she asked Paul. "Have you had another -quarrel?" - -"Not since Monday,--haven't had a chance. He won't speak to me. I don't -know what's the matter with him," Paul shook his head. "I _have_ tried -to get along with him, but I can't seem to work it. He says he hates me, -and that he's always hated me--and maybe its true, though I don't see -why. I mean that I've never given him any cause that I know of. I've -been thinking about it a lot lately. I seem to make him downright -unhappy--he acts as if I had slipped into his shoes, and I've never -taken anything he wanted, have I?" and after a short pause, he added, -"And I'm sure that I don't want anything he has. It seems to get worse -with him all the time. Perhaps, Janey, his feelings may be hurt because -you and I get along so well. Maybe I'd feel the same way if I were your -brother, and he were a 'swell-head' cousin from nowhere. After a bit, -why don't you drop back with him?" - -"Why should he hate you?" wondered Jane. "I could understand if you were -really--" - -"What?" - -"If you were like what you _seemed_ to be like the first night you were -here," she said frankly. "I didn't like you then either. I didn't like -you for quite a long time. I didn't like you until you said that you -were going away." - -"Maybe Carl would like me better if I told him that," said Paul, -laughing, but with a rather sad expression in his eyes. "And I've been -thinking lately--" - -"What?" asked Jane, quickly, looking up into his face. - -"I've been thinking that I--perhaps I ought to, Janey." - -"No, no, no, _no_! Not yet, Paul! You said, just the other day--and what -a silly little thing to make so much of. Lots of _brothers_ squabble and -call each other names--" - -"But it doesn't make a particularly happy household, does it? I don't -want to go, Janey--not yet. J don't want to go until--it's a hard thing -to explain exactly, but this is the way it is. When I first came, I was -thinking only of one thing--father was gone, and I didn't care for -anyone in the world, and I didn't want to. I wanted to work by myself -and for myself, in the way that seemed most to my liking--and when I -found that Uncle had other plans for me, and intended to force me into -them, it made me furious--and what was worse was the thought that I had -to do either as Uncle wanted or--well, _starve_, if I was out of luck. -And I was afraid of starving, being an ordinary human being. I started -to run away the first night I was here--Carl knows that--and I didn't -because I was afraid to. He knows that, too. And so I stayed on, -planning to make a break as soon as I could. And I hated everything--I -was perfectly miserable--until that night, do you remember, when we had -that talk by the fire. After that, I began to look at things -differently. It seemed to me that I'd been acting like a donkey, and so -I decided to do as you said--make the best of things as I found them, -and see what would happen. And now--I don't know how it is--but you've -all been so good to me, and it makes a difference not to be all alone. -Now, when I think of the fine things I may do some day, I think of how -you all may be proud of me, and how--perhaps--maybe Frederickstown would -be proud of--all that seems silly, doesn't it--but anyway that's the -reason why I'd hate to go away now--why I'd hate to go away with any -hard feeling behind me. That is, unless it simply _had_ to be. Men -_have_ lived alone, and worked and done great things with no one to care -whether they lived or died--and I could do it, too. But, over and above -cake-baking--" he laughed, as if a little ashamed of his own -seriousness, "I've learned that--I've learned that it is a better thing -not to be all alone." - -Jane made no reply, and presently Paul went on, - -"I daresay I made myself pretty disagreeable at first, and I don't -wonder that Carl hated me then--but I _have_ tried to be decent to him, -and to make him like me. If he doesn't, it certainly isn't his fault--it -can't be helped. Only, I haven't any right--I mean, if he's going to be -miserable while I'm around, if I get on his nerves every minute--it -isn't as if we were little kids, we'll soon be men, and two men -quarrelling with each other in one family can make an awful mess of -things. You were all happy together before I came." As he said this he -looked down gravely into the round, sober little face beside him. "Don't -you see, Janey?" - -Janey did not answer; but a little later as they all turned into the -cool shade of the woods, she dropped back until she was walking near -Carl. She had too much instinctive wisdom to seem to do so deliberately, -and she did not talk to him until the twins started to hunt for violets -and jacks-in-the-pulpit, when she began to remind him of the places they -had explored the summer before, and the grotto they had found the summer -before that until he began to feel as if he were receiving the attention -which was his brotherly due. - -The beautiful afternoon wore on happily. For a long time they all sat -talking and laughing under the trees, sorting the white and purple -violets that they had picked. Once or twice Tim Sheridan thought of what -Phil Blackstone and Johnny Everett and Mary and all the rest of them -would say to his bucolic pleasures, and grinned at the thought of the -expressions they would wear; and he wondered himself at his own -enjoyment in the company of these simple young people--but he was having -a better time than he had ever had in his life, and even Peterson was -beginning to show some interest in his eccentric master's latest -occupations. - -And for a time, Carl, too, joined in the chatter, as poor little Janey, -inwardly saddened by what Paul had told her so simply, tried to coax him -out of his sullen humor. - -When, at length they all started homeward, he even linked his arm -through hers. Now, she thought, was the time to ask him what was the -root of his ill-feeling against Paul, now was the time to tell him what -Paul had said--she hated so for people to be unhappy for no reason, or -for silly reasons. - -"Carl, listen," she began, "I want to--" but he suddenly interrupted -her. - -"Look here, Jane--I don't know what's the matter with me. But I--I feel -like the dickens." - -She did not quite understand him. - -"What about?" she asked. - -"What about? About nothing--my head aches like all get-out, and every -now and then everything gets to jiggling in front of my eyes." She -looked at him in alarm, and saw that his face was terribly pale. - -"Carl! You mean you're ill? Let me--oh, what's the matter?" - -"For heaven's sake, don't kick up a fuss now. No, don't tell Elise," he -said, impatiently. "I'll get home all right. And don't scare mother to -death when we get there. I guess it's the sun or something. And--don't -walk so fast." - -Jane, more frightened by the look of his face, than by his words, -obediently slackened her pace. The others were eight or ten yards ahead -of them. - -"Hurry up, Janey--we'll be late for supper," called Elise, glancing back -at them. Jane looked pleadingly at Carl. - -"I _have_ to tell Elise. Please, Carl, dear, don't be foolish." - -"No, you must _not_. I tell you I won't have them all fussing over me, -and talking, and asking questions!" he exclaimed, with a sudden flash of -temper. "Let 'em go ahead if they want to." - -They dropped farther and farther behind, until the others were already -crossing the bridge as they were just gaining the road. But Paul, -strolling along with his hands in his pockets whistling an accompaniment -to his own thoughts was midway between the two divisions of the party. - -Suddenly Carl declared that he had to rest until his head stopped -throbbing a bit. Just then Paul happened to glance back. - -"Hey! Are you going to spend the summer back there?" he shouted, -cheerfully, but the next moment he seemed to guess that something was -wrong, for after a little hesitation, he turned and started to walk -toward them. - -"We're coming," said Jane, "only Carl has a little headache, and he -wanted to rest a minute." - -Paul looked critically at his cousin's white face. He did not waste any -time in asking the well-meant questions that Carl found so -objectionable, but said simply, - -"I guess you'd better let me help you, Carl." - -To Jane's surprise there was no hostility in her brother's eyes. - -"I won't have _them_ make a fuss over me, do you hear," he said in a -dull voice. Paul glanced at Jane. - -"You cut along with the others, Janey. There's a short cut through this -field. Carl and I'll go this way." - -"Good idea," muttered Carl. "Guess we'll--try that, Jane." And with an -effort, he got to his feet. - -"Take my arm," said Paul. - -Jane watched them as they started across the field, and then obediently -ran at full speed to catch up with the laughing, chattering group ahead. - -As for the two sworn enemies, they made their way slowly along the -little, meandering footpath, that cut through the field, Carl leaning -more and more heavily on Paul's sturdy arm, frankly, if silently -grateful for its solid support. They said nothing, and Paul, who -realized more than Jane had that Carl was seriously ill, wore a grave -expression. He was thinking, not of the many bitter words that Carl had -showered on him, but of the angry threat he himself had uttered, and the -memory of it made him wince. - -"We've only a little way to go, now, cousin," he said gently. "Would you -like me to give you a lift?" - -Carl, quite exhausted by now only looked at his cousin incredulously. - -"_You_ couldn't carry me," he said, thickly, and then drawing a long -breath, he added, "but I wish to goodness you could!" - -Paul smiled. - -"I guess you aren't much heavier than a keg of olives," and with that, -he lifted Carl quite easily in his arms, and set off at a quicker stride -across the field. - -An hour later poor Carl was far past caring whether "they" made a fuss -over him or not. But indeed the worst part of it was that there was very -little fuss made at all. His room was so quiet that the chirping of the -birds in the budding trees outside his window, the sound of voices in -the street below could all be heard distinctly, and yet Aunt Gertrude -and Mr. Lambert sat beside his bed, and Janey was there, clinging to her -father's hand, and Paul sat half hidden in the little window embrasure, -staring out soberly at the fading sky. The shock and suddenness of it -all had stunned the little family. - -It was only Mr. Lambert's face that Paul could see clearly in the dusk -of the room, and the transformation it had undergone since the old man -realized the danger of his only son, left an indelible memory on the -boy's mind. All its pompousness had fled--it looked old and helpless and -humble. And apart as he was, Paul, looking upon their fear and sorrow, -felt that he was being welded to his own people. All his own desires -seemed at that moment, small and selfish, and with a thrill of pity, he -vowed silently that if the need came, he was ready to lay aside his own -hopes forever, without regret, and be their son. - - - - -CHAPTER XI--CARL SQUARES HIS DEBT - - -It was not until the nineteenth of May that the burly, grey-haired -little doctor could say definitely that Carl would get well. And even -then he could not entirely dissolve the cloud that hung over the family. -Carl's eyes which had always been weak and near-sighted had been gravely -injured by incessant overstraining, and the doctor said frankly enough -that unless he took the greatest care of them there was a strong -possibility of his losing his sight. - -"No books, Mrs. Lambert. Nothing but rest," he said, firmly. "Later, he -must be out of doors. Plenty of exercise, plenty of sleep, and no study -for at least a year." - -This program, so entirely opposed to all Carl's tastes was not imparted -to him until he was well on the road to recovery. He listened to it -stoically, propped up among Aunt Gertrude's downiest feather pillows, in -the dark bedroom, a green shade almost bandaging his eyes, and hiding -half of his thin white face. - -"Does the old boy think there's a likelihood of my being blind anyway?" -he inquired, using the blunt word without a tremor. No one answered him. -His face turned a shade paler as he turned helplessly from one side to -the other trying to guess where his mother and father were standing. Mr. -Lambert attempted to say something, but all he could do was to take his -son's groping hand in his. - -"Well--that's all right, father. I guess I'll go to sleep now," said -Carl, after a short pause. "There's no good kicking up a fuss about that -yet." And drawing his hand away he lay down quietly, turning his face to -the wall. He was quite still, until, thinking that he was asleep, his -father and mother left the room noiselessly, Mr. Lambert with his arm -around his wife's shoulders. - -Then, wide-awake, Carl almost savagely worked himself up on his pillows, -and sat alone, thinking. - -He wondered what time it was. He did not know whether it was morning or -afternoon. That it was day and not night he could guess from the busy -rumbling of wagons on the street, and the soft chattering of the twins' -voices in the little garden below. Then he heard the solemn, monotonous -tones of the old church clock. - -"Just noon-day," he thought. "The twins have been home all morning, so -school must have closed. And it must be fair, or they wouldn't be -playing in the garden." - -At that moment he heard careful, tiptoeing footsteps outside his door. -He had already become quick at recognizing the tread of different -members of the family, and without the least uncertainty he called out, - -"Paul!" - -Then he heard the door open. - -"I thought you were asleep," said Paul's voice. - -"Well, I'm not." Then in a jocose tone, Carl said, "It's a beautiful -day, isn't it?" - -"Why, yes," answered Paul, in some surprise. "Look here--have you been -taking off that bandage?" - -"No. But it _is_ a beautiful day isn't it? I just wanted to be sure I -guessed right." - -Paul said nothing. To him there was something indescribably terrible and -touching in Carl's cheerfulness, and in the sight of that half-hidden -face turned nearly but not exactly in his direction. - -"_You_ heard what the doctor said," said Carl abruptly, "there's a -chance that I may be blind, isn't there? Come on, and tell me. You -certainly can't keep me from knowing sooner or later. _Did_ he say -that?" - -"Yes. He did," Paul replied briefly. Carl seemed to think this over -quite calmly for a moment or two; then with a dignity that he had never -shown before, he said slowly, - -"You once said I was a coward, cousin. And you were right. I _am_ a -coward in the way you big fellows think of it. But maybe I'm not a -coward in _every_ way. Maybe I'm not. I don't know. Maybe I am." Paul -said nothing, but stood helplessly with his hands on the back of the -chair. - -"Sit down--that is, if you want to," Carl suggested rather awkwardly. -"It isn't time for your lunch yet, is it? Where's Janey?" - -"She's helping Elise." Paul sat down, crossed his legs and looked at his -cousin, not knowing exactly what else to say. He looked odd enough -sitting there, in his apron, his sleeves rolled up and his shirt open at -the neck, sunburnt and strong in contrast to the bony, pallid boy in the -bed. - -Carl fingered his eyeshade wistfully. - -"Lord, I wish I could take this confounded thing off for just a minute," -he muttered moving his head restlessly. "Do _you_ believe what the -doctor says?" - -"I believe you'll be all right in six months," said Paul. Carl sat bolt -upright. - -"_Do_ you think so? Do you really. You aren't saying that just to cheer -me up? No, _you_ wouldn't do that, would you?" - -"No," said Paul, "I wouldn't." - -"Do you think I'll be able to go back to school next year?" - -"No," said Paul, "I don't." - -"You don't?" Then Carl laughed. "Well, I'm glad you say what you think." - -"It's very likely, though, that you'll be able to study a little, and a -fellow as clever as you are won't be behind long," went on Paul, -gravely. Carl was vastly pleased at the compliment. - -"What makes you think I'm--clever?" he asked presently. - -"Why, you _are_," answered Paul in a surprised tone, and then with a -rather sad little laugh, he added, "I wish I knew one tenth--one -_hundredth_ as much as you do. I'm a dunce, I don't know as much as -Lottie does--not nearly." - -In the face of this humble remark, Carl remembered rather uncomfortably -the innumerable jibes he had directed at his cousin's ignorance. - -"Well, you can teach yourself a lot," he said a little patronizingly. -Paul laughed. - -"I try to. But I--I can't even read decently, and it takes the dickens -of a long time." - -"Can't _read_!" cried Carl. - -"Well, not enough to boast of. I never went to school in my life. A long -time ago my mother or somebody must have taught me something, and then I -picked up what I could here and there. There was an old fellow I knew -years ago,--he was a passenger on a little coast trading vessel--we were -going from Marseilles down to the south of Italy, and on the voyage, -which was pretty slow,--because we sometimes stayed for two or three -days at different ports,--he taught me a few things. And then I learned -to read French pretty well, and a little Italian, and a young -Englishman--a college fellow, who'd given up studying for the ministry -and run away to sea--even taught me some Latin, though what under Heaven -he thought I'd do with it I don't know. He was a funny one," said Paul, -chuckling reminiscently, "a thin little chap, with a long nose. He used -to say that every gentleman should have a knowledge of the classics, and -you'd see him washing the deck, with copy of some old Latin fellow's -poetry sticking out of his back pocket." - -"What did he go to sea for?" inquired Carl; for the first time he had -deigned to listen to some of Paul's adventures, and he found himself -getting very much interested. - -"I don't know. His uncle was a lord or something--at least he told me -so, and I daresay it was true. He said he was a younger son, though what -that had to do with it I don't know. Anyway it seemed to be an awfully -important thing for me to remember. He wanted to make something of -himself, he said. I told him he'd do better as--well, anything but a -cabin boy, or deck hand or whatever he was. But he said he loved the -sea--though he was just about the worst sailor I ever saw." - -"What happened to him?" - -"I don't remember. Oh, yes, I do. The poor little cuss died--got typhus -or something and off he went. Bill Tyler told me about it. They buried -him at sea." - -"Who was Bill Tyler?" - -"Bill was--everything! He was an old bird--older than father. He'd done -everything, seen everything--you never knew such a man! He couldn't -write his own name, but he was the canniest, drollest--and talk about -strength! Next to father, I guess I liked him better than anyone on -earth!" Paul's face glowed, and he launched forth into an animated -account of his friend's virtues and exploits, urged on eagerly by Carl, -who made him go on every time he stopped. There were no absurd -exaggerations, a la Munchausen, in his tales that day. He was thinking -only of amusing the sick, feeble boy, and making him forget his own -dreary thoughts. Nor did he once reflect that it was this same boy who -had told him so passionately that he "hated him, and always would." - -Elise appearing at the door with Carl's tray stopped short at the sound -of his laugh--the first spontaneous laugh she had heard from him in many -a day. - -"How much better you seem, dear," she said, setting the tray on his -knees, and shaking up his pillows. "Paul, your lunch is waiting for -you." She sent him a grateful glance. - -"If you haven't anything special to do, come on up when you've fed," -suggested Carl elegantly. Elise nodded eagerly, and following Paul to -the door, said in a low voice, - -"I wish you would, cousin. There isn't much to be done to-day--I can -take care of it, and it seems to have done him so much good." - -So Paul spent the afternoon, a long, sunny afternoon, in that dark room, -talking to his cousin, telling him about people he had seen--and what a -heterogeneous collection they were!--places he had visited, adventures -he and his father had had together. A whole new world he opened to the -young bookworm, who listened with his hands folded, and a keen but -detached interest, to all these tales of action and happy-go-lucky -wanderings. - -"All that's great to hear about," remarked Carl, "but I don't think I'd -like to live that way. Too much hopping about, and too--uncomfortable." - -"I suppose it was uncomfortable--but I never knew what it was to _be_ -comfortable--that is, to be sure of a good bed to sleep in, and plenty -to eat, and all that--so I never minded." - -"It must bore you to be cooped up here--baking cakes! Ha-ha!" Carl -laughed outright. "I never thought before of how funny that was!" - -"I have," remarked Paul, drily. - -"What do you suppose that Bill Tyler would say?" - -"I can't imagine," replied Paul, smiling glumly. "He'd probably say it -was a good job, and that I ought to thank Heaven for it. He was a -practical old egg, or he pretended to be. He was forever preaching what -he called 'hard sense'--and getting himself into more tight squeezes--he -was worse than father. He had more common sense and used it less than -any man I ever saw." - -"Do you really want to be a painter?" asked Carl suddenly. "That's such -a queer thing to want to be." - -"Oh, well," said Paul, evidently not anxious to pursue the subject. - -"And so--_useless_." - -"That's what Bill Tyler used to say. And yet _he_ was the one who took -me to a picture gallery for the first time in my life--I was only eleven -or twelve years old. And it was there that I met old Peguignot--so it -was partly Bill's fault that I began to think about painting at all. The -old duffer! He'd spend an entire afternoon rambling around some gallery, -going into raptures over this picture and that, pointing out what he -liked and what he didn't like--and then when we'd come out, he'd say, -'but that's all nonsense, and waste of time.'" - -"Who was Peguignot?" - -"Why, he was a little artist--a funny, shabby, excitable little guy, -with a perfectly enormous moustache that looked as if it were made out -of a lot of black hairpins; and his eyebrows were just like it. When he -talked and got enthusiastic about something, they'd all work up and -down. Bill and I came upon him one day in some gallery or other. He was -sitting up on a high stool making a copy of a big religious painting. -Bill began to talk to him, and, I suppose, just to tease him, started on -his favorite line about what nonsense it all was. I thought Peguignot -would blow up. He shook a whole handful of wet paint-brushes in Bill's -face, called him every name he could think of--I began to laugh and then -he turned on me, and told me I was a miserable boy, and please both of -us to go far away from him. But I said I agreed with him altogether, and -then we both started in on Bill. Well, anyhow it wound up by all of us -getting to be the best of friends; and after that Bill and I used to go -around and see him quite often. And he taught me all I ever learned -about painting. He wasn't very good himself, and he certainly wasn't -successful, but he knew a lot, and when he wasn't exploding about -something, he could tell what he knew very clearly. Poor little beggar, -he had a hard time of it--he was as poverty-stricken as Job most of the -time." And then Paul began to laugh. "I remember one day his landlady -came up to get his rent. He heard her coming, and got into a perfect -panic, and was actually trying to crawl under his bed when she knocked -at the door. Then he got very calm and dignified, and told me to let her -in. So in she came, and then an argument began, and finally both of them -started to weep and wring their hands--you never heard such a rumpus. -Finally he said to her, 'Madam, put me out. Put me out on the -streets--it is what I deserve,' and he began to hunt for his bedroom -slippers which were the things that were most precious to him I suppose. -And then she threw her apron over her head and wailed, and said she -couldn't do that because he was so 'leetle.' Well, at last he took a -picture that I had painted down from his easel, and said to her, 'Madam, -I give you this. Sell it, and keep the money.' Well, she stood there -glowering as if she simply couldn't think of anything strong enough to -say; until she suddenly roared out, 'Ah-h-h! You leetle _moustache_! Why -don't you sell it _yourself_! Then I should have my money.' And she took -the picture with both hands, and banged him over the head with it. But -at last she said she'd wait another month, and then she would have him -imprisoned--and off she went with my picture." - -Carl laughed. - -"And did he pay her the next month?" - -"I don't know. In any case, he certainly wasn't imprisoned. But don't -think he took his debts lightly. He was ashamed of them and he was -ashamed of himself; and he worked for money in the only way he could, -and never tried to shirk his responsibilities. People knew that, and -they were lenient with him, because he was honest and good and they -loved him." - -There was a pause, then Carl asked curiously, but with some hesitation, - -"If I--if my eyes _don't_ get all right, what will you do?" - -"What do you mean?" - -"I mean--will you stay on in the business?" - -"In any case, it's my job, isn't it?" returned Paul evasively. Then -suddenly, he dropped his face in his hands. For so many nights, in the -little room to which he had been relegated since Carl's illness, he had -been wrestling with that problem. A hundred times he had decided that -there would be only one course open to him in the event that Carl should -not get well; he would stay with his family and help them. His uncle was -getting old, and the silent, tragic appeal in the poor man's eyes, and -his dreadful anxiety about his son had touched Paul even more than Aunt -Gertrude's sorrow. - -"Ah, well, what's the use of trying to settle the whole course of your -life," he said aloud, but more as if he were speaking to himself. "You -get worked up, and start pitying yourself before there's anything -definite to pity yourself for." Then suddenly, he said, "Tell me, -cousin, I have wanted to ask you--why is it that you hated me? If you -don't want to answer never mind. We seem to be friends now--or I may be -mistaken." - -Carl was silent for several moments, then he said rather gruffly, - -"I--there was no reason perhaps. Let that be. You were right--when you -said that I didn't hate you as much as I thought I did." - -That was the last reference that was made to their former enmity. They -were too different, perhaps, ever to be really intimate, but the hatchet -was buried between them. - -During Carl's convalescence Paul was with him a great deal. His stock of -stories seemed inexhaustible, and in lieu of books Carl found them the -only source of novel entertainment to be had; and for the time being -Paul was exempted from his duties in the Bakery to amuse his cousin. It -was not any too amusing for _him_; but he willingly passed hour after -hour at Carl's bedside. It was the sight of the bandaged eyes that kept -his sympathy keen and made him gentle and patient even when Carl was -fretful and hard to please. - -One day Carl said to him, - -"Why don't you read aloud to me? The doctor says it'll be all right now. -I've a mountain of stuff to make up for school, and we'll both gain -something." - -Paul blushed. He was not particularly keen on displaying his -shortcomings outright to Carl, even if he did confess them. But oh -second thoughts, he got the book that his cousin asked for, and opening -it, plunged in bravely. It was a humiliating experience for him, to have -to stop before a long word, and pronounce it syllable by syllable, and -although Carl did not laugh at him, he corrected him with an air of -grave superiority that was even more trying. But the very fact that he -did not shine in this particular province, increased Carl's good will -toward him. - -"You are getting on very well," he said in a patronizing tone. "Keep it -up." - -The books that they read frequently led to arguments--friendly debates, -and these were Carl's special delight. He liked to pretend that he was -addressing a jury, and would launch forth into a flood of eloquence, to -which Paul listened very respectfully, usually taking care not to -contradict his cousin or to wound his vanity by remaining unconvinced by -his oratory. But sometimes he would get carried away himself, and a -vigorous battle would follow, in which Paul had only his clear, simple -reasoning to pit against Carl's confusing knowledge. But both of them -enjoyed it; Carl loved to dispute any point at all, and Paul "liked the -exercise." - -But in the long run, Paul found Carl's favorite occupations very little -to his taste. He grew weary of his cousin's books, with their -long-winded dissertations, he positively hated the dim room; and the -innumerable games of checkers that they played, when Carl's eyes finally -began to improve, gradually developed in him a profound detestation of -that pastime. His only satisfaction came to him from his aunt's and -uncle's gratitude. - -By the end of the month Carl was well enough to sit up in a chair by the -window for three or four hours a clay, and even to take off his eyeshade -for a little while in the evening when the light was softer. The family -happiness over this improvement was boundless, and in the late -afternoons everyone gathered in Carl's room. These were gay occasions, -and even Mr. Lambert, who always sat beside his son, and never took his -eyes from his face, cracked jokes, and laughed and was in the best humor -imaginable. - -One Sunday afternoon they were thus collected--all of them, including -Granny, who sat rocking serenely back and forth, smiling benignly and a -little absent-mindedly upon them all, winding a skein of deep magenta -wool, which Lottie held for her. The whole room was in pleasant -disorder, books and games lay scattered around, for Mr. Lambert had -relaxed his usual strict Sabbath rules while Carl was ill, and permitted -all sorts of uncustomary amusements. Minie was cutting new paper dolls -out of the Sunday paper, and painting them in glorious hues. Everyone -was gossiping and chattering--everyone, that is except Jane and Paul, -who sat on the little bench that made a seat in the embrasure of the -casement window. - -Jane, who had missed her cousin severely during the last weeks, was -content to have him with her again, and sat beside him, looking through -the section of the newspaper that Minie had graciously spared. Paul, a -trifle out of spirits, was staring out of the window. It was open, -admitting a gentle evening breeze, which rustled through the full-blown -foliage of Jane's beloved nut-tree. Below, on the other side of the -street some children were playing hop-scotch. And from somewhere came -the sound of boyish voices singing in "close harmony"--"I was seeing -Nelly ho-ome, I was seeing Nelly home, It was from Aunt Dinah's quilting -party, I was seeing Nel-ly home." - -Suddenly Jane laid her hand on Paul's to attract his attention. "Look! -Look at this, Paul," she said in a low voice, putting the paper on his -knee, and pointing to a paragraph. - -He glanced down and read, - -"C----. June 1st. The Academy of Arts announces that it will offer a -series of prizes for painting and sculpture, to be competed for -according to the following rules." Then followed a list of regulations, -after which the notice went on to say that, "All work must be submitted -on or before September 1st. Three prizes will be awarded in each -department. No work will be considered unless etc., etc." - -"Well, what of it?" said Paul, shortly. - -"Can't you--why don't you--" - -"You know I can't. Look at that kid down there, will you--" - -"Paul, why not?" - -"Because I can't, I tell you," he repeated, irritably. - -"But why don't you try," persisted Jane, undaunted. "If you don't win -anything, there's no harm done, and if you _should_, Paul--if you -_should_--" - -"When and where would I be able to do any work, will you tell me?" He -spoke almost angrily, but he took the paper from her hand and looked at -it again. - -"What are you two whispering about?" inquired Carl. He still felt a -twinge of jealousy when he saw Jane and Paul talking without taking him -into their confidence. - -"Nothing," said Paul. "Just something Jane saw in the paper." And -picking up Minie's rubber ball he began to bounce and catch it -monotonously. - -"What is it?" - -With a shrug of his shoulders, Paul handed the paper over to Carl, -pointing out the paragraph. Carl gave it to Mr. Lambert. - -"Read it, father." So Mr. Lambert put on his spectacles, while Jane -looked uneasily at Paul. - -Mr. Lambert read it aloud, and then without making any comment, laid the -paper aside. He looked displeased. - -"Why don't you compete, Paul?" said Carl suddenly. "There'd be no harm -in trying." - -Then Aunt Gertrude, glancing timidly at her husband, found courage to -put in a word. - -There was a silence, during which everyone waited for Mr. Lambert to say -something; but no remark from him was forthcoming. That he was annoyed -could be seen plainly, but because the suggestion had come from Carl he -maintained his silence. - -"Do you think you'd stand any chance of winning, Paul?" Carl asked -secure in his peculiar privileges of free speech. - -"I don't know. How should I?" - -Jane was simply on tenter-hooks. If only Carl would take up the case! - -"Would you like to try it?" - -"Yes. I would." - -"Well, why don't you? You could find some place--" - -"That isn't the point," interrupted Paul, looking directly at his uncle, -"it's up to you, Uncle Peter. You told me that I wasn't to touch a -paint-brush while I was in your house. And I haven't. But I--" - -"Well, you'll let him, won't you, father? He might as well have a go at -it." - -"My boy, I think it is hardly--" - -"But it's only a little matter, father. I'd like to see how he'd make -out. We'd feel pretty fine if he _should_ win anything, and if he -doesn't, there's nothing lost." - -Mr. Lambert bit his lip. But at that time he could no more have refused -his son's slightest wish than he could have struck him. - -"Well, well--go ahead if you want, Paul. I am sure I wish you every -success." It was stiffly and unwillingly said, but it was a victory -nonetheless, and Paul did not know whether to be more amazed at his -uncle's concession or at Carl's intercession. Jane, her face beaming -with delight, started to clap her hands, and then realizing that any -evidences of unseemly joy might have unpleasant results, quickly folded -them in her lap. - -And so it came about, through the play of circumstances, that the one -member of the Lambert family who had been so bitterly inimical to Paul -for eight months assumed the rle of benefactor, and gallantly squared -his debt by a few right words spoken at exactly the right moment. - - - - -CHAPTER XII--JEFF ROBERTS - - -"Do you think I'll be able to put it across?" Paul asked, despondently, -stepping back from the half finished picture and eyeing it with his head -on one side and a frown on his brow. - -Jane, perched on an old barrel, her chin on her fists, studied the -embryo masterpiece with a grave, judicial air. - -"I think it is going to be _very_ good," she observed at length. - -"Do you, honestly?" Paul knew of course that Jane was about as capable -of judging as Anna, but he had reached the point where encouragement -from any source was sweet. "Lord, I hope I get it done in time." - -"You will," said Jane. Paul grinned at her. - -"You're about the most optimistic character I ever knew. I suppose you -think I'm certain to win a first prize." - -"Don't _you_ think so?" - -"No, my child. I don't think there's a chance in the world." - -"Oh, Paul! But you'll win something." - -"No, my jovial Jane, I won't. But that's neither here nor there. Whew! -Let's get out of here. I'm melting. How about you?" - -"It _is_ pretty hot," Jane admitted. It most certainly was. An attic, -even on coolish days seems able to store up heat as no other place can, -and on a sizzling August afternoon a bakeoven is Iceland in comparison. -The only thing to be said in favor of the Lambert's attic was that it -had a northern light if not a northern temperature, and here Paul had -set to work. - -"Want to take a walk?" he suggested, dropping his paintbrushes into a -can of turpentine. - -"Can't. I promised Elise I'd help her with some of the mending." - -"Well, I think I'll browse around for a while. Tell Aunt Gertrude I'll -be back for supper. She said there wasn't a thing for me to do." - -"Where are you going?" - -"Nowhere in particular. I feel like doing something rash and reckless, -but there's no danger of anything like _that_--here. Where's Carl?" - -"Out in the garden with Elise and the twins." - -"Well--good-bye. I'll be back in half an hour or so." - -Paul selected for his solitary ramble a certain rough, dusty, shady lane -that led down past the ruins of an old mill. Here on those breathless -afternoons a crowd of little urchins were wont to gather to splash and -paddle in the gurgling stream that tossed over its stony bed on to the -water-fall above the mill. On the opposite side of the road rose a -wooded hill, where the tree-tops were gilded with ruddy sunlight, and -the deep fern scented recesses were always cool and dim. - -The shade and freshness of the woods on that hot day were not to be -resisted, and Paul turned into them, following a soft, weed-grown road -that lead along a little tributary of the mill-stream. But he was -feeling restless and even a little rebellious. The calm, uneventful -course of his life during the past nine months had gotten on his nerves, -and he found himself longing for some kind of change or excitement. What -wouldn't he give to see old Bill Tyler coming toward him at that moment! - -He stopped, and leaning against an old wooden railing, stared down at -the stream that flowed by at the foot of the steep bank. For more than a -month he had been working as hard as he could at his picture, taking -good care not to let it interfere with his other duties, lest his uncle -should recall his permission; Aunt Gertrude tried to help him, and he -had progressed; but there wasn't a chance in a million of his winning -anything, and he was not sure but that he had made a mistake in -undertaking the task at all. He started on again, walking slowly, with -his hands buried in his pockets, forgetful of the passage of time, and -of his uncle's dislike of having anyone late for a meal. Suddenly he -stopped. It seemed to him that someone had called his name. - -Looking back over his shoulder he saw a small man running easily along -the road toward him. - -"Hello! Where are you off to?" inquired the newcomer, as he came up, -smiling in a friendly way. "I saw you back there, and thought I -recognized you. How are you?" - -It was no other than the notorious Jefferson Roberts, his face beaming -with a friendly, winning smile, and his hand outstretched. Paul shook -the hand, and said that he was off to nowhere--that he was just walking. - -"Communing with Nature?" said Jeff, cocking his head on one side, while -his bright brown eyes twinkled merrily. "May I commune with you? I'm -going in your direction." - -"Come ahead. That is, unless you're in a hurry. I _won't_ walk fast." - -"Oh, I'm never in a hurry. What have you been doing since I saw you -last?" - -Paul answered the question briefly without going into any details. - -"What an industrious life!" exclaimed Jeff gaily. "How is your good -little cousin, Carl Lambert? Do you remember that day in Allenboro? He -was horrified at you--he thinks I'm the most wicked creature alive. But -then, most of those good souls _do_. And why? simply because I like to -enjoy myself--and succeed at it." And as he said this he laughed so -spontaneously, his face was so full of arch, easy-going good nature that -Paul joined in his laugh, feeling convinced that the tales about Jeff -were mostly absurd exaggerations. In fifteen minutes or so he began to -believe, also, that there was a great deal of good in Jeff that had been -most uncharitably overlooked. There was nothing "smarty" about him; he -seemed frank and boyish, overflowing-with high spirits, impulsive, -enthusiastic, and happy-go-lucky all at once. He was even rather a -confiding soul, and strolling along beside Paul, whose arm he had taken, -chattered navely about himself and his affairs with child-like -frankness. - -Presently his mood changed; he began to blame himself for his idleness, -and to talk about his mother. He told Paul that he had decided to get a -good job in the fall, and work hard. - -"I'm a lot more serious than anyone thinks, let me tell you," he -remarked gravely. "I like fun, but I'm not like the rest of those chumps -you saw up at Allenboro. _They_ think they know me--but they don't. They -only see one side--so does everyone else. But I'll show 'em. One of -these days I'll be a nice, respectable--Mayor, with three chins, and a -gold watch-chain." This fancy sent him off into a fit of amusement. His -humors changed so rapidly from melancholy to gaiety that there was no -way of being sure that he was not joking when he seemed grave, and -serious when he was laughing; but he was a delightful companion, and the -two boys sauntered along talking as if they had been intimates from -their childhood. - -Suddenly, Paul realized that much time must have flown since Jeff -interrupted his meditations. - -"Gee! It must be pretty late," he exclaimed looking up through the -trees, trying to guess the time by the sun. "Have you got a watch?" - -Jeff laughed, and pulling his watch-chain from his pocket, displayed a -bunch of keys, which he twirled jauntily. - -"My watch, I'm sorry to say, is on a short vacation. But you don't have -to bother about the time. Come on with me--I'm going to scare up some of -the fellows, and see what we can find to do." - -Paul hesitated. He was decidedly in the mood for falling in with Jeff's -harmless suggestion; besides, he would certainly be late for supper, -and, was consequently, slated for his uncle's reproof anyhow. - -"All right. What are you going to do?" - -"Oh, sit around and talk most likely. Probably ramble off to get -something to eat, and then we might go up to see Tom Babcock--he's a -nice fellow. You'd like him." - -This seemed a mild and agreeable program, and was very much to Paul's -taste. If his uncle should ask him where he'd been--well, hang it, did -he have to give an account of everything he did, as if he were a child -of ten? And all this fuss about Jeff Roberts was such utter nonsense -anyhow. - -Accordingly, he accepted Jeff's friendly invitation, and they went off -together following the road on through the woods which led by a short -cut to the neighboring town, of Goldsboro. - -Goldsboro was a progressive young community where, unquestionably you -could find more to do than at Frederickstown. The streets were brightly -lighted at night, every Wednesday and Saturday evening during the summer -a band played for two hours in the Square, and the shops stayed open -until ten o'clock, and there was even a theatre where such old classics -as "Uncle Tom's Cabin," "The Old Homestead," and "Billy, the Kid," were -enacted by an ambitious stock company. - -Jeff seemed to know everyone, and it was not long before he had -collected a jolly party of five or six boys. He also knew where you -could get a capital sea-food supper, and insisted that Paul should be -his guest. In fact, Paul found the attentions bestowed upon him by this -rather famous youth, decidedly flattering though he was at a loss to -know just why Jeff should suddenly have begun to treat him as if he were -his best friend. The truth was that Jeff was inclined to sudden -friendships, which were often as speedily broken as made. - -Supper over, it was suggested that they drop around and see what Tom -Babcock was doing. - -Tom was a young man older even than Jeff--two-and-twenty, perhaps, or -twenty-three. He lived magnificently alone in a small room over a corner -drugstore, where they found him smoking his pipe and hanging half way -out of his window to watch the crowd in the Square, and to hear the -strains of the brass-band which at that moment was playing "Kathleen -Mavourneen" with deep pathos. - -Upon the arrival of his guests, Tom lighted his gas, and after a little -conversation they all sat down to a game of cards. - -Paul enjoyed himself immensely. He liked Jeff, he liked Tom, he liked -Jim, and Jack and Harry. They were "nice fellows," all of them. Why they -should be considered such a dangerous crew was more than he could -understand. - -And meantime the night wore on. - -In the Lambert household mild wonder at Paul's absence gave way to -anxiety. - -"Well, I suppose the boy knows how to take care of himself," remarked -Mr. Lambert, drily. - -"Perhaps, Peter, you had better put the latch-key under the doormat," -suggested Aunt Gertrude, but Mr. Lambert would not agree to this. - -"No, my dear. He knows quite well that everything is locked at ten -o'clock. If he prefers to be roaming around the country at that time, he -must be prepared to take the consequences. I hope you do not expect me -to alter all the rules of the household for the boy." - -So at ten o'clock, Paul not yet having made his appearance, the front -door was locked, and the family went to bed. - -But Jane was not able to take his absence so calmly. Suppose he had got -lost? Suppose he had hurt himself? He might even have been kidnapped. -These fears made it impossible for her to sleep, and so she sat down at -her window, determined to wait up for him all night if necessary. With -the house locked, how could he get in--where could he go? - -The time that she waited seemed endless. The tones of the church clock, -striking eleven, boomed solemnly through the stillness that lay over the -town. All the houses were darkened; the street was quiet. Now and then, -solitary footsteps rang out on the bricks, and Jane sat up eagerly only -to hear them die away in a neighboring block. - -Where _could_ he be? She was almost in tears when after an eternity of -waiting she heard the sound of whistling far up the street. - -"That _must_ be Paul. It _must_ be!" She leaned far out of the window, -trying to get a glimpse of the wanderer, who was in fact coming nearer -to the house. At last he came into the light of the street lamp, and she -recognized him with a great sigh of relief. In another moment she had -flown noiselessly down the stairs, and unbolted the door with as little -squeaking and rattling as possible. - -"Hello," said Paul as calmly as if he had just run up to the corner to -mail a letter. - -"Oh, _where_ have you been?" - -"Where have I been?" Paul was instantly on the defensive. "Why--what's -the matter? What's everything locked up for?" - -"Sh! Everyone's asleep but me. Oh, I thought you were _dead_!" - -"Good Heaven's--_why_? It isn't late." - -"It's nearly twelve. Everyone's been in bed for ages. We couldn't -imagine what had become of you--" - -"Well, I must say I don't see why there's so much fuss. I just walked -over to Goldsboro to see what was going on, and fooled around there for -a while. It was later than I thought when I went out, and when I found -out I'd miss supper, I thought I might as well take a good walk, and get -something to eat over there." - -"Oh,--well we couldn't imagine--you'd better walk softly, Paul." - -For some reason, Paul suddenly chose to think that Jane was reproving -him. - -"I don't see why I can't be a little late without everyone's getting so -worked up over it. Do you mean to say that I mustn't leave the house -without telling everyone exactly what time I'll be back?" he grumbled. -"Gee whiz! Life isn't worth living if you have to be worrying every -minute--" - -"_Sh-sh_, Paul! You'll wake everybody up," whispered Jane. He subsided a -little, but was still muttering indignantly when he parted from her and -tiptoed cautiously up to his room. - -The next morning at breakfast, Mr. Lambert asked him casually what had -delayed him, and appeared quite satisfied at his off-hand answer. - -"And how did you get in? Everything is always locked at ten, as you -know." - -"I heard him whistling, Daddy, and I let him in," spoke up Jane. Mr. -Lambert merely said, - -"Ah! Well, don't let it happen again my boy. It made me very uneasy." - -No further reference was made to the matter. - -"There was no harm in it," thought Paul. "They have the impression that -Jeff is a black sheep, and it would be a silly thing to go out of my way -to tell 'em that I saw him again. Uncle would have a fit, and it's such -a little thing to deliberately get up a row about." - -And so being satisfied that his mild escapade would have no -uncomfortable results he thought no more about it. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII--DISASTER - - -Poor Janey was feeling very blue indeed. During the last week it seemed -to her that Paul had somehow grown so different--rather inclined to be -cross and uncommunicative, and even to avoid her company. That very -afternoon he had told her please not to bother him while he was -painting, or he never would get his picture done, and twice when she had -offered to take a walk with him, he had refused her company with no very -gracious excuse. - -Thus ignored and rebuffed, she had sadly devoted herself to deeds of -charity, and on that sultry afternoon sat with Carl reading aloud to him -from a fat dull book about the ancient Britons. They were sitting in the -little garden, where the shadow of the house offered some protection -from the sun; Carl reposing like a Sultan in his easy chair, gazing up -at the motionless weathervane on the gable of the attic, and -occasionally begging Jane "_not_ to mumble her words." The attic was on -the third floor just above Granny's room, in a part of the house that -formed an ell, bounding the garden on the south side with its -ivy-covered wall. - -"I say, Jane, do you suppose that Paul is _smoking_?" said Carl -suddenly, interrupting the monotonous flow of Jane's reading. - -"What?" - -"Well, that's smoke, isn't it? coming out of the attic window--and cigar -smoke, too, or I'll eat my hat!" - -Jane looked up. It was an undeniable fact that a blue spiral issued from -the attic, and, caught by the faint breeze, was wafted gracefully -upwards, and dissolved. A very faint scent drifted down to the garden, -and that scent--if such it could be called--was of tobacco. Paul, -happily ignorant of the dismayed interest he had roused in the garden -below, was sampling a cigar that Jeff had lavishly bestowed on him. - -"Well, all I've got to say is that if he knows what is good for him, -he'll cut _that_ out," observed Carl drily. - -"I guess--I guess he's just doing it for fun," said Jane. - -"He won't think it fun if father catches him. But it's none of _my_ -business, I suppose. Go on." - -Jane went on reading, furtively glancing aloft every now and then to see -if the tell-tale puffs of smoke were still issuing from the open window. -To her intense relief they had stopped after a few minutes, and -presently she heard Paul talking to her mother in the kitchen. - -"Do you really like this book?" she asked at last, looking at her -brother pathetically. - -"Very much. But you needn't read any more if you're tired. Here's Elise, -now, anyway." - -Elise had just entered by the garden gate. - -"Carl! Jane! What do you think! The most exciting thing--" - -"Lily Deacon is engaged to Mr. Sheridan," said Jane promptly. Elise -stared at her, her round blue eyes wide with amazement. - -"How did you know?" - -"I put two and two together. Aren't I clever?" - -"No, how _did_ you guess, Janey? Lily hasn't told anyone but me." - -"Well, I knew it _was_ going to happen, and I knew that you'd been up to -see Lily this afternoon, and I guessed the rest. Isn't it _nice_, -though!" cried Jane, clapping her hands. "And you know _I'm_ really -responsible for it." - -"_You_!" hooted Carl derisively. - -"Yes, me. When did it happen, Elise, and when are they going to be -married? I do so love a wedding, and there hasn't been one here for -ages. Do you suppose she'll wear a veil?" - -Elise, who under her placid exterior had the most romantic of souls, sat -down to recount all the details that she had gleaned from her best -friend. - -"And she's going to live in that lovely house, and she'll travel, and -she--goodness, do you suppose Paul has burned up _another_ batch of -cakes?" she broke off short in her rhapsody over Lily's prospects to -sniff the air. - -"Don't you smell smoke? I do hope he hasn't had another disaster--he's -been getting along so well. Well, anyway--where was I?" - -"You said she was going to travel. What _I_ want to know is when the -wedding is going to be," said Jane. - -"Oh, that isn't decided yet--in the spring, I think. You know, that -doesn't smell like cake burning. It smells like rags. I suppose -somebody's burning trash." - -Carl laughed and looked at Jane; but the burning smell did not resemble -tobacco at all, and besides, Paul was still in the kitchen with Aunt -Gertrude. - -"Go on and tell some more, Elise," said Jane. - -"I've told you all I know. I must get you your milk, Carl." - -A minute later Elise reappeared at the dining room door, bearing a tray -well stocked with milk and cookies, and followed by Paul and Aunt -Gertrude. - -"Dear me, who _can_ be burning rubbish?" exclaimed Mrs. Lambert. "Don't -you smell smoke, children?" - -"_I_ do, I can tell you," said Carl. "By Jove, Paul, what's going on up -in your den?" - -Everyone looked up in consternation to the attic window. Paul had closed -it before he came down, but smoke was coming slowly from under the pane. - -"Good heavens! It couldn't be on fire!" cried Elise. "Run, Paul! Run, -_quickly_!" - -But Paul had not waited to be urged. Up the stairs he was flying, as -fast as his long legs could carry him, followed by Jane, Elise and poor -Aunt Gertrude, whose only thought was for Granny, the twins having gone -out to play early in the afternoon. - -The smoke was already thick on the second floor. - -"Elise, you and Aunt Gertrude take Granny downstairs," ordered Paul. -"Jane, you'd better not come up." - -"I'll get a bucket of water. Oh, Paul! Your _picture_!" - -"Never mind my picture--get the water _quick_!" And Paul dashed on up -the stairs. - -With his heart in his boots, he made his way to the attic, trying to -hold his breath so that he would not swallow the smoke. - -It turned out that so far as danger was concerned there was no great -cause for excitement. Although the attic was dense with smoke, the cause -of it was only a small blaze in the heap of rags near the window, which -subsided under two bucketfuls of water. - -Jane, whom Paul had not allowed to come up, waited for news at the foot -of the stairs; but after he had informed her that the fire was out, she -heard nothing more from him. After a few moments she shouted, - -"Paul! Are you all right?" - -"Oh, _I'm_ all right," replied a muffled voice, in a tone of the utmost -despair. - -"Well, come on down, or you'll smother. What's happened?" - -"I'll be down in a second," and then through the fog Paul appeared -slowly, descending the stairs carrying a square of canvas. - -"Is it hurt?" asked Jane, fearfully. "Oh, Paul!" - -"I don't know. I can't see it properly yet." But his face showed that he -expected the worst Neither of them spoke a word until they reached the -garden again, where Aunt Gertrude pounced upon Jane. - -"Oh, _child_, how you frightened me! Paul, are you quite sure -everything's all right? Oh, how did it start--was there really a -_blaze_?" - -"Just a little one--it's all out--a few rags. I pitched 'em all out of -the window. I'm--sorry, Aunt Gertrude." - -"Oh, my poor boy--your picture!" - -"What's the matter? Is it ruined?" asked Carl. Jane said nothing, but -stood looking first at her cousin's face, and then at the smoke-begrimed -and blistered canvas on which there was hardly a semblance of the -picture that had been so nearly completed. - -"Yes," said Paul, with the calmness of despair, "it's ruined. It's -ruined all right." - -No one knew what to say, and a silence followed, until Elise asked -timidly if he didn't have time to do another. - -"In four days? This is the twenty-seventh. No, cousin, I couldn't--and -besides, even if I could, I haven't anything to do it with. So I guess -that's all there is to that." He tried to sound cheerful, and turning -the picture against the wall of the house, announced that he was going -back to the attic to see if everything was calm up there. - -"Well, that's pretty hard luck," remarked Carl. "I daresay he's more -broken up than he lets on." - -Jane had begun to cry, hiding her face in Granny's lap. Not even Paul -could have been as cruelly disappointed as she. - -"Oh, he _would_ have won something! I'm sure he would have!" she wept, -disconsolately. "He said he didn't think so, but he _did_, and I know he -did." - -"Well, one way or the other, it's his affair," said Carl, "and I -certainly don't see why _you_ should be in such a stew over it." - -"It is my affair, too," wailed Jane, and at this characteristic remark -no one could help smiling. - -"Come, Janey, darling, there's no use in taking it so to heart," said -Mrs. Lambert, laying her hand softly on the curly head. "We are all -dreadfully distressed about Paul, but he has taken his misfortune -bravely, and after all he will have many more chances. Elise, isn't that -the bell in the bakeshop? Dear me, what can people think coming in to -all that smoke. I wonder if it's clearing out at all. Come now, Janey, -cheer up." - -Janey lifted her face from Granny's knees, and wiped her wet cheeks with -the palms of her hands, leaving long smudges. - -"There now. We must all be thankful that there was no worse harm done," -said her mother, kissing her. "Come along, Elise. You come with me too, -Janey. We mustn't keep anyone waiting." - -But Paul was already in the bakeshop, and was calmly counting out change -to the customer when his aunt came in. He was rather pale, but -apparently quite cheerful. - -"I looked around in the attic again, Aunt Gertrude. It's all right up -there," he said calmly, when the customer had gone. "The floor is -charred a bit where the rags were--but that's all the damage. And the -smoke's clearing out. It didn't get into the rooms much, because all the -doors were closed." - -"We're all so distressed about your picture, my dear," said Aunt -Gertrude, laying her hands on his arm. "I know what disappointment you -must feel--and you are a very plucky boy." - -Paul looked down at her, started to say something, and then abruptly -left the shop. - -"But how in the world could it have started?" wondered Aunt Gertrude, -for the first time. "He surely couldn't have had the oil-stove lighted -in this weather, and it couldn't have started by itself." - -But Elise had no theory to offer, and Jane was in tears again, so Aunt -Gertrude carried her mystification out to the kitchen, to see whether -Anna had returned with the groceries. - -At six o'clock, Mr. Lambert returned to the bosom of a highly excited -family, and, at the supper table, listened with a peculiarly austere -expression to the incoherent accounts of the disaster. Presently, he -held up his hand. - -"Come, come! I cannot find the beginning or end of all this," he said, -and then bending his gaze on Paul, added, slowly and sternly, "there was -a fire to-day in the attic--where you, Paul, have been--er--working. So -much I understand. But what I do _not_ understand is--how this fire -started." - -There was a silence. Jane glanced at Carl, and Carl took a drink of -water. - -"We hear of such things as spontaneous combustion," pursued Mr. Lambert, -"but for anything of the sort to take place, there must be certain -conditions. I do not imagine that such conditions could exist--in a pile -of rags--under an open window. No," said Mr. Lambert, shaking his head, -"I must discard that theory." - -Again the unpleasant silence followed these remarks. Paul, who had eaten -nothing, drummed nervously on the table. - -"You were there, were you not? a short time before the fire started?" -inquired Mr. Lambert. "Did you notice any--er--odor of burning?" - -"Why, Paul was with me in the kitchen for quite a little while before -any of us noticed anything, Peter," Aunt Gertrude broke in innocently. - -"Well," said Mr. Lambert, shaking his head, but still keeping his eyes -fixed immovably on his nephew's face, "it is quite beyond my -comprehension. How anything of the sort--" - -At this point Paul suddenly interrupted. - -"There isn't anything so very queer about it, uncle," he said coolly -enough, at first, though once he had spoken his courage seemed to leave -him a little. "I--I was smoking up there, and I suppose I threw a -match--or maybe--" - -"Ah-h-h!" said Mr. Lambert slowly. Then he pressed his lips together, -and for a moment or two said nothing. At length he observed, - -"There are one or two matters I should like to take up with you after -supper, Paul. However, we won't go into them just now." And then he -changed the subject with an abruptness that so far from drawing the -thoughts of his family _away_ from speculations upon what was in store -for Paul, only made them more dismally foreboding. And when after supper -the family showed a desire to disperse before the coming storm, Mr. -Lambert solemnly asked them to remain while he asked Paul a few -questions. - -"Peter, don't scold the poor boy to-night," said Aunt Gertrude in a low -voice. "He has--he is very much distressed and disappointed." - -"It is true that he brought his own punishment upon himself," returned -Mr. Lambert, "and I should, perhaps, overlook the matter of his smoking -this time, although he knew quite as well as Carl that I have absolutely -forbidden that. It is a far more serious matter that I have to speak -of." - -And with this he turned to Paul, who had been trying to collect his -thoughts. He was not ignorant of what the serious matter might be, but -it seemed to him that his uncle was making a good deal more out of it -than it was worth, and he had begun to wonder whether he had been guilty -of some crime that so far he knew nothing of. - -"I have heard to-day--from a source that I fear is only too -reliable--certain reports concerning you, which in justice to you I must -ask you to deny or confirm," said Mr. Lambert. - -"What are they, uncle?" asked Paul. - -"I was told--and by one of my most respected fellow-citizens--that you -have been seen not once, but at least half a dozen time of late with a -young man of a most undesirable character and reputation--Jefferson -Roberts. Could my informant have been mistaken? Have you or have you not -seen this young man several times--recently?" - -Paul swallowed. The entire family was aghast, for it was very plain that -Mr. Lambert was deeply angered. - -"Well?" said the old merchant. "Is this true?" - -"Yes, uncle." - -"You knew what my feelings would be if I learned that this _was_ true?" - -"Yes, uncle." - -"Yes," repeated Mr. Lambert, "I think you knew very well that you were -disobeying my strictest injunctions. Just before Christmas you were--or -could have been--seen with this notorious youth--a gambler, a rascal, a -shameless loafer. When I learned of this, I pardoned you, thinking that -you might not have known how deeply outraged I should feel at -discovering that any member of my household should wish to associate -with such a person. But now you have disobeyed me without such excuse. -What am I to think? You give me no choice but to believe that you find -pleasure in disobeying me, and mortifying me." - -After a pause, he went on, - -"Yes, mortifying me. You have treated me as I have not deserved to be -treated. I have given you a home, I have considered your welfare as -attentively as I have considered the welfare of my own children; I have -been lenient with you, though you would, perhaps, not be willing to -admit as much--and in return I find you willing to--perhaps you are not -aware that in associating with this Roberts and his crew you not only -injure your own standing in this town, but injure me also. For more than -a hundred years the family whose name you bear, and my own have stood -for every principle of good citizenship; and that honorable reputation -is to be marred through the willfulness of a youth who counts such a -thing so lightly that he will toss it away for a few hours' idle -amusement!" - -This grave, stern accusation was not what Paul had expected. He turned -white and then blushed crimson. His vocal chords felt stiff, but at last -he managed to speak. - -"I--I didn't think that Jeff Roberts was judged fairly, sir," he -stammered. - -"Ah!" - -"And what have I done that's so terrible?" cried Paul, "I only--" - -"You knew that you were disobeying me?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"Perhaps you think that at eighteen years of age you are a better judge -of character than grey headed men and women? Perhaps you think that you -are old enough to be your own master?" Mr. Lambert got up. "I cannot -allow willful disobedience in my house. You have been guilty of it too -often. I feel now that it would be best for all concerned--for you -especially--to--let you _be_ your own master. You are free now to go -where you like, make friends with whom you will, direct your own life as -you please." He stopped. There was not a sound in the room--indeed no -one quite realized that Mr. Lambert's words actually constituted a -dismissal. - -"Your father," continued the old man immovably, "left with me a small -amount of money, which I shall turn over to you at once. It should be -sufficient to maintain you until you are able to support yourself, and I -am willing to add to it if necessary. I think--I believe that in the -course of time experience will show you that I have been just with you, -and if you show yourself worthy I shall always be ready to help you to -the best of my ability." - -Aunt Gertrude looked pleadingly at her husband, but he did not see her. -No one else had courage to say anything, and indeed to do so would have -been worse than useless; for whether Mr. Lambert had judged his nephew -too harshly or not, it was certain that he could not be made to look at -the facts of the case in a different light. To him two things were of -paramount importance,--obedience to his wishes, and respect for public -opinion, and Paul had offended against both of these fundamental -statutes. The old merchant had not exaggerated when he said that his -nephew's conduct had mortified him. - -Paul made no attempt to defend himself; he was too much dazed by all -that the day had brought forth to find a word to say. - -Well, he was free. He should have been glad--and only a few months -before he would have been. But looking helplessly around the table, from -one face to the other he realized suddenly that he was _not_ glad. Why, -he had grown to love them all--he had even a certain fondness for Carl. -Who was there now to care whether he got into scrapes or out of them, -whether he won prizes or burnt his pictures to cinders, whether he was -defeated or triumphant. But his face showed nothing of what was passing -in his mind. Somewhere in the distance Mr. Lambert was saying, - -"I wished for all of you to hear what I had to say to my nephew, so that -you would understand that I judged him by nothing but what he himself -admitted. And I believe, Gertrude, that when you have considered the -matter as carefully as I have you will feel that I am doing only what is -just, and, I hope, wise. Paul is not a child, but a young man, quite -able to think for himself. It is plain that our ways and customs are -disagreeable to him, and I have come to believe that it is only fair to -him to let him go his own way as he thinks best. And--er--that is all." - -One by one the others rose from the table, and left the room. Only Paul -and his uncle remained. - -"Have I made myself quite clear?" asked Mr. Lambert, sitting down at his -desk, and putting up the roll-top. - -"Yes, uncle. I--when do you want me to--go?" - -"That I leave entirely to your convenience," returned Mr. Lambert. He -opened a drawer and took out an envelope with a rubber band around it, -which he gave to his nephew. "If you should find that this is not -sufficient for your needs you may let me know. I am very sorry that you -have forced this painful duty upon me--I had hoped that you--I still -hope that you will realize--" - -"My responsibilities," said Paul absently. "Oh, I have--but never mind. -I'm sorry, uncle. I didn't understand--" - -"Quite so. I want you to know that I am not acting with any thought of -punishing you. I am doing only what I believe to be best." - -"Yes, sir." - -Mr. Lambert looked curiously at his nephew's face, and saw that the -contrition in it was sincere. He did not for a moment waver in his -decision, but after a moment he held out his hand. - -"I hope you do not harbor any hard feelings against me?" - -Paul slowly and wonderingly took the proffered hand. His uncle's cold, -immovable justice was something that he had never been able to -understand. Not for a moment did he dream of asking for pardon, but he -could not "harbor any hard feelings" against the austere old man, who -judged everything according to an inflexible standard of right and -wrong--who saw all conduct as either black or white, and to whom the -crime of disobedience was equally unpardonable whether it affected the -routine of a little household or the affairs of a nation. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV--THE CROSSROADS - - -Along the dusty road, Paul trudged alone, his head bent. He did not look -up until the little town lay behind him. There was very little feeling -of exultation in his heart as he made his way along the shady road, -under the apple trees, from which the yellow fruit was already falling. -For the first time in his life, this young citizen of the world knew -what homesickness was--and he could not bring himself to look back to -the town to which he had come so unwillingly ten months before. Well, he -was free--he was his own master. That was what his uncle had said. The -whole world lay before him--but where should he go? There was no one out -there who knew that he was coming, or who cared whether he came or -stayed. There was the city--"lots of people, lots of streets, lots of -houses." But what was Paul Winkler to the city? And even if at some time -in that future to which he looked forward with dogged hope, he should -make fame and fortune, would the city care any more about Paul Winkler? -Would he not have been wiser--and happier--to have fitted himself to the -ways of his own people, to have gone on growing up among them, learning -to know them, to honor them for their simple virtues, and to forgive -them their weaknesses? He shook his head impatiently; it was too late to -think about the might-have-beens. - -He had just reached a bend in the road, when he heard a voice calling -him. - -"Paul! Oh, Paul, wait a minute!" - -He stopped, and looked around slowly. Janey was running toward him, -stumbling over the stones in the road, panting, her round little face -puckered with distress. - -"Janey!" He dropped his bundle in the dust, and held out both hands to -her. But she ignored his hands, and flinging both arms around him, clung -to him tightly. - -"What is it, Janey darling?" - -"N-nothing," she sobbed, "only I--oh, _Paul_ don't go!" - -He patted her red head tenderly; for a moment or two he found it -difficult to say anything. - -"There, Janey--don't. I--and you'd better run on back, dear," he said at -last, stooping to pick up his bundle. - -"No, mother said I could come--she said I could walk to the crossroads -with you. And she said I was to give you another kiss for her--and tell -you that she loved you--and Granny's crying." - -"Is she?" said Paul. "Oh, Janey-- Well, come along, kidlet." He took her -hand, and they went on slowly between the sweet-smelling fields that lay -turning to gold under the August sun. - -With his hand in hers, Janey seemed to feel comforted, but with every -step Paul's heart grew heavier. - -"Do you think, Paul, it would have been different if your picture hadn't -burned up?" - -"Why, Janey?" - -"If you had won a prize?" - -"I don't think it would have won any prize. And--it _did_ burn up, so -there you are. Besides, it wasn't as good as that old thing I did of -Aunt Gertrude. Do you remember? That thing on the top of the flour -barrel? That was much better--though I don't know why." - -Jane stopped short, looked at him for a moment or two, her face -brightening, then, without saying anything, walked on again. - -"What is it? What were you thinking about?" asked Paul. - -"Nothing." - -In a little while they reached the top of the hill from which Paul, in -the farmer's wagon, had had his first glimpse of Frederickstown. Now he -paused to take his last. - -There it lay, a pretty town, in the shade of its old trees. There was -the spire of the very church which old Johann Winkler had attended -regularly in his snuff colored Sunday suit, his wife beside him, and his -children marching decorously in front of him. There were the gables of -the Bakery, and there the very window from which Paul had so often gazed -out longingly toward the open road. There was the slate roof of his -uncle's warehouse where, no doubt the old man was calmly engaged in his -day's work, going over his books, talking and haggling with the farmers -that sold him their goods;--a stern character, narrow, perhaps, and -obstinate, but upright and self-respecting in all his dealings, a good -father, a loyal citizen and an honest man; justly proud of his standing -among his fellow townsmen. It was thus for the first time, that Paul -understood the uncompromising old man, who had judged his ne'er-do-well, -lawless father so harshly, and with whom he himself had been in constant -friction since he had come there. To Peter Lambert, respect for family -traditions, regard for the feelings and even the prejudices of his -fellow citizens, and submission to domestic and civil laws, written and -unwritten, were the first principles of living and he could not pardon -anyone who took them lightly. - -In the few short moments that he stood there looking back, Paul felt his -heart swell with affection for all that he was leaving behind him; for -Granny, his father's mother, who cried over him, for Aunt Gertrude who -had always loved him, for gentle, industrious Elise, for the twins, with -their pranks and their coaxing little ways, and--yes, for Carl, who had -shown himself a good fellow, with all his fussy habits, and irritating -superciliousness. - -"I'll miss you the most, Paul," said Janey, as if she guessed his -thoughts. - -He looked down at her. - -"I know you will--and I'll miss you the most." - -That was all they said until at length they reached the crossroads. - -"Which way are you going, Paul?" asked Jane, struggling to keep back her -tears. - -Paul looked up at the weather-beaten sign-post. - -"To the City," he said firmly. "That's the road I'm taking now, Janey." - -"Oh, Paul! Where will you be? Where will you be?" - -"I don't know, Janey. I can't tell you. I don't know anything now. But I -shall be all right--don't worry about me." - -"Oh, will you ever, ever come back again?" Poor Janey's tears streamed -down her rosy cheeks. Paul looked at her seriously. - -"Yes, I will, Janey. I promise you that. I don't know when or how, but -I'll be back some day. Now give me the kiss Aunt Gertrude sent, and one -from you." - -She dried her eyes on her apron, and then standing on tip-toe, put both -her arms around his neck and kissed him on each cheek. - -"Good-bye, Paul." - -"Good-bye, Janey." - -She stood there under the sign-post, watching him as he walked briskly -down the country road. Once, when to her he was only a miniature figure -in the distance, he looked back and saw her, standing motionlessly, with -the summer wind blowing her bright blue dress, and the summer sun -shining on her red head. She had been, and was, and always would be, his -faithful friend, and he knew in his heart he would never find anyone -like her in the whole wide world that lay before him. - -When he had disappeared under the shadows of the trees far down the -road, Janey turned and retraced her way homeward. She had been a little -comforted by his promise to come back again, and was already imagining -how one day he would walk into the bakeshop, suddenly, when no one was -expecting him, and say that he was going to live with them all for ever -and ever. And so he would live there, and everyone would love him, and -he would paint wonderful pictures and become famous; but he would never -go away again--the world would come to him! Never for a minute had Jane -doubted that Paul was a rare and extraordinary being, and in his wildest -moments of self-confidence he did not believe in himself as completely -as she did. - -Then everything dropped from her thoughts, except the one idea that had -come to her a little while before. - -To-day was the twenty-eighth. There was plenty of time. - -Aunt Gertrude, was in the Bakery setting the trays of freshly baked -cakes under the glass counters, with a sad face. She missed her nephew, -and in her heart believed that her husband had been harsh with the boy -whose efforts to master himself had not escaped her, and whom she loved -as much as her own son. But she knew quite well how useless it would -have been for her to have tried to intercede for him--and after all, -what had happened might be for the best. Aunt Gertrude was always -inclined to believe that anything that happened was always "for the -best" in the long run--and that, no doubt, was why, in spite of a life -that had not escaped many sorrows and difficulties, she was still young -and fresh in spite of her forty-odd years. - -But she had expected her Janey to return inconsolable for the loss of -her beloved cousin, and was surprised and puzzled when her daughter ran -into the shop in almost her usual state of high spirits. - -Without stopping Jane ran through the shop, and up the stairs to the -little room that Paul had occupied since Carl's illness--a small room, -with one window, and rather scantily furnished. Under the window was a -table, with one drawer, in which Jane promptly began to rummage. Its -contents were hardly valuable--two or three thumb tacks, a bed castor, a -scrap or two of lead pencil, a shabby copy of "A Short History of -Greece"--the pathetic testimony of Paul's efforts at "getting to know -something"--and a portfolio stuffed with papers. And then from this -clutter of what seemed to be school exercises of one sort or another, -Jane finally extracted what she was looking for--the newspaper clipping -that she had cut out for Paul three months before, with the address to -which he was to have sent his ill-fated picture. - -Jane did not lose a minute. She was now in quest of the old picture he -had painted on the top of the flour barrel! _He_ had said that it -"wasn't so bad"--and she had once heard him say that some great painter -had painted a celebrated Madonna on the top of a wine cask. - -She remembered now that she had seen it lying on the dinner table, one -day when Elise was dusting the dining room, and Elise had put it behind -Mr. Lambert's desk, where it had reposed since the day he had -confiscated it. It must still be there. - -And there, indeed, she found it. A fine coat of dust had collected over -its surface, but when she had brushed it off with her apron, she found -it quite as fresh as ever. - -And now, how was it to be wrapped so that it could withstand the rough -treatment of a long journey? She glanced at the clock. It was not yet -noon-day. - -Holding it face inwards under her arm, she started forth to look for -counsel in this important matter. Mr. Wheelock, at the post-office, was -one of her particular friends; he would be able to tell her exactly what -was to be done. - -She found that gentleman sitting on the steps of the post-office, -smoking a calabash pipe, and sunning himself placidly while he waited -for the noon mail. - -"What have you got there?" he called out. - -"I want you to tell me something, Mr. Wheelock." - -"How many calves' tails it takes to reach the moon?" said the old man, -facetiously. "No? What is it to-day, then?" - -"I can't tell you here. Come inside." - -He knocked his pipe out on the step, rose, and followed her as she -skipped back to his little office. - -"Now, tell me how to send this away." - -Mr. Wheelock took a pair of steel-rimmed spectacles out of the pocket of -his grey alpaca coat, and put them on. Then he picked up the barrel top -and looked at it in an astonishment that gave way presently to something -like profound admiration. - -"Well, I declare! If it ain't Mrs. Lambert! And its a mighty fine thing, -too. How did you come by this?" - -"_Do_ you think it's good, Mr. Wheelock?" cried Jane, eagerly, her face -glowing. - -"It's fine," said Mr. Wheelock, in a tone that indicated that he -considered his opinion quite final. "And on the top of an old flour -barrel, too!" he went on, turning the picture over. "Ain't that quaint? -Well, now, where did you want it sent?" - -Jane sat down and copied out the address for him. - -"And you'll wrap it up _carefully_, Mr. Wheelock?" - -"Sure thing. And send it by express, too." - -"And you won't tell a living soul?" - -"Nary a breath. Here, hadn't you better write your address on the back -of this here pitcher--or somewheres, case it might get lost." - -Jane had nearly forgotten this item. She took a post card, and wrote on -it boldly, "Paul Winkler, Frederickstown, N. C." - -"There, Mr. Wheelock, will you paste that on the back?" - -Mr. Wheelock was inspecting the card. - -"Paul Winkler! That young feller I seen around here a lot with you -folks? Did he make this pitcher?" - -"Yes," said Jane proudly. - -"I declare! Now I call that right smart. If it ain't Mrs. Lambert to the -life I'll eat my hat." And he set it up on his desk again, leaning -against the wall. Jane looked at it intently. If only she knew just -_how_ good it was. She did not feel that Mr. Wheelock was exactly an -authoritative critic--then she remembered again that Paul had said it -wasn't "so bad," and that settled her doubts. - -It was, in fact, in spite of the crudities of which Paul had been very -well aware, a piece of work that might have done credit to many a more -experienced painter; and there were things in it that neither Jane nor -Mr. Wheelock saw, vigor and harmony and beauty, over and above the -superficial likeness to Mrs. Lambert that Mr. Wheelock found so amazing. - -"You'll send it off right away, Mr. Wheelock? And--and let me know how -much it costs. I can't pay before Saturday." - -He laughed. - -"I'll try to get along 'til then. Don't you bother your head, child." - -Satisfied, though full of hope and fear, Jane went home. - -The family gathered for its noonday meal, Mr. Lambert taking his seat at -the head of the table, grave and pompous as always in his well-brushed -black coat. The difference of one place seemed to make the table -unnaturally small, and yet no one seemed to notice it. Mr. Lambert -talked about some man that had been in to see him, about the prospects -of the new courthouse being finished, about the harvests. His family -docilely listened to him, interpolating the proper question or remark -here and there. Paul's name was not mentioned, it being tacitly -understood that such were the wishes of the master of the house. - - - - -CHAPTER XV--AN UNSUSPECTED HERO - - -Paul's departure left the old problem still unsolved. Well, there was no -help for it; if the family tradition was to be destroyed at last, so it -must be. The time was coming when the ancient name of Winkler should be -erased from the glass window of the Bakeshop, and a stranger's name put -in its place. Even Granny, usually so little troubled from her serenity -by the vicissitudes of earthly things, seemed to brood over the prospect -with melancholy. But the subject was not discussed so frequently as of -yore, partly because there was little to be gained from such discussion, -and partly because it reminded Mr. Lambert of his nephew's delinquency -and put him in a bad humor. - -As September was always a hot month in that part of the country, school -never began until early in October. - -Jane felt utterly lost. Usually so resourceful, so capable of finding -something to amuse her or interest her every minute of the day, she now -went about her tasks indolently, and spent the rest of her time -wandering around listlessly. Several times, she went down to call on Mr. -Sheridan, who trotted her down to see his new Leghorn hens and his six -Jersey cows. He had gone in for farming with his whole soul. He also -discussed the changes he was making in the old house. Yes, he had -decided to live in Frederickstown for good, as his grandfather had done -before him, and his uncle, the Major, had done for many years. No, he -didn't think so much of solitude as he once had--but then there were -reasons. Yes, he might travel now and then, but that didn't count. No, -he had not planned to settle permanently in Frederickstown, when he had -first come, but things had happened since then that had changed his -mind. Of course Janey had heard the news. Yes, he was the happiest man -in the world. No, he had never been _really_ in love before. No, he -didn't think Peterson would ever get married. Jane listened to him with -the half-disdainful interest that one, who has been hardly dealt with by -fate, pays to the cheerful talk of the fortunate. Their positions were -reversed. - -Jane was almost sorry that everything had gone so smoothly with Lily and -Mr. Sheridan--she would have liked to have some complications to work -on. It also seemed to her hardly dignified in Mr. Sheridan to have -abandoned his pessimism so readily--whatever the cause of it might have -been. And now that he was so cheerful and full of plans, he seemed to -her less interesting than he had been before. - -She was on pins and needles waiting for news of what had befallen Paul's -picture. She had allowed no one to share this secret which was -absolutely her own, and her restless eagerness to hear was increased by -not having anyone with whom to speculate on the chances of its success -or failure. - -No word had come from Paul. Where he was, what he was doing, how he was -living were unknown to the family. - -One fine, sunny day Aunt Gertrude declared that she was going to shut up -shop and take a holiday. - -"Come, we'll take Dinah and the old wagon, and go out to the country. -Elise, you and Jane can make up sandwiches. Granny doesn't want to go, -but Anna will be here to take care of her. Father is going over to -Allenboro, so there doesn't have to be any lunch cooked here, and Anna -can get Granny's." - -The prospect of this unexpected spree put everyone, including Jane into -high spirits. Aunt Gertrude roasted two chickens, to be eaten cold, -baked a chocolate cake with marshmallow filling, and boiled eggs, while -Elise and Jane cut and spread enough sandwiches to stay the appetite of -a small army. - -At noonday they set out in the old wagon that had made the trip to -Allenboro, Carl driving, with Aunt Gertrude and the twins beside him, -Jane and Elise in the back with the luncheon hamper, books, embroidery -and games. - -And away they rumbled. Aunt Gertrude who actually had not been into the -open country lying around Frederickstown in years, had set her heart on -picnicking in one particular spot. - -"I remember it from the time when I was a girl," she said, blushing as -she did so easily. "Long ago we had a picnic there--it's about a mile -below the Webster's farm, Carl--I'll show you--Nellie Webster, and Sam -(she was referring to Dolly's father and mother) and poor Nannie Muller -and Ben McAllister--just think, they're all old folk like me, now! And -it was there that I met your father! Think of that now!" - -Jane, finding this interesting, moved so that she could kneel behind the -seat, with her elbows on the back. - -"Is that really true, Mummy? And did you like him right away? Was he -handsome?" - -"Certainly he was handsome--and your father is still a _remarkably_ -handsome man, my dear!" said Mrs. Lambert, rather aggressively; and -indeed she firmly believed that her husband was a perfect model of -masculine good looks. - -"Yes. Well, go on, Mummy. What did you wear?" - -"What did I wear? Well, it's very queer but I _do_ remember that quite -plainly. I wore a green muslin dress--that very dress, Lisa, that you -found in my old trunk the other day--and a white leghorn hat, with -little pink roses. Lisa, have you any idea what ever became of that hat? -No--I remember now, I trimmed it up again and gave it to you when you -were a little girl--and how sweet you looked in it!" - -"I want a hat with pink rothes," murmured Lottie. - -"Don't interrupt, Lottie. Go on, Mummy. What was Daddy like?" - -"Your father," said Mrs. Lambert complacently, "was a _great_ catch. He -was older than the rest of us, and so dignified. At that time, I -remember, he wore a big moustache--and such a lovely brown. I was quite -afraid of him, and I was sure that he thought me a very frivolous girl, -as I certainly was. But--he didn't seem to mind. And that night, there -was a lovely big moon, and the hay had just been cut--and he took me -home." - -That seemed to be the end of the story; Mrs. Lambert stopped, and a -thoroughly sentimental smile spread over her youthful face. Lisa sighed. -She was, if possible, even more sentimental than her mother, and in the -hours that her flaxen head was bent over her incessant handiwork, it was -filled with imaginings of romantic scenes, and dashing young gentlemen -like Walter Scott's heroes. She liked the portion of her mother's -artlessly told romance that touched on the moon and the new-mown hay, -but for herself she would have preferred a smooth-shaven hero to one -with the dragoon's moustache that her mother so greatly admired. - -"Now, Carl, you drive along this road to the left," said Mrs. Lambert. -"It's all changed very little. I remember that rock, _perfectly!_ And we -can lead Dinah off from the road and hitch her to a tree. And here we -all get out." - -So out they got, and Carl tied Dinah to a tree, while his sisters took -the impedimenta out of the wagon. Mrs. Lambert holding a twin with each -hand, lead the way along a shady path that skirted the bank of a -meandering stream. The shadow of a grove of trees lay over the long -grass; on each side of the stream stretched meadows colored with patches -of golden-rod, and red pepper-grass; in the apple-trees the fruit was -already bright red among the green leaves; the sun was warm, and the -wind caressing. - -"This is the very place--these are the very trees," said Mrs. Lambert. -"And now we shall all have lunch,"--this in a brisk, practical voice, -for notwithstanding her romantic memories, Mrs. Lambert was hungry. - -Elise spread a white cloth out on the grass, weighting it at the corners -with three large stones and "The Vicar of Wakefield." Carl went to put -the bottles of loganberry juice in the stream to cool, and the others -unloaded the hamper. Then they all sat down to eat. And when they had -eaten all they wanted--that is, until there was nothing left to -want--Aunt Gertrude took a book, pretending that she was going to read, -and went to sleep, Elise took her sewing--pretending that she was going -to be industrious, when she was really going to sit and dream--the -twins, took off their shoes and stockings, and made for the shallow -stream like a pair of ducks; Carl, who had recently acquired some -enthusiasm for natural history, began to look around for specimens of -the local flora and fauna--in the shape of mulberry leaves, and spiders, -and Jane rambled off to see what she could see. - -With her hands clasped behind her, she wandered through the trees, -sometimes stopping to smell the ferns that grew in the moist rocks. At -length she reached the edge of the little wood, where the stream, as if -it had been playing a game with her, chuckled pleasantly at having -appeared where she had not expected to find it. Again, on the opposite -bank was the meadow, where now a few brown cows were to be seen in the -distance, placidly munching the grass. - -But it was not the cows that interested Jane at that moment; her -curiosity was piqued immediately by a certain peculiar figure under an -oak-tree on the far side of the stream. - -This figure was seated on a little camp stool, beneath a green -umbrella--as if the oak tree did _not_ come up to the mark in furnishing -the amount of shade required. - -"What _can_ he be doing?" wondered Jane. The odd character had his back -to her so that she could not make out exactly what his occupation was, -and therefore left her no alternative but that of picking her way across -the stream on the stones, and ascertaining his business for herself. - -As she approached him her wonder grew. He wore a suit of black and white -checks, an emerald-hued necktie of such proportions that the loops of -the bow were visible even from Jane's inconvenient angle of sight. But -most remarkable of all, was his hat. It was such a hat as, once seen, -would leave an indelible impression, and yet defied all description. It -can only be said that it was large--extremely large--that it was of -straw, and that it was ornamented with a scarf of a rich and vivid -green. But the jaunty freedom of its lines, the expression of its broad -and supple brim--these were the individualities that distinguished it -from all the other hats ever made by the hand of man. - -After a moment or two Jane made out what he was doing. He was painting a -picture. In front of him was a small easel, and on the easel was a small -canvas, and on the canvas was a bewildering blur of colors. On his thumb -he supported a huge palette. - -It occurred to Jane that this fellow craftsman of Paul might have heard -of her cousin, and in any event his occupation interested her. She drew -nearer, until she was close enough to watch the airy strokes of his -brushes which he selected from time to time from a large bunch, much as -a golfer selects his clubs. - -Presently, evidently hearing some motion on the grass behind him, the -artist looked around and saw her. At once he sprang up, doffing his -wonderful hat. - -"Ah! How do you do?" - -Jane stared at him, and then said, with dignity, - -"How do you do? Am I disturbing you?" - -"Not at all! _Not_ at all." - -"Can I watch you?" - -"I shall be delighted; though I fear that your interest will be ill -repaid," he said modestly. "I am, as you see, endeavoring to render my -impressions of the beauty and tranquillity of this charming scene. Ah, -Nature! Nature! there is nothing like Nature, my dear young lady,--you -may take my word for it. I am a great worshipper of Nature--I wear her -colors like a true knight!" And he pointed to the scarf around the crown -of his hat, which, as has been said, was of a green that was surely -never to be met with on land or sea. He resumed his seat on the little -camp stool, under the green umbrella--also, let it be observed, of -Nature's hue--and Jane, whose curiosity had been much piqued by this odd -little man, settled herself sociably on a hillock. He set to work again, -this time using certain self-conscious little mannerisms, throwing his -head on one side, thrusting out his underlip, pondering over his -palette, and then holding up one finger, saying briskly, "Ah-ha! Now -I've got it!" and impetuously dashing a blob of paint onto the meek -canvas, which seemed to have had already far more trouble than it -deserved. - -Jane looked at him intently. He was a little man, of twenty-six or -seven, with a rosy face, a pug nose, and bright blue eyes, like pieces -of Dutch china. His straw colored hair was combed down on his forehead, -curled slightly around his ears, and grew down the nape of his neck. He -wore a tiny moustache, which seemed to have no kinship with either his -hair or his eyebrows, for where these last were almost flaxen, the stiff -fringe on his upper lip was as red as rust. Yet he was a pleasant -looking young man; the simplicity and earnestness of his expression, -even his frank satisfaction with himself, made one like him in spite of -all his absurdities. - -"Now, you're putting in the cows, aren't you?" inquired Jane, -respectfully. - -"Yes, indeed. I am going to put in three cows--three is rather a -symbolic number, you know. Faith, Hope and Charity--Good, Better, Best, -so--so many things run in threes. I should like to suggest the number -Three to the spectator--in fact, that's really what I'm driving at." - -It seemed a quaint idea to Jane, but original. - -"Do you--do you live in Frederickstown?" she ventured, presently. - -"No. I regret to say that I am not a native of these delightful -environs," said he, "I am a bird of passage." He looked at her -thoughtfully as he repeated this definition of himself, evidently -wondering how she liked "birds of passage." - -"You mean you don't live anywhere?" - -"Just that. All Nature is my home--the trees, the rocks--" - -"You _live_ in trees and rocks?" gasped Jane, looking at his dapper -little suit, and wondering how it withstood the strain of such habits. - -"Figuratively speaking. I confess that at times I inhabit--hotels. -Deplorable as such necessity is, still it exists." - -"Yes," said Jane, who did not understand why such a necessity should be -particularly deplorable, "of course." - -The little man looked at her, and then in a confidential tone, remarked, - -"I am an enemy to Civilization, Look! Look about you! These noble trees, -this grassy meadow, that purling stream--all are doomed, my dear young -lady. Have you ever thought of that? Civilization will overtake this -natural Paradise--the factory will rise, the stony arms of the City will -crush out the fresh beauty of the flowering mead--even these cows are -slightly civilized already." And a look of discontent overshadowed his -cheerful, rosy face, as he gazed at the peaceful animals munching the -grass under some distant willow trees. - -Just at that moment a series of shrill cries rent the air. Jane sprang -up. There could be no doubt that they came from the spot where she had -left her family. She darted past the little artist, flew along the bank -of the stream, and finally reached the scene of the commotion; though -she was forced to view it from the opposite bank. - -This is what had happened: Mrs Lambert, as has been said, had gone to -sleep, and, while Elise had been sitting quietly, with a book in her -lap, a large, black cow had ambled up behind her, and in the friendliest -way in the world had thrust its head over her shoulder. Elise had -promptly screamed; Mrs. Lambert, waking suddenly and seeing the cow, had -screamed also, and then the twins, making mudpies down by the water's -edge, had added their shrieks to the general uproar. Elise, losing her -presence of mind, had started to run, whereupon, after a moment's -thought, the cow had followed her. - -"One moment! Allow me!" cried a voice behind Jane. "Ladies, be calm!" -And the dapper little figure of "Nature's Knight" sprang forward, hopped -nimbly across the stepping stones of the stream, clambered up the muddy -bank, and clutching the green umbrella, flew to Elise's rescue. - -He ran around in front of the cow, shouting loudly, recklessly drawing -all the attention of the astounded animal upon himself. By this time the -whole family had collected to watch the proceedings. Carl was chuckling. -Mrs. Lambert was half-weeping, half-laughing, and wringing her hands all -at once. Jane, open-mouthed, followed all the extraordinary actions of -the rescuer, who, making the strangest sounds in his throat, waving his -green umbrella, appeared to be trying to mesmerize the bewildered cow. - -But singular as his methods were, the stranger actually succeeded in -coaxing the animal away from Elise, and then began to shoo it across the -field, with such energy and determination that presently it began to -trot and then to gallop until it had vanished out of sight around the -edge of the woods. - -Elise, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, and looking rather foolish, -got down from the fence to which she was clinging in desperation, and -timidly thanked the young man, who had again removed his hat with -something of the flourish of an acrobat. - -"You aren't hurt?" cried Mrs. Lambert, rushing to her daughter. "Oh, my -dear, I really don't think there was any danger at all--I'm sure that -was quite a dear old cow--that is,--I don't mean that it wasn't -extremely kind of you, sir, and I'm sure we are all _very_ grateful to -you--" - -"Madam, I was fortunate to have this opportunity of serving you," said -the young gentleman, grandiloquently, and then turning to Elise, he -added, with deep concern, "I trust that _you_ feel no ill effects from -this unpleasant adventure--" - -"Oh, no--no, indeed, thank you." Elise, being very self-conscious, -blushed, and looked at her mother as if asking what she should say next. - -"Won't you rest for a moment, sir?" said Mrs. Lambert, "and have -something cooling to drink? Carl, my dear, aren't there one or two more -bottles of loganberry down in the stream?" And then turning again to the -stranger, who listened very willingly to her invitation to refreshment, -she asked him if she might know his name. - -"My name, Madam?" he looked around at them all as if to assure himself -that they were quite prepared for anything that might follow. "My name -is Montgomery,--P. Hyacinth Montgomery!" No one turned a hair. Mrs. -Lambert then told him her name, and that of each member of her family, -and then they all sat down, under the tree. - -Very soon all constraint between the Lambert's and Mr. Montgomery had -quite disappeared. He was an adaptable, sociable person, and with all -his eccentricities and absurdities, had a certain air of wistfulness -that touched Mrs. Lambert. He did not seem at all loath to talk about -himself, especially about his feelings; and the only thing he touched on -rather vaguely was the matter of his native section of the country. - -He was in "these environs" only temporarily, he said, and was lodging at -the Red Fox Hotel, between Frederickstown and Goldsboro. - -"Why, then," said Mrs. Lambert, "we can take you part way home, if you -are ready to start soon. We are going in the same direction." - -She could not tell what it was about Mr. Montgomery that seemed to her -pathetic, but whatever it was it inspired the kindly woman to be cordial -and friendly to the odd little man. He accepted her offer eagerly, and -Jane fancied that as he did so he looked timidly at Elise. - -While the others were packing up various odds and ends into the picnic -basket, he ran off to collect his own possessions which he had left -under the oak tree up the stream. - -"He's a queer duck," remarked Carl, carefully sorting out his specimens -of plant and animal life. - -"Can _I_ have a hat with a green thcarf?" demanded Lottie. - -"I'll borrow his suit to play chess on," added Carl. - -"Hush! Carl,--don't make fun of him," said Mrs. Lambert, smiling in -spite of herself. "He seems to be a very good-hearted young man. Here he -comes now." - -All flushed and panting, Hyacinth appeared with his numerous burdens; -but notwithstanding the fact that he was laden like a camel with his -box, and stool and easel and umbrella, he insisted upon carrying Elise's -books, and even offered to manage the basket _somehow_. - -Just why, each and every one of the Lamberts felt a distinct liking for -the ridiculous P. Hyacinth it would be hard to say, yet that they did -was evident. And on his part, he seemed upon half an hour's acquaintance -to feel as much at home with them all as if he had known them all his -life. - -As they rumbled and bounced back to town he chattered happily and -confidingly to them all, but for Elise he reserved some of his choicest -thoughts on the beauties of nature. - -"Yes," said Mrs. Lambert, when he had finally parted from them at the -road that led off in a short cut to Goldsboro, after assuring them that -he hoped for nothing more ardently than to renew his acquaintance with -them, "a very nice young man, indeed. Where a good heart is so plainly -beneath it one can forgive a small matter like a checker board -waistcoat." - -Elise meantime had been thinking over not the checker-board waistcoat -but the orange-colored moustache, - -"But it was certainly very brave of him to frighten that bull away," she -remarked, half as if to herself. Carl shouted. - -"A bull! You mean one poor old cow!" - -Elise undisturbed by this interruption, added again in a tone as if she -were arguing out his faults and virtues with herself, - -"And even if his moustache _was_ queer, he--he had a very nice -complexion." Then realizing that Jane had overheard this remark, she -blushed a vivid pink, pretended to be looking for her work bag, and then -asked, coldly, - -"What are you laughing at, Janey?" - -"I?" said Jane innocently; "_I_ wasn't laughing. Gracious! I wasn't -_laughing_." - - - - -CHAPTER XVI--A FAMILY MATTER - - -The appearances of Mr. P. Hyacinth Montgomery at the Bakery became very -frequent. His devotion to the family increased so rapidly that in a -little while, not a day passed without his calling to inquire -solicitously for the health of all, to talk to Aunt Gertrude, present a -bouquet of wild flowers to Granny (who always had to have them taken out -of her room because they made her sneeze), and play with the twins like -an affectionate uncle. - -One day, having noticed the sign on the Bakeshop window, evidently for -the first time, he inquired how the name there happened to be "Winkler," -when the family name was "Lambert." He showed so much interest in the -matter that Mrs. Lambert, flattered, gave him a short history of the -family, to which he listened thoughtfully, once murmuring something -about "coincidence." - -"A quaint history," he remarked. - -No member of the household was so blind as not to notice the preference -that Mr. Montgomery showed for the society of Miss Elise, nor her -tell-tale bashfulness when he plucked up sufficient courage to address -her. But Mr. Lambert so plainly disapproved of the young man that not -even his wife dared to open any discussion on the subject with him, for -fear that a violent explosion would result. The old merchant maintained -a stolid silence which all the pathetic efforts of Mr. Montgomery were -powerless to thaw; though now and then Mr. Lambert was inspired to break -it himself in order to utter sarcasms that reduced the poor young man to -the last stage of discomfort and despair, and frequently caused Elise to -weep bitterly in the solitude of her little bedroom. At the same time, -she found something rather agreeable to her romantic taste in this rle -of unhappy love-lorn maiden. - -"You are enjoying a great deal of leisure, Mr. Montgomery," Mr. Lambert -remarked one evening, looking at the writhing youth over his spectacles. -"Is it a vacation--or a habit?" - -P. Hyacinth smiled uncertainly, with a beseeching expression in his -large blue eyes. - -"Neither a vacation--nor yet exactly a--a habit, sir. I--I have my own -philosophy of life, as you might say--" - -"Ah!--a rather expensive one, I _do_ say," interrupted Mr. Lambert. "You -are fortunate to be able to afford your philosophy. You expect to remain -for long in these parts?" - -"Not _very_ long--that is, I--my plans are not definite." - -"My wife has given me to understand that you are--an _artist_?" Mr. -Lambert observed in a tone that almost overcame the miserable Hyacinth. - -"Not really--that is--with me, sir, Art is an--an avocation, as you -might say--" - -"Ah! And what might your _vo_cation be?" - -Mr. Montgomery waved his hand. - -"That, sir, is inconstant, variable." - -"I am not surprised that it _is_," remarked Mr. Lambert, and after that, -he withdrew into his shell of icy silence, evidently waiting for further -developments before he expressed his opinion of P. Hyacinth still more -plainly. - -In Jane, Elise found a highly sympathetic confidante, but even Jane was -prompted to ask frankly, - -"But what does he do, Elise? Does he sell his pictures?" - -"He does," cried Elise. "He's sold _three_! He did a perfectly lovely -design once for a stationer's advertising calendar--it was a picture of -a girl, he said, with a lot of red roses in her arms. And he did a -picture of some wild animals for a sportsman's den." - -"And what was the other one?" - -"I--he didn't tell me. We started to talk of something else. Oh, Jane, -are you going to be horrid about him, too?" cried Elise, suddenly -bursting into tears. Then, having grown quite artful where any defense -of her suitor was necessary, she added, "Paul was an artist, and you -didn't laugh at _him_!" To Jane it seemed hardly worth while to point -out what appeared to her to be the many differences between Paul and Mr. -Montgomery. So she disregarded Elise's challenge, and putting both arms -around her sister, said half-laughing, - -"You know I'm not going to be horrid about him. I like him very much." - -"Do you really, Janey?" asked Elise, brightening. "Oh, Jane you can't -imagine how unselfish he is. He--he said he'd give up everything for me. -He said he'd break stones in a quarry--boo--hoo!" And here Elise again -dissolved into tears. - -"Well, he won't, dear," said Jane comfortingly, "I mean--that is--he -probably won't have to. There are so many other things that he could do, -you see. What else did he say?" - -"What else? Oh, well--not very much," answered Elise, blushing, and -beginning to dimple. "He said that--he--he'd have to have a talk with -father." - -"Good gracious! Then he--oh, Elise!" - -"Only he's _so_ afraid of Papa. Of course, Janey, you must understand -that Mr. Montgomery hasn't--you know--hasn't--that is, I know he likes -me, but he hasn't said so. He says he can't, until he's talked to Papa; -he says that wouldn't be honorable. And Papa won't give him a chance!" -And once more, Elise began to weep gently. - -"Don't cry, Elise darling--father _will_ give him a chance," said Jane; -but these words of comfort only elicited sobs from Elise. - -"That's what I'm afraid of!" she wailed disconsolately. - -This state of affairs seemed hopelessly complicated to Jane. It had no -points in common with the romance of Lily and Mr. Sheridan, and in this -fact Elise found a certain melancholy satisfaction. Elise of course kept -Lily well-posted on the details of her own affair of the heart, and -unconsciously assumed a certain superiority in recounting and describing -her difficulties that almost irritated the sweet tempered and -sympathetic Lily. - -"_I_ was very unhappy, too," said Lily; but Elise shook her head as if -to say, "What opposition did _you_ meet with?" - -Jane simply looked on, vastly interested in this new development of -domestic happenings, but exceedingly dubious as to the outcome. Mrs. -Lambert was, of course, deeply sympathetic with her daughter, and Mr. -Lambert feeling that there was a conspiracy among the feminine members -of the household to overcome his objections, became more than adamantine -in his silence. - -So matters stood one warm evening, when, notwithstanding the date the -summer still lingered on, perhaps from sheer curiosity to know how the -problem was going to be solved. - -Jane, with a book in her lap, was sitting at her window, not reading, -for the light was fading out of the sky, and she was unwilling to light -her lamp, so lovely were these last twilight moments of that mild autumn -day. - -Presently, hearing voices in the garden, she thrust her curly head out -of the window. - -Elise was sitting on the green bench against the wall; in front of her -stood Mr. Montgomery, who, judging from the open gate, had just made his -appearance. He held his hat in his hand, but Jane, accustomed to having -her attention caught by the green scarf upon it, now noticed with -surprise that the green scarf had been replaced by a black one. Now, -what might be the significance of that? Mr. Montgomery's tow-colored -hair was slightly disordered, giving yet another reason for one's -believing that he was in distress of some sort. - -"Poor little man, what _can_ be the matter?" wondered Jane, and she -leaned a little farther out so that she could hear some of the -conversation. - -"No, dear Miss Lambert--I feel that I must go," he was saying in -sincerely miserable accents. "You cannot--I must not flatter myself that -you _can_ feel what this parting means to me. Indeed, desiring your -happiness above all things, I earnestly hope that you are untouched by -_my_ wretchedness! I have come to-night to say farewell to you and your -charming family for whom I could not feel a deeper affection were it my -own." - -"Oh, Mr. Montgomery--surely you don't mean that you are going for good?" -cried Elise. - -He drew a heavy sigh. And then, letting his head droop pathetically, -said, - -"Miss Lambert, that must be for you to decide. And yet I cannot allow -you--even though my dearest hopes were to be realized thereby--to make -any decision. Miss Lambert, I think you may have guessed my feelings. -How deep and sincere they are I can only prove by my readiness to -disregard them. In short, dear Miss Lambert, I feel my unworthiness to -aspire to the happiness--" here he swallowed his words completely so -that Jane found it impossible to make out what he was saying. - -"But where are you going, Mr. Montgomery?" stammered Elise, evidently on -the point of tears again. Her concern and emotion affected P. Hyacinth -deeply and rapidly. Taking a step closer to her, he looked into her -eyes; - -"Are these tears, Miss Lambert--Elise? Is it possible that my departure -is not wholly indifferent to you?" he cried, casting his hat recklessly -on the ground and seizing both her hands. - -"Oh, Mr. Montgomery, you know--that it is not," murmured Elise, freeing -one hand in order to dry her eyes. - -"Then," declared Hyacinth heroically, "I shall--I shall seek an -interview with your parent to-night--" - -"You may have an interview immediately, if you want," announced a bass -voice from the dining-room doorway. - -"Jiminy!" gasped Jane, drawing herself back from the window. - -The two young people started as if a cannon had exploded beside them. -Mr. Montgomery, minus at least three shades of his rosy color, drew -himself up, and breathed a deep breath. His knees were quaking; yet it -was not without an air of real dignity that he prepared to brave the old -lion. - -"Wait here, Elise. I think I had better see your father a--alone." - -"Not at all," said Mr. Lambert again raising his terrifying tones, -"Elise, I wish you to step in here, too." - -Instinctively, Elise clung to Hyacinth's hand, and like the babes in the -wood, they slowly walked into the dining room. - -Mr. Lambert was seated at his desk; and the light coming in through the -window shone upon his glasses so that neither of the quailing young -people could quite see his eyes. There was a ferocious frown between his -bristling grey eyebrows. - -"Mr. Montgomery, I heard some of the remarks you were making to my -daughter. I also heard you say that you wanted to see me. I am willing -to listen to anything you have to say--provided that you come to the -point _quickly_!" He brought out the last word so sharply that poor -Hyacinth gasped as if he had been struck by a high wind. - -"Yes, sir," he managed to articulate, faintly; and after this effort -seemed unable to utter a sound. - -"Well?" said Mr. Lambert. "Proceed." - -Hyacinth squared his shoulder. - -"Mr. Lambert--sir--I--er--I--" - -"Do you wish to marry my daughter?" - -"Yes, sir. Exactly." - -"Then why don't you say so?" - -"I _do_ say so, sir." - -"And you wish to ask my permission?" - -"Yes, sir--just so. I _do_ ask your permission." - -"Well, sir," said Mr. Lambert, removing his spectacles, and polishing -them slowly on his handkerchief. "It is _not_ granted." - -Here Elise began to weep, but disregarding her distress, Mr. Lambert -continued, - -"And I should advise you, sir, to keep to that very excellent plan of -yours to depart, at once." - -Notwithstanding the grim look around Mr. Lambert's mouth, Hyacinth held -his ground heroically. - -"Sir, I love your daughter. I think I have a right to ask you why you -object to me as a son-in-law." - -Mr. Lambert turned upon him slowly in his swivel chair, eyed him gravely -from head to foot, and then said, - -"Yes. Quite so. You have such a right. Very well, then,--I object to -your clothes, to begin with." - -"Sir," said Hyacinth, turning a deep pink, "they can be--changed." - -"No doubt," said Mr. Lambert. "In the second place I object to your -profession,--if you are pleased to call it such." - -"You object to my being an interpreter of nature--an artist, sir?" -stammered Hyacinth. "Surely sir--however that too can be changed." And -he bowed his head submissively. "In fact, sir," he added with an -ingenuous expression, "I shall be quite willing to change it." - -"Ah," said Mr. Lambert. "Well, my dear sir," a slightly sarcastic smile -illumined his rugged features for a moment, and he rose as if he were -about to finish off the matter, with his final objection, "well, my dear -sir, lastly, I don't like your name. Perhaps, though" (_very_ -ironically), "you can change _that_!" - -Hyacinth hesitated a moment, and then said pathetically, - -"Don't you really like it, sir?" - -"I can hardly express my feelings about it!" cried Mr. Lambert, losing -patience. "Really, my dear sir--" - -"One moment, please," urged Hyacinth, "I--I _can_ change it--" - -"No doubt! No doubt! Perhaps you can change your skin--indeed I should -not be surprised--" - -"But really, sir. Allow me to explain. I--well, it is necessary for you -to know sir, that, very often, persons who embrace any line of artistic -activity may desire to assume a fictitious name--" - -"I can easily imagine that in many cases regard for their personal -safety would force them to it," observed Mr. Lambert, drily. - -"Precisely. And sir--I confess that heretofore you have known me under a -name that--that is not my own." - -"Not your own!" roared Mr. Lambert. "What the deuce do you mean sir? Not -your own! Then whose is it?" - -"No one's sir, believe me!" cried Hyacinth, backing away from the -indignant old man. "I invented it, sir--" - -"And you mean to tell me that you have had the audacity to enjoy my -hospitality under false pretences!--to say nothing of paying court to my -daughter--" - -"Pray, sir--one moment!" implored Hyacinth, wringing his hands. "Oh, -don't misunderstand me--" - -"And will you have the goodness to tell me, sir, at once, _what_ and -_who_ you are?" bellowed Mr. Lambert. "Come, I won't tolerate your -insolence." - -"Oh, my _dear_ Mr. Lambert, don't, _don't_ be hasty. I--I don't know -what I am. But I--" - -"What is your name, sir?" shouted Mr. Lambert. - -"My name, sir, is--Winkler. P. Hyacinth Winkler. The P. stands for -Pol--" - -"Winkler!" gasped Mr. Lambert, "_Winkler_!" - -"Winkler!" murmured Elise, faintly. - -"For Polybius," continued Hyacinth, not heeding their ejaculations. "I -will conceal nothing from you sir. The P. stands for Polybius. My -sponsors, not I, are to be blamed--" - -"Winkler!" repeated Mr. Lambert. - -"If you are afflicted with the same sensitiveness of the auditory nerve -that nature bestowed on me," went on Hyacinth, "you cannot doubt that -there is something in the combination of the word Winkler with the two -polysyllabic names preceding it, which is grating, imperfect--" - -"Winkler," Mr. Lambert was still repeating monotonously. - -"Yes, sir. I now perceive the cause of your astonishment. It is a name -with which you have some connection--" - -"Will you be good enough to tell me what part of the world you are -from?" demanded Mr. Lambert. - -"I was born in the state of Missouri, in the year 1895. My parents were -people of consequence in a humble way. My father had for many years been -the proprietor of a solid business in dyes and textiles--" - -"My dear sir, I don't want your biography," interrupted Mr. Lambert, but -in a remarkably softened voice. "Your father's name was--?" - -"Samuel Winkler." - -"Samuel? And his father's?" - -"John." - -"John--Johann! By Jove!" cried Mr. Lambert. And he began to rummage in -the drawer of his desk, bringing to light the large scroll on which was -traced the family tree of the Winklers. Just as he had unrolled it under -Paul's eyes, he now unrolled it again, and eagerly began to trace the -lines of twigs and branches. - -"Here!" he exclaimed, "Samuel Winkler--son of the first Johann--moves to -Missouri in 1817--two sons, Ferdinand and Johann. Ferdinand died 1824. -Johann married, 1850--Samuel, your father, born 1857. Is that right, -sir?" - -"Yes." - -"Do you realize," inquired Mr. Lambert, throwing himself back in his -chair, "that you are the fourth or fifth cousin of my wife? That you -are, in fact, the legal heir--or can be made so by her consent and -yours--to this famous establishment. That, in a word sir," cried Mr. -Lambert, growing almost too excited to speak distinctly, "if you show -aptitude, and willingness to fit yourself to carry on this business, I -shall withdraw all my objections to you--I will accept you as a -son-in-law--Embrace one another, my children! Bless you a thousand -times! Ah, Heavens! Gertrude!" And almost apoplectic with excitement, -Mr. Lambert sprang up, and actually cutting a caper, flew to the door to -call his wife. - -As a matter of fact, he had not far to look; for his roars and bellows -had brought his entire family down to the hall outside the dining-room -door, Jane having informed her mother of the probable nature of the -scene going on within, and a natural concern for the well-being of the -two victims having stirred their sympathy and anxiety. - -"Come in! Come in!" cried Mr. Lambert, throwing the door wide. -"Gertrude, my dear, embrace me!" and he promptly hugged his startled -wife. "Jane, kiss your dear sister. Gertrude, salute your son--" - -"But w-what--" - -"What? What? You ask what? He has been found!" Then suddenly, Mr. -Lambert remembering that actually Hyacinth had not consented to the -conditions of his acceptance at all, turned upon him abruptly. - -"I presume, sir, that I am right in believing that you are willing to -lay aside all other interests, and--" - -Then seeing Hyacinth and Elise standing by the window, evidently quite -oblivious to his oration, he smiled with positive benevolence. - -"I have found a _Winkler_, my dear wife," he said. "And this time, I -believe," with a playful glance in the direction of the two at the -window, "a Winkler who--" - -"Who will stay put," finished Jane. - -There was no need for much explanation, Mr. Lambert's tones during the -interview having been of such a quality that not only the entire -household might have heard him, but the neighbors into the bargain. - -And thus, as Jane had once prophesied to Paul, the incredible had -happened--the Other Winkler was found. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII--AN HONOR TO THE FAMILY - - -"And of course _I_ shall lend you my pearl pin," cried Lily, embracing -Elise for the sixth time. "Oh, I _am_ so delighted! And to think, you -sly girl, that you're going to be married four whole months before I -am!" - -"And I," announced Dolly Webster, taking her turn at embracing the -blushing and dimpling Elise, "_I've_ brought you a pair of blue garters. -Annie Lee made 'em, but I sewed on the little pink roses, so they're -from both of us. And mamma is going to give you the dearest set of tea -cups--though that's a secret. I _never_ was so surprised at anything in -my life!" - -"And your fianc is charming," added Amelia, "_so_ interesting. Now, do -let me look at all these pretty things you are making." - -"Well, I want to hear more about all this," said Annie Lee, sitting -down, and taking off her rain-soaked hat. "Here, my dear, give me some -of your sewing to do. You must be rushed to death." - -"I _am_ rushed--but everyone has been helping. The house is simply -upside down," said Elise. "Just look at this room! I don't know how -we're going to get everything straightened out for the wedding. Papa -insists that we must have a big party here afterwards, but where in the -world we'll find room to move I don't know." - -Indeed, since the events recorded in the last chapter, the gentle -routine of the Lambert's family life had been unhinged at its very -foundations. Everyone knows that the prospect of a wedding has a -thoroughly disturbing influence, and during the weeks of trousseau -making, and festivity-planning, Mr. Lambert's rules of law and order -were freely and boldly disregarded. - -The wedding date was set for early winter,--to this suggestion, Mr. -Lambert had given a ready consent, being anxious to have his son-in-law -firmly attached to the household and his duties as soon as possible, and -the domestic machinery moving once again with its customary smoothness. -At the same time the old merchant desired to have his daughter's -marriage do him credit. He discussed the preparations fussily; he made -decisions and redecisions on the household articles and heirlooms which -should go to his daughter on her marriage; he even had his opinions on -the bride's dress. One evening he called her down and presented her with -an ancient silver chain, set with curious, embossed medallions, which -had belonged to his own grandmother--"Now I have the 'something -old,'"--Elise said, as she showed it proudly to her friends--: another -time, on his return from a trip to Allenboro, he brought her a pair of -tiny blue silk slippers, so small that no woman of the modern generation -could possibly have pressed her feet into them. Altogether, his -satisfaction was so profound that at times he was positively kittenish, -and teased the young lovers with elephantine playfulness. He no longer -saw in his prospective son-in-law and distant relative those -eccentricities that had annoyed him so excessively. He called Hyacinth, -Polybius--a name, which in his opinion had classic dignity--and treated -him with a solemn regard that disconcerted the young man even more than -his former sarcasm. - -Everyone was pleased. Letters of a most friendly and cousinly nature had -been exchanged with the family of the bridegroom who did not hesitate to -express very frankly their surprise and delight in that young man's -unlooked for good sense in choosing the bride he had, and in preparing -to lay aside his artistic whimsies in favor of a solid and thriving -business. - -Hyacinth had been exhibited to all the Lamberts' neighbors; he had been -approved and congratulated. Frederickstown received him amiably into its -midst. He had bought a calm, dark blue suit, and was growing a small -beard to give some air of age and authority to his rosy, youthful face. -He spent much of his time at the warehouse with Mr. Lambert where he sat -and listened gravely to the talk of the other merchants, spoke rarely, -but always with a judicious, reflective manner, which was positively -impressive. - -"A fine young man, who'll be a credit to you, Mr. Lambert, and as good a -husband as any young lady could wish," was the general opinion of the -new Winkler. - -He had been admitted to the secrets of the Bakery, and here his talents -shone. Here he proved his claim to his descent, exhibiting a genius for -cake-making that might in time rival that of old Johann himself. He had -already invented three new recipes; and so great was his enthusiasm that -he actually sat up at night thinking out new mixtures. He had found the -natural outlet for his creative instinct, and his whole soul was -possessed with an ardor for increasing the name and fame of his house. - -But it was not without a slight shadow of resentment that Jane, although -she was sincerely fond of her future brother-in-law, saw him usurping -the place that had been Paul's. Now Paul seemed to be entirely -forgotten; his place was filled; in the flurry of preparations even Aunt -Gertrude did not have a thought to spare for him. It was as if he were -no longer a member of the family at all, as if his life and theirs had -no connection. How could they feel that way, Jane wondered indignantly. -And to cap all, she had heard no news of the fate of the picture. She -was bitterly disappointed, for even while she had tried to pretend that -she had no reason to hope for much, she had really been building all -sorts of delightful imaginings on her unshakable belief that it _would_ -win a prize. - -But Jane was too entirely feminine not to be diverted, and greatly -absorbed by the plans for the wedding; and on that rainy, windy -afternoon, she busily pricked her fingers trying to make tiny stitches -in the pretty, simple lingerie that she was helping Elise to make, and -listened eagerly to the chattering of the other girls who were all -talking and asking questions at once. - -The brisk, kindly Annie Lee promptly fitted a thimble on her finger and -took up the piece of muslin that Elise had been hemming. The two engaged -ladies exchanged open confidences for the benefit of all, while Dolly -sat by munching chocolates from the box of candies that she herself had -brought as an offering to the bride-to-be. - -"Now, do tell about the wedding," she said, giving a bounce of -anticipation. "Have you started on your dress?" - -"Oh, yes--and Granny has given me a lovely piece of lace. Wait, I'll -show you. Janey, dear, will you go and put the kettle on, and I'll make -some tea in a little--you dear girls have gotten soaked coming to see -me." - -Then the half-finished wedding dress was taken out of its box, and held -so high that its immaculate cream-colored flounces should not touch the -floor. - -"It was mother's," Elise explained. "And I'm just altering it a little, -so it will not look very old fashioned--but I can't bear to change it, -and I think it's lovely as it is." - -"It's _delicious_!" cried Lily. - -"I wouldn't _think_ of changing it," said Annie Lee. "Why that's just -the style that suits you. You'll look lovely!" - -"I suppose it was once white," said Amelia, "but still, that cream-color -is very nice--though a pure white would be more to my taste." - -"What are you talking about, Amelia--that old ivory shade is a -_thousand_ times nicer than dead white. Hold it up against you, Lisa." - -Aunt Gertrude's wedding dress was made of silk, with a tight little -bodice and a huge skirt, brave with flounces and gathers; and above its -mellow ivory-colored tones Elise's flaxen hair shone like gold. Lily, -Dolly and Annie Lee were loud in their raptures over her plump, blooming -prettiness, but Amelia looked on with a rather strained smile. - -"Now, put it back in the box, or you'll soil it," said Annie Lee. "And -_I_ shall help Janey with the tea; you can't do half a dozen things at -once." - -Over the tea-cups these feminine tongues rattled on still more -exuberantly. Amelia drew attention to the probable differences in the -futures of the two brides-to-be, and wondered which would be the -happier, then Annie Lee began to tease her about some imaginary suitor -whom she declared was languishing for Amelia. - -"What nonsense! What are you saying? Whoever heard of such a thing!" -cried Amelia, but she was immensely pleased, and put on a mysterious -expression meant to convey to them that there was more truth in their -pleasantries than they were aware of. - -"Tell me," she said, presently, with a lively air, "what has become of -that delightful cousin of yours?" - -"You mean Paul?" inquired Jane, looking up stolidly enough, but with a -grin twitching at the corners of her lips. - -"Yes. I met him out at your dance last winter, Dolly," said Amelia, "and -he was really charming to me. We had many dances together--such an -interesting boy!" - -Even Elise bent her head to conceal a smile at the mention of the "many -dances" Paul and Amelia had had together. She had heard Paul's account -of that pleasure. - -"Why, Amelia! did you set your cap at Paul? I'm surprised at you. And he -was only a child!" - -"Dear me--how can you say such things, Elise," cried Amelia coyly. "I--" - -"I wish I could tell him that you asked about him," added Elise, "I know -it would make him very happy." - -"Nonsense! I'm sure he wouldn't care in the least! But tell me what has -become of him." - -"He went away last month--or six weeks ago," said Elise, briefly, -glancing at Jane. "Isn't that Papa just coming in, Janey? It must be -after five." - -"After five!" cried Lily, "then I have to run, dear. Mamma didn't want -me to come at all in this rain--" - -"We've got to go too, so we'll take you home, Lily," said Annie Lee. -"Come along, Amelia. We may drop in to-morrow, Lisa, and Mama says that -if you want any extra sewing done that Roxie can do it easily." - -Mr. Lambert entered the dining room just after the four girls had gone. -There was a peculiar expression on his face--a mixture of annoyance, -pleasure and pride, and he seemed to take no notice of the disorder of -the room as he kissed his two daughters, and asked them to give him a -cup of tea. - -"And, Jane, call your mother. Where is Carl?" - -"I think he came in just a moment ago, father. He has been out walking." - -"Well, well. Well, I've got a piece of news--quite a piece of news, I -must say." Still, he seemed in no hurry to part with it, and Jane and -Elise were left to exchange inquiring glances behind his back, until -Mrs. Lambert and Carl had obeyed the summons of the master of the house. - -"And what is this piece of news, Peter?" asked his wife, at length. They -all looked up at him, as he stood in front of the fire, drinking his -tea. - -"Well, I must say I am very much surprised. And yet not so much -surprised either. I had an idea that there was something in the boy, and -that was one reason I wanted to let him have his own rope for a while--" - -"Daddy!" cried Jane, springing up, "is it about _Paul_?" - -Mrs. Lambert looked at her with a little frown and a shake of the head, -but Jane did not see these warning signs. - -"Why, yes," said Mr. Lambert, smoothing his beard. "The boy, it seems -won a third prize in that competition. I found the letter in the mail -that was left at my office--" - -"Daddy!" shrieked Jane. "Oh, let me see! It isn't--it can't be true--" - -"Don't yell like that, Jane!" admonished Carl. - -"I will--I _must_ yell! Oh, mother, darling, isn't it--" - -"Sh, Janey! Of course it is wonderful news--" - -"But Paul doesn't know anything about it. Oh, Daddy, where is he? Why -he--" "_I_ don't see how it could be--since his picture was burnt up," -observed Carl. This fact had so far not occurred to anyone. - -"That's true!" exclaimed Mr. Lambert. "Do you imagine that there is a -mistake after all?" And his face fell slightly. He was inordinately -proud of the honor that had redounded to the family from his discredited -nephew's achievement. - -"No, _no_! There's no mistake!" cried Jane. "It wasn't the burnt -picture--it was the other one--the one he did on top of the flour -barrel. Don't you remember, Mummy?" - -"How do _you_ know?" - -"Why, because I sent it off. After Paul had gone--and he doesn't know -_anything_!" - -"Well, well--the boy must learn of this, somehow," said Mr. Lambert. "It -was absurd of him to fly off in a temper as he did--but that's the way -of young people. Gertrude, my dear, I think it would be quite proper to -have a notice of this inserted in the _Frederickstown Star_. In fact, I -dropped by on my way home this evening, and told Jim Braintree about it, -and he's putting it in on the front page to-morrow. 'Well,' he said to -me, 'I certainly must congratulate you, Peter Lambert.' The prize by the -way was seventy-five dollars. Not bad for a youngster--by Jove! -Frederickstown will have reason to boast of this family for a good many -years to come, _I'm_ thinking!" And the worthy old man swelled almost -visibly with pride, as if in some way he was entirely responsible for -the new honor that had been bestowed upon his house. - -In fact, not even Jane herself was more delighted than her father who -less than a year before had angrily consigned the prize-winning picture -to dust and oblivion behind his desk. - -But it was all very well to say that Paul must learn of his success. -Where was he? For all that they knew, for all that anyone knew, he might -at that very moment have been once again on the ocean, or in New Zealand -or Timbuctoo. This sad possibility somewhat dampened Jane's boundless, -blissful rapture; and yet she declared stoutly that she had a feeling in -her bones that Paul was coming back-- - -"And if he does come back, Daddy," she asked timidly, "will you--will it -be all right?" - -"I haven't the slightest doubt that as soon as he gets over his little -fit of temper, he will return," replied Mr. Lambert. "He must be running -short of money now, indeed--" - -"_That_ won't bring him back!" interrupted Jane. - -"Well, well, I am sure that he will feel--I am sure that he will -realize--that he has acted very impetuously--and--and will do the -sensible thing," said Mr. Lambert a trifle impatiently. "And now, Jane, -will you bring me my slippers!" - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII--THE WANDERER COMES HOME - - -The weeks which seemed so long to Elise and Hyacinth, and so desperately -crowded to Aunt Gertrude (who was quite as excited and flustered as if -she were going to be married herself) _we_ can skip over at will. It is -enough to say that within them the old house underwent such a cleaning -and scrubbing and furbishing up as it had not known in five and twenty -years. Mr. Lambert talked of building a new wing for the newly married -couple. The floors were scrubbed and freshly oiled, the brass and pewter -was polished until the antique household wares fairly winked at you -through the glass doors of the cupboards. The woodwork was rubbed until -it shone like satin; fresh curtains went up at the windows, carpets were -beaten, the front door and the window frames received a fine new coat of -green paint, and Mr. Lambert himself put on a new latch to the door of -the Bakery. And when these wonders had been accomplished, Aunt Gertrude -entrusted the proprietorship of the Bakery to Hyacinth and Anna, and -solemnly shut herself up to make the wedding cake. It was to be such a -wedding cake as Frederickstown had never seen before--a mammoth -delicacy, destined to be long remembered, composed of spices and raisins -and citron and nuts, all buried under a snowy frosting, and artistic -decorations designed by the versatile Hyacinth, who was allowed to -contribute to this part of it, only. - -And then came the day when the Samuel Winklers arrived, and took up -their quarters at the Red Fox Inn, midway between Frederickstown and -Goldsboro. And after they had paid their respects to their cousins, and -presented their daughter-in-law-to-be with innumerable gifts, there was -a party in their honor, at which Granny presided with the greatest -dignity and Mr. Lambert proposed no less than eighteen toasts which were -enthusiastically drunk in blackberry wine. In fact, the wedding -festivities in honor of a union which restored the house of Winkler to -its former state of security threatened to completely disorganize the -delighted community. - -At last the sixth of December--the wedding-day--was come. - -In accordance with a time-honored custom, the ceremony was performed at -eight o'clock at night. And what a night it was! The first snow of the -winter had fallen, covering streets and house-tops with a thick, soft, -sparkling mantle. And like a Russian bride, Elise returned from the old -church with the sound of sleigh bells jingling in the clear, frosty air. - -A beautiful bride she was, too, rosy and golden-haired and blue-eyed; -and as for Hyacinth! with a flower in his button-hole, with his hair all -sleek and glossy, with such an expression of importance and -sedateness--it was no wonder that his parents gazed upon him with eyes -actually moist with pride, and Elise thought him a matchless paragon -amongst men. - -No one knows to this day how all the guests that came managed to crowd -themselves into the old house, but they did, and no less than thirty of -them sat down at the table with the bride and bridegroom. There was -scarcely one imprint of footsteps in the new-fallen snow that night that -did not point in the direction of the Bakery. - -A little after nine o'clock, the musicians arrived, Tom Drinkwater with -his fiddle, and Mr. Mellitz with his trombone in a huge green felt case, -and Frank Fisher with his harp and old Mr. Gilroy with his cello. They -settled themselves in a corner, tuned up a bit, and then the dancing -began. - -It was with immeasurable pride that on this occasion, Mr. Lambert -welcomed Mr. Sheridan amongst his guests--Mr. Timothy Sheridan, nephew -to the late Major, and of a family that had had its roots in -Frederickstown as long as the Winklers themselves, or nearly. Lily was a -bridesmaid, and it was with her that Mr. Lambert himself started the -dancing. Mrs. Deacon was there, gorgeous in purple and plumes, the -Websters in a solid phalanx--in fact there was not a face that was -familiar in Frederickstown that was not to be seen that night glowing -with satisfaction and good will and personal enjoyment under the roof of -the Lambert-Winkler dwelling. - -It was when the general merriment was at its height that Jane, laden -with a tray of refreshments approached the overheated musicians who were -scraping and blowing and thumping away in that corner of the dining room -from which Mr. Lambert's desk--as an article that harmonized too little -with the elegance of the occasion--had been temporarily banished. - -"In another four or five years or so, we'll be making music at _your_ -wedding no doubt--if we live, eh?" said old Elias Gilroy at last laying -aside his cello for a moment, to take a long draught of cider. When he -came out of the mug, wiping his grizzled moustaches delicately on a blue -polka dot handkerchief he winked merrily at Jane, who had sat down -beside him. - -"And why aren't you twirling round with the boys, my lassie?" he went on -affectionately, now helping himself to a gigantic slice of cake. - -"I came over to watch you--and besides, I'd rather look on," said Jane, -carefully smoothing out the skirt of her new blue silk dress. "Shall I -get you some more cider, Mr. Gilroy?" - -"Well--I'll not trouble you," said he, uncertainly, "though if there's -plenty to be had--" - -"There's lots. There's lots and lots of everything!" cried Jane. "I'll -bring a pitcher!" - -When the enthusiastic musicians had had "fresh heart put into 'em" as -Mr. Gilroy said, she stood by watching them tune up their instruments -for a new onslaught on the famous, lively measures of "Old Uncle Ned." - -"Oh, I _do_ wish I could make music out of that big thing!" she cried -pointing to the cello. - -"You have to be born to it," replied Mr. Gilroy solemnly, sawing away -with all his might. "It's an easier matter to blow a tune through -that--" he jerked his head in the direction of Mr. Mellitz's gleaming -trombone, whose huge tones fairly drowned out the voices of the other -instruments. Mr. Mellitz, though he might have taken offense at the -disparaging manner in which his colleague referred to his instrument, -seemed not to have heard Mr. Gilroy's remark. He sat behind the other -three, directly under the window, staring fixedly down the shining tube -of the trombone at his music;--a meager, melancholy looking man, little -given to sociable conversation, with a tallow-colored face which just -now was swollen out as he forced all the breath in his lean body into -the mouthpiece. - -"Why," wondered Jane, "did he choose to play the trombone?" - -With her hands folded in her lap, she sat watching him fixedly, as he -pushed his slide up and down. All around her people were dancing, -eating, drinking, talking, laughing. People were leaving, people were -coming--she was not thinking about them--she was not even thinking about -solemn Mr. Mellitz nor of how Mr. Gilroy coaxed his deep, sweet tones -out of the frayed strings of his old cello. - -She was wondering where Paul was. The very gaiety of the family reunion -made her feel the absence of the outcast all the more keenly. Her -cheerful hope of his return had waned steadily during the past weeks. -There was no news of him, although Mr. Lambert himself had tried to -trace him. No, he was gone. - -"Well, my lassie, if you watch us hard enough no doubt you'll learn a -thing or two about it," remarked Mr. Gilroy, when the music came to a -stop at the end of the dance, and the musicians mopped their perspiring -faces. "Here, take this bow, since you're so curious, and have a try at -it, while I breathe easy a moment or two." He put the neck of his cello -into her hand, and showed her how to press her fingers on the strings. - -"Now, just take the bow so--like this, see? That's better--and _bite_ -the string with it--" - -Jane laughingly tried to do as she was told, but the sound that the -instrument emitted under her touch showed only too plainly that sweetly -as it could sing under the fingers of Mr. Gilroy it had a very different -temper for rash amateurs. - -As she looked up, laughing, into the old man's face, she suddenly caught -her breath in a gasp. Through the window, just behind the long head of -Mr. Mellitz, it seemed to her that she had seen a face--though the next -moment it had disappeared. - -"What is it?" inquired Mr. Gilroy, noticing her frightened expression. -"Aren't seeing ghosts are ye?" he added jocosely. - -Jane shook her head, but she looked again, uneasily, at the window. -There was nothing there but the reflection of the interior of the -room--Anna taking plates of the table, two or three older men standing -by the fire, the silhouettes of the musicians' heads, her mother -hurrying in to see about something and then hurrying out again, people -moving past the door. - -Then, all of a sudden, there it was again! Fantastically white, it -seemed to Jane, and apparently without any body accompanying it, so that -it looked like a mask suspended outside the window. She sprang up in a -fright, not thinking for a moment that it might be no more than the face -of some inquisitive wayfarer, who had stolen into the garden to peer in -upon the festivities. - -All at once, hope, fear, doubt and joy broke over her. - -_"Paul!"_ - -The cello fell over onto the floor with an indignant "thrum-m!" as she -darted forward. The next moment, she had opened the door, and stood upon -the snowy step, looking eagerly about in the shadows of the garden. - -"Paul! Paul! Are you there?" - -A figure moved out of the darkness, into the shaft of light that -streamed through the open door. - -"Janey!" She heard the unmistakably familiar short laugh as she flung -herself into his bear-like hug. - -"You've come back! I knew it! I knew you would!" she cried, patting his -shoulders and the wet, rough sleeves of his shabby coat in a perfect -ecstasy of delight. "Oh, Paul--come in! come in quickly!" But he drew -back. - -"No, no Janey. I can't do that. But what's going on, anyway?" - -"Why, Paul--don't you know? It's Elise--Elise's wedding. And what do you -think? There's another Winkler after all--Oh, you've got to come in, -Paul--" - -"No; Janey--I can't," he repeated firmly. "I'll come back again some -day, as I promised--but not now. I can't do it now. I only stopped to -look in--I'm on my way down to Riverbury--there's a fellow down there -who says he has some work for me, if I want to come. I--I just stopped -to peek in, thinking that perhaps I'd see you all sitting around the -fire. A fine wedding guest I'd make," he added laughing. "I'd be a worse -mortification to Uncle Peter than ever I was. No, Janey, I can't. Walk -in there like this? The black sheep of the family coming in like a -vagabond at the wedding feast?" - -Indeed, he was shabby enough--and in his laugh was a tell-tale note of -something like shame. It stung his pride not a little to have even Janey -see the plain evidences of the rather unsuccessful struggle he had been -waging with circumstances. He wore the same old seaman's cap, the same -old short, thick jacket--but frayed edges, patches, and empty -buttonholes did not escape Janey's eyes, and he knew it, and tried to -draw out of the light. He was much thinner too, and even a trifle -taller, so that his garments, which had never fitted him kindly were now -still looser in the places where they had once been much too loose and -tighter where they had once been much too tight. He felt also that the -light showed only too plainly the traces that actual hunger had drawn in -his face, and of these he was more ashamed than of his clothes. - -"You mustn't stand out here, Janey--you're shivering in that thin dress. -And I must say good-bye--you've left the door open, and here come some -people." - -Janey glanced over her shoulder. Through the door from the hall, her -father was entering the dining room, with Elise, followed by Hyacinth -and Aunt Gertrude, and then the remaining guests. The ceremony of -solemnly drinking the bride's health was about to take place. Granny sat -at the head of the table. - -"How lovely Elise looks," said Paul, "and how nice it is to see them -all. There's Mrs. Deacon--and Lily and Mr. Sheridan--and there's my -friend, Amelia. Is that fellow with the beard the bridegroom?" - -"That's Hyacinth. And he's a Winkler--a real true Winkler, Paul. I found -him." - -"Did you?" said Paul, laughing, "I'm not surprised." - -"Only I didn't know he was a Winkler--so it doesn't count--" - -"Here comes Uncle Peter! He's seen you, Janey. Good-bye, dear." But she -held both his hands tightly. - -"I won't let you go! I won't, Paul! You don't understand. It's all -right--" - -Just then, Mr. Lambert pushed the half-open door wide. - -"Jane! What are you doing? Come in at once--you've chilled the whole -house!" - -Everyone had turned, and was staring in amazement, as Jane pulled Paul -to the threshold, under her father's very nose. - -"What's this?" cried Mr. Lambert, seizing his nephew by the arm. - -"It's--me, Uncle," said Paul. "I am going. I only--" - -"Going!" cried Mr. Lambert. "Going! Not at all! Come in! Come in!" - -The next thing that the bewildered Paul was conscious of was that he was -standing inside the room, facing the table full of guests, with his -uncle's arm jovially embracing his shoulders, Jane clinging to his hand, -and everyone exclaiming over the returned prodigal. - -"Ladies and gentlemen!" announced Mr. Lambert, but his speech was cut -short, as Aunt Gertrude rushed forward to kiss the utterly dazed, -uncomprehending, and horribly embarrassed boy. - -"Ladies and gentlemen!" Mr. Lambert began again, "you are aware, I -think, of the recent honor bestowed upon my nephew--an honor which is -shared not only by his family, but by this community of which he is a -part!" The remainder of the speech, no less than its resounding -introduction was pure Greek to Paul, who stood with his long arms -dangling, helplessly, and with open mouth, gazing from face to face, as -if trying to piece out the solution of the mystery. - -Then everyone began to clap their hands. His appearance had for the time -being absorbed all interest. Granny, almost hidden behind the towering -wedding cake, which had just been brought on to be cut, pulled him to -her, and kissed him. Carl, looking very clean and spruce in his new -suit, and snowy collar and polished shoes, shook hands with him. Elise -embraced him, regardless of her silk dress, and her flowers and her -veil; Hyacinth, looking abnormally solemn and important--the exuberant -nature lover and enemy of civilization had miraculously vanished to give -place to one of the most civilized and sedate of young men--Hyacinth -shook his hand, and said something very incoherent and flowery about the -pleasure and honor of meeting his distinguished cousin, and about their -being in some sense, kindred spirits. - -And then Paul, understanding nothing whatever, not at all sure that he -was not dreaming, but feeling as happy as he was puzzled, took his place -beside his uncle, to drink the health of the bride, and long life to the -name of Winkler. It was nice to be there, to see all the familiar faces, -to hear the familiar voices--above all it was good to have his part in -this celebration of family happiness, to feel that these were his kin -folk whose joys and sorrows must affect his life just as his affected -theirs. But why was it that the glances that he met shone with pride? -What had _he_ done? Why were they not ashamed of him as he stood there, -tattered and muddy--the very picture of the aimless, shiftless wanderer -that his father had been before him? He blushed for himself, feeling -vaguely that he ought not to be there, after all, that he should have -resisted Jane and Mr. Lambert and gone his way. He looked around the -familiar room,--above the chimneyplace hung the old, clumsily executed -portrait of Great-grandfather Johann, in his snuff-colored Sunday -suit--a severely pleasant-looking old man, with a constant expression of -honesty and self-respect--who now seemed to gaze down placidly and -commendingly upon the united gathering of his descendants. He had worked -for them, had old Johann Winkler; it was his industry, his self-respect, -his respect for the opinions of his fellow-citizens that had laid the -foundations of their comfort and prosperity and their good standing in -the community; from him had come the simple principles upon which they -lived and worked together. And Paul felt, as he looked up into the -painted blue eyes that old Johann would have dealt harshly with those -who disregarded family responsibilities, or brought any shadow of public -censure upon the name. And there, under those keen little blue eyes, he -stood, ragged and disreputable-looking, and the keen little blue eyes -seemed to ask him, "What does this mean, sir?" Yet, Uncle Peter had -bidden him to the feast, and was even now filling the glass in front of -him. - -And then the toasts were drunk, and the glasses clinked, and the wedding -cake was cut. And after that, Elise went up to her room to change her -dress, for the sleigh was at the door, and it was high time that the -bride and bridegroom should be on their way. Of peculiar interest, the -fact should be chronicled that when the ascending bride tossed her -bouquet over the bannisters into the midst of her maids, Dolly and -Amelia, and Lily, and Annie Lee, it was Amelia who caught the nosegay! - -And at last, the sleigh with its jingling bells had driven swiftly away -over the snowy road. The last handful of rice had been flung; the last -guest had gone, and Aunt Gertrude stood laughing and weeping over the -flight of the first of her little flock--though indeed Elise and her -Hyacinth were going no farther than Salisbury, and would be back in two -days! - -Paul and Jane stood side by side on the rice-strewn steps looking up the -moonlit street. - -"Mr. Daniels is building a porch on his house, isn't he?" remarked Paul, -quickly detecting the little alterations that had occurred on that -familiar street since his going. - -"Come in, children," said Aunt Gertrude, "come in, my dears, and let me -count you all to make sure that no more than one has run away from me!" - -And when they had all gathered around her in the old dining room in the -midst of the gay disorder of the wedding-feast, she made a pretense of -counting them, laughing and crying at the same time. - -"Here is my Jane and my Carl, and my two sleepy twinnies! That's -four--and here's my missing fifth!" And she gave Paul an extra kiss. - -Paul looked around him. Then turning to his uncle he said; - -"Uncle Peter, you've been very kind to me. I had no intention to come in -here to-night--I only stopped to look in at you all--and I'm afraid I -wasn't anything to be proud of at Elise's wedding--" - -"Come, my boy, no more of that!" said Mr. Lambert briskly; then he came -closer to Paul, and laying his hand on his shoulder looked keenly into -the lean, and somewhat haggard face. - -"You've not found life easy since you went away?" he asked kindly. - -"Not too easy, sir--and not so bad either," returned Paul, sturdily. -"I've been out of luck a bit lately, but I'm on my way now to Riverbury. -There's a man there that has good, honest work for me. With a little -time, sir, I hope--" - -"Why should you be on your way to Riverbury for work when there's work -enough in this town, and a comfortable home for you?" - -Paul looked uncertainly from face to face, and then at his uncle again. - -"It's here that your people have lived these many years," went on Mr. -Lambert. "It's here that those who are proud of you live now,--" - -"_Proud_ of me?" repeated Paul; then he hung his head as he said in a -low voice, "It is not long since that you showed me you had good reason -to be ashamed of me, sir. I was only hoping that in a little I might -do--I might be of some account, sir--as _he_ would expect," and he -jerked his head as he spoke toward the picture of old Johann. - -"My boy, I do not say but that I may have judged you over-harshly for -what to other men might seem a light enough indiscretion. I thought -you--a scatter-brained lad that thought too little of things that old -men know to be worth valuing. I had but little sympathy with your -notions, and was angered that you should prattle of pictures and -what-not when--ah, well, let all that be forgotten." - -"But Daddy!" cried Jane suddenly, "Paul doesn't know!" - -"Doesn't know what?" - -"Let _me_ tell him! Let me tell him! It's your picture, Paul--" - -"What picture?" asked Paul, with a puzzled frown, looking down at her -eager little face. - -"It won, Paul! Don't you understand--it won! And we're all so proud of -you--and it was in the papers--only we didn't know where you were, -and--" - -"What _are_ you talking about, Janey?" demanded Paul, cutting short this -rush of breathless words. "_My_ picture won? What picture? Won what?" - -"The other one--the one that wasn't burnt--oh, don't _anybody_ interrupt -me! I want to tell him every bit. And they said that 'in spite of many -something-or-other faults it showed'--I've forgotten what--they said it -was awfully, awfully good--oh, I don't know where to begin!" - -"Begin at the beginning, darling. No one will interrupt your story," -said Aunt Gertrude, drawing Jane to her. "And Paul's not going to run -away." - -So Janey took a deep breath and commenced afresh; while Paul listened, -first growing pale, and then blushing a deep red. He felt the glow -rushing all over him, and when she had finished, he could not say a -word. They were all looking at him with eyes full of that warm pride -that only a family can feel, and it seemed to him that his triumph had -brought more happiness to them even than to himself. He could not think -of anything to say to them all, and presently he got up, and walked over -to the window, where he stood looking out into the cold little garden. -But what he saw was only the reflection of the group around the -fire--that very group which he had so often pictured to himself with -such homesick longing during his months of exile. He thought of his -lonely father, and his aimless wanderings, and then he knew that he was -glad to have come home again. The world could teach him no more than he -could learn by working and growing and thinking among his own people, -and the world could not give him any praise half so sweet, or half so -inspiring as their simple pride. - -Suddenly he felt a warm little hand slip into his. It was Janey. - -She looked up at him timidly--his serious profile seemed quite stern to -her. - -"Paul, what are you thinking about now?" she asked plaintively. - -Then he laughed, and looked more like his old self. - -"I was thinking that I shall _not_ go away--if Uncle Peter means that I -needn't. And I was thinking how unpleasant things might be if you, -ma'am, attended strictly to your own affairs!" - -"And I," said Mr. Lambert, "am thinking that it is time we all went to -bed. Gertrude, my dear, I hope that Anna will be able to get everything -into order to-morrow. I shall want my desk to be in place especially. -And--er--Breakfast at seven, as usual." - - ---- - -And now the doors and windows were locked, and the lights were put out, -and the household was silent and slumbering. But the pale reflection of -the moonlit snow glimmered through the window upon the scene of the late -revelry, and a red glow still shone among the ashes of the fire, -throwing a faint red light through the shadows that deepened over the -painted face of Great-grandfather Johann. And a well-contented -expression that plump, ruddy old face wore--a comfortable, benevolent -patriarchal look, as if that excellent old lover of law and order were -saying, "And now I think everything is quite as it should be!" - - - THE END - - - - - - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JANE LENDS A HAND *** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/35593 - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one -owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and -you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission -and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the -General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and -distributing Project Gutenberg(tm) electronic works to protect the -Project Gutenberg(tm) concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the <a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#project-gutenberg-license">Project Gutenberg License</a> -included with this eBook or online at -<a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/license">http://www.gutenberg.org/license</a>.</p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<div class="container" id="pg-machine-header"> -<p class="noindent pfirst">Title: Jane Lends A Hand</p> -<p class="noindent pnext">Author: Shirley Watkins</p> -<p class="noindent pnext">Release Date: March 17, 2011 [EBook #35593]</p> -<p class="noindent pnext">Language: English</p> -<p class="noindent pnext">Character set encoding: UTF-8</p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pnext" id="pg-start-line">*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JANE LENDS A HAND ***</p> </div> <div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> </div> @@ -9372,343 +9354,6 @@ quite as it should be!”</p> <p class="center pnext">THE END</p> <div class="vspace" style="height: 5em"> </div> -<p class="pnext" id="pg-end-line">*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JANE LENDS A HAND ***</p> -<div class="backmatter"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="level-2 section" id="a-word-from-project-gutenberg"> -<span id="pg-footer"/><h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title">A Word from Project Gutenberg</h2> -<p class="pfirst">We will update this book if we find any errors.</p> -<p class="pnext">This book can be found under: <a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/35593">http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/35593</a></p> -<p class="pnext">Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one -owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and -you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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-
-.. meta::
- :PG.Id: 35593
- :PG.Title: Jane Lends A Hand
- :PG.Released: 2011-03-17
- :PG.Rights: Public Domain
- :PG.Producer: Roger Frank
- :PG.Producer: the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
- :DC.Creator: Shirley Watkins
- :DC.Title: Jane Lends A Hand
- :DC.Language: en
- :DC.Created: 1923
- :coverpage: images/cover.jpg
-
-=================
-Jane Lends A Hand
-=================
-
-.. _pg-header:
-
-.. container::
- :class: pgheader
-
- .. style:: paragraph
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- 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
- http://www.gutenberg.org/license.
-
-
-
- |
-
- .. _pg-machine-header:
-
- .. container::
-
- Title: Jane Lends A Hand
-
- Author: Shirley Watkins
-
- Release Date: March 17, 2011 [EBook #35593]
-
- Language: English
-
- Character set encoding: UTF-8
-
- |
-
- .. _pg-start-line:
-
- \*\*\* START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JANE LENDS A HAND \*\*\*
-
- |
- |
- |
- |
-
- .. _pg-produced-by:
-
- .. container::
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- Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net.
-
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-.. role:: sc
- :class: small-caps
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- :class: x-large
-
-.. role:: lg
- :class: larger
-
-.. class:: center
-
- |
- |
- |
- |
- | :xl:`Jane Lends A Hand`
- |
- | BY
- |
- | :lg:`Shirley Watkins`
- |
- | *Author of “Nancy of Paradise Cottage,”*
- | *and “Georgina Finds Herself”*
- |
- | The GOLDSMITH Publishing Co.
- | CHICAGO ILL.
- | MADE IN USA
- |
- |
- |
- |
- | :sc:`Copyright 1923, by`
- | :sc:`George W. Jacobs & Company`
- |
- | All rights reserved
- | PRINTED IN U.S.A.
-
-.. contents:: Contents
- :backlinks: entry
- :depth: 1
-
-.. class:: center
-
- | ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
- |
- | :xl:`JANE LENDS A HAND`
-
-CHAPTER I—AFFAIRS OF THE LAMBERT FAMILY
-=======================================
-
-At six o’clock Jane had awakened, and, lifting
-her tousled head from her pillow, sniffed the
-frosty air.
-
-The red sunlight of an October morning was
-sending its first ruddy beams into the bare little
-room, but notwithstanding this sign that the morning
-was advancing, and the fact that all the children
-had had their first summons to get up and
-dress, Jane, this lazy Jane, merely burrowed down
-deeper into her warm nest, and buried her round
-nose in the patchwork quilt.
-
-She had a strong disinclination to leaving her
-cosy bed, and braving the penetrating chill of an
-autumn morning. Owing to Mr. Lambert’s
-Spartan ideas on the up-bringing of children, the
-little bed-rooms under the irregular roof of the
-old house were never heated until the bitterest days
-of mid-winter. *His* children were not, said he, to
-be softened and rendered unfit to endure the various
-hardships of life by pampering. His wife, the
-jolly comfort-loving Gertrude, sometimes confided
-privately to Grandmother Winkler that she thought
-it was too hard on the children to have to leave
-their warm beds, and dress in rooms where the ice
-formed a film in the water pitchers, and in which
-they could see their breath; but when anyone in the
-Lambert household had ideas contrary to those of
-the master, they did not advertise them publicly.
-
-Among Mr. Lambert’s pet aversions were Unpunctuality
-and Laziness, and no one had better
-reason to know this than Jane. Nevertheless, she
-infringed upon the iron-bound rules of the household
-every day of her life, and cheerfully paid her
-penalties with a sort of serene stoicism. She had
-inherited from her placid, happy-tempered mother
-a vigorous dislike of physical discomfort, and a
-calm way of doing what she wanted, and then
-good-naturedly paying the piper as circumstances
-demanded.
-
-In the adjoining room, the twins, Wilhelmine
-(or Minie) and Lottie could be heard chattering
-and laughing in their fresh, sweet voices. Shivering,
-but rosy and wide-awake, the two little girls
-were dressed in their warm woolen frocks inside
-of ten minutes. Since they were six years old, Mr.
-Lambert had permitted no one to help them but
-themselves; and so, with their little cold red
-fingers they buttoned each other’s dress and plaited
-each other’s smooth, shining yellow hair; then set
-to work making up their wooden beds, sweeping,
-dusting, and putting their room to rights.
-
-.. File: 006.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-At half-past six came the summons to breakfast,
-which had already been announced by appetizing
-odors of porridge and frying bacon.
-
-Little Minie, running past her sister’s door,
-glanced in, and stood transfixed with horror at the
-sight of Jane rolled up like a dormouse, and still
-dozing peacefully.
-
-“Oh, *Ja-ane*!”
-
-A head covered with curly, reddish hair rose
-above the mountain of bed-clothes; a pair of
-sleepy eyes blinked at the little girl.
-
-“Um.” A yawn. “What time is it?”
-
-“It’s *half-past thix*, and breakfath’s all ready,
-and you’ll be late *again*, Jane. Whatever will
-Papa thay!” This was Lottie, who never failed
-to join her twin on any occasion of grave importance.
-The two plump, rosy-cheeked little girls,
-with their stiffly starched white pinafores, and
-with their yellow pig-tails sticking out at the sides
-of their heads, were as much alike as a pair of
-Dresden ornaments. They stood now, hand-in-hand,
-their china-blue eyes round with reproof
-and dismay, gazing at lazy Jane.
-
-“I’ve got a—a headache,” announced Jane unblushingly,
-“I don’t think I’ll go to school to-day.”
-
-“O-oh, Jane!” remonstrated the twins in chorus.
-
-“Well, I haven’t exactly got one *now*,” said
-Jane, “but I would have if I got up too suddenly.
-I’ve been studying too hard. That’s what.”
-
-“Ooooh, Jane!” The twins covered their rosy
-mouths with their hands, and tittered.
-
-.. File: 007.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“You don’t know anything about it,” said Jane,
-tartly. She reflected for a moment. On second
-thought the plea of a headache seemed weak;
-furthermore, if it were accepted the chances that
-Mr. Lambert would recommend a bitter dose and
-a dull day in the house had to be considered; for
-the stern parent had a certain grim humour of his
-own, and was not easily to be imposed on even by
-Jane’s fertile invention.
-
-“Well, then put down the windows, Minie—like
-a good little darling, and I’ll be down-stairs in
-three minutes. The day after to-morrow’s Saturday
-anyhow.” And encouraged by this cheerful
-thought, Jane at length prepared to rise.
-
-Her idea of “three minutes” was astonishingly
-inaccurate. She dawdled into her clothes, interrupted
-by fits of abstraction, during which, with
-one foot on the chair, and the button-hook thrust
-through the button-holes of her sturdy shoes, she
-stared out of the uncurtained window.
-
-The old house, a rambling two storey building,
-half-wood, half-brick, abounding in gables and
-dormer windows which gave it its quaintly picturesque
-outline, fronted on the busiest street of the
-industrious but placid little town.
-
-For more than a hundred years the Winkler
-family had held there a certain calm, unassailable
-position; rightly theirs as the unfailing reward of
-industry, honesty, and the other simple, respectable
-virtues of conscientious, self-respecting citizens
-and tradesfolk.
-
-.. File: 008.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-One hundred and thirty years ago, to be exact,
-old Johann Winkler had settled there, and had
-founded what deserves the name of an Institution.
-Certainly, it was the most wonderful bakeshop in
-the world.
-
-Now, no one but a true Winkler had ever been
-intrusted with the precious recipes for those spiced
-fruit cookies, or those rich snow-cakes, those
-golden breakfast-rolls, or those plum-puddings
-which have immortalized the name. And in view
-of the importance which such a family must have
-in the eyes of all who respect supremely excellent
-baking, a short history of its affairs may be admitted
-here.
-
-It is hardly necessary to say that it prospered
-for no Winkler had ever been born lacking the
-virtue of wise thriftiness, or the ability to make
-small savings bring in generous increase. At the
-same time, the shop was never moved from the
-spot where it had first been opened, nor was any
-attempt ever made to give it a more pretentious
-appearance.
-
-The corner stone which old Johann Winkler
-had laid himself with so much pride bore the date,
-“A.D. 1789.”
-
-A good many generations of little Winklers had
-grown up in the shelter of the quaint old house;
-and a good many generations of little townspeople
-had stuffed their round stomachs with those incomparable
-spice-cakes and ginger-nuts, had loitered
-hungrily around the tempting show-window,
-and had scrawled caricatures on the walls and the
-worn stone steps.
-
-The business had been inherited in a direct line
-from father to son; until the day when Uncle
-Franz Winkler had gone to sea, and left his
-domestic patrimony in the hands of his sister.
-
-This sister was no other than the jolly Gertrude,
-once the prettiest, most blooming maiden in
-Frederickstown; who, in the course of time married
-one Peter Carl Lambert, a grave, practical-minded
-young man; and this grave, practical-minded
-young man (who, as the years went on
-became more and more grave, not to say, severe,
-and more and more practical) was no other
-than the father of all the young Lamberts, a portion
-of whose history is going to be the subject of
-this story.
-
-Mr. Lambert was, himself, the owner of a moderately
-prosperous business, dealing in the whole-sale
-and retail distribution of hay and grain; but
-at the some time he had no inclination to allow his
-wife’s inheritance to decline, and while he managed
-his own affairs, Gertrude and Grandmother Winkler
-continued in charge of the bakery, which under
-his shrewd supervision became more flourishing
-than ever.
-
-On one point and only one did husband and wife
-find cause for dissension. It had become a tradition
-in the family, as has already been said, that
-no one but a Winkler had ever possessed the magical
-recipes for those cakes and pies which had no
-rivals. Now, since the outrageous and even impious
-conduct of Uncle Franz, the question had
-risen, who should be regarded as the heir to the
-business and the name? For there were no more
-Winklers. Gertrude wanted her only son, Carl, to
-be her heir, although he was a Lambert. But Mr.
-Lambert had other ideas for the youth, and the
-hope that his son would, by becoming a professional
-man, take a step up in the world, was dear
-to his heart. Furthermore, Carl himself, a calm,
-phlegmatic and determined boy, shared his father’s
-views. He had announced his intention of becoming
-a lawyer.
-
-So matters stood. There seemed to be no solution
-to the problem. But these family difficulties
-had no place in Jane’s mind as she took her time
-to wash and dress on that October morning.
-What engrossed *her* thoughts was the concocting
-of a feasible plan to avoid the distasteful prospect
-of going to school.
-
-The sun had fully risen now, and already the
-frosty air had been softened by its genial warmth.
-She opened her window again, and leaned out,
-looking critically from east to west with the gaze
-of an old seaman, calculating the possibilities of
-the weather.
-
-There was not a cloud in the sky. Never before,
-it seemed to her, had the heavens displayed
-such a vast expanse of deep, untroubled blue. A
-light, fresh wind rustled through the hazel-nut
-tree whose boughs touched her window; and sent a
-few of the ruddy, copper-colored leaves drifting
-lazily down to the uneven brick pavement below.
-
-Across the square, she could see the broad,
-open door of Mr. Lambert’s warehouse, where already
-two men in blue shirts were at work tossing
-a fresh wagon-load of corn husks into the well-filled
-loft. Early to bed and early to rise was the
-motto of the industrious folk of Frederickstown,
-one and all. Wagons covered with white canvas
-hoods, and filled with tobacco, others, overflowing
-with pumpkins, celery, apples and cranberries—all
-the rich autumn produce of the fertile farming
-country beyond the town—were rumbling over the
-cobblestones in a picturesque procession, on their
-way to the market-place. And the well-known
-smell of the rimy vegetables was to the adventuresome
-Jane an almost irresistible call to the open.
-
-Her meditations were soon cut short by a final
-summons—and this in the firm cold tones of Mr.
-Lambert himself—to breakfast.
-
-“Jane! Coming? Or must I fetch you?”
-
-“Jiminy!” said Jane, and banging down the
-window she fled, clattering down the old wooden
-staircase like a whirlwind.
-
-In the large, sunny room, which served nearly
-all purposes, the family had gathered for breakfast;
-Granny Winkler at one end of the table—a
-miniature old lady with a frilled cap,—Mr. Lambert
-at the other end, Carl at his right and flaxen
-haired Elise at his left, Mrs. Lambert with one
-twin beside her and another facing her. Jane’s
-chair, between Elise and Lottie was still conspicuously
-empty.
-
-A door at the right of the dining room opened
-into the bakeshop, and a second door at the back
-led to the kitchen, from which the exquisite odors
-of the day’s outlay of fresh cakes and bread were
-already issuing. The big, bright room, with its
-casement windows opening onto the small garden
-hemmed in by high brick walls, with its pots of
-geraniums, and Chinese lilies,—which were Elise’s
-special care—its immaculately dusted cupboards on
-whose shelves gleamed rows of solid old German
-pewter ware, was the scene in which the Lambert’s,
-great and small, carried on a large part
-of their daily affairs. In one corner stood Mr.
-Lambert’s squat, business-like desk, where every
-evening, from nine to ten, he went over his accounts.
-At the round table in the center, the family
-ate their meals, and at night, the children prepared
-their lessons, while Grandmother Winkler,
-seated in her padded rocking chair, read her Bible,
-or nodded over her knitting.
-
-When Jane made her unceremonious entry, the
-family was seated, and, with their heads bent
-reverently over their plates of steaming porridge,
-were reciting grace in unison.
-
-Mrs. Lambert, glancing up, made her a sign to
-take her place as inconspicuously as possible; and
-accordingly just before Mr. Lambert raised his
-head, she slipped into her chair.
-
-Her father eyed her for a moment with uncertainty and
-displeasure; but this morning he had
-another matter on his mind of greater importance
-than that of reprimanding incorrigible Jane.
-Moreover, he had made it a rule, always, if possible,
-to avoid unpleasantness at meals, owing to
-the unfavorable effects upon the digestion. Consequently,
-after a brief, cold stare at his daughter,
-whose shining morning face was as bland as if her
-conscience were completely innocent of guilt, he
-said, solemnly,
-
-“Good morning, Jane.”
-
-And Jane said, beaming at him, “Good morning,
-Papa,” and rose to kiss his cheek, and then to
-give her mother a hug that left the plump, smiling,
-dimpling Gertrude quite breathless.
-
-“Sit down now, you bad child,” whispered Mrs.
-Lambert, patting Jane’s ruddy cheek, “and don’t
-talk. Your father is going to.”
-
-The family sat silent and expectant, while Mr.
-Lambert gravely salted his porridge, then fumbled
-for his steel-rimmed spectacles in the pocket of his
-coat, fitted them on his high-bridged nose, and at
-length cleared his throat.
-
-By this time Jane, whose curiosity was of the
-most irrepressible variety, had all but broken her
-neck by craning and wriggling in her chair to see
-the letter which lay beside her father’s plate. It
-bore a foreign stamp, and she guessed, and guessed
-rightly that it had some bearing on Mr. Lambert’s
-gravity of demeanor. Finally, unable to endure
-her father’s pompous preparations for speech any
-longer she pointed to the envelope, and inquired
-timidly,
-
-“Who’s that from, Papa?”
-
-“That is none of your affair, Jane,” said Carl,
-with perfect truth, but in his unfortunately superior
-and reproving way, “and you are very ill-mannered.”
-
-He spoke with his characteristically priggish air,
-with a pomposity ludicrously like his father’s, and
-doubly ludicrous in a lad of barely sixteen.
-
-Carl, who was Mr. Lambert’s darling, was at
-that time a tall, thin, delicate looking boy, with a
-long pale face, straight brown hair, which was cut
-in a bang across his forehead, and a pair of nearsighted,
-light grey eyes, that blinked owlishly behind
-the thick lenses of his spectacles.
-
-It is true that his character was as nearly faultless
-as it is possible for any youth’s character to
-be; he was quiet, studious, and dutiful. At school
-he shone as by far the best of all the pupils, and
-at home he was never known to disobey a single
-rule of the household. Intelligent beyond the average,
-with a precocious love of accuracy; astonishingly,
-even irritatingly self-controlled, and with a
-dry judicial quickness and keenness already strongly
-developed, he was an unusually promising boy, in
-whom one already saw the successful, complacent,
-cool-tempered man. But at the same time he
-neither cared for, nor could boast of great popularity.
-His mother felt more awe than affection for
-him; in all of his sisters but Jane, he inspired only
-a sort of timid admiration and respect; and his
-school-companions summed him up tersely as a
-“muff” and a “grind.” For, while he walked away
-with the highest honors at the close of every session,
-he was, if the truth must be told, something
-of a coward. He had moods of sulkiness, and
-moods of maddening superiority. His brain was
-nimble enough, but he had never been known to
-accept any challenge to match his physical strength
-and courage with theirs. He professed a deep
-contempt for their primitive and barbaric methods
-of settling difficulties, and adroitly evaded the outcome
-of any schoolboy’s discussion that seemed
-likely to end in mortal combat, by yielding his
-point with a self-contained, contemptuous politeness,
-and a premature diplomacy which mystified
-and enraged his companions.
-
-Jane only was not to be dominated by his assumption
-of patronizing authority; and at his unsolicited
-correction, she promptly bristled up. It
-rarely took much to rouse the fiery, impulsive Jane.
-
-“Mind your *own* business!”
-
-“*Jane*!” Mr. Lambert turned to her, his spectacles
-glistening warningly. There was a moment’s
-silence.
-
-“Do you wish to leave the table?”
-
-“No, Papa, but—”
-
-“Very well, then. Have the goodness to be
-quiet.”
-
-“Yes, Papa. But—”
-
-“Silence, ma’am! Your brother was quite right.
-He is older than you, and he had good reason to
-reprimand you.”
-
-Jane meekly subsided; but when her father had
-withdrawn his gaze, she refreshed herself by making
-a most hideous grimace at her brother, who,
-more complacent than ever, retaliated with a look
-of icy and withering scorn.
-
-By this time, Mr. Lambert had almost finished
-a second reading of the letter, while his wife
-scanned his face anxiously, not daring to urge him
-to share its news with her. It covered three or
-four pages of cheap paper, and was written in a
-great, sprawling script that consumed one sheet in
-six or seven lines.
-
-“It looks as if it were written by a *sailor*,”
-murmured Jane, without lifting her eyes, and
-seemingly speaking to herself; and in the same
-dreamy undertone, she explained this singular observation,
-“Everything about a sailor is sort of
-loose and blowy; they’ve got blowy coats, and
-blowy neckties, and blowy trousers—”
-
-“You’ve never seen a sailor,” said Carl also in
-a low tone, “so you don’t know what you’re talking
-about.”
-
-“I *do* know what I’m talking about,” returned
-Jane, “I wrote a story about a sailor once, and I
-could see him inside of my head just as plainly as
-anything. He had red hair, and a fuzzy wart on
-his cheek, like a caterpillar, and his name was
-Moses Thomson—”
-
-“Well, wife, after all there is no choice left us,”
-said Mr. Lambert laying down the letter. “Without
-a doubt, this will be a burden, a heavy responsibility;
-but I hope I am not deficient in generosity.
-I think no one can accuse me of that. I am prepared
-to do my duty in this matter as in all others.”
-
-“But—but what does the letter say, Peter?”
-asked Mrs. Lambert timidly. “I haven’t seen it.”
-
-“This letter is from your brother—”
-
-“Yes. From Franz. I recognized his hand
-after all these years—”
-
-“Your poor brother. Far be it from me to
-judge him. I have nothing to say about him. A
-shiftless idler, a hair-brained, irresponsible ne’er-do-well
-comes to no good end, and leaves better
-folk to take up his burdens. But it is not for *us*
-to judge. I have nothing to say about him—”
-
-“Peter! My poor brother—my poor Franz!”
-cried Mrs. Lambert, greatly agitated, “what are
-you saying?” She stretched out her hand to take
-the letter, and, in her concern, half-rose from her
-chair.
-
-“I will read you his letter, my dear,” said Mr.
-Lambert. “Try to control yourself.” He looked
-at her calmly and firmly, and she sat down again,
-with tears welling up in her soft, beautiful eyes.
-
-Mr. Lambert cleared his throat, and read:
-
- “Dear brother and Honored Sir; I hope this finds
- you and my good, dear mother, and my dear sister,
- Gertrude, and all your dear little ones in good health.
- I am not in good health. I am thinking that my time
- is about up although not an old man, just forty-two
- which is the Prime of life. The doctor, who is a good
- fellow, thinks it is about up with me but I have got a lot
- out of life and have no complaints to make. But I
- would ask you a favor, and hope that you will see
- your way to granting me this, seeing that I am a dying
- man and have no one to turn to and being in a
- forran country. My son, Paul, will soon be left
- alone, I fear, which is a bad thing for a young lad and
- I am hoping that perhaps being kinsfolk and he being
- a likely young fellow, good hearted though a bit unlicked,
- you may find your way to giving him a home
- until he can shift for himself. I haven’t done all I
- should have done by the lad, perhaps, living a kind
- of touch and go life, and I am hoping that you may find
- your way to letting him get some education which I
- think a valuable thing for a man, though having no
- great love of letters myself. This is a great favor I
- am asking I know but I trust you may find it in your
- heart to do me this favor and the boy will not forget
- it. The boy will work for you also and do as
- you say. He is sixteen years old now, and an orphan
- my wife being dead these ten years or so.
-
- “My dear brother, I beg you to forget me and my
- failings, which have been many and show your kindness
- to my poor boy. And now I will close with respectful
- regards to yourself and give my love to my
- dear old mother and to my dear sister and all her
- sweet children who must be big youngsters now.
-
- .. class:: right
-
- | “Respectfully your brother,
- | “Franz Winkler.
-
- “P. S. Am not letting on to the boy what the doctor
- says as he will take it hard and I can’t bear that. Have
- just told him that I am sending him back to America
- with a friend, Mr. Morse, and that I will join him
- as soon as I am in better shape, and have told him
- how to find you.”
-
-A silence followed the reading of this letter, and
-the emotions that it had roused among the members
-of the little family, were plainly to be seen
-in their faces. The twins who had not been able
-to understand it but who felt that it had brought
-some grave news, looked first at their father and
-then at their mother. Carl watched Mr. Lambert,
-and Elise’s plump, rosy face was solemn; but Jane,
-as if she were pierced by an understanding of the
-pathos that was magnified by the very clumsy illiterateness
-of the letter, sat perfectly still; her
-vivid face contracted with a look of genuine
-pain.
-
-Mrs. Lambert was weeping. Then, suddenly,
-old Grandmother Winkler, who had not said a
-word, got up, took her son’s letter out of Mr.
-Lambert’s hand, and leaning on her cane, went out
-of the room.
-
-The astonishment and awkwardness depicted in
-Mr. Lambert’s face showed that he had not guessed
-that the letter would produce such an effect.
-
-After a moment or two, he cleared his throat,
-and said in a gentle but somewhat unctuous tone
-to his wife:
-
-“My dear, we must not be impatient under our
-afflictions. This is very sad; but it is the will of
-heaven, and we should learn to endure our sorrows—er—uncomplainingly.
-Furthermore, Providence
-has seen fit to soften this blow by—er—that
-is after all, you have not seen Franz in ten years or
-more.”
-
-“Yes, Peter. Of course,” answered Mrs. Lambert,
-meekly wiping her eyes on her napkin. “But
-when I think of poor Franz—all alone—and the
-boy—that poor child—”
-
-“Of course my dear, your brother may have
-deceived himself. Come, he may be on the road to
-health at this moment. Let us hope for the best.
-Let us prepare to welcome our nephew, and perhaps,—who
-knows, Franz himself may be spared
-to us.”
-
-Mrs. Lambert’s face brightened. She was naturally
-optimistic, and eagerly grasped this ray of
-hope. Moreover, while she had been very fond of
-her brother, in years of absence his features had
-somewhat faded from her memory. She was not
-fond of sorrow or melancholy, and was ready to
-exchange grief for hope, and tears for sanguine
-smiles the moment she saw a possibility of the
-future setting her fears at nothing.
-
-“Yes, yes. What you say is quite true, Peter.
-After all Franz may recover completely.”
-
-“Certainly,” said Mr. Lambert, briskly. “And
-now my dear, let us consider.”
-
-“Is Paul our cousin, Papa?” asked Jane.
-
-Mr. Lambert ignored her question.
-
-“I feel great sympathy for the boy,” he said to
-his wife. “It is hard indeed to lose a father at his
-tender age. For after all, to whom can one turn
-for such disinterested guidance? Who will have
-his welfare more deeply at heart? I hope my son,
-that in comparing *your* lot,” he turned to Carl,
-“with that of this unfortunate young man, you
-will realize your blessings. And I hope, nay, I
-believe that in me, this orphaned youth will find
-one who in every way will strive to fill in his life
-a place worthy of the revered name of ‘father.’”
-
-“Then,” continued Jane, who had been following
-up her own train of thought, “then Paul is a
-Winkler. And so he can go into the business when
-he is a man.”
-
-This simple observation, which had not yet
-occurred to anyone, called forth looks of surprise.
-
-“That is quite true!” exclaimed Mr. Lambert.
-
-“But of course!” cried his wife.
-
-“I see the beneficent hand of Providence in this,”
-said Mr. Lambert, who was fond of thinking that
-Heaven had his domestic affairs very much in
-mind. “Yes, we must prepare to welcome our
-nephew. I hope, my dear, that he will not prove
-difficult to manage. I hope that he is not lacking
-in a grateful heart.”
-
-“Poor child. No father or mother, and so
-young,” murmured Mrs. Lambert, her eyes again
-filling with tears. “And I never even knew that
-Franz had a child. I had forgotten even that he
-had married.”
-
-“Yon can put a cot in Carl’s room,” suggested
-Mr. Lambert; “I presume that the boy will arrive
-in a day or two. And now, children, it is a quarter
-past seven.”
-
-Everyone rose from the table, and the day’s
-routine began again in its accustomed groove. Mr.
-Lambert departed for the warehouse. Elise helped
-the fat young servant girl to clear away the dishes;
-Carl went out to bring in wood for the stove; even
-the twins had their household tasks which had to
-be finished before they started to school at eight
-o’clock.
-
-But Jane went off to find her Grandmother.
-Behind the counter, in the bakeshop, the old woman
-was sitting, weeping quietly; and the slow tears of
-age were trickling down her wrinkled, brown face,
-while she strained her eyes to read the crooked awkward
-lines of her son’s letter.
-
-“He was a good boy,” she said, taking Jane’s
-little hand in her gnarled old one. “I understood
-him, never fear. He was a brave, fine boy—and
-he always loved his old mother. I know that.
-Didn’t he send me this pretty shawl—”
-
-“But Granny, darling, he may get well. Don’t
-cry, Granny. Don’t you cry.” She kissed the old
-woman, and patted her, feeling awed and oppressed
-by this aged sorrow that she could not share.
-
-After a minute, she quietly left Grandmother
-Winkler, and in an unusually silent, and subdued
-mood, went away to help the twins.
-
-.. File: 023.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-CHAPTER II—BUSYBODY JANE
-========================
-
-At half past eight, Elise had seen that the two
-little girls had their books and their packages of
-sandwiches, and started them off to school, Carl
-and Jane marching behind.
-
-“Oh, and Janey!” she called, hastening back to
-the doorway. “Will you remember to give those
-patterns back to Lily Deacon for me. I’m going
-to be *so* busy. Any time this afternoon will do.
-I put them in your school bag.”
-
-“All right,” said Jane, and Elise, always busy,
-always placid and gentle, went back to her work.
-
-“Well, what do *you* think about it?” Jane asked,
-presently. She had quite forgotten her recent
-friction with Carl, for quick tempered as she was,
-she rarely remembered a quarrel ten minutes after
-it occurred.
-
-“Think about what?” said Carl, gruffly.
-
-“About Paul’s coming, of course. It’s awfully
-sad about Uncle Franz—but it *is* sort of exciting
-having a new cousin to stay with us, I think.”
-
-“You wouldn’t think it so awfully exciting if
-*you* had to share your room with someone you
-never saw in your life,” returned Carl, sulkily. “I
-don’t see why one of the store-rooms couldn’t be
-cleared out for him. All I know is that I won’t
-stand for it a second if he tries to sling my things
-around, or scatter his all over the place.”
-
-Carl was never very enthusiastic about sharing
-anything with anyone (though in this instance one
-might sympathize with his annoyance) and his
-fussy love of neatness reached a degree that one
-would far sooner expect to find in a crabbed old
-maid than in a boy of sixteen years.
-
-Jane did not reply to this indignant objection.
-
-“What do you think he’ll be like?” she asked
-next, scuffling through the piles of ruddy brown
-leaves that lay thick on the uneven brick walk.
-
-“I think he’ll be a big, roistering bully. That’s
-what I think,” answered Carl savagely; his lips
-set in a stubborn line, and the lenses of his spectacles
-glinted so angrily, that Jane decided to drop
-the subject.
-
-For several minutes they walked along in silence:
-the twins marching ahead, chattering like little magpies,
-their yellow pigtails bobbing under their round
-brown felt hats. Each clutched her spelling book
-and reader, and her package of sandwiches and
-cookies; each wore a bright blue dress, a bright red
-sweater, and a snow white pinafore.
-
-It was fully a mile to the school, but as a rule
-the brisk young Lamberts walked it in twenty
-minutes. This morning, however, Jane dawdled
-shamelessly.
-
-“I don’t feel like school to-day a bit,” she remarked,
-looking up through the trees.
-
-.. File: 025.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“You never do,” returned Carl, dryly, “but
-you’ve got to go all the same. I bet you don’t
-play hookey again in a hurry.”
-
-“H’m?” said Jane, “why not?”
-
-“Why not?” the first really mirthful grin that
-Carl had shown that day spread slowly over his
-serious features. “Didn’t you catch it hot enough
-last time? You’re such an idiot anyway. If you’d
-only do your work conscientiously you wouldn’t
-mind school. I’d hate it too if I were as big a
-dunce as you.”
-
-“Oh,—you would, would you, Goody-goody?”
-retorted Jane with spirit. “I’m not a dunce. I’m
-the brightest girl in my class.”
-
-“Whoo-ee!” whooped Carl, staggered by
-this cool conceit. “Well! If you haven’t got
-cheek!”
-
-“’Tisn’t cheek,” said Jane, calmly, “I am. I
-heard Dr. Andrews say so to Miss Trowbridge.”
-
-“Well—he must have been talking through his
-hat, then,” observed Carl. “He was *probably* talking
-about someone else.”
-
-“No, he wasn’t. They were standing outside
-the school-room door, at lunch-hour, and I was in
-there, and I heard Dr. Andrews say, ‘That little
-Jane Lambert has brains. She’s one of the brightest
-children—’”
-
-“That’s the trouble with you!” broke in Carl,
-thoroughly exasperated. “You’ve got such a
-swell-head that you won’t work at all. And I
-don’t see how anyone could say that you were
-clever when you get about one problem right out
-of a dozen.”
-
-“I don’t see how either,” said Jane placidly; “but
-he did. Oh, look—Miss Clementina has got a new
-canary!”
-
-There was no event that occurred in Frederickstown
-which did not excite Jane’s interest. She
-stopped to peer into the front window of a small
-brick house, where amid a perfect jungle of banana
-plants and ferns, a brightly gilded cage hung between
-two much befrilled net curtains.
-
-“Poor old lady, I’m glad she got her bird. He
-has a black spot on his head just like her old one.
-I daresay her cat will eat him too. I wonder what
-she has named him. Her old one was named
-William.” Jane giggled.
-
-“What an idiotic name for a bird!” said Carl.
-Like his father, he was never amused by anything
-that seemed to him fantastic. “You’d better hurry
-up and stop peeking into everyone’s window. Come
-on.”
-
-Jane reluctantly obeyed.
-
-“William is a queer name for a bird,” she agreed
-amicably, “but it’s no queerer than calling her cat
-Alfred, and that awful little monkey of hers, Howard.
-She told me that she named her pets for all
-her old sweethearts.”
-
-“Her old sweethearts!” echoed Carl derisively.
-
-“Yes. She said that she had dozens. And you
-know what? I believe it’s true. Anyhow, she has
-lots of pictures of beautiful gentlemen, with black
-moustaches and curly side-whiskers. I’ve seen the
-whole collection. She said she never could bear
-fair men.”
-
-“Humph!” said Carl.
-
-“She said that she was dreadfully heartless when
-she was a girl. An awful flirt. Professor Dodge
-still calls on her every Sunday afternoon—all
-dressed up with a flower in his button-hole, and
-kid gloves, and a little bouquet wrapped up in wet
-paper. And she plays the piano for him, and sings
-‘Alice Ben Bolt’ and ‘The Mocking Bird’ and
-‘Coming Thro’ the Rye.’”
-
-“What a busybody you are. Always prying into
-other people’s affairs. It wouldn’t hurt you to
-mind your own business for a while, I must say.”
-
-“I don’t pry into other people’s affairs,” said
-Jane, quite unruffled. “Most of ’em seem to like
-to talk, and I just listen—that’s all.”
-
-“There’s the bell, now! Hang it, we’re late.
-Why can’t you—” but here Carl set off in a race
-for the school-house, outstripping the two squealing,
-panting twins. And in another moment, Jane, too,
-was scampering across the square as fast as her
-legs would carry her.
-
-That was, in truth, not destined to be a very
-successful day for Jane. To begin with, she was
-marked “tardy” for the third time that month.
-The first classes went off passably; but she came to
-grief as she was congratulating herself on the fact
-that she had managed to scrape along fairly well.
-
-With all her quickness and curiosity, Jane had
-small love for hard study; but her aptness in gathering
-the general sense of a lesson at almost a glance
-stood her in good stead, and with very little trouble
-on her part she succeeded in shining quite brilliantly
-in history, general science, and geography. When
-it came to mathematics however, she met her Waterloo.
-
-This class was presided over by Miss Farrel, a
-vague old lady, with near-sighted, reproachful blue
-eyes, and an almost inaudible voice, who taught a
-dry subject in the dryest possible manner.
-
-For some reason, Jane found it more difficult
-than ever to keep her mind on square roots and unknown
-quantities that morning. Her eyes wandered
-longingly to the window. It was open, for the day
-had grown warmer toward noon, and in the quiet
-square an old man was raking up the fallen leaves
-into a row of small bonfires, and lifting them in
-bundles into a little wheeled cart. Patiently he
-limped back and forth, stopping every now and
-then to push his old felt hat back on his head and
-mop his forehead with a colored handkerchief,
-which in between times waved jauntily from his
-hip pocket. The pungent smell of leaf smoke
-drifted in through the window. The golden and
-ruddy foliage of the elm-trees and lindens made
-a fretted canopy over the drowsy green, through
-which sifted the mellow light of an Indian summer
-sun.
-
-Fat Lulu Pierson’s thick, glossy pig-tails next
-engrossed Jane’s attention. She took one gently in
-her fingers; the evenly clipped end of it reminded
-her of the brush that Sam Lung, the Chinese laundry-man
-used when he wrote out his receipts. She
-dipped it in the ink, and began to make hieroglyphics
-on her scratch-tablet. Then Lulu gave an impatient
-jerk, and the wet pig-tail just missed causing
-general disaster. Jane carefully took it again, dried
-it on her blotter, and made a serious effort to concentrate
-her attention by fixing her gaze gravely on
-Miss Farrel’s wrinkled face. But she soon found
-that she was merely wondering why that prim old
-dame took the trouble to wear a little bunch of false
-curls across her forehead—such a remarkable cluster,
-as smooth and crisp as spun glass, pinned with
-a little bow of black taffeta ribbon. And so
-honestly false—certainly they could not have been
-selected with the intention of deceiving, for not
-even Miss Farrel, near-sighted as she was, could
-have imagined for a moment that they matched the
-diminutive nubbin into which her own grey locks
-were twisted every morning.
-
-“Why doesn’t she wear a wig? Though after
-all that auburn is rather nice. I don’t see why
-she doesn’t change ’em around sometimes—”
-
-“Well, Jane, perhaps you can tell us,” Miss
-Farrel’s soft voice broke in upon these reflections,
-and Jane started as if she had been awakened from
-a sound sleep. She gasped, and then quickly recovering
-herself, said blandly,
-
-“Yes, Miss Farrel.”
-
-There was a dead silence. Jane looked about
-her in surprise, to find every eye in the room fixed
-on her.
-
-“Well?” prompted Miss Farrel.
-
-Jane swallowed. She had not the remotest idea
-what the question was. Nevertheless she made a
-bold attempt to conceal this fact, and with an aplomb
-admirable under the circumstances, said,
-
-“I didn’t exactly understand the question, Miss
-Farrel.”
-
-A faint tinge of color appeared upon each of
-Miss Farrel’s cheekbones, and her almost invisible
-eyebrows went up.
-
-“And what didn’t you understand about it? I
-am sure I don’t see how it could be expressed in
-any clearer terms. Will you repeat it to me?
-Then we can soon find out just where my words
-confused you.” The old lady felt that she was
-being exceedingly cunning.
-
-Jane winked her eyes rapidly, opened her mouth,
-shut it, and moistened her lower lip with the tip of
-her tongue. She knew she was cornered.
-
-“Yes, Jane. And stand up please when you recite,”
-said Miss Farrel in ominously gentle tones.
-“And don’t fidget, Jane. Put that eraser down.
-We are waiting, Jane.”
-
-“Well, what I didn’t understand was—was—I
-didn’t understand—I didn’t understand the question.”
-
-Another silence.
-
-“Did you *hear* the question?”
-
-“No, Miss Farrel.”
-
-.. File: 031.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“Oh. And what, pray, have you been doing?”
-
-“Why—just thinking.”
-
-“Ah. How interesting. And what were you
-thinking of?”
-
-Jane tried to keep her face straight, and looked
-down to hide the laughter in her eyes.
-
-“Nothing, Miss Farrel.”
-
-Silence again. Miss Farrel opened her little
-black record book, and slowly and deliberately registered
-Jane’s crime.
-
-“Sit down, Jane. And will you please wait for
-me here after school. At three o’clock. Well,
-Isabel, will *you* give me the formula for finding the
-area of a circle.”
-
-Jane took her seat.
-
-“What a goose I am, anyway,” she thought, and
-accepted her punishment with her usual calmness.
-
-At three o’clock, when the other girls, chattering
-and laughing gathered their books and left the
-school-room singly and in groups, she sat at her
-desk waiting for Miss Farrel. The cleaning
-woman came in, with her mop and bucket, and began
-to splash the dusty wooden floor. She was a
-talkative, good-natured old thing, and one of Jane’s
-numerous intimates.
-
-“Well, now, what are they keepin’ you here for,
-this fine afternoon, Miss Janey?” she said sympathetically.
-
-“Oh, I don’t mind much. How’s Amelia, Mrs.
-Tinker?”
-
-“Fine. Fine, miss, thank yer.”
-
-.. File: 032.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“And how’s Henry Clay?”
-
-“He’s fine, too, I thank yer.”
-
-“Is Mr. Tinker out of the hospital yet?”
-
-“Not yet, I thank yer,” said Mrs. Tinker, cheerfully.
-“They think as how he’ll have to be there
-another six weeks or so. Well, I’m not one to
-complain against what the Lord thinks best, and
-I says to Henry Clay, ‘Don’t complain, Henry.
-You let well enough alone,’ says I.”
-
-“Is Henry Clay the one that’s going to be an
-undertaker?”
-
-“That’s right, miss. The boy’s always had his
-heart set on it, and as I says to Mr. Tinker, ‘Don’t
-oppose him.’ And Henry shows wonderful talent
-for it, miss. Wonderful.”
-
-Jane was going to ask how a precocious talent
-for undertaking manifested itself, when Miss Farrel
-appeared.
-
-“Perhaps, Mrs. Tinker, you might work just now
-in one of the other rooms,” she suggested with
-dignity. “You may return in an hour.”
-
-And then she turned her attention to Jane.
-
-The old lady began by a plaintive little discourse
-on Jane’s shortcomings, and on the future disasters
-that they would most certainly lead to. She tried
-to sound severe and cold, but now and then she
-said “my dear,” and once she laid her small, old
-hand on Janey’s. It was so difficult to be severe
-with Jane.
-
-“And now, Jane, we must review all last week’s
-work. You see how much time you lose?”
-
-.. File: 033.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-The lesson began; but it turned out that Jane
-was able to answer very nearly every question that
-Miss Farrel asked.
-
-“Now, you see? Oh, if you would only put
-your mind on your work, my dear, it would really
-be a pleasure to teach you. My dear old teacher
-used to say—”
-
-And here, veering away from the discussion of
-altitudes and bases, the good dame began to prattle
-in the friendliest way about her own girlhood, and
-about the little school she used to go to, way up in
-the country, where half the tuition was paid in salt
-pork and other provisions, and about her father and
-brothers. Everybody seemed to drift into talking
-about their own affairs to Jane, and Jane remembered
-everything they told her. There was hardly
-a soul in Frederickstown whose general history she
-was not familiar with; very simple histories for
-the most part, for the inhabitants of Frederickstown
-were simple souls, yet each had its measure of
-comedy and tragedy, and each had its mysterious
-relationship to the character of its confiding narrator.
-
-So now Miss Farrel told her about her sister,
-Miss Elizabeth, who was, she said, so much the
-cleverer and better in every way—the last of her
-whole family, and crippled with inflammatory
-rheumatism; and about her wonderful cat, Amaryllis,
-and so on, and so on.
-
-It was nearly half-past four when the old lady
-suddenly realized how little of the time she had
-given to the lesson. Then she made a last attempt
-to assume her dignity.
-
-“Well, now, my dear. Let me see. I think that
-if only you will train yourself—so much depends
-on our own selves, you know, my dear.” And then
-after a second little discourse, delivered no doubt
-principally to assure herself that everything she had
-been saying had had some bearing on Jane’s particular
-case, she picked up her inevitable knitting-bag,
-and took her departure.
-
-Jane, remembering her promise to Elise, to return
-Lily’s patterns, set out toward the Deacon’s
-house.
-
-It stood just at the top of Sheridan Lane, a
-sleepy, prim old street, regarded as being rather
-fashionable and aristocratic, principally because at
-the lower end of it stood the deserted Sheridan
-mansion, which, notwithstanding the fact that its
-owners had not deigned to pay any attention to it
-in fifteen years, was still one of the prides of Frederickstown.
-
-The quiet street was paved with cobblestones as
-it descended the hill from Frederickstown itself, as
-far as the ancient rusty fountain, in whose basin
-the leaves collected in the autumn, and the birds
-bathed in the spring; but on the opposite side,
-where the hill began its rise, the street became
-simply a white dusty road, leading on through sweet
-smelling fields, over wooden bridges, where a
-meadow stream doubled back on itself in loops,
-past the Sheridan mansion, which marked the
-limits of Frederickstown proper, and on to the open
-country.
-
-The branches of the elm trees arched over Janey’s
-head, and now and then, shaken by a drowsy breeze,
-the yellowed leaves fell noiselessly.
-
-Through the open window of the Deacon’s little
-parlour, came the sound of chords struck on a tinkling
-square piano, followed by scales and arpeggios
-sung in a sweet, if rather timid and unsubstantial,
-feminine voice.
-
-“Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah.” Chord. “Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah.”
-Chord. And so on, patiently
-up the scale. Miss Deacon was practising.
-It was a part of her daily program, and never would
-it have entered Lily’s head to deviate from that
-daily program, mapped out by her excellent but
-strong-minded and dictatorial mamma. Singing
-was a very genteel accomplishment for a young
-lady, and Mrs. Deacon desired above all things that
-Lily should be elegant.
-
-Jane leaned on the window sill, and listened
-to the scales for a little while, watching Miss
-Lily’s slender throat swell and quiver like a
-bird’s.
-
-“How pretty she is. If I were as pretty as that,
-I think I’d be perfectly happy; but she always looks
-sort of sad. Maybe it’s because she’s always being
-fussed at.”
-
-There was indeed no girl in Frederickstown who
-could claim to be quite as pretty as Lily Deacon.
-Slender and small, with a little tip-tilted nose, which
-gave the most unexpected and charming spice of
-coquetry to her delicate face, with large serious
-blue eyes, and glossy black hair so neatly coiled on
-the nape of her neck, with beautifully drawn eyebrows,
-and a tiny mole at the corner of her under
-lip, accentuating the whiteness of her skin, she would
-have drawn her tributes of admiration from any
-pair of eyes that rested on her—and would have
-been perfectly blind to them. Lily’s mother would
-not have allowed her for a moment to imagine that
-she was pretty, and Lily never thought of disobeying
-mamma. Prettiness, according to Mrs. Deacon’s
-severe judgement, counted for nothing; as she
-had once observed, “It was only as deep as the epidermis.”
-Elegance alone was desirable. You
-should never say that you were “hot”—a lady
-spoke of being “warm.” And the word “scared”
-was abominable; you should speak of being “startled”
-or “alarmed.” Lily was almost perfectly elegant.
-She wore a silk dress, and her pink nails
-were polished, and even when she sat at the piano,
-she was so afraid of not having her feet demurely
-crossed, that she did not dare to use the pedals.
-
-“But, Miss Lily, don’t you ever sing anything but
-scales?” demanded Jane presently. Miss Deacon
-jumped, put her hand to her throat, and then slowly
-turned her head.
-
-“Oh—Janey! How you sc-alarmed me!”
-
-“I’m sorry,” said Jane, “Elise told me to give
-you these patterns. Here they are in my bag.
-No—I don’t believe she put ’em in at all. Well,
-then it’s her fault this time—no, here they are.”
-
-“Thank you so much. How thoughtful of you.
-Won’t you come in?”
-
-“Well, you’re practising, aren’t you?”
-
-Lily shook her head.
-
-“It’s nearly five. And I’m tired.”
-
-“What a lovely day it is,” she got up, and came
-to the window, where she stood, looking up the
-street, one hand resting on the frame above her
-head. The wind ruffled her hair a little, and blew
-the end of her lacy kerchief against her cheek,
-shaking free a faint scent of sachet.
-
-She sighed gently, and a momentary frown ruffled
-her smooth forehead.
-
-“I wish—” she began impetuously, and then
-abruptly checked herself.
-
-“What?” prompted Jane, curiously. For some
-reason, she really wanted very much to know what
-Miss Lily wished. But Lily shook her head, smiling
-a little awkwardly as if she regretted even having
-said so much; or as if she wasn’t sure herself
-what she did wish. Every now and again, one
-caught that quick, vanishing expression in her large
-blue eyes, which seemed to say, “I wish—” and
-never got any farther.
-
-“Oh, I don’t know what I was going to say.
-Something foolish, no doubt,” and then to change
-the subject, she said hastily,
-
-“I suppose you have heard the news about the
-Sheridan house?”
-
-“No! What? It isn’t sold, is it? If they tear
-it down, and build a horrid old factory there, I
-don’t know what I’ll do.”
-
-“Oh, no—not that. But some member of the
-family is going to live there again, and is already
-moving in.”
-
-“Why, that’s nice,” said Jane. What a lot of
-events were taking place in Frederickstown! “Do
-you know who it is? Man, woman or child? Any
-people of my age? Anybody *interesting*?”
-
-Lily blushed slightly.
-
-“Why, I’m not sure. I think there’s only one—a
-Mr. Sheridan, I suppose.”
-
-“Young, old or middle-aged?” inquired Jane,
-who had already rather lost interest.
-
-“Why, he seemed rather youngish,” said Lily,
-blushing again, “but I couldn’t tell very well.”
-
-“When did you see him?”
-
-“Why, I didn’t exactly see him. I heard mamma
-talking about it last night, and then this morning I
-just happened to see a carriage drive past—in my
-mirror, while I was doing my hair, so of course, I
-couldn’t be sure—but, anyhow, someone was sitting
-in it leaning back, with a stick—but it seemed to be
-fairly young—though I couldn’t tell,” Lily explained
-confusedly. It seemed to her to be a little
-indelicate perhaps to look at a fairly young
-man in a mirror, while you were doing your
-hair.
-
-“Um,” said Jane. “Well, I suppose it’s too late
-to go and investigate now. But I think I’ll go to-morrow.”
-
-.. File: 039.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“Oh, Jane! You couldn’t do that!” said Lily,
-in a shocked tone.
-
-“Why not? How else’ll I find out.”
-
-“Why, I don’t know.”
-
-“Very well then. Somebody’s got to know
-something about strangers when they come here.”
-
-“Yes—that’s true,” said Lily.
-
-“Of course,” said Jane. “It’s what you call
-civic interest.”
-
-“Oh,” said Lily,—she had been taught to call
-“it” curiosity; but then mamma’s vocabulary was
-not like other peoples’.
-
-“I have a tremendous amount of civic interest,”
-said Jane, complacently, “I ought to be able to do
-this town a lot of good.”
-
-And with a jaunty wave of her hand, she took
-her leave. As she turned out of Sheridan Lane,
-she once more heard the light, pure tones of Lily’s
-voice, but now they sounded a little gayer, a little
-warmer and sweeter than they had before, and
-what was more, instead of the monotonous scales,
-Lily was singing a pert song, which mamma, had
-she heard it, would probably not have thought elegant
-at all.
-
-.. File: 040.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-CHAPTER III—CIVIC INTEREST
-==========================
-
-Young Mr. Sheridan might perhaps have grudgingly
-admitted that the morning was beautiful. It
-would have been hard even for a young man who
-had definitely made up his mind to be no longer
-pleased with anything, to deny that there was something
-almost pleasant in a day as soft and quiet as
-that June itself could bring, in a garden all enmeshed
-in net of stirring shadows, and in a free
-outlook toward hills that glowed with autumn
-colors.
-
-The old “home place” wasn’t so bad; rather
-overgrown with weeds and vines and somewhat
-dilapidated; the roof leaked on the third floor front,
-and the wooden steps at the back had broken down
-completely; but this crumbling and tumbling state
-harmonized with the state of young Mr. Sheridan’s
-mind. He accepted it with a sort of gloomy satisfaction.
-This general poetic decay seemed to him
-quite touchingly suitable to the mood which he fully
-believed was to color the declining years of his
-short and blasted life. Mr. Sheridan had convinced
-himself that he had received a crushing
-blow; a blow that no self-respecting gentleman
-*ought* to survive for very long. He had convinced
-himself that he neither could nor should be happy
-again. He had quite made up his mind that the
-world was a dreary waste, and all human beings,
-rascals and base deceivers, whose society a wise
-man would shun. This unfriendly humor was
-directed to mankind in general and to the feminine
-element in particular.
-
-He had awakened that morning—his first in the
-old mansion—in a gigantic mahogany bed. Peterson,
-his servant, was kindling a fire to drive
-the lingering dampness out of the long unused
-room.
-
-“Good morning, Mr. Tim, sir,” said Peterson
-with objectionable cheerfulness, “I hope sir, ye had
-a good night?”
-
-Mr. Sheridan eyed the old man with melancholy
-suspicion. He was loath to class Peterson in with
-the rest of the miserable human race; nevertheless, it
-was wiser to trust no one absolutely—not even
-Peterson.
-
-“Oh, well, I suppose I slept as well as I could expect,
-Peterson. An owl or something woke me up
-at about one o’clock, and I couldn’t get to sleep
-for hours. But still—”
-
-As a matter of fact, Mr. Sheridan had slept as
-soundly as a baby, but having been entirely unconscious
-while he did so, he certainly could not
-have *known* whether he was asleep or awake. But
-his latest fancy was that he suffered from insomnia.
-Insomnia was the traditional affliction of all broken-hearted
-lovers, and there was no ailment common
-to the broken hearted that Mr. Sheridan would
-allow himself to forego.
-
-“Any letters, Peterson?”
-
-Of course there were no letters. In the first
-place, who knew or cared that he had buried himself
-away in this forsaken corner of the earth, and
-in the second place, what did letters mean to him,
-who with all the contempt that they deserved had
-severed his relations with his fellow beings—especially
-the feminine ones—forever. He must
-remember not to ask Peterson again if there were
-any letters. Peterson might imagine that he was
-so weak as to hope that Miss Abbot had repented
-of her cruel and barbarous treatment, and under no
-circumstances was Peterson to imagine anything of
-the sort. Why, on the contrary, if Mary, that is
-to say, Miss Abbot—were to come to him and beg
-his pardon on her knees, and tell him that she knew
-she was a wicked coquette, and unworthy of his
-slightest notice, he would say to her,
-
-“No, Mary—or, No, Madam, what you ask now
-is no longer in my power to give. My forgiveness
-is yours—gladly, but neither you nor I can revive—or,
-but never again, I fear, can that sweet emotion—”
-or anyhow, something to the effect that
-while he forgave her gladly—he wouldn’t forgive
-her at all. But magnanimously. He would be
-very magnanimous. Nothing could be more crushing
-than a lofty and unapproachable kindness. He
-would let her know the extent of the damage she
-had wrought, but she should also be made to feel
-that he was capable of supporting it without bitterness—to
-the end.
-
-So engrossed was he in the composition of that
-final speech of forgiveness and farewell—which he
-had composed at least a dozen times already—that
-he absent-mindedly tucked away every morsel of
-Peterson’s generously provided breakfast, comprising
-fruit and coffee, poached eggs, bacon, marmalade,
-and half a dozen of the most exquisite rolls
-he had ever eaten.
-
-“Those rolls, Peterson—they are rather nice,” he
-remarked, with a touch of enthusiasm that he
-quickly suppressed.
-
-“Yes, sir. Thank you, Mr. Tim. I’m glad to
-have found something as pleases you, sir,” said
-Peterson, with a perfectly grave face.
-
-“Yes. My appetite hasn’t been very good lately.”
-
-“No, Mr. Tim,” agreed Peterson, tactfully.
-
-After a short silence, Mr. Sheridan asked indifferently,
-
-“Where did you get them?”
-
-“Up in the town, sir. There’s a Bakery there
-sir as I never see the like of, Mr. Tim. Why,
-what with the cakes and rolls and puddin’s and
-what-not, I fairly lost me eyes, sir! You should
-stroll up to the town, like, Mr. Tim. It’s a neat
-little place, sure enough—”
-
-His young master checked him gently, reminding
-him with a little wave of his hand, that he could
-not be expected to be interested in all that.
-
-“But the rolls, Peterson. You might see that I
-have them for breakfast every morning.” So saying,
-he lit a cigarette, and walked out through the
-open window into his garden to meditate; leaving
-Peterson to meditate in his turn on this absolutely
-novel way of acting that Mr. Tim had adopted.
-Why, he could hardly believe that this formal and
-taciturn gentleman was Mr. Tim at all, and the old
-man who remembered the days, not long since,
-when he had connived in all sorts of pranks and
-waggery; when he had, many’s the time, been called
-in as judge and counsel as to how his young master
-should get himself out of this and that “scrape,”
-when in fact, Mr. Tim never dreamed of doing
-anything without Peterson’s opinion—remembering
-those jolly days when he had been honored with
-Mr. Tim’s perfect confidence, Peterson felt wounded.
-Then he glanced through the window. Mr. Tim,
-who had been promenading back and forth, leaning
-on a stick, in keeping with his extraordinary notion
-that blighted love always left one a semi-invalid,
-had now allowed himself to sink wearily onto a
-stone bench. On second thought, Peterson did
-not feel wounded; he felt rather like shaking dear
-Mr. Tim.
-
-“Say what you like, that’s no way to go on, now.
-Life’s too easy for him, and that’s the truth, though
-I don’t say I wouldn’t hate to see it hard for him.
-But to take on so, just because a young lady was
-pleased to make up her mind not to have him!
-’Tisn’t every young feller has the leisure to sit and
-mope himself into the vapors over a chip in his
-heart, that’ll be whole again in three months.”
-Then Peterson grinned. After all, such absurdities
-had not been entirely absent from his own youth;
-and he could not find it in his heart to censure Mr.
-Tim severely for any of his eccentricities. In his
-opinion this young man whom he had systematically
-spoiled since his childhood was not to be
-judged by common standards. Things that one
-might call faults in other young gentlemen, became
-merely “peculiarities” in the case of Mr. Tim.
-And it was not Peterson alone who inclined to
-shameless leniency with young Mr. Sheridan. His
-friends always managed to explain why it was perfectly
-all right for Tim to do things he oughtn’t to
-do, and leave undone all the things he ought to do;
-at college his teachers were forever giving him one
-more chance, and at home his grumpy uncle scolded
-him and pampered him, and feebly allowed his
-usually sharp old wits to be completely fuddled
-by Tim’s airy arguments.
-
-“Somehow or other you’ll manage to persuade
-all your devoted friends and wellwishers to help
-you to the dogs,” Major Sheridan had once remarked
-acidly; and as proof of the truth of this,
-as the Major himself pointed out, the old man, notwithstanding
-many threats of disinheritance, had
-left every sou of his fortune to his nephew, simply
-because, while his common sense told him that the
-best thing in the world for the young man would be
-to leave him nothing at all, like Peterson he couldn’t
-quite bear the thought of Tim’s lacking anything.
-
-.. File: 046.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-At the age of twenty-seven, then, Timothy Sheridan
-possessed of an honorable name, health,
-wealth, good looks, and a very fair measure of
-intelligence, could consider himself sufficiently unencumbered
-by duties and responsibilities to indulge
-in the luxury of doing nothing whatever.
-But somebody has said that no one can be thoroughly
-happy without finding something to be
-unhappy about; and the truth of the matter is that
-Mr. Sheridan was exceedingly gratified to discover
-that his heart was broken; though it need hardly
-be said that this was the last thing in the world he
-would ever have admitted. It was such a refreshingly
-new experience. His only fear was that he
-was not getting out of it all that some people
-claimed to feel. He checked up all his symptoms
-to make sure that he had the real disease. Sleeplessness,
-loss of appetite, a longing for solitude—yes,
-he was quite sure that he had all these symptoms,
-and the satisfactory conclusion was that his
-heart was broken. He might really consider the
-matter settled. Now, what is the next thing to
-be done? Under the circumstances one should
-make no effort. One simply shunned society,
-amused oneself with solitary walks perhaps,
-looked on sceptically from afar at the insipid lives
-of other human beings, and made sweet melancholy
-a constant companion. But how long did
-one keep this up? The very fact that he could ask
-himself such a crudely practical question, made
-him feel rather uncomfortable; how could he even
-imagine the possibility of *wanting* to do anything
-else?
-
-He leaned back, and looked about him with an
-indifferent eye. From where he sat, he could see
-beyond the wall that enclosed the garden—a wall
-seven or eight feet high, its cracked plaster laced
-together by the strong black tendrils of the ivy-vine.
-If he turned his head he could see the whole length
-of Sheridan Lane. All the trees on Sheridan Lane
-had turned yellow, and the leaves strewing its
-cobblestones, looked like golden coins—the generous
-largess scattered in the progress of jovial
-King Autumn. Above the mass of frost-nipped
-foliage rose the rounded belfry of the old church,
-and underneath lay the double rows of pretty gardens
-all glowing with their asters and chrysanthemums.
-
-Then, if he looked in front of him he saw those
-wine-tinted hills, rising beyond the gentle basin of
-the valley meadows, where the sun was melting the
-early morning frost, and scattering the light mists.
-Two men with leggins laced up to their sturdy
-knees, and carrying guns and game bags, were
-striding across the field, followed by their dogs.
-A glint of interest sparkled up in Mr. Sheridan’s
-listless eyes.
-
-“By Jove, I’ll bet there’s shooting here. I
-wonder if Peterson had the sense to pack my guns.
-I’ll wire Phil to-night—” then he checked himself
-hastily. Such diversions were premature to say
-the least. But as he resumed his seat on the bench,
-his attention was attracted by another object. On
-the wall was something which had not been there
-when he had last looked in the direction of Sheridan
-Lane. Calmly planted on its broad flat top, with
-a pair of slender black-stockinged legs swinging,
-calmly polishing off a monstrous scarlet apple on
-the front of a bright green sweater, sat a perfectly
-strange specimen of the condemned human race;
-and, what was more, it was unmistakably *feminine*.
-It was, in short, a girl of about fourteen years of
-age, though apparently not very tall for her years,
-with a dense mop of curly, reddish hair, a pair of
-uncommonly bright, and observant eyes, and the
-beaming hospitable smile of one who has the rare
-faculty of making herself thoroughly at home in
-any circumstances. Even Mr. Sheridan’s cold and
-unmistakably hostile stare did not seem to make
-her feel that she was not welcome, or that she ought
-to offer any explanation for her presence. She
-looked at her apple, polished it some more, and at
-length fastened her sharp little teeth in its red
-cheek, biting off what seemed to be at least one
-half of the entire fruit.
-
-After a pause, Mr. Sheridan said, with freezing
-courtesy,
-
-“Is there anything I can do for you?”
-
-“Oh, no,” said Jane, kindly. “Nothing at all.”
-And until she had finished her apple, and flung the
-core with admirable markmanship against a tree at
-the other side of the road, silence reigned—the
-silence of indignation and helplessness on Mr.
-Sheridan’s part, of serene composure on Jane’s.
-
-“I am just looking around,” she condescended
-to explain at last.
-
-“I see,” said Mr. Sheridan politely. “Do you
-know that you are trespassing?”
-
-“Oh, yes. But that’s all right. I’m always trespassing.
-I can’t help it. Out there—” she jerked
-her head in the direction of the fields, “there are
-signs everywhere you go, ‘No trespassing.’ But
-by the time I come to ’em I’ve already been trespassing
-for miles, so I might as well go on. Besides,
-I’ve often done it purposely just to see what
-would happen, but nothing ever does.” And having
-said this in a most reassuring tone, she fished
-a second apple out of the pocket of her sweater
-and began to polish it as she had the first. To his
-horror, Mr. Sheridan saw that those green
-pockets were bulging.
-
-“You’ll make yourself ill,” he remarked.
-
-“Oh, no. I never make myself ill,” said Jane.
-
-“Are you going to eat *all* those?” he demanded,
-pointing with his stick at her crammed pockets.
-
-“Well, I could, easily,” said Jane, “but you can
-have as many as you like. Catch.” And she
-pulled out a third apple, and tossed it to him. He
-caught it; but feeling that it was not dignified even
-to pretend that he wanted it, he laid it down beside
-him on the bench.
-
-“Try it,” said Jane, “it’s a good one. It’s still
-wet, because I just picked it up. Mr. Webster has
-millions, and he *said* I could take all I wanted.
-Here, I’ll dry it for you if you don’t want to get
-your handkerchief all wet.”
-
-“Thank you,” said Mr. Sheridan, “I don’t believe
-I care for it just now.”
-
-Another silence. Then as if the idea had just
-occurred to her, Jane said almost with alarm,
-
-“*You* don’t mind my trespassing, do you, Mr.
-Sheridan?”
-
-“How did you know my name?” he asked in
-surprise, and at the same time, feeling a trifle flattered.
-Like most people he was vain enough to
-be pleased when anyone seemed to know who he
-was without being told.
-
-“Oh, I recognized you.”
-
-“Recognized me? When did you—”
-
-“By your stick. Miss Lily said that you had a
-stick, and that you were youngish.”
-
-“Oh.” A brief pause, during which Mr. Sheridan
-did not look displeased. Jane, who never
-missed a change of expression, felt that she had hit
-upon a happy thread of conversation, and she
-ventured to commence another apple.
-
-“Who is Miss Lily?” inquired Mr. Sheridan,
-forgetting that he was not in the least interested
-in hearing about his fellow creatures—especially
-the feminine ones.
-
-“Why, Miss Lily Deacon. She lives up there,”
-Jane jerked her head casually in the direction, “in
-the first house on the left hand side just as you
-turn into Sheridan Lane. The one with iron deers
-on each side of the gate. She’s *very* pretty. Mrs.
-Deacon is very fat, but she certainly is what you’d
-called impressive looking, and she does a lot of
-good. I mean she’s on committees and things, and
-*always* president.”
-
-“Um,” said Mr. Sheridan. Then, boring the
-end of his cane through a dead leaf, he asked carelessly,
-
-“But when did Miss Lily see me? I’ve never
-been here before.”
-
-“Yesterday morning she said. She said she
-couldn’t tell exactly what you were like, because
-she only saw you in her handmirror while she was
-brushing her hair, but *I* think she got a pretty good
-idea.”
-
-Poor Miss Lily. If she had ever dreamed that
-Jane would be placidly repeating her indiscreet
-little confidences, she would have died of mortification.
-But Jane, who, in her own peculiar way,
-was immeasurably more astute than Miss Lily, saw
-very plainly that Mr. Sheridan was trying to suppress
-a complacent smile.
-
-“And how did *she* know who I was?”
-
-“Why, in the first place, she’d heard that one of
-the family was going to live in this house again,
-and then she saw you drive in here, so she just
-used her common sense, I suppose.”
-
-“Ah—of course.”
-
-After a moment, he said, with the most engaging
-friendliness,
-
-“I think you might tell me *your* name.”
-
-“My name? Jane.”
-
-.. File: 052.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“Jane what?”
-
-“Lambert. Are you going to live here a long
-time?”
-
-Mr. Sheridan sighed.
-
-“I think so.”
-
-“What are you going to do?”
-
-“Do? Well,—that would be a little difficult to
-explain. I came here primarily for—solitude.”
-The melancholy tone of his voice prompted a dozen
-inquisitive questions to the tip of Jane’s tongue.
-
-“Oh. Are you sick?”
-
-“There are different kinds of illness,” said Mr.
-Sheridan gloomily and mysteriously. Jane’s grave
-eyes considered him attentively. Perhaps he was
-suffering from a guilty conscience. He might have
-embezzled money from a bank. He might even
-have killed someone. She felt very sorry for him.
-
-“Don’t you ever want to see anybody? I can’t
-understand that.”
-
-“My dear child,” said Mr. Sheridan in a patronizing
-tone, “there are probably several things that
-you don’t understand yet. How old are you, may
-I ask?”
-
-“Fourteen. Fifteen really. My birthday comes
-next month. But don’t you remember that it says
-in the Bible that it isn’t good for people to be alone.
-That was the text just last Sunday, and I remember
-thinking that that was why we are all crowded together
-into this town, instead of scattering out over
-there—” she waved in the direction of the country,
-“where it seems much nicer.”
-
-.. File: 053.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-Mr. Sheridan made no reply, for a moment.
-Then as Jane made a motion to depart, he said
-hastily,
-
-“What do *you* do?”
-
-“Oh, *I* go to school, and help mother, and go
-on adventures—”
-
-“Go on adventures?”
-
-“Yes. Long, long walks. Sometimes with the
-twins, and sometimes with Carl, though he never
-wants to go where I want to go, and often by myself.
-I take a package of bread and cheese because
-I get hungry very easily, or sometimes some
-Raisin Delights, and I pretend that I’m going out
-into the world to seek my fortune. And I walk
-and walk, sometimes taking this road and sometimes
-that—until it’s time to turn around and
-come home.”
-
-“Don’t you ever get lost?”
-
-“Oh, often. That makes it more exciting than
-ever.”
-
-“What are Raisin Delights?”
-
-“Oh, just sort of cookies, with raisins and cinnamon
-and orange peel. No one knows how to
-make them but mother, because you see, she’s the
-only real Winkler—except Granny, and Granny’s
-too old to do much in the Bakery any more. When
-Paul comes of course he’ll learn how, because he’s
-a real Winkler too.”
-
-“Who is Paul?”
-
-Jane, at this, launched into the complete history
-of her family, charmed to find her listener who was
-far more interested than he himself was aware of
-being.
-
-“And—and is this Miss Lily a cousin or something
-of yours?” inquired Mr. Sheridan, artfully
-bringing the topic around to the subject that for
-some reason he found particularly agreeable.
-
-“No. She’s just Elise’s best friend.”
-
-“And what does *she* do?”
-
-“Oh, she practises on the piano, and sings, and
-embroiders, and goes to committees with her
-mother—though I don’t think she likes that much.
-And then she makes up bundles of things to send
-to people in China, and goes to see sick people.”
-
-“Does she like that?”
-
-“I guess so. She takes things to poor people—there
-are a whole lot of them who live along the
-creek, and she’s awfully good to them.”
-
-“I see,” said Mr. Sheridan. He could not think
-of anything more to say just then, and after a
-pause, Jane began to think that she ought to be
-going.
-
-“Well, good-bye. I hope you’ll feel better
-after a while,” she said, catching hold of a low
-hanging branch, preparatory to swinging herself
-down to earth.
-
-“Thank you.” Mr. Sheridan did not understand
-why he felt just a trifle foolish. “I hope you
-will pay me another visit.”
-
-“Oh, but I thought you wanted to be alone,”
-said Jane, innocently.
-
-Mr. Sheridan hesitated.
-
-.. File: 055.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“People in general are terrible nuisances,” he
-said, at length. “I came here to avoid the boredom—that
-is, at present I am very little in the
-mood for being bothered by the curiosity of a host
-of friends and acquaintances. But on the other
-hand, it would be a pleasure to chat with you now
-and then.”
-
-Jane was tremendously flattered.
-
-“Oh, I can understand that perfectly,” she said,
-nodding her curly head with a great air of wisdom.
-“Well, I’ll come and see you again. Aren’t you
-really going to eat that apple?”
-
-Mr. Sheridan laughed, and tossed it back to her.
-
-“There you are, Eve. Like Adam, I’d be much
-better without it.”
-
-With the agility of a monkey, Jane, holding the
-apple between her teeth, swung herself lightly and
-easily to the ground. A little later Mr. Sheridan
-saw the curly auburn head and the green sweater
-moving up the hill, and with the feeling that he
-would very much like to be going in the same direction,
-toward that busy little town—yes, in the very
-same direction of that human society which he had
-resolved to shun—he turned away.
-
-He had already begun to doubt his wisdom in
-allowing this slight infringement of the iron rule
-of seclusion he had resolved to follow. Already
-he felt very little inclined to spend the rest of the
-morning going over the battalions of musty volumes
-in the Major’s library, as he had planned,—his
-idea had been to bury his sorrows in grave
-bookishness. Already he found himself possessed
-by a desire to venture out beyond the security of
-his garden. And if he had followed Janey up the
-hill, if he had seen her stop for a few moments, at
-the gate of the house on the left hand side, to report
-to a demure and shocked and vastly interested
-young lady on various features of her late venture,
-he would have felt that all his doubts on the wisdom
-of allowing anything feminine within thirty
-yards of him, were more than justified.
-
-.. File: 057.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-CHAPTER IV—THE APPEARANCE OF PAUL
-=================================
-
-Jane lay on her stomach, stretched out comfortably
-on the window-seat in Granny’s room, her
-elbows propped on a cushion, her chin in her hands
-and a book open on another cushion. The light
-was already waning, for the days were growing
-perceptibly shorter, and furthermore the afternoon
-had been dark and stormy. A driving autumn
-rain pattered steadily against the window,
-drummed on the roof, gushed from the drain
-pipes, and angrily stripped the branches of the
-trees of their gaudy foliage. Now, only the stark
-black boughs creaked in the wind; here and there
-one stubborn brown leaf still clung to a twig, but
-you could see the whole lead grey sky clearly, and
-the irregular outlines of glistening roofs.
-
-But Granny’s room, always cosy, was cosiest
-when the outside world was bleakest. A coal fire
-glowed brightly in the old fashioned open stove,
-reflecting in the window panes, on the elaborately
-carved head-board of the great four-poster bed,
-and in the plump, bulging surfaces of the well-polished
-pewter jugs which stood in a row along
-the shelf—treasured heirlooms, glistening self-complacently,
-as if they knew that they had outlived four generations
-of human beings. Granny’s
-room, was in fact, a regular museum; a big, speckled
-sea shell served as the door prop; chunks of
-rock sparkling with mica lay on each side of the
-stove; a stuffed owl, with only one glass eye stared
-down from the lintel of the door. Wherever you
-looked you saw some singular object which interested
-you simply because you could not imagine
-what it was for, why it had been treasured, or how
-it had ever got into Granny’s room in the first
-place. But there was not an article that Granny
-would not have missed sadly if it had been removed.
-Each curiosity had its particular association
-which made it valuable to her; each was linked
-to some memory, and she could not have parted
-with one without parting with the thing it stood for.
-
-The atmosphere, warm almost to the point of
-suffocation, was permeated with a peculiar, and far
-from unpleasant odor, of apples, spices, and camphor,
-emanating from the gigantic chest on one
-side of the room. Like all good Winklers, Granny
-had a sweet tooth, which was one reason why the
-young Lamberts found her society so desirable.
-To be sure, some people might not care much for
-the flavor of camphor or cedar in their candied
-orange peel, or Smyrna figs, but it was inseparable
-from Granny’s tid-bits, and her grandchildren had
-cultivated an especial taste for it.
-
-The twins sat on the floor in front of the fire,
-playing with their paper dolls, while Granny nodded
-over the many-coloured quilt she was knitting, happily
-unconscious of the fact that Phyllis, her maltese
-cat, had playfully carried the ball of red wool off
-to a far corner, and was gleefully tangling it around
-the legs of the dressing table. Every now and then
-a burst of fresh laughter from one of the flaxen
-haired twins roused her, and she smiled sympathetically,
-and for a little while listened to their chatter;
-then her head drooped again, her steel-rimmed spectacles
-slid down on her nose, and lulled by the heat
-of the fire, the drumming of the rain, and the sound
-of their soft, happy voices, she dozed off peacefully.
-
-Lottie, looking up, and seeing that Jane was no
-longer engrossed in “John Halifax,” ventured to
-suggest timidly,
-
-“Will you play with uth, Janey?”
-
-Occasionally, Jane condescended to forget her
-fifteen years, and to take part in their infantile
-games.
-
-“All right.” She rolled herself off the window
-seat. “Want to play ‘French Revolution’?”
-Jane had little taste for the domestic character of
-the twin’s doll games.
-
-“How do you play that?” asked Minie.
-
-“Why, first of all you get me some books out of
-my room,” ordered Jane, and Minie obediently
-trotted off to return grunting under the burden of
-“stage properties.”
-
-“Now, you see, build a prison out of ’em,” went
-on Jane; “this is the Conciergerie, and it has to be
-full of prisoners; princesses and duchesses, and of
-course Marie Antoinette. Now, we’ll make a
-guillotine, and chop all their heads off. Don’t you
-think that’ll be fun?”
-
-The twins were enchanted. Lottie piled the
-hooks into a “scaffold,” while Minie sat by, clashing
-the scissors, eagerly. And presently, one by
-one, the poor paper prisoners were marched to their
-doom, Jane directing the carnage, describing the
-history of each victim, like a Greek chorus, and
-delivering their last speeches, while Minie, hypnotized
-into passive obedience, snipped off the paper
-heads of her innocent, and dearly treasured dolls.
-
-Suddenly Jane jumped up.
-
-“I think this is an *awful* game!” she exclaimed.
-
-“Oh, Jane, aren’t you going to play any more?”
-cried Lottie in dismay. Jane shook her head.
-
-“And all my poor dollies are dead!” wailed Minie,
-suddenly realizing the extent of the disaster. Jane
-looked really guilty.
-
-“We can make some more,” she said hastily;
-“there are lots of old magazines in mother’s room.”
-
-“But you can’t make Isabel again,” wept Minie.
-
-“Well, *you* cut her head off,” said Jane.
-
-“But *you* told her to,” cried Lottie, taking up her
-twin’s cause.
-
-“Well, you asked me to play with you, didn’t
-you?” But Minie’s tears went to Jane’s heart.
-“I’m sorry, Minie, darling. Please don’t cry. I’ll
-tell you a story if you like.”
-
-Minie’s chubby, tearful face brightened.
-
-“A fairy story?”
-
-“Yes. About a prince and princess.”
-
-.. File: 061.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“And you won’t have it end up badly?”
-
-“No. I promise.” So Jane, whose mind was a
-perfect storehouse of stories and legends, had soon
-charmed the twins into forgetfulness of their late
-bereavement while she launched forth upon her
-tale of giants and enchanted princes.
-
------
-
-On this very afternoon, and in fact, at exactly
-the time that Jane had staged her disastrous
-amusement, a boy was tramping stolidly with his
-head bent against the rain, along one of the country
-roads a good three miles from Frederickstown.
-He was a big, raw-boned boy, whose shabby
-clothes originally much too loose for his lean
-frame, and now soaked through, gave him an almost
-grotesque appearance. A faded dark blue
-cap, with a patent leather visor, such as sea-captains
-wear, and the upturned collar of his coat,
-almost concealed his long brown face, in which the
-most striking features were a pair of black eyes, set
-rather close together, and a big handsome Roman
-nose. With a bundle slung over his shoulder on
-the end of a stick, he looked like any one of the
-foreign immigrants who were frequently seen seeking
-for work as laborers on the neighboring farms.
-
-He did not raise his head until he reached a
-cross-roads. Then he stopped, pushed back his
-cap from his face, which was flushed and hot from
-his long walk, and looked up at the signs. On the
-left, the white board, roughly carved into the
-semblance of a pointing finger, read, “Frederickstown,
-2-½ Miles.” The name on the right-hand
-sign-post was too badly damaged by weather to
-be intelligible to a stranger’s eyes; only the distance,
-“30 miles” was legible.
-
-There was no reason why the boy should have
-hesitated for a moment; his destination was Frederickstown,
-the second direction did not concern
-him in the least; and yet, perhaps because the
-vagueness of the destination of the second road
-appealed to his imagination; perhaps because the
-greater distance lent it greater charm, and the
-very impossibility of walking thirty miles that day
-made it seem the more desirable, at any rate there
-he stood, looking uncertainly to the right, then to
-the left, and back to the right again. A gust of
-wind, flapping the skirts of his coat rudely, seemed
-to shove him forward, as if impatient of his indecision,
-but he planted his feet firmly, and continued
-to gape uncertainly up at the sign posts.
-“I’ll make up my own mind, thank you, and I’m
-not to be hurried,” was the reply which his determined
-attitude made to the impatience of the wind.
-
-There was little difference in the features of the
-country traversed by the two roads; all that he
-could see through the blur of the rain, were bleak
-fields, muddy furrows, here and there a clump of
-leafless trees, the skeleton of a forest, or, down in
-a hollow the sheds and barns of a little farm. A
-cheerless prospect for a hungry and footsore
-Wanderer.
-
-Behind him he heard the weary splashing of a
-horse’s feet, and the creaking of wheels. He
-turned around. A covered wagon, drawn by a
-tired, steaming horse was approaching.
-
-“Hey!” he hailed the driver, who pulled in the
-horse to a stand-still, and thrust out a grizzled face
-from under the canvas.
-
-“Where does that road go to?” asked the boy,
-pointing to the right.
-
-The driver tilted his hat, scratched his head, and
-straightened his hat again before replying, thus
-gaining time to cast a shrewd eye over the appearance
-of the questioner. He was one of those excellent
-back-country farmers who regard every
-stranger with suspicion, and do not like to be hurried
-into speech.
-
-“That road,” he said at length, “goes to the
-City—thirty miles. Going to walk it, stranger?”
-
-“Which way are you going?”
-
-The farmer jerked his head in the direction of
-Frederickstown.
-
-“Will you let me go with you?” asked the boy,
-feeling nervously in his pocket. “I cannot pay you
-much, but I will gladly give you what I can.” He
-pulled the last coin out of his pocket, and looked at
-it uncertainly as if he were not at all sure how much
-it was. “I will give you twenty-five cents.”
-
-“That’s all right. Keep your money, young
-feller, and get in if you want to. I’ll be glad of
-yer company.”
-
-The boy looked surprised and grateful, and without
-wasting any more words, clambered up to the
-hard wooden seat, and settled himself beside the
-farmer.
-
-The road was rough, the wheels were rimmed
-with iron, and the board seat joggled unmercifully,
-so that the boy found it hard to answer his neighbor’s
-endless questions without biting his tongue in two;
-moreover, now that he was sitting down, after
-walking almost steadily since early morning, he
-found himself almost too tired to think; but he tried
-to be civil, since it seemed that if his companion
-was kind enough to refuse payment, the least he
-could do was to gratify his curiosity.
-
-“Where might you be goin’, now?”
-
-“My uncle lives in Frederickstown. His name
-is Lambert. Mr. Peter Lambert.”
-
-“That so? I know Mr. Lambert. Well, I took
-you for a furriner.”
-
-“I am not a foreigner.”
-
-“Not but that you don’t talk good English, only
-sort of care-ful like. Like it wasn’t yer natural
-langwidge. What part of the country might yer
-be from, now?”
-
-“I have never been in this country before. My
-father, who—who was Mr. Lambert’s brother-in-law,
-was a sailor, captain, also a trader. I don’t belong
-to any country. I have come back to work with
-my uncle, because my father is dead, and I have no
-other relatives.” The boy explained this in a dry,
-precise way, as if it were an answer that he had
-already had to make many times.
-
-“Well! I’ll be!” exclaimed the farmer, much
-interested. “And what might yer name be, young
-feller?”
-
-“Paul Winkler.”
-
-After a short pause, during which Paul fervently
-hoped that the catechism was over, his companion
-asked again.
-
-“And why was you askin’ me where that other
-road went to?”
-
-The boy smiled, and shook his head.
-
-“I don’t know.”
-
-“Jes’ for curiosity?”
-
-“Yes.”
-
-“Hum. How old might you be?”
-
-“Seventeen.”
-
-“Yer a well grown lad for yer years. I should
-have taken yer to be older.”
-
-This time Paul broke the silence that followed.
-
-“What is the City like?”
-
-“Like? Why like any other city. Lots of
-houses, lots of streets, lots of people, lots of
-noise. I’m a countryman myself, and don’t have
-much hankerin’ for the big towns. Though there’s
-my son now, my second boy, he can’t stand the
-farm. No, he has to be off to the city. I suppose
-that’s the way all you youngsters are feeling nowadays.
-What you’re after is always somewhere different
-from where the Lord put you. Opportunity—that’s
-what my boy’s forever chatterin’
-about—you got to get where you have opportunities.
-I says to him, ‘Well, Tom, what is it ye’re
-after?’ ‘Independence, Dad,’ says he, ‘Like
-George Washington.’ ‘A good thing,’ says I.
-‘And what do ye call independence?’ Well, sir,
-we argue away for hours, and for the life of me I
-can’t see that he ain’t just about the most *de*\ pendant
-feller I know. No sir, when ye live the
-sort of life I live ye get plenty time to think, and I
-tell ye when ye sift down to rock bottom just what
-ye *do* want, and don’t dress it up in a lot of fine
-words, ye find that there’s precious little as really
-matters to ye, that ye can’t get without having to
-trot all over the country after it.”
-
-Notwithstanding his companion’s challenging
-tone, and evident eagerness for further discussion,
-Paul made no reply to this speech.
-
-They had now gained the top of a hill; and at
-last the comfortable lights of Frederickstown
-shone through the dusk.
-
-“There ye are,” said the farmer pointing ahead
-with his whip, “and I’ve no doubt it’s a glad sight
-to ye, youngster. Have ye walked far?”
-
-“Fifteen miles, I think.”
-
-“Fifteen miles! Pretty hungry, eh?”
-
-“Yes.”
-
-“Did ye come across the water alone?”
-
-“No. There was a friend of my father’s travelling
-to this country also. I left him last night.”
-
-Now the wagon was jolting over the cobblestones,
-jarring every bone in Paul’s weary body.
-And, he was so hungry! All at once he caught the
-odor of spices, of fresh ginger-bread—such a
-friendly smell, such a homey, domestic smell,
-that made you think of a warm hearth, and familiar
-faces—
-
-The horse stopped.
-
-“Well, young man, I guess we part now.”
-
-Paul felt as if he were asleep. He climbed stiffly
-out of the cart, shook the friendly, horny paw
-that his erstwhile companion thrust out, and tried
-to mutter his thanks. The wagon rumbled away
-up the street—and here he was.
-
-He stood in the shelter of the quaint wooden
-balcony which extended from the second story of
-the Lambert’s dwelling out over the pavement. In
-front of him the light shone cheerily through the
-bakeshop window. Somehow, he rather dreaded to
-go up and knock at the door. Suppose that after
-all it was the wrong place? Suppose that no one
-knew that he was coming? Or, suppose that they
-wouldn’t believe he was Paul Winkler?
-
------
-
-“So the prince took his knife and cut the third
-of the golden apples in half, and to his astonishment—”
-
-“Janey, *who* is that talking to your father?”
-demanded Granny, opening her eyes suddenly.
-
-Jane stopped and listened. Granny’s room was
-directly over the dining room, and sounds carried
-easily through the thin walls of the old house.
-
-“I don’t know, Granny,” said Jane. “Nobody in
-particular, I guess.”
-
-But the old lady felt nervously for her stick.
-
-“Heavens! It *couldn’t* be—Janey, just run to
-the head of the stairs and see. Minie, darling, do
-you see Granny’s stick? Run, Janey—just peep
-over.”
-
-But the door of the dining room was half closed,
-and Janey, hanging over the bannister, had to wait
-several moments before she caught a glimpse of
-the stranger, whose low voice occasionally interrupted
-her father’s eloquent talk.
-
-“My dear boy, we will go into this at length,
-later this evening. I see that you are tired now.
-You say you *walked* from Allenboro?”
-
-“It was necessary. I did not discover that my
-money had been stolen until after I left the ship.”
-
-“Did Mr. Morse know of your misfortune?”
-
-“No. I did not tell him.”
-
-Then Jane caught her first glimpse of the speaker,
-as he took a step back toward the fireplace, and
-into her line of vision through the half opened door.
-
-“It’s *Paul*!” The thought flashed across her
-mind instantly. Her first impression of her new
-cousin was disappointing. Though such matters
-rarely counted for much with Jane, she was really
-shocked by the shabbiness of his appearance; for
-covered as he was with mud, his ill-fitting, outworn
-clothes made him look like a veritable ragamuffin.
-But it was not this so much as his whole bearing
-and expression that displeased her. There was
-something both sullen and stubborn in his face,
-which, combined with lines of weariness and
-hunger, made him seem much older than he really
-was, and decidedly unattractive. And she had been
-so sure that she was going to like her new cousin;
-she had pictured him as a jolly, ruddy, lively boy
-who would probably enter heart and soul into her
-enjoyments; someone with whom you could make
-friends in five minutes; whereas unsociability was
-stamped on every feature of *this* boy’s sallow, unsmiling
-face.
-
-Just then the sharp tapping of Granny’s cane
-resounded through the corridor. The old lady’s
-singular impatience to know who the stranger was,
-had not allowed her to wait for Jane’s tardy report.
-With her cap askew, she appeared at the
-head of the stairs.
-
-“Who is it? Who is it?” she demanded, almost
-breathlessly. “Stand aside, child.” And without
-waiting for a reply, she descended the stairs with
-wonderful rapidity, marched to the dining room
-door, and flung it open.
-
-“Peter! Gertrude!” she blinked nervously into
-the room, where only the firelight illumined the
-two figures in the dusk. Then she stared into
-Paul’s face. It was only a moment before her uncertainty
-disappeared.
-
-“I knew it! I knew it!” she cried. “Peter
-Lambert, why didn’t you tell me? Ah, heaven’s!
-My dear boy, *I* am your old Granny!” And weeping
-from sheer joy, she unhesitatingly flung her
-arms around his neck and kissed him.
-
-A few moments later the entire family had collected
-to welcome the newcomer. The twins with
-their round blue eyes fastened on him gravely,
-clung to their mother, who kissed him warmly,
-exclaimed over his size, and at once began to
-worry affectionately about his wet clothes. Elise
-greeted him with her usual gentle, modest smile,
-Carl with a patronizing, “How do you do,
-cousin?” and a keen glance, as if he were “sizing
-up” an opponent of some sort.
-
-During these proceedings Paul looked utterly
-bewildered, and exceedingly awkward, as if he
-could not believe that all these good people who
-were smiling at him, shaking hands with him, and
-asking him if he were tired, were really his family.
-All that interested him was the fact that he smelt
-supper cooking.
-
-Last of all to welcome him was Jane, who had
-stood aside, watching him intently; and it was he
-who turned to her, and with the polite smile that he
-had forced for the occasion, held out his hand.
-
-“How do you do, cousin?”
-
-“How do you do, cousin Paul?” repeated Jane
-decorously.
-
-Jane was not over impulsive, and she had not
-yet made up her mind as to the degree of liking
-she felt for this tall, reticent youth, this sober,
-chilly, self-assured boy, whom Destiny had now
-placed at the head of the House of Winkler.
-
-.. File: 071.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-CHAPTER V—PAUL HESITATES
-========================
-
-“Poor child, you are dripping wet! You’ll catch
-your death of cold!” cried Mrs. Lambert, noticing
-Paul’s state for the first time. “What can I be
-thinking of! You must have a hot bath and some
-dry things at once. Carl, take Paul up to your
-room, dear, and see that he makes himself *very*
-comfortable. I must see to supper. You must be
-starving, too!”
-
-Accordingly, Carl undertook his duties as host
-as hospitably as he could, and Paul followed him
-upstairs.
-
-In a moment or two Carl returned, wearing the
-prim expression of one who would like to express
-his opinion, and is merely waiting to be asked, and
-at length, one by one, the family began, naturally
-enough, to discuss the impression that the newcomer
-had made on them, severally. The criticisms
-were very kindly, but at the same time, it soon became
-clear that so far no one felt any great enthusiasm
-for the stranger. His curt manner had hurt
-his aunt and his grandmother, who had been so
-eager in their welcome to the fatherless boy, and
-had irritated Mr. Lambert. The short, brusque
-answers he had given to the endless kindly questions
-with which he had been plied, had discouraged the
-well-meant, and very natural curiosity of his relatives,
-and had made them feel rather uncomfortable.
-
-Grandmother Winkler and Mrs. Lambert
-staunchly insisted that the poor boy was only lonely
-and unhappy; but down in their hearts they had
-been sadly disappointed in Franz’s son. Elise also
-ranged herself in his defense, feeling that any disapproval,
-expressed or unexpressed, of the new head
-of the clan, was a form of treason.
-
-“Think how you would feel, Carl,” she said, “if
-you had lost your father, and had landed in a
-strange country among strangers—for after all we
-*are* strangers to Paul.”
-
-“That’s all right,” returned Carl, “I could understand
-it if he were just gloomy. But I don’t see
-any reason why he has to be downright disagreeable.”
-
-“I’m sure he doesn’t mean to be disagreeable,
-my dear,” said Mrs. Lambert.
-
-“Well, we mustn’t lose any time in getting the
-boy settled down to his work,” said Mr. Lambert.
-“That will take his mind off his own troubles. I
-shall have a talk with him after supper.”
-
-“I shook hands with him, and said I was glad
-to see him, and he just stared at me as if I were
-a—a fish,” went on Carl, still dwelling on his own
-grievances. “I know he’s here to stay, and I’ll try
-to get on with him, though I’ll tell you right now,
-it’s not going to be an easy job. And I hope to
-goodness I won’t have to room with him permanently,
-mother. Can’t you find somewhere to put
-him? Can’t you—” Carl broke off abruptly, reddening,
-for at that moment Paul entered the
-room. He was scrubbed and brushed, and, dressed
-in Mr. Lambert’s summer suit, looked vastly
-better than the young tramp who had entered their
-midst an hour before. Unfortunately he had overheard
-Carl’s remark, and his expression had
-changed from one that was almost friendly to the
-stony, immobile look that absolutely altered the
-whole character of his face. The cozy family
-scene in the dining room, where now the table had
-been set, and the lamp lighted, and where the firelight
-shone upon the faces of three generations,
-from Granny to little Minie, had done much to
-make Paul feel that he would be happy after all
-among these simple, happy people—until his quick
-ears caught Carl’s unkind remark.
-
-Only Jane had seen the look that showed he had
-overheard; but everyone felt that he had, and an
-awkward little silence followed his entrance, during
-which Elise glanced at her brother in distress,
-and Mrs. Lambert struggled to think of something
-to say that would mend matters a little. But Carl
-met his cousin’s eyes defiantly, and from that moment
-the tacit hostility of the two boys was sealed.
-
-So Paul, who had been on the verge of thawing
-a little, had frozen up again. He concluded immediately
-that *everyone* disliked him, and like
-many sensitive people, instead of attempting to
-overcome this imagined dislike, he carefully hid all
-that was winning in his nature, under his cold, unsympathetic
-manner. He even fancied that his
-aunt’s affectionate little attentions were only assumed
-to hide her real feelings. Poor Aunt
-Gertrude! No one in the world was less capable
-of insincerity than she, and her gentle heart ached
-over the forlorn, taciturn youth.
-
-Supper was a decidedly uncomfortable meal;
-and Paul, who had felt that he could have eaten
-the proverbial fatted calf, found it difficult to
-swallow a mouthful. During the journey there
-had been too much to occupy him, too many difficulties
-and strange events for him to think much
-about the abrupt change that had taken place in
-his life; but now, as he sat with his eyes on his
-plate, in the midst of these strange faces, he felt
-as if the bottom had dropped out of everything.
-A perfect wave of depression engulfed him, and
-all he wished for was to get off by himself.
-
-“Well, my boy, are you too tired to have a little
-talk?” asked Mr. Lambert, at length pushing back
-his chair.
-
-“No, sir,” muttered Paul, curtly, thinking to
-himself, “I don’t suppose that they want to have
-me on their hands any longer than is necessary.”
-
-“Children, you may prepare your lessons in your
-own rooms to-night. Well, Paul, suppose you and
-I get over here into my corner,” suggested Mr.
-Lambert, walking across to his desk. “Sit down.”
-
-Paul sat down, folded his hands in his lap, and
-fixed his eyes attentively on the window. The rain
-still rattled on the glass panes, and the wind banged
-the shutters, and moaned through the leafless
-trees.
-
-“I am only going to acquaint you with the wishes
-which your father—my poor brother—expressed
-in a recent letter,” began Mr. Lambert, rummaging
-through his orderly pigeon-holes. “It might be best
-for you to read it for yourself.” But Paul declined
-the letter with a gesture.
-
-“Ah, well,” said Mr. Lambert, replacing the
-poor, blotted sheets in the envelope, “I don’t want
-to pain you, my dear boy, and I would not touch
-on the subject at all, if I did not feel that it were
-best for you to find something to occupy your
-thoughts at this time.” He paused, but as Paul did
-not seem to think it necessary to make any reply,
-he continued:
-
-“You must understand how deeply I am interested
-in your affairs. Er—how old are you?”
-
-“Seventeen, sir.”
-
-“Seventeen? I should have thought you were
-older. But seventeen is not an age of childhood,
-and in any event I feel that you are fully capable of
-assuming the responsibilities which must fall upon
-you as the only—living—male descendant—of—the
-Winkler Family.” Mr. Lambert uttered these
-last words with an impressiveness that cannot be
-described. Paul looked up, suddenly interested,
-and with a wary, defensive expression.
-
-“No doubt your father acquainted you with his
-wishes?”
-
-.. File: 076.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“My father told me to come to you, and that
-you would help me,” said Paul.
-
-“Help you? Indeed I will help you. I would
-help you in any event because you are my nephew,
-and blood runs thicker than water, my boy. Always
-remember that. But believe me, it is not
-family duty alone that impels me to give you all
-the assistance I can,—I feel that you are a young
-man who is *worthy*—worthy to enter upon the
-duties of your position.”
-
-Paul was puzzled. He could not understand
-these allusions to his “position,” and his “responsibilities.”
-
-“Never hesitate to come to me for any advice.
-Do not allow little discouragements to overwhelm
-you,” continued Mr. Lambert. “Your aunt, of
-course, will be your real teacher—”
-
-“My *aunt*?” echoed Paul, completely bewildered.
-“I don’t understand—”
-
-“Ah,” said Mr. Lambert, smiling, “perhaps you
-are not familiar with the traditions of your family.
-Then, I will tell you; your great-great-grandfather,
-on your father’s side, Johann Winkler, was,
-as you surely know, the founder of this Bakery.
-He was, moreover, the inventor of certain delicacies
-which have made it famous, and which cannot
-possibly be made by any other baker in this
-country—in the world, I may say. It was his wish
-that the fruits of his labors should be the heritage
-of his descendants, and that only those who bore
-the name of Winkler, should learn the secret
-recipes by which those cakes are mixed. A moment’s
-thought will make it clear to you that you
-are the next in line to be initiated into these secrets,
-which are sealed from me, and my children. In a
-word, you are the only living heir to this business.
-Your aunt, of course, is the present proprietor, and
-she and she alone can instruct you in the work in
-which you must follow her.”
-
-Paul was speechless, and Mr. Lambert, mistaking
-his astonished silence, for a calm acceptance of
-what he had said, now drew forth a large parchment
-from a drawer of his desk, and spread it out
-with a pompous air.
-
-“This, my boy, is the family tree of the Winklers,
-which establishes your claim to your inheritance.
-Here, you see—” his broad forefinger began
-to trace the branches, “Johann Winkler had
-two sons, Frederick and Samuel. Frederick, the
-elder had two sons, also Samuel and Johann. In
-this case, the younger became the Baker, and Samuel
-became a hardware merchant in Missouri.
-Thus, Johann was the father of your Aunt Gertrude,
-and *your* father, who also relinquished his
-inheritance, like Esau—”
-
-“But what of Samuel’s children?” stammered
-Paul. “Maybe he has a son or a grandson—”
-
-“However that may be they have forfeited their
-claims,” replied Mr. Lambert. “No, you need
-have no fears of any disputes, my boy. Surely,
-your father must have acquainted you with all
-these matters which relate to you so closely.”
-
-.. File: 078.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“My father never even mentioned anything of
-the sort!” exclaimed Paul, pushing back his chair,
-as if he were thinking of sudden flight.
-
-“I need hardly tell you that you are doubly welcome,
-my dear boy,” continued Mr. Lambert
-placidly, totally misunderstanding Paul’s astonishment.
-
-“But, sir! One moment! I don’t understand!
-You surely can’t mean that you think I am going to
-learn how to *bake bread*, and make *pies*!” burst
-out Paul at last. “Great heavens! My father
-couldn’t have dreamed—*I*! Making biscuits!”
-
-“And why not, pray?” demanded Mr. Lambert,
-sharply. “Am I to understand that you consider
-yourself too good for a profession that the great
-Johann Winkler thought worthy of his genius?
-Is it that you do not consider it *manly*? Surely,
-you do not mean me to understand this?” Mr.
-Lambert’s face hardened a little; the expression of
-bland benevolence left his eyes, which now grew
-cold and piercing. He had not expected rebellion,
-but recovering quickly from his surprise he prepared
-to cope with it as only he could.
-
-“Of course I don’t mean that, sir!” exclaimed
-Paul. “But don’t you see—I can’t—I’m not fitted
-for such work. I couldn’t learn how to bake a pie
-in a life time. I—”
-
-“Oh, I am sure you underrate your intelligence,
-my boy. Don’t give way to discouragement so
-soon. A little patience, a little industry—”
-
-Paul began to laugh, almost hysterically. Even
-in the midst of his serious anxiety, the idea of
-himself demurely kneading dough was too much
-for his gravity.
-
-“But I’d poison everyone in town in twenty-four
-hours! Bake bread! Rolls! Tarts! Sir, I could
-far more easily learn how to trim hats!”
-
-“I don’t doubt it. Any silly schoolgirl can learn
-that. I freely admit that the art of a great baker
-is not readily acquired. I admit that in some measure
-it requires an inborn gift, and a gift that is by
-no means a common one. Great cooks are far
-rarer, believe me, than great orators, or great
-artists, although the world in general does not
-rank them as it should. There was a time when a
-fine pastry or a sauce composed with genius called
-forth the applause of kings, and when eminent
-bakers were honored by the noblest in the land.
-But to-day, through the ignorance and indifference
-of the world, the profession is fallen in value, because,
-forsooth, it is fancied that it caters to the
-less noble tastes of mankind. My dear boy, it is
-for you, in whose veins flows the blood of the King
-of Bakers, to maintain the fame and dignity of
-your profession. Do not imagine that you lack the
-gift. It has lain idle, but a little practice will soon
-prove that it is in your possession.”
-
-Paul, feeling that he had come up against a wall
-of adamant, got up and began to pace the floor.
-Here he was with exactly twenty-five cents in his
-pocket, without even a suit of clothes that deserved
-the name, without a friend within three thousand
-miles, nor the faintest idea of where he could go,
-if he rashly broke away from the family roof-tree.
-
-“It seems that you had other ideas,” remarked
-Mr. Lambert in a politely interested tone, which
-said, “I don’t mind *listening* to any of your fantastic
-notions.” Paul hesitated. He most certainly
-*had* had other ideas, and, what was more, he did
-not have the slightest intention of relinquishing
-them. The question was, could he lay them
-simply before his uncle? One glance at Mr. Lambert’s
-smooth, practical face was sufficient to make
-him feel that anything of the sort was not to be
-considered; certainly not at this time, in any case.
-Mr. Lambert had fixed his mind on one idea, and
-tenacity was his most striking characteristic. It
-was his boast that he never changed his mind, and
-the truth of this statement was recognized by
-everyone who had any dealings with him.
-
-“I should like to think over all that you have
-said, Uncle Peter,” Paul at length said warily.
-“All this has been very unexpected, and I don’t
-know just what to say.”
-
-“You mean that you are still doubtful as to
-whether you will accept or reject the position, to
-which Providence has called you, and which it is
-plainly your Duty to accept?” inquired Mr. Lambert,
-raising his eyebrows. He was surprised and
-annoyed by his nephew’s resistance, but knowing
-the boy’s circumstances he had no fear that Paul
-would decide against his own wishes.
-
-Paul was quick to perceive this underlying
-cocksureness, and his whole soul rose in rebellion.
-
-“I don’t see that either Providence or Duty has
-anything to do with the case,” he retorted, instantly
-firing up.
-
-Mr. Lambert shrugged his shoulders.
-
-“You do not feel that you are under obligations
-to your Family? I don’t like to believe that you
-have so slight a sense of your responsibilities. No,
-I am sure that a few moments reflection will convince
-you to the contrary. By all means consider
-the matter. I should, however, like to have your
-answer to-night, if it is convenient for you. I
-have several letters to write, and shall be here
-when you have reached your decision.” And with
-a curt nod, he swung around to his desk, and took
-up the old-fashioned goose-quill pen, which he was
-in the habit of using under the impression that it
-lent him an air of business solidity.
-
-Paul, lost in thought, went up to Carl’s room
-for the “few moments of reflection” that his uncle
-had advised.
-
-His cousin, wearing a brown dressing gown,
-with a hideous pattern of yellow fleurs-de-lis, was
-sitting at the table, with a book in his hands, and
-a greenshade over his nearsighted eyes, engrossed
-in his studies. The two boys glanced at each other,
-and nodded brusquely without speaking.
-
-Paul threw himself across the bed.
-
-“Duty! Providence!” All he could see in the
-matter was that he had got into a pretty kettle of
-fish. “And uncle thinks that just because I’m
-broke, I’ll knuckle under without a murmur.”
-
-Obligations! That was a nice thing to preach
-to him.
-
-“Would you mind not kicking the bed?” said
-Carl’s thin, querulous voice. “It makes it rather
-hard to concentrate.” This petition, uttered in a
-studiedly polite tone, was accompanied by a dark
-look, which this time, however, Paul failed to see.
-
-“Sorry,” said Paul, gruffly, and got up.
-
-Now he began to walk the floor; but at length
-stopped at the window, pressing his face to the
-glass so that he could see something besides the reflection
-of his cousin’s mouse-colored head, and
-monotonous rocking in his chair.
-
-He peered out over the roofs of the town, up
-the street, all sleek and shining with the rain, in
-the direction of the cross-roads at which he had
-stood, less than four hours ago. Why hadn’t he
-taken the Other One, anyway? He had been perfectly
-free to choose—no one had been preaching
-Duty and all the rest of it to him then. He
-hadn’t taken it, because he had been tired and
-hungry, and almost penniless—and lonely, too,
-and the farmer had turned up. Perhaps he had
-been a coward. It had led to the City, where, even
-if he were penniless, he would at least have been
-his own master, free to work according to his own
-ideas, and not Uncle Peter’s.
-
-“Would you mind not whistling!” snapped
-Carl. “It’s the most maddening sound. Hang it!
-I’m trying to study.”
-
-.. File: 083.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-Paul’s mournful whistling stopped.
-
-Baking pies! So that was to be his future, was
-it? Well, he still had something to say. It wasn’t
-too late to take the other road yet. He’d walk a
-*thousand* miles before he would let himself be
-trussed up in a canvas apron, and put to kneading
-dough for the rest of his days.
-
-He glanced around for his cast off clothes, and
-saw them hanging, still dismally wet over a chair.
-But not even the cheerless prospect of a clammy
-shirt dampened his resolution. He began to fling
-off his dry clothing, sending collar, necktie, socks
-and shoes flying in all directions.
-
-Presently Carl, aroused by the commotion, put
-down his book. Then he stared in astonishment,
-at the sight of his cousin rapidly climbing into the
-soaking, muddy garments. But he felt that it was
-not in keeping with the dignity he had assumed,
-to inquire into the reasons for this strange proceeding.
-All he said was,
-
-“Would you mind not shaking that mud over
-my things?”
-
-Without replying, Paul shouldered his ridiculous
-bundle, felt in his pocket to make sure that his
-quarter was still there, and marched out of the
-room, down the stairs, and to the door.
-
-Then it occurred to him that this abrupt departure,
-without a word of farewell to anyone was
-rather a shabby way of returning the hospitality
-he had received, and he hesitated.
-
-“Well, if I don’t get out now, it’ll mean a lot
-of argument and explanation. I could write a
-note.” But he had no paper, and he did not want
-to go back to Carl’s room. So there he stood uneasily
-enough, wriggling in his damp clothes, and
-glancing uncertainly toward the closed door of the
-dining room behind which his uncle sat waiting for
-his decision. Overhead, he heard the low murmur
-of his aunt’s voice, and the thudding of the twins’
-little bare feet as they romped and squealed in a
-pillow fight. Paul felt his resolution waver, and
-then anger at his own weakness steadied his determination.
-He opened the door, strode out, and
-pulled it to quietly behind him.
-
-A wild gust of wind nearly robbed him of his
-breath, and made him stagger. The rain had
-gathered up its forces, and now came down in a
-solid sheet, swept this way and that by the wind.
-
-“Whew!” Paul bent his head, and ploughed his
-way against it, without looking to the right or to
-the left. The branches groaned and tossed, creaking
-as if they were being torn from the trunks of
-the swaying trees.
-
-Then all at once, with a crash a dead bough fell
-in front of him, missing him by not more than
-fifteen inches. Paul stopped. The very elements
-seemed opposed to his unmannerly flight, and again
-he hesitated, looked back, and saw the friendly,
-ruddy windows of the Bakery. Thirty miles in
-this tempest! He smiled sheepishly, and then
-frowned. His impetuousness had put him in a
-very ridiculous position. His pride rebelled at the
-idea of returning, and with the thought of Carl’s
-smothered amusement, came the memory of his
-cousin’s inhospitable speech. On the other hand,
-he saw that it was no less absurd to follow up
-his plan of flight, and the streak of common sense
-underlying his hasty, high-handed nature told him
-that it was less foolish to go back and undertake
-the immediate problem that had been thrust upon
-him, than to plunge himself into the serious difficulties
-that his adventure would entail. And at
-length, inwardly raging at his own folly, he retraced
-his steps.
-
-As the dining room door opened, Mr. Lambert
-looked up, started to remove his spectacles, and
-then with a start, adjusted them more accurately.
-Paul, who had left his cap and bundle in the hall
-tried to stand in the shadow so that his clothes
-would not be noticed. After a short silence, Mr.
-Lambert preferring to observe nothing extraordinary
-in his nephew’s appearance, folded up his
-spectacles, put them in the breast pocket of his
-frock coat and said, pleasantly,
-
-“Well? What have you decided?”
-
-Paul cleared his throat.
-
-“I have decided—I have decided—” he finished
-by spreading his hands and shrugging his shoulders.
-
-“To undertake your—er—responsibilities?”
-prompted Mr. Lambert, as if he were administering
-an oath.
-
-“To learn how to bake pies,” said Paul, feebly,
-and then mumbling some vague excuse he backed
-out of the room, leaving Mr. Lambert to indulge
-in a short chuckle.
-
-Paul hid himself in the bakeshop until he felt
-reasonably sure that his cousin had gone to bed,
-and then, boots in hand tiptoed shamefacedly up
-to the bedroom, and began to undress in the dark.
-But Carl was not asleep, and after listening to
-Paul’s smothered exclamations as he struggled
-with wet button holes and laces, could not resist
-a polite jibe.
-
-“Oh,” came in interested tones from the bed,
-“where did you go, cousin?”
-
-“For a walk,” replied Paul, laconically, and a
-certain note in his voice warned Carl that it would
-be wiser not to refer to the delicate subject again.
-
-.. File: 087.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-CHAPTER VI—A REBEL IN THE HOUSE
-===============================
-
-“You take a tablespoonful of butter, a pound of
-sugar, half a teaspoonful each of cinnamon and
-all-spice, a pound of raisins, and a cupful of molasses,”
-said Aunt Gertrude timidly, reading from
-the yellowed pages of the century-old book of
-recipes, in which were traced in brown ink, and in
-the quaint, tremulous handwriting of old Johann
-Winkler himself, the secret formulas of the “King
-of Bakers.” Then she closed the book.
-
-“And now, my dear, I have to show you the
-rest.”
-
-Paul submitted to his instructions meekly
-enough but nevertheless his aunt felt singularly at
-a loss with this strange pupil on her hands, and
-she had her own grave doubts as to whether the
-culinary genius of the Winklers really lay dormant
-in him at all.
-
-On that bright, windy afternoon, aunt and
-nephew were closeted in the room off the kitchen,
-which was called the Mixing Room. It was
-here that the book of recipes was kept, and here
-that the bread and cakes were mixed, according
-to the time-honored tradition of secrecy. No
-one had the right of entry without Mrs. Lambert’s
-permission, and that permission was never given
-while she was engaged in preparing her doughs
-and batters. It was a cheerful little room, snug
-and warm, lined with the old, well polished cupboards
-in which the tins of spices and dried fruits
-and crocks of mysterious, delicious mixtures were
-kept safely locked. Seated at the table, was
-plump, rosy, beautiful Aunt Gertrude, full of the
-importance of her business, but a trifle uncertain
-of her six-foot disciple, who, shrouded in a great
-white apron, and with his sleeves rolled up on his
-muscular, brown arms, stood soberly measuring
-out flour and sugar with hands that looked better
-fitted for a lumber camp.
-
-But little by little, as the lessons progressed,
-Paul became less austere; and as he unbent, Aunt
-Gertrude regained her natural jollity; until she
-actually dared to tease him.
-
-“What a frown! You will frighten all my customers
-away,” she said, gaily, peeping up into his
-swarthy face. “You must practice how to look
-very cheerful.”
-
-“Must I? Well, how is this?” And Paul
-promptly expanded his mouth into the empty grin
-of a comic mask. “Only I can’t remember to grin
-while I count out spoonfuls of cinnamon. It’s like
-trying to pat your head and rub your stomach at
-the same time.”
-
-“In a little while you won’t have to think so
-hard while you are measuring your ingredients.
-I do it by instinct,” said Aunt Gertrude, proudly.
-And Paul smiled at her air of naive vanity.
-
-.. File: 089.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“Oh, *you* are a very remarkable person, Aunt
-Gertrude,” he said gravely.
-
-“Tut! You mustn’t laugh at me, you impudent
-boy,” said Mrs. Lambert, shaking her
-head, and pretending to be severe. “You must be
-*very* respectful.” But she was tremendously
-pleased with herself for having discovered a vein
-of gaiety in her unsociable nephew. His slight
-smile, the first spontaneous expression she had
-seen on his face, was like a light thrown across his
-harsh, aquiline features, giving the first glimpse
-that anyone of the family had seen, into the gentler
-traits of his character; and Aunt Gertrude felt
-that she had been right in attributing his abrupt,
-ungracious manner to loneliness and depression.
-
-“Now,” she said briskly, “*I* shall finish this first
-batch, just to show you how it is done, and then
-you must do one all by yourself. How nice it is
-to have you to help me! You can’t think how I
-dislike being shut up in this room for hours every
-day without anyone to talk to.” Indeed, there was
-nothing that Aunt Gertrude disliked more heartily
-than solitude and silence. Like Jane, she
-adored people in general, she loved chat and
-gossip, she loved to hear all that was going on,
-and could never escape too quickly to the shop,
-where all day long the townspeople were running
-in and out, always stopping for a short chat with
-the lively, inquisitive merry proprietress.
-
-“You see, now, you have to knead this dough
-*quite* vigorously,” was her next instruction, and
-turning her sleeves back from her strong, white
-arms, she proceeded to give a demonstration, while
-Paul sat by, with his elbow on the table, resting
-his head on one hand, and smiling at her *very*
-vigorous treatment of the meek, flabby dough.
-
-“You’re certainly giving that poor stuff an
-awful trouncing, Aunt Gertrude. Don’t you think
-you ought to let up a bit?”
-
-“Not at all,” returned Mrs. Lambert, seriously,
-“I never let up, once I begin.”
-
-“What a terrible character you are, Aunt Gertrude!
-Here, do you want me to take a hand
-at it?”
-
-“No, no,” panted Aunt Gertrude. “Now don’t
-interfere. Just *watch* me.” And again she began
-her pummelling with redoubled energy. The exercise
-brought a deep flush to her smooth cheeks;
-a lock of brown hair barely tinged with grey kept
-falling over her forehead, and she kept tucking
-it back with the patience of absent-mindedness.
-
-“You can’t imagine how good these cakes are,
-my dear. They are my very favorites, though I
-know I shouldn’t eat so many myself. I’m afraid
-I’m going to be a very fat old lady.”
-
-“Then we’ll put you in the window as an advertisement.”
-
-Aunt Gertrude thought this a huge joke.
-
-“But what will people think when they see you,
-my dear? We’ll have to get you fatter, too.
-Then people will say, ‘Do you see that fine, stout,
-rosy, cheerful man? Well, once he was as thin
-as a poker. Winkler’s Pastry gave him that lovely
-figure.’”
-
-At the end of twenty minutes she had finished
-kneading and rolling the dough, and with a sigh
-of relief, turned to Paul.
-
-“There now, you see exactly how it is done,
-don’t you?”
-
-But Paul did not answer. With a stub of charcoal
-which he had fished from his pocket, the
-future baker was sketching busily on the smooth
-round top of a flour barrel. Aunt Gertrude’s
-mouth opened in speechless indignation.
-
-“Tut! what are you doing?”
-
-Paul looked up. Then, seeing Mrs. Lambert’s
-face, he began to laugh.
-
-“Well, you told me to watch you, Aunt Gertrude.
-I’ve been watching you. Why are you cross?”
-
-“But is that any way to do?” demanded Mrs.
-Lambert, clasping her hands with a gesture of indignant
-reproach. “Here I’ve been working and
-working, and there you sit, you bad boy—what
-are you drawing?”
-
-Here her curiosity got the better of her annoyance,
-and she peered over his shoulder. The hasty
-sketch, which had been executed with a skill that
-Aunt Gertrude could not fully appreciate, showed
-a woman with her arms in a basin of dough—Aunt
-Gertrude herself, in fact. In arrangement, and
-in the freedom and vigor of every line, the rough
-picture gave evidence of really exceptional talent.
-Aunt Gertrude tried to look like a connoisseur.
-
-.. File: 092.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“Now, that is very clever. Where did you
-learn to make pictures?”
-
-Paul shrugged his shoulders.
-
-“I don’t know.”
-
-Then Aunt Gertrude, suddenly remembering
-the business in hand, put on a severe expression.
-
-“That is all very well; but what have you
-learned to-day from me? Nothing! I have
-wasted my time! Oh, you are—”
-
-“There, Aunt Gertrude,—I know all about
-those old cakes. Please just let me—”
-
-“Old cakes, indeed!”
-
-“Beautiful, wo-onderful cakes, then. Please
-just let me finish this, like a nice good aunt. And
-then, I’ll tell you what—I’ll finish it in colors, and
-I’ll give it to you. You haven’t any idea how
-lovely you are to draw, Aunt Gertrude—you’re so
-nice and round.”
-
-Aunt Gertrude tried not to simper; she was as
-susceptible to flattery as a girl of sixteen, and
-found it impossible to resist even when she knew
-perfectly that she was being cozened.
-
-“What nonsense!” But nonetheless she resumed
-her position at the bowl of dough again,
-and Paul chatted artfully, to distract her thoughts
-from his lesson in cooking, while he hastily completed
-the sketch.
-
-From that afternoon on, there was no longer
-the slightest shadow of constraint between aunt
-and nephew. But Paul was very slow to drop his
-aloof curt manner with the rest of the family,
-and except for Mrs. Lambert and Granny none
-of them had penetrated his shell.
-
-Carl had by no means lost his dislike of his
-cousin, and indeed he was not entirely to blame.
-To begin with he inspired Paul with an uncontrollable
-desire to annoy him, and when he felt like
-it, Paul had a perfect genius for irritating people.
-He had found all the joints in Carl’s armour, and
-he took a thoroughly infuriating delight in probing
-him in every unguarded spot. Every now and
-again, Carl would adopt a peculiar, affected accent
-in his speech, and would use very grand language;
-then Paul would mimic him perfectly gravely, until
-Carl was fairly writhing with suppressed rage.
-Again, Carl was rather given to boasting about himself
-in an indirect way, and Paul would promptly
-cap these little bursts of vanity with some outrageous
-story about *himself*, making himself out
-the hero of some high-flown adventure, and
-modestly describing his own feats of strength
-until Carl, who could not decide whether his
-cousin was serious or slyly making fun of him,
-came at length to the opinion that Paul was the
-most insufferable braggart that ever lived. He
-was particularly vulnerable on this point, because
-he had, secretly, a great admiration of physical
-strength and courage, and Paul’s superiority to him
-in these qualities had much to do with his dislike.
-
-As the weeks went on, the twins were next to
-lose their timidity with their strange cousin. He
-teased them fearfully, and tweaked their yellow
-pig-tails, and told them they looked like a pair of
-little butter balls; but on Saturday nights, while
-Elise read “Ivanhoe” aloud, and the family gathered
-around the big fireplace in the dining room,
-he used to make them the most wonderful paper
-dolls, beautifully drawn and colored, and in the
-greatest variety; mediæval ladies and knights,
-brigands, Italian and Rumanian peasants, and
-hosts of comic ones; until Minie and Lottie finally
-came to regard him as quite the most enchanting
-and remarkable member of the family.
-
-Jane, however, was still neutral; she neither
-liked nor disliked him, and was perfectly indifferent
-as to whether he liked or disliked her.
-
-And meanwhile, under Aunt Gertrude’s guidance,
-he struggled, more manfully than successfully
-with the difficult art of baking cakes and
-bread. It cannot be said that he showed the
-slightest signs of the gift which Mr. Lambert believed
-that Johann Winkler had bequeathed to all
-his descendants; and so far not one of his attempts
-had been fit to go into the shop. His bread was as
-heavy as lead, his rolls were like sticks of dynamite,
-his cakes invariably scorched, or had too
-much baking soda in them.
-
-Notwithstanding the fact that he really tried
-hard to learn, as much to please his aunt as for
-any other reason, and cheerfully rose before daylight
-on those wintry mornings to knead his dough,
-and see that the ovens were properly heated, Mr.
-Lambert chose to believe that his nephew was
-deliberately trying *not* to be successful; and seeing
-in Paul’s repeated failures a sly rebellion against
-his plans, he became more and more out of
-humour with the boy.
-
-“See here, young man, how long is this business
-going to go on?” he demanded at length, losing
-patience altogether. “All of us have got to earn
-our own salt. I’m not a rich man, and I simply
-can’t afford to provide for a big, strapping boy
-who can’t even learn a simple trade—”
-
-“‘A little patience, Uncle—’” quoted Paul
-serenely. Mr. Lambert flushed.
-
-“You are impudent. Patience, indeed. I have
-been patient. But I feel that it is high time that
-you proved yourself in earnest, or at least told
-me frankly whether you intend to make yourself
-of some use or not.”
-
-Paul thought for a moment, then he said slowly,
-
-“Uncle, I *am* trying to learn this confounded
-business. There is no use in getting angry with
-me—it isn’t my fault if I don’t succeed. Ask Aunt
-Gertrude whether I’ve worked hard or not. But
-I don’t want to be a burden to you—you’ve been
-very kind, and I should hate to feel that you think
-I’m simply sponging on you. If you aren’t satisfied
-with me, please just say so.”
-
-“Oh, come now, my boy, there’s nothing to take
-offense about,” said Mr. Lambert hastily, changing
-his tactics immediately. “It merely occurred
-to me that *you* were not satisfied, and to urge you,
-if that is the case, to speak out frankly.”
-
-.. File: 096.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-Paul hesitated. During the last three or four
-weeks he had been repeatedly on the point of coming
-to an understanding with his uncle, and had
-put it off, certain that it would not be an “understanding”
-at all, but simply a good old-fashioned
-row. There was not one chance in a hundred that
-Mr. Lambert could be made to understand his
-ideas or sympathize with them in the least, and
-Paul, financially, as well as in other ways, was too
-helpless to struggle just then. At the same time,
-it had occurred to him, that from one point of
-view, he was not acting fairly. He was ashamed
-of accepting Mr. Lambert’s hospitality when,
-plainly, it was extended to him only on the condition
-that he conformed with Mr. Lambert’s
-wishes, and when he had not the slightest intention
-of fulfilling his uncle’s desires.
-
-“It’s a pretty shabby trick, and cowardly too, to
-live here until I get ready to do what I want, when
-all of them are depending on my being a fixture.
-It would be better to put the whole business up to
-uncle, and stand my ground openly. Then, if he
-wants to kick me out, he can.”
-
-Paul reached this decision in the pause that followed
-Mr. Lambert’s last remark, during which
-his uncle eyed him narrowly.
-
-“I see that you are deliberating,” said Mr. Lambert,
-coldly. “Again let me urge you to be frank.”
-
-“Very well, sir. I will!” declared Paul impetuously.
-“I’ll be telling you very little more than
-I told you when I first came. I can never learn to
-be a baker. You can see that for yourself. And
-what’s more, it isn’t as if I hadn’t tried. I don’t
-want charity, and I thought that if for a while I
-could be of some help to Aunt Gertrude, it might
-be one way of paying for my board and lodging.
-And that’s why—whatever you may think—I’ve
-done my best to learn how to make all this stuff.
-But it’s no use. I never can be a baker, and *I
-don’t want to be a baker*!”
-
-“Ah!” said Mr. Lambert, leaning back in his
-chair. “I thought that was how the land lay.”
-He was silent for a moment, and then, carefully
-plucking a thread from the buttonhole in his
-lapel, he inquired.
-
-“And what *do* you want to be?”
-
-“I want to be—” (“Here’s where the music
-starts,” thought Paul), “I want to be a painter.”
-
-Mr. Lambert looked as if a cannon had suddenly
-been discharged in his ear. For fully thirty
-seconds he was quite speechless; then pulling himself
-together, he articulated,
-
-“A *what*?”
-
-“A painter,” Paul repeated.
-
-“Do you mean a house-painter, or—” here Mr.
-Lambert raised his eyes to the ceiling as if invoking
-the mercy of the gods upon this benighted
-youth, “or an *artist*?”
-
-“I’m afraid I mean an artist, sir.”
-
-“A person who,” Mr. Lambert went through
-a tragic pantomime of painting in the air, “who
-paints *pictures*?”
-
-.. File: 098.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“Yes,” said Paul briefly.
-
-There was a long pause while Mr. Lambert
-struggled to assimilate this preposterous idea. At
-last a tolerant, half-pitying smile spread over his
-features.
-
-“My dear boy, we all have foolish notions in our
-youth. You will get over this nonsense. Meanwhile,
-be so good as never to mention it to me again.”
-And without another word, he left the room.
-
-“Well!” said Paul aloud, “I certainly didn’t
-accomplish much. Where do I stand, anyhow?”
-Again the picture of the cross-roads rose in his
-mind, again the thought of the city.
-
-“Here I am, just because I didn’t have the *nerve*
-to make a break for the other direction,” he
-thought bitterly, recalling his ignominious attempt
-at flight, “because I was afraid of being cold and
-hungry, and now, I’m in a worse fix than I was
-before.” For while he cared very little about his
-uncle’s opinions, he had grown to love his aunt,
-and the thought of disappointing her hopes
-troubled him deeply.
-
-Well, at least his uncle knew his intentions. If
-he did not choose to regard them seriously, that
-was his own affair. Paul decided to let matters
-take their own course for a while.
-
-Now, as a matter of fact, Mr. Lambert considered
-his nephew’s declaration a great deal more
-seriously than he appeared to. He knew just
-enough about people to realize quite clearly that
-there was a good likelihood of Paul’s *not* getting
-over his absurd notions; but he was quite determined
-that they should be suppressed with a firm
-hand. He made no reference whatever to their
-conversation, and continued to act as if Paul’s
-expostulation had never been uttered, but at the
-same time he was keenly alert to note any further
-symptoms that Paul still harbored his outlandish,
-preposterous, ridiculous, and treasonable idea.
-
-It was not long before he discovered that these
-symptoms were very alarming indeed.
-
-One Sunday afternoon early in December, he
-returned from a two days’ trip to Allenboro to
-find his family gathered in the dining room, indulging
-in a general spirit of gaiety, which in Mr.
-Lambert’s opinion was exceedingly out of place on
-the Sabbath. He was strongly persuaded in favor
-of the most rigid observation of Sunday, not as a
-day of rest, but of strenuous inactivity. All out of
-door games were forbidden, any books not of the
-most serious character were sternly prohibited, and
-laughter was frowned upon by the worthy old
-merchant, who ruled his household with a rod of
-iron. Furthermore, he had not accomplished all
-that he had wished at Allenboro, and he was in no
-very genial humour to begin with. What were his
-feelings, therefore, when, appearing in the doorway,
-tall and formidable in his burly overcoat, and
-wide-brimmed black felt hat, he discovered his
-family enjoying themselves in defiance of every
-rule of Sabbath decorum and solemnity.
-
-The twins were popping corn over the fire,
-Granny was *knitting*! While over by the window,
-Elise, Jane and Aunt Gertrude were grouped
-around Paul, all talking at once, and apparently in
-great excitement. What they were talking about,
-and exclaiming over, Mr. Lambert did not know.
-The window shade was run up as far as it would
-go, admitting the wintry twilight, and under the
-window, propped against the back of a chair was
-an object which looked like the top of a flour barrel.
-Paul, evidently in a most unfamiliarly happy and
-animated frame of mind, was talking vivaciously.
-
-“You see, if I only had some decent colors! But
-it’s not so bad, either. What it needs, now—”
-here he broke off abruptly, as Mr. Lambert, with
-a loud, and threatening “Ha-hum!” announced his
-presence.
-
-Everyone turned around with as much consternation,
-as if they had been caught conspiring to rob
-a bank, and blank, guilty silence fell over the room.
-
-“Ah!” said Mr. Lambert. He allowed his displeasure
-to show very plainly in his face, through
-the chilly smile with which he received his wife’s
-timid kiss.
-
-“Elise, will you take my coat?”
-
-“You are cold, Peter. Do get warm, while I
-see about supper,” said Aunt Gertrude hastily.
-
-“But I am anxious to see what it is that interests
-you all so much,” said Mr. Lambert, walking over
-to the window. Paul, with a rather defiant expression,
-stepped aside to allow his uncle a full
-view of the picture.
-
-.. File: 101.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“You have been painting? My dear boy, you
-must know that I cannot allow you to indulge in
-such frivolous pastimes on this day of the week,”
-said Mr. Lambert calmly. “Gertrude, I am surprised
-that you allowed this infringement of our
-rules.” Poor Aunt Gertrude blushed red under
-this reproof, and stammered like a school-girl.
-
-“But, Peter, I didn’t know—you never said—”
-
-Mr. Lambert checked her with a slight gesture;
-then adjusting his glasses, leant forward to inspect
-the painting, while Paul, with his hand on his hip,
-looked dreamily out of the window. Granny, who
-was rather deaf, had been very little disturbed, and
-went on brazenly with her knitting. Elise had
-hastened out to the kitchen to help her mother;
-but Jane, intensely interested in the proceedings,
-stood her ground, looking keenly from Paul’s face
-to her father’s.
-
-“You have been painting your aunt, I see,” remarked
-Mr. Lambert, presently. “It seems to me
-that an occupation more suitable to the Sabbath
-could have been found.” He looked at the picture
-closely. Ignorant as he was of anything concerning
-the fine arts, he felt that the painting was
-far from being merely a school-boyish production;
-and, in fact, the very skill it revealed increased his
-determination to put an end to his nephew’s efforts
-once and for all. He did not overlook the fact
-that in lieu of proper materials Paul had made a
-surprisingly successful use of a piece of raw wood,
-and a few mediocre oil paints—a rather bad sign,
-in Mr. Lambert’s opinion, showing as it did, a
-dangerous tendency to surmount difficulties.
-Moreover, it seemed to him that the whole thing
-showed a stubborn, deliberate disobedience to his
-orders. He was very angry, too angry to act with
-tact and good judgment.
-
-Straightening up, with a flush showing on his
-cheekbones, he said abruptly,
-
-“I thought I had expressed myself clearly to
-you before; but evidently I did not make myself
-understood. I cannot and I will not have you
-wasting your time on this tom-foolery. While you
-are in my house, you must obey my orders implicitly,
-do you understand?”
-
-“You only told me not to—”
-
-“Don’t argue with me, sir! I will not tolerate
-your disrespect! Let it be enough for you that
-I forbid—I *forbid* your idling over this useless
-and childish nonsense.”
-
-Without a word, Paul began to gather together
-his few brushes and tubes of paint, but when he
-started to leave the room with his picture, Mr.
-Lambert stopped him peremptorily.
-
-“Leave those things just where they were,
-please.” Paul did as he was told.
-
-“You’ll throw them out, uncle?”
-
-“Kindly learn to obey without asking questions!”
-
-All that day, Jane had seen her cousin gay, full
-of good spirits, utterly unlike the moody, disagreeable
-boy that he had been for so long; but now the
-old, hard, obdurate expression came into his face.
-
-.. File: 103.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“These things are mine, uncle,” he said, quietly.
-
-“Indeed? The top of that flour barrel?” inquired
-Mr. Lambert, pointing to the picture.
-Paul hesitated for a moment, and then with a
-slight shrug, put it down again on the chair.
-
-“No, that is yours,” he said, and walked out of
-the room.
-
-Mr. Lambert took the picture, looked at it for
-a moment or two, as if uncertain whether it too,
-were guilty of some heinous crime against his
-rule; then, he took it; but instead of breaking it
-in two, placed it quite carefully behind his desk.
-
-Paul did not appear at supper; but Mr. Lambert
-preferred not to notice his absence. Everyone
-was aware that civil war was brewing in the
-household, and with varying degrees of curiosity
-or anxiety, made their private conjectures as to
-what the future would develop in the way of open
-hostilities or amicable compromise between uncle
-and nephew.
-
-It was at about half-past ten that night, that
-Jane, who was rarely in bed at the prescribed time,
-happened to remember that Elise had left “Ivanhoe”
-on the dining room mantel piece; she felt
-also, that an apple or two was just what she
-wanted to subdue a certain mild emptiness. The
-household was perfectly still, and so, taking off
-her slippers, she stole down-stairs in her stocking
-feet, to get her book, and rummage in the larder.
-
-There was still a faint glow of firelight in the
-dining room.
-
-.. File: 104.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-Half-way to the kitchen door she stopped, arrested
-by a movement in the room, and with her
-heart beating violently, peered about her. Then
-she saw that someone was sitting in Granny’s
-chair. For a moment, she could not move a muscle,
-then, mustering up her courage, she quavered,
-
-“Who—who is that?”
-
-The figure in the chair gave a violent start,
-then with a little laugh Paul’s voice said,
-
-“Is that you, Jane?”
-
-“Oh, *Paul*!” Jane gave a great sigh of relief.
-
-“Did I frighten you?” Paul asked, getting up.
-
-“Well, you *startled* me,” said Jane, who had
-always maintained that she was not afraid of
-ghosts or burglars—never having met a sample of
-either. “What are you doing?”
-
-“Nothing,” said Paul. “What are *you* doing?”
-
-“I want some food,” said Jane, succinctly.
-“Do you?”
-
-“I’m not very hungry. What are you going
-to get?”
-
-“Well, if there’s enough wood there to fix up
-the fire a little, I could make some cocoa. It’s
-awfully cold in here.”
-
-Paul picked up a stout log and flung it onto the
-smouldering ashes, and in a few moments, a bright
-flame crackled up, sending its ruddy light into
-every corner of the room.
-
-Everyone is familiar with the exquisite feeling
-of sympathy, which food, produced at just the
-right moment, can excite between the most hostile
-natures, and over their cups of cocoa, Jane and
-Paul, who had never been really hostile, began to
-see each other in a new light. For the first time
-they talked with unguarded friendliness, and
-gradually Paul became more confiding, and Jane
-listened with her usual eager interest.
-
-At first he talked about his life with his father,
-his wanderings, and strange adventures, without
-however, the least exaggeration or the braggadocio
-with which he had teased and disgusted
-Carl. It was not strange that Jane, who had
-never seen any part of the world save the few
-square miles of earth, bounded by the hills of
-Frederickstown, listened to his stories of foreign
-seas and foreign lands as if she were bewitched.
-
-Never before had Paul talked to any of them
-about himself or his past life; loquaciousness on
-any subject was not one of his characteristics and
-concerning his own affairs he had been particularly
-reticent; but now it was as if he could no
-longer smother down all that was pent up within
-him. In the presence of his sympathetic listener,
-his words now fairly tumbled over each other,
-and his face grew tight and weird with earnestness
-and enthusiasm.
-
-At length Jane asked him,
-
-“You don’t want to live here and take over the
-business after all, do you?”
-
-“Ah, Janey, what kind of a baker would I
-make?” responded Paul, smiling half-sadly.
-
-“You want to be an artist?”
-
-.. File: 106.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“Yes. Don’t think that I expected to have
-everything just as I wanted it. Naturally I knew
-that I would have to work here. I have no
-money. You don’t imagine that I expected
-Uncle to plant me comfortably in some art school,
-and support me while I went through years of
-study? I planned, do you see, to work at anything
-that I could make enough to repay Uncle
-for boarding me, and to save a little so that in five
-or six years even, I could manage to study. I
-hadn’t any idea of looking for help to anyone but
-myself, and as a matter of fact, I very nearly went
-on to the city to look for work instead of plumping
-myself on uncle. But I didn’t.—I *did* happen
-to be ‘broke,’ and the city was thirty miles away,
-and then I hoped that uncle would advise me. I
-had no one else to turn to, and it seemed natural
-to come to him. Then, when I got here, I found
-that everything had been arranged for me. What
-I was to do was all mapped out—for my whole
-life—and I hadn’t a word to say about it. And
-what was more, Uncle won’t let me mention having
-plans of my own. And to-day—well, you were
-here—he forbade my even playing with paints,
-‘As long as I am in his house.’ Don’t think that
-I am criticizing him, Janey. No doubt he is doing
-exactly what he thinks is best—but what am I to
-do? Will you tell me that? I’ve been sitting here
-thinking and thinking, and the only answer seems
-to be for me to get up and go.”
-
-Jane was silent.
-
-.. File: 107.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“Oh, I *do* understand uncle’s point of view perfectly.
-I was awfully angry to-day, but I’ve tried
-to look at it reasonably, and I can see why it seems
-like rot to him. Thousands of boys of my age
-have crazy ideas about what they think they want
-to do, and thousands of them think differently as
-soon as they’ve got some sense. And Uncle thinks,
-I guess, that I’ll do the same. If I could only *show*
-him how much it means to me! If I could only
-show him that I’ve got something in me besides a
-lot of high-falutin notions! I *have* tried to learn
-how to bake cakes. But I’ll never learn in this
-world. Even Aunt Gertrude has given up on me,
-and she knows that I haven’t loafed on the job,
-either. I’ve been pummelling dough every day at
-five in the morning for the last six weeks, and still
-not a single roll has turned out decently.
-
-“But Uncle won’t hear of my getting any other
-job, all because of this idiotic tradition about the
-Winklers. I never heard of—” he broke off and
-began to pace up and down the room, while Jane
-sat silently nibbling her thumb-nail.
-
-“Well, what shall I do?” he demanded presently—“*You*
-suggest something Janey, you’re a
-wise little worm.” This sincere, if rather inelegant
-tribute brought a pleased smile to Jane’s face.
-“What would you do if you were in my boots?”
-
-Jane meditated a moment; then she said,
-
-“Well, I wouldn’t get up and go—yet. I’d
-wait and see.”
-
-“Wait and see what?” Paul rapped out a little
-impatiently, and frowning as if this piece of advice
-were not exactly to his taste. But Jane was
-unmoved.
-
-“I’d wait and see—lots of things. First of all,
-you *might* find that you don’t care as much about
-painting pictures as you think you do.” This observation
-surprised and angered Paul, and his face
-showed it. His startled, resentful look said plainly,
-“I thought that *you* understood me!” But Jane
-neither retracted nor explained. “And then,” she
-went on, calmly, “Daddy *might* change his mind a
-little, if you took good care not to make him angry
-about unimportant things—especially about
-squabbling with Carl. And last of all, it’s just
-barely possible that another Winkler *might* turn
-up—you never *can* tell.”
-
-Paul stared at her for fully thirty seconds in
-absolute silence. Then he honored these sage
-remarks with a contemptuous grunt.
-
-“Well, that helps a lot I must say,” he said, sarcastically.
-“If I waited for any one of those things
-to happen, I’d be pounding dough until doomsday!
-Thanks!” and with that he turned away and resumed
-his restless promenade around the room.
-Jane shrugged her shoulders. A rather long and
-chilly pause followed. Paul was disappointed in
-her; but his silent indignation seemed to trouble
-her very little, and after a while, he threw a cold
-glance at her. But she was sitting with her back
-toward him, and so he felt the need of rousing
-her attention in another way.
-
-.. File: 109.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“You think, I may not care about painting as
-much as I think I do?”
-
-“Maybe, maybe not. I said, *I’d* wait and see,”
-returned Jane placidly.
-
-“Humph. And you think Uncle might change
-his mind?”
-
-“He might.”
-
-“And what chance is there of another Winkler
-showing up, I’d like to know? One in ten thousand!”
-
-“It *might* be better than that.” Paul sat down on
-the edge of the table, and glowered at the back of
-her head. Then gradually a slow, unwilling grin
-broke over his face.
-
-“You’re a nice one to preach patience!”
-
-“Oh, I’m quite patient *sometimes*.”
-
-“Well, look here—I’ll wait and see, then. But
-I’ll tell you one thing—if things don’t begin to get
-different pretty soon, I’m off!”
-
-“All right,” said Jane, getting up. Paul stood
-up, too. Then suddenly he held out his hand.
-
-“Listen, Janey—please don’t mind me when I get
-rough and short. You’ve got more sense than I
-have, and I need someone to talk to like the
-dickens.”
-
-“*I’ve* got more sense than *you* have, Paul!” repeated
-Jane, sincerely amazed. “How can you say
-that? Why, you’re the most—the most clever person
-I ever knew in my life!”
-
-Nothing cements friendship like mutual admiration;
-but Jane felt something warmer and better
-than mere admiration, as she put her hand into
-Paul’s big paw; she felt that rare, happy pleasure
-that is stirred in a responsive young soul when it
-is first called upon to give sympathy and help; and
-their firm handclasp sealed a friendship that was to
-last to the end of their lives.
-
-.. File: 111.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-CHAPTER VII—GIRLS
-=================
-
-Half a dozen feminine tongues babbled cheerfully.
-For once the Deacon’s chilly parlor, with
-its slippery, horse-hair furniture, its stiff-featured
-portraits, and its big, black square piano, had lost
-a little of its funereal aspect, and a great deal of
-its oppressive neatness. Over the chairs, over the
-Brussels carpet, over the bow-legged table were
-scattered pieces of bright sateen, blue, red, orange
-and black, scraps of lace and gold tinsel, spangles
-and feathers. A coal fire glowed amiably in the
-grate, adding a deeper color to six blooming faces,
-and flashing on the bright needles that were so industriously
-plied. Outside, the first heavy snow
-of the winter was falling, in big, lazy flakes, which
-had already covered streets and roofs, and
-weighted the twigs and branches of the trees.
-
-“Well, I’ve got every one of my Christmas
-presents ready,” remarked one young lady with a
-comfortable sigh of relief. “I start making them
-in June, but somehow I never get done until the
-*last* minute.”
-
-“I just never try to make mine,” said another,
-“I take a day, and buy all of them in the city, when
-I go to visit Cousin Mary. It saves time and
-trouble, and *I* think it’s really more economical.”
-
-“Oh, but then they don’t have the personal
-touch,” said a third, a tall, thin anæmic-looking
-girl, with large, soulful eyes, and a tiny mouth.
-“And that is what counts. It’s what makes
-Christmas presents mean something. I always
-say that I never think of the gift, but of the
-thought of the giver.”
-
-“But you make such clever things, Amelia,”
-said the one who bought her Christmas presents,
-feeling ashamed of her lack of sentiment.
-
-“Very simple things, Dolly,” said Amelia,
-rinsing off her watercolor brush, and then dabbing
-it in a square of holly-red paint. “But I think
-that just a little card, with a tasteful design, and
-an appropriate verse is a very suitable way of
-expressing the spirit of Christmas.”
-
-“And quite right, my dear,” boomed in Mrs.
-Deacon, appearing in the doorway. “But then
-you have such a charming gift of poesy. Not all
-of us are blessed with *your* magniloquence.” She
-lifted one of Amelia’s cards, and inspected it,
-through a pair of lorgnettes, which she held about
-six inches from her eyes, spreading out her little
-finger. “*How* charming! How effete with taste!
-Lily, my dear, you too should try to emulate
-Amelia’s Christmastide mementos. You are not
-entirely devoid of poetic genius. Why, I have
-many little emblems of your youthful flights of
-fancy—where is that album, my dear?”
-
-.. File: 113.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“Oh, mamma!” cried Lily, blushing crimson.
-“Those silly poems of mine!”
-
-“Indeed they are not silly,” said Mrs. Deacon,
-rummaging in the drawer of the table. “No, the
-album is not here. Lily, my dear, when will you
-remember that everything has its proper place?
-Now, I did want to read Amelia that delightful
-little Bandeau of yours on the Pine-Tree. She
-would be interested, I’m sure. And the Album
-is not here. Perhaps though, I put it away
-myself.”
-
-“Oh, mamma, don’t get it now,” begged Lily,
-overcome with embarrassment, adding, desperately,
-“Do look at the lovely thing Elise is making.”
-
-Mrs. Deacon, huge and majestic in her rustling
-black silk, turned her lorgnette on Elise’s exquisite
-embroidery.
-
-“Charming. Absolutely charming. Do not rise,
-my dear. Well, I see that you are all happily occupied.
-What are these gay colors?” she asked
-presently, indicating the pieces of sateen.
-
-“Oh, I brought some things that I thought might
-do for costumes, Mrs. Deacon,” said Annie Lee
-Webster. “For our party you know, on New
-Year’s Eve.”
-
-“Ah! A Masquerade? How charming.”
-
-“What are you going as, Amelia?” asked the
-fourth girl, the lively, apple-cheeked Dolly Webster.
-The poetess looked up dreamily.
-
-“As Sappho,” she replied. Mrs. Deacon looked
-astonished, and interested.
-
-.. File: 114.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“Sappho, my dear? How will you do that?
-Sappho was a race-horse!”
-
-There was an irrepressible chuckle from the window
-embrasure, where, concealed by the long, dark-red
-curtains, Jane was curled, with a book, and a
-half-sucked orange.
-
-Mrs. Deacon turned swiftly, her lorgnette levelled
-on the younger Miss Lambert like a microscope.
-
-“Ah, Jane!” she observed a little coldly. Jane
-stood up respectfully, concealing her vulgar orange
-under her pinafore. “What are you laughing at,
-my dear?” asked Mrs. Deacon suspiciously.
-
-“I thought it would be funny for Amelia to go as
-a race-horse,” replied Jane, simply, quite at her ease
-under Mrs. Deacon’s prolonged stare. Amelia, who
-took herself very seriously, and hated to appear in a
-ridiculous light even for a moment, said rather indignantly,
-
-“A race-horse! Sappho was a poetess.”
-
-“Ah, of course!” said Mrs. Deacon hastily,
-“that will be charming. And *so* well chosen.
-How will you signify yourself?”
-
-“I am going to wear a simple Grecian robe of
-white muslin, with laurel leaves in my hair. And
-I shall carry a lyre,” replied Amelia. “I thought
-I would let my hair hang loose.”
-
-“Ravishing! Simply ravishing!” cried Mrs. Deacon
-in perfect raptures. “So simple. And after
-all, is there anything like simplicity?”
-
-“How will you get a lyre?” asked the practical
-Annie Lee.
-
-.. File: 115.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“I shall try to make one out of card-board and
-gold paper.”
-
-“Or you could borrow old Mr. Poindexter’s
-banjo,” suggested Jane, gravely. “That would
-really be better, because you *could* twang on it.”
-
-Amelia did not deign to reply to this remark.
-
-“What are you going to wear, Lily?” Elise put
-in hurriedly, throwing a reproving look at Jane.
-
-Lily glanced at her mother.
-
-“I wish I could go as—as a Spanish dancer!”
-she said timidly.
-
-“A Spanish dancer, Lily!” cried Mrs. Deacon.
-“Indeed I could not permit anything of the sort!
-No. But it seems to me that it would be very delightful
-if you should affect a character very similar
-to Amelia’s. Why would it not be sweet for you
-to go together as the Two Muses, the one fair, the
-other brunette, representing, as it were, the poetical
-talent of Frederickstown? I would suggest, too,
-that each of you recite some little poem of her own
-composition. Lily, I must find that album.” And
-with this, Mrs. Deacon hastened from the room.
-
-Lily looked distressed. She was terribly shy,
-and the thought of having her poor little verses
-publicly read and appraised, dyed her smooth
-face, with one of her frequent blushes.
-
-“I *would* like to go as a Spanish Dancer,
-though,” she said, presently, biting off a thread
-with her little white teeth, “I don’t know why, but
-I do. I’d like to wear a comb in my hair, and a
-black fan, and *scarlet heels*!”
-
-.. File: 116.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“You’d look lovely. I’m sure if you beg hard,
-your mother would let you,” wheedled Annie Lee.
-Lily shook her head.
-
-“I don’t think so. And I’m afraid mamma
-thinks its awfully bold of me even to think of such
-a thing.”
-
-“There’s nothing bold about a Spanish dancer.
-Just dashing,” said Dolly.
-
-“But Lily isn’t at all dashing,” remarked Amelia.
-
-“I want to be, though,” said Lily suddenly. “I’d
-like to be very, very dashing just for once in my
-life. I want to know what it feels like. I’m sick of
-being demure and lady-like. Yes, I am! And I want
-to wear a comb in my hair and scarlet heels.” The
-color rose in her cheeks, and her blue eyes shone
-with a rebellious light. “I—I want to—to *flirt*!”
-
-“Lily!” cried Amelia, in pained astonishment,
-“why, whatever is the matter with you? You want
-to *flirt*? Why, I never heard of such a thing.
-You, of all people! Why, flirting is beneath you!”
-
-“Oh, no, it’s not!” returned Lily, audaciously.
-“Do you think it’s beneath *you*?”
-
-“Of course it’s beneath Amelia,” interrupted
-Dolly, whose brown eyes were twinkling, “Amelia’s
-too intellectual to care about anything like
-that, aren’t you?”
-
-Amelia hesitated.
-
-“I think that flirting is very trivial,” she said at
-length, in her superior way, “and no flirt ever wins
-a man’s solid respect. My brother-in-law says that
-every man really cares more about good sense, even
-though he may show a passing interest in frivolous
-people.”
-
-“I don’t care what your brother-in-law thinks,”
-returned Lily, with a spirit that astounded her
-friends. “*I* feel like flirting. I’m tired of being
-sensible. I want to be gay, and—and *dangerous*.”
-
-“Amelia, you make me weary,” said Dolly; “you
-pretend you aren’t the least bit interested in beaux,
-but I know that you pose as being intellectual, just
-to—well, because you think it’s one way of attracting
-’em! And why are you going as Sappho if it isn’t
-to show off your long hair?”
-
-A titter of mirth greeted this observation, which
-struck everyone but Amelia as being remarkably
-astute.
-
-“Come on, Lily—let’s just see how you *would*
-look in a Spanish costume,” coaxed Annie Lee.
-“We can use this yellow stuff for a skirt. Has
-anybody got a black lace scarf and a comb?”
-
-“I have,” said Lily, herself. “I got them about
-four years ago and I’ve had them hidden in my
-lowest bureau drawer ever since. I knew I never
-could use them, but I couldn’t resist them. I—I
-put them on sometimes when I’m alone, just to see
-what I look like. Aren’t I silly?”
-
-“Go and get them,” commanded Annie Lee. But
-at that moment, Mrs. Deacon reappeared.
-
-“Now here is the album,” she announced. “I
-just want to read you these few little things that
-I think perfectly dear, Amelia. You with your
-veins of poesy will appreciate them.”
-
-“Oh, mamma, *please*,” implored the hapless Lily,
-turning red as fire. “Don’t! They are so *awful*!”
-
-“You are so modest, Lily. Now, here is a little
-thing that Lily wrote when she was only fifteen,
-Amelia. It’s called The Pinetree.” And with a
-preparatory “Ahem!” Mrs. Deacon proceeded to
-read amidst a profound silence,
-
- “The Pinetree stood lonely and bare,
- In the ghastly—no, ghostly, white light of the moon,
- And I wondered why it made me
- Feel so very full of gloom.
- It made me think of all the friends,
- Whom—Lily, dear what is this next word?”
-
-But Lily had fled. “That child is perfectly ridiculous,”
-said Mrs. Deacon, with annoyance. “Now,
-I think these little things are full of poetic feeling.
-So melancholy, you know. Lily was quite a melancholy
-child. Just look over some of these little
-things, Amelia, and tell me, if you don’t think they
-are sweet. Read the one beginning,
-
- “Alone, alone, why am I so alone?”
-
-Just as this point the clock struck four, followed
-by the low chimes from the belfry of the nearby
-church, and Mrs. Deacon suddenly remembered
-that she was due at a committee meeting at four-fifteen.
-
-Lily was persuaded to return, and the unfortunate
-subject of her “poesy” was tactfully abandoned, and
-now that Mrs. Deacon’s overwhelming
-presence was withdrawn, the discussion of
-scarf and scarlet heels was renewed.
-
-“We’ll dress you up, anyway. And I’m sure
-that when she sees you Mrs. Deacon will let you
-have your way,” said Annie Lee. “Get all your
-things, and *I’ll* direct.”
-
-Jane, from the window embrasure, watched the
-proceedings with a critical eye. Of all the older
-girls of the town—in fact of all the girls in general,—the
-gentle Lily was her favorite. There
-was not an atom of heroine-worship in her attitude;
-on the contrary, she felt almost older than
-Lily in many ways, notwithstanding the four years
-difference in their ages; and she felt rather sorry
-for Lily, without exactly knowing why. Jane, so
-capable herself of getting what she wanted, had
-the tendency of many vigorous natures, to feel a
-certain good-natured, wondering contempt for
-weaker and timid characters; but there was something
-about Lily’s weakness and timidity that was
-so perfectly in keeping with her delicately lovely
-face, with her daintiness and maidenliness, that it
-was really one of her charms, a beauty in itself.
-
-With a sort of benevolent smile Jane observed
-Lily’s face color with naive pleasure, as she saw
-her ambition to appear “dashing and dangerous”
-gradually being realized under Annie Lee’s skillful
-manipulation of the very simple materials at hand.
-
-In less than half an hour, the heavy, mahogany-framed
-mirror, reflected the gayest vision that had
-ever peered into its mottled surface. Jane
-clapped her hands delightedly.
-
-“*Now* don’t you like yourself!” she crowed.
-Annie Lee sat back on her heels, thoroughly satisfied
-with her achievement. And well she might be.
-The vivid yellow skirt, which looked almost exactly
-like real satin, had been judiciously shortened to
-show the prettiest ankles in Frederickstown, clad
-in a pair of black silk stockings with scarlet clocks!—another
-of Lily’s hidden treasures. The black
-lace scarf, draped like a mantilla over the high tortoise-shell
-comb, fell over Lily’s slender white
-shoulders, and framing her face, made her skin
-seem more transparent, her hair blacker, her eyes
-bluer, and her mouth redder than before. Mrs.
-Deacon’s spangled black fan had been boldly rifled
-from her bureau drawer, and from the humble
-duty of stirring the listless air in church on a summer
-morning, had been promoted to that of fluttering
-coquettishly in Lily’s hand.
-
-“If you must have scarlet heels,” said Annie
-Lee, “you can tear the satin off the heels of your
-black slippers and paint the wooden part red.”
-
-“You *do* look perfectly scrumptious, Lily,” said
-Dolly; “there isn’t a thing wrong, and you’ve
-simply got to wear that costume.”
-
-Lily, with her closed fan laid against her lips,
-gazed into the mirror, as if uncertain that the reflection
-that gazed back were really she, herself.
-
-“I wish—” she began, and then broke off with
-a shame-faced, confused little smile.
-
-.. File: 121.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-Just then, Jane, who happened to glance out of
-the window to see how deep the snow was getting,
-remarked,
-
-“There goes Mr. Sheridan. I wonder what on
-earth—”
-
-“Where?” cried a chorus of voices in great excitement,
-and instantly every girl was at the window
-peering over each other’s shoulders, and fairly bursting
-with curiosity to see the eccentric young man,
-whose habits had for several weeks been the subject
-of much speculation in that busybody little town.
-Even Amelia forgot her dignity and scrambled to
-see him. Lily, only, tried to appear indifferent, but
-without complete success; for after a moment’s
-hesitation, she too was peeping out from behind the
-substantial Dolly.
-
-The object of this flattering interest was sauntering
-along with his hands in his pockets, and his
-head bent; but presently, as if he felt the magnetism
-of all this concentrated attention, he looked up to
-the window. His expression of surprise,—even
-of indignation, as if he resented this notice from
-the “feminine element”—was almost instantly replaced
-by one of alertness. Jane beamed at him,
-and waved her hand, and he smiled back at her and
-lifted his hat; but, in that brief second—and Jane
-did not fail to note this—his eye travelled swiftly
-over the cluster of pretty faces, and with remarkable
-keenness, singled out Lily’s, and again he lifted
-his hat, and bowed slightly.
-
-Jane turned quickly to see Lily blushing pink,
-and with an answering smile just fading from her
-eyes.
-
-“Do *you* know him too?” she demanded. Lily
-pretended not to hear. Shrinking back, and pursing
-up her lips, she said primly,
-
-“Aren’t you all ashamed of yourselves—rushing
-to stare at a stranger like that, and letting him see
-you, too?”
-
-“I’d like to know why I shouldn’t,” said Annie
-Lee. “Anyone who is as queer as he is, deserves
-to be stared at.”
-
-“What’s queer about him?” cried Lily, quite indignantly.
-
-“Well, he never goes anywhere, and never sees
-anyone, and lives all alone in that big house. You
-may not call that queer, but *I* do.” returned Annie
-Lee.
-
-“And he’s *so* handsome,” murmured Dolly, sentimentally.
-“I’m sure he’s had some unhappy love-affair.”
-
-“Pooh!” said Jane, who was not romantic, “he’s
-no more heart-broken than I am.”
-
-“You know very little, as yet, concerning the
-secret sorrows that many people hide,” said Amelia.
-
-“When they hide them that’s one thing,” retorted
-Jane, “but he advertises his like a breakfast food.”
-Then once more she turned on Lily, remorselessly,
-“Do *you* know him, too, Miss Lily?” she repeated.
-
-“I? Why, n-no,” said Lily, pretending to be
-studying her own dimpled chin in the mirror.
-
-.. File: 123.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“He bowed to you,” insisted Jane.
-
-“To me? Why, he didn’t do anything of the
-sort!”
-
-“Lily Deacon!” cried Dolly, “you know very
-well he did! Any why are you blushing?”
-
-“I’m not blushing. I don’t know him. How
-could that be? I-I only—”
-
-“You only what?”
-
-“Why, nothing!”
-
-“Lily, you’re concealing something!” cried
-Annie Lee.
-
-“Oh, I’m not. Don’t be so silly. It isn’t anything
-at all. Only last Thursday, when I was
-coming home from Mrs. McTavish’s I happened
-to take a short cut through the field there, and that
-hateful dog that belongs to Mr. Jenkins started to
-run after me, barking and growling the way he
-always does. I got over the stile, but he crawled
-under the fence, and followed me again. And I
-started to run, and he ran after me, and jumped
-up at me and frightened me to death. And Mr.
-Sheridan happened to be coming through the field.
-And he caught the dog, and told me I was a silly
-to run. And that’s all.”
-
-“My *dear*!” breathed Dolly, “and is that all he
-said?”
-
-“Oh, he just asked me if I was afraid of dogs,
-and I said only of some. And he said he liked
-them, they were so intelligent. And—and then I
-said I hated cats, and he said he did too; and
-asked me if I liked horses—”
-
-.. File: 124.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“How long did this keep up?” inquired Annie
-Lee.
-
-“There are lots of animals,” said Jane. “Did
-you find out how he liked cows and pigs and ducks
-and porcupines—”
-
-“I think you are all mean to laugh!” cried Lily
-indignantly. “It was perfectly natural to say
-*something*. And he was very nice and polite.”
-
-“And what was the dog doing meanwhile?”
-
-“The dog? What dog? Oh—I guess it must
-have gone home.”
-
-“Well!” said Amelia, “I must say, Lily, that I
-think it would have been quite enough if you had
-simply thanked him, and gone on your way. And
-*I* think that Mr. Sheridan should hardly have
-asked you if you liked dogs when he had never
-been introduced to you.”
-
-Lily, who was easily crushed, hung her head at
-this reproof, and did not attempt to defend herself.
-Now that she thought of it in the light that Amelia’s
-words threw on it, it seemed nothing short of
-shocking that she had spoken in such a familiar
-vein with a young man to whom she had never been
-introduced. Why had she said anything about it?
-Now, it was all spoiled, that innocent little episode,
-which had given her so much pleasure just to think
-about. Jane, however, quickly came to her defense.
-
-“How silly! I don’t think anyone but a prig
-would be as proper as all that.”
-
-“Jane!” remonstrated Elise, “that isn’t a very
-nice thing to say.”
-
-.. File: 125.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“How do *you* happen to know him Janey?” asked
-Annie Lee.
-
-“Oh, I called on him,” replied Jane, nonchalantly.
-
-“*Called* on him!”
-
-“Well, I thought someone ought to see what he
-was like. And he was very nice. What I’ve been
-wondering is what he does with himself all the time.
-He says he wants solitude, and that he doesn’t want
-to have to see any people, but I think that’s all nonsense.
-*I* think he’s bored to death with himself.”
-
-“Do you know what?” said Annie Lee, “I’m
-going to ask mother to invite him to our party. If
-he doesn’t want to he doesn’t have to come; but
-everyone else in Frederickstown *is* invited, and its
-all so informal and everything, I don’t see why we
-shouldn’t ask him too. It would be perfectly all
-right, because I think father knows him. I *know*
-father used to know Major Sheridan, because I’ve
-heard him talk about when they were in the Spanish
-American war.”
-
-This idea became popular immediately. Even
-Amelia had no objections to make, and was in fact
-already making certain mental improvements on
-the costume she had planned.
-
-But Lily was silent. Amelia’s criticism of her
-behavior had wounded her to the quick, and with
-a sober face she began quietly to take off her finery,
-as if some of the fascination had evaporated from
-that dashing Spanish comb, and even from the
-thought of scarlet heels.
-
-.. File: 126.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-CHAPTER VIII—JANE LENDS A HAND
-==============================
-
-Mr. Sheridan, like Achilles, had been sulking
-for a remarkably long time. It is true that some
-men and women are able to nurse a grievance for
-life; but Mr. Sheridan was too young, and too
-healthy not to find himself, at the end of some
-eight weeks, thoroughly bored, restless and dissatisfied
-with himself. He was not ready to admit
-this yet, however. He believed that he had proved
-conclusively that it was in every way the wisest thing
-to withdraw in lofty disgust from the arena of human
-affairs, and while his present course of life had
-the charm of novelty, he was unwilling to admit
-that he was possibly mistaken. For a time he rather
-enjoyed the rôle of the misanthrope, and cynic.
-But it was not his natural character, by any means,
-and notwithstanding the fact that he *believed* that
-he did not want to have anything to do with anyone,
-he found his new rôle exceedingly tiresome to
-play day in and day out without an audience. Peterson,
-who was as bored as he, and who could
-not understand “what had gotten into Mr. Tim,”
-was sour and unsympathetic; and finding the need
-of someone as confidant, absolutely imperative, the
-embittered recluse of five-and-twenty, resorted to
-writing long letters to his one-time boon companion,
-Philip Blackstone, in which he poured forth
-his uncomplimentary opinions of human nature,
-gave lengthy descriptions of his states of mind, and
-accounts of his mode of living. Phil, a hearty young
-man, who loved horses and dogs, who was quite
-helpless without his friends, and hated writing letters,
-responded tersely enough, inquiring what was
-the matter with him anyway. The correspondence
-died out. Mr. Sheridan tried to devote himself to
-books, but the long, unbroken hours of silence in
-the musty old library depressed him terribly. He
-took long walks, and long rides for exercise, but
-his own thoughts were dull company. He rode
-through the woods and the idle, untilled fields of
-his own estate, and was struck by the contrast between
-his own barren, unkempt lands with the thriving
-farms of his neighbors. It occurred to him to
-go in for farming in the spring, to plant corn
-and wheat, and to get cows and horses, to build
-barns and paddocks, and to rent out part of his land
-to some of the thrifty, shrewd young farmers, the
-newly married ones. The idea delighted him; he
-wanted to talk about it, to get the opinions of some
-of the intelligent land-owners of the neighborhood,
-and to air his own notions. But gradually his enthusiasm
-waned again. He was getting lazy and
-listless. Every effort seemed useless to him. He
-began to feel very much abused because no one was
-interested in him. Miss Abbott had treated him
-very badly, even Peterson was as cross with him as
-the old servant’s good manners would allow, Phil
-scolded him in his short dry letters, and finally had
-stopped writing altogether, and that bright little
-red-headed girl had never come to see him again.
-When he walked through the town he felt abused
-because everyone seemed to be having a better time
-than he. They all knew each other; the women
-stopped to chat on their way to market, the men
-talked local politics and business in the doorways
-of the warehouses; when he passed they touched
-their hats respectfully, and stared after him curiously,
-as if he were something that had dropped
-from another planet. He was in a chronically bad
-humor. That the world in general had taken
-him at his word, and left him entirely alone
-put him still more at odds with it, and the fact that
-he knew he was living idly and uselessly put him
-at odds with himself. If he had stopped to consider,
-he would have discovered very quickly that
-he was not heart-broken as he imagined at all; he
-was simply angry. He tried to excuse himself
-for his aimless existence by arguing that no one
-cared what he did, and that it was impossible for a
-man to keep up his enthusiasm about anything when
-there was no one to please but himself. He told
-himself that everything was the fault of the heartless
-Miss Abbott; but as a matter of fact if he
-thought a great deal about Miss Abbott’s unkind
-treatment, he thought surprisingly little about Miss
-Abbott herself. He was quite shocked one day to
-discover how blurred her very features had become
-in his memory. A lot of fair, curly hair—which
-somehow changed to smooth black tresses when he
-tried to represent it in his fancy—a rosy, coquettish
-face, and the arch, self-confident smile of a girl
-who had begun to learn when she was less than sixteen
-that she was beautiful and irresistible. But
-all the features of that pretty, imperious face were
-indistinct, and when he tried to picture it very
-clearly, he found to his dismay and amazement that
-he wasn’t thinking of *that* face at all. Another one
-had replaced it, a shy, demure little face, the features
-of which were very distinct indeed, so distinct
-that he could not doubt for a moment to whom it
-belonged. This was rather an alarming discovery
-to be made by a young man who had definitely decided
-that all women were henceforth to be indignantly
-and strictly avoided. And it was with dismay
-that he found himself repeatedly thinking about
-a certain brief accidental conversation that he had
-had with the timid, black-haired maiden in the field.
-
-“Dogs are so intelligent,”—and then they had
-spoken of the relative intelligence of cats. Not a
-very brilliant conversation, certainly, and it piqued
-him a little to think that he had not been able to
-say something more interesting and original; yet
-the girl had listened as intently as if every word
-he had uttered was a mine of wisdom.
-
-On the other hand, it was certainly quite possible
-that *all* girls were not as treacherous as the beautiful
-Miss Abbott. Here he pulled himself up short, and
-displeased at his own weakness, firmly resolved not
-to waste another thought on Lily. It was all the
-fault of that little red-headed Jane, who had popped
-in on his solitude, and roused his interest in Lily
-Deacon by flattering his vanity.
-
-One morning, early in Christmas week, Peterson
-brought him a note. Mrs. Webster had couched
-her invitation in the ceremonious, courtly style of
-her generation, reminding him of the friendship
-that had existed between her husband and his uncle,
-and expressing her hope that he would give them
-the pleasure of his company on New Year’s Eve.
-
-After the gloomiest Christmas that he had ever
-spent in his life, Mr. Sheridan’s determination to
-avoid human society wavered feebly under this hospitable
-attack; and after five or ten minutes reflection,
-this hardened misanthropist sat down, and accepted
-Mrs. Webster’s invitation in a tone that
-fairly overflowed with gratitude.
-
-On New Year’s Eve there was a full moon, a
-huge, silver-white disk that flooded the whole sky
-with light, riding high above the happy, festive little
-town. New fallen snow glistened on the roofs,
-lined the black branches of the trees, and flew up
-in a sparkling mist from the swift runners of the
-sleighs.
-
-All Frederickstown was bound for the Webster’s
-big farm. The streets were filled with the sounds
-of laughter, shouts, jovial singing, and the jingling
-of sleigh-bells. One horse sleighs and two horse
-sleighs, old ones with the straw coming through the
-worn felt covering of the seats, and new ones shining
-with red paint and polished brass, all were
-crowded with holiday-makers. All the younger
-people, and even many of the older ones were in
-masquerade, under their burly overcoats and mufflers,
-and vast entertainment was derived from trying
-to guess who was who, as one sleigh passed another,
-the occupants waving and shouting. And it
-was amusing to see that of the older people, it was
-usually the most serious and sedate who wore the
-most comic disguises, and the most grotesque
-masks; evidently bent upon showing for once in the
-year that they too had not forgotten how to frolic.
-There was old Mr. Pyncheon, with green pantaloons
-appearing from beneath his great bearskin coat, and
-a huge red false nose hiding his own thin, impressive
-eagle’s beak; there was grave, bearded Professor
-Dodge with red Mephistophelean tights on his
-lean nobby limbs, spryly tucking Miss Clementina
-into his little single-seated sleigh. (Miss Clementina,
-aged fifty-two, was representing “Spring,” in
-pink tartalan with yards of green cotton vine leaves,
-and bunches of pink cotton roses garlanding her
-spare, bony little figure, though at present this delightfully
-symbolical costume was hidden under piles
-of cosy-jackets, mufflers, veils and cloaks.) And
-lastly, there was Mr. Lambert himself, representing
-a mediæval astrologer, with a black sateen robe ornamented
-with silver-paper stars and crescents, a
-long white beard held in place with black tape, and
-a great pointed cap nearly a yard high. The entire
-Lambert family, by no means excluding either
-Granny or the twins was packed into the big three-seated
-sleigh. Mr. Lambert mounted in front, with
-Aunt Gertrude beside him, and Minie between them,
-snapped his whip in a positively dashing fashion, and
-off lumbered the two fat old horses. Sledges flew
-out from the side lanes, joining the lively procession,
-and of course there were races and near accidents,
-and once indeed the Todd’s sleigh overturned into
-a big drift depositing most of its occupants head
-downwards into the snow.
-
-“There’s Miss Lily, right in front of us!” cried
-Jane, “and I do believe that she’s wearing her Spanish
-costume after all!”
-
-The Deacons, mother and daughter, were in fact
-being driven along by old Mr. Buchanan, who had
-gallantly placed its sleigh at the service of the two
-ladies. At the same time, to judge from Mrs. Deacon’s
-face, there seemed to be some reason for uneasiness
-in the chesterfieldian old man’s very zeal.
-He was an ardent, if not an exactly comfortable
-driver; he shouted to his horses and the two lean,
-shaggy animals alternately stopped short, and leapt
-forward with terrific suddenness and speed; and at
-each jolt, Mrs. Deacon groaned in suppressed alarm.
-She had begun to suspect that her escort had already
-been celebrating the coming New Year, and,
-indeed, it was not unlikely; for the poor old bachelor
-was as noted for his convivial temperament
-as for his gallantry.
-
-“Pray, Mr. Buchanan, would it not be as well to
-drive less rapidly?” suggested Mrs. Deacon, as casually
-as she could. But Mr. Buchanan would not
-hear of this; he felt that she hinted at a veiled doubt
-as to his ability for managing his fiery steeds.
-
-“Have no fears, ma’am. You may place entire
-confidence in me, ma’am. I may seem reckless—and
-there’s dash of the old Harry in my nature, I
-won’t deny—but there ain’t a man in Frederickstown,
-I may say in the whole *county*, ma’am, as understands
-this team of horses like me. Why I was drivin’
-this here Jerry and Tom afore you was born,
-Miss—er—ma’am;—it’s the living truth. Why,
-they are like my own children—they love me, and
-I l-o-ove them, like they was my own brothers!”
-And the tenderness of his emotion so wrought upon
-Mr. Buchanan’s spirit, that large tears stood in his
-childish blue eyes. It cannot be said that even these
-assurances calmed Mrs. Deacon’s fears; but if to her
-that five mile drive was a thing of sudden alarms
-and constant terrors, to Lily it was an unmixed delight.
-It was not often that Lily was able to take
-part in the various merry-makings of the town;
-there always seemed to be so many other things
-for her to do, and she was far oftener spending her
-hours in company with her mother’s serious-minded
-friends than with the lively boys and girls of her
-own age. She attended innumerable meetings of the
-Ladies’ Civic Uplift Society, she made innumerable
-red flannel petticoats with feather-stitched hems for
-little heathen girls, she prepared innumerable sandwiches
-for various parish entertainments, she made
-innumerable calls on fretful invalids; but she did not
-very often find a chance to have simply a good time.
-
-Now, snuggling down into a corner of the rickety
-old sleigh, with the musty moth-eaten old bearskin
-robe pulled up to her chin, she sat lost in complete
-rapture. The fresh, cold air, stinging her cheeks,
-the brilliant moon, the sweetly dissonant jingling of
-the sleigh-bells, and the scraps of singing carrying
-back from the jolly groups ahead of her, the wide,
-free stretches of snow-covered fields, glistening under
-moonlight so bright that one could detect a rabbit
-track across their smooth expanse—all filled her
-with unutterable delight. She was very glad that
-she hadn’t gone with any of the others; then she
-would have had to talk, and she wasn’t ready to talk
-yet. It was too nice just to be able to sit still, and
-enjoy it all, and think. Her thoughts must have
-been pleasant ones. Pleasant? That is not the
-word, but then there is no word that can describe
-the timid, bold, incoherent, romantic and beautifully
-absurd thoughts of an eighteen-year old girl. It
-is enough to say that her shining eyes were filled
-with them, that the dimples came, and that when she
-smiled to herself, she bent her head so that no one
-would be able to see that smile, and perhaps read
-its meaning.
-
-Mrs. Deacon had been persuaded to permit the
-Spanish costume, and under her scarfs and furs,
-Lily was very dashing indeed, with the high comb,
-and the clocked stockings, the spangled fan, and
-the scarlet heels. And she pictured herself naïvely
-as the belle of the ball; yes, all the young men should
-besiege her—but she didn’t care about that in itself.
-What she longed for was to appear fascinating
-and irresistible, just so that—well, just so that,
-*he* could see. Dolly had told her that he would be
-there. Would he recognize her? Would he dance
-with her? Well, it might be this way; he would
-see her of course, but she would pretend not to see
-him, and he would think that she had forgotten all
-about him. Then perhaps he might ask someone
-to present him, but still she would pretend to have
-forgotten all about that day in the field; then he
-would ask her to dance with him; but already someone
-would have claimed that dance. Then—what
-if he did not ask her again? Suppose he should
-just bow, and go away. There was a possibility.
-
-“What a silly girl I am!” thought Lily, unconsciously
-shaking her head. Just then she was flung
-violently to one side, her mother half tumbling upon
-her. At breakneck speed, and with a great flourish
-of his whip, Mr. Buchanan had just negotiated the
-abrupt and difficult turn into the gate of the Webster’s
-farm.
-
-Once past the gate, a long and rather narrow road
-descended gradually between two snake-fences to the
-hollow where the big, rambling, comfortable old
-homestead stood. The road leading from the house
-to the barn was illuminated with colored lanterns,
-which threw weird tints over the faces of the masqueraders
-as they sped past.
-
-Already a dozen sleighs had emptied on the
-wooden platform in front of the big sliding doors;
-already the huge room, with its high ceiling crossed
-by solid rafters, was half full of people. It was
-gaily decorated. Ropes of cedar entwined the rafters,
-branches of holly were tacked to the walls, colored
-lanterns, with sly sprays of mistletoe hanging
-from them, dangled from the ceiling. A huge fire
-blazed in a great brick fireplace, in front of which
-the older men had collected to drink a toast with
-Mr. Webster. And up in the erstwhile hayloft,
-which now did duty as a sort of musicians’ gallery, a
-negro band was already playing “Old Uncle Ned,”
-with such irresistible liveliness that many dancers
-had begun to spin about the floor without having
-paused to take off their heavy wraps.
-
-For a New Year’s party at the Websters to be
-anything but jolly,—superlatively merry—was an
-unheard of thing. Indeed it could not have been
-otherwise. Theirs was quite the merriest family in
-the world. To see the four big boys, with their irresistible
-grins, and the two rosy-cheeked bright-eyed
-girls, and Mrs. Webster, a dignified-looking
-woman, with a pair of twinkling eyes, and a lively
-tongue, and old Mr. Webster, rotund and ruddy, was
-sufficient to dispose the most melancholy soul in the
-world to jocund mirth.
-
-Around the fire the old wags were cracking jokes
-and recounting their favorite anecdotes. Then the
-darkies, grinning from ear to ear, and showing rows
-of teeth like ears of corn, struck up a Virginia
-Reel.
-
-.. File: 137.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“Ah-ha!” cried Mr. Webster. “Choose your partners,
-gentlemen!” and dashing across the room, he
-singled out Janey.
-
-“Here’s my girl!” and executing the most wonderful
-bow imaginable, he led “his girl” out onto
-the floor. The Virginia reel went on at a lively
-pace, and Mr. Webster, leading with the laughing
-and muddled Jane, introduced the most remarkable
-figures, turning the dance into a sort of pot-pourri
-of all the steps he had learned in his youth, including
-a cake-walk and a sailor’s horn-pipe. Everyone
-seemed to want to dance and no one seemed to
-have any difficulty in finding a partner; but the two
-undisputed belles of the evening were Lily Deacon
-and—Miss Clementina! Yes, Miss Clementina,
-little and wizened and brown as a walnut proved beyond
-argument her right to boast of having been
-once the queen of hearts in Frederickstown; and although
-thirty years and more had passed since her
-cheeks were rosy, and her sharp little elbows had had
-dimples in them, she still had her faithful admirers,
-grey-haired, portly gentlemen, a trifle stiff, and a
-trifle gouty, who still saw in the wiry, black-eyed
-little old maid, the charmer of auld lang syne. And
-how outrageously she coquetted, and how everyone
-applauded when she and the professor danced
-a schottische together—most gracefully; the professor
-spinning about, on his red legs, pointing his
-toes, skipping and sliding in the lively dance with all
-the sprightliness of a stripling of twenty; and Miss
-Clementina pirouetting and skipping along beside
-him, her pink tartalan skirts swirling around her
-tiny little feet, and her black eyes sparkling in her
-brown little face, as if saying, “Who says that *my*
-day is over!”
-
-But Lily held sway over the youth of the gathering.
-Every moment she was dancing, light and tireless,
-as if there were wings on her scarlet heels. But
-now and then she lost the thread of what her partner
-was saying, and her blue eyes strayed shyly toward
-the door. Then suddenly, the bright red color
-flushed up into her cheeks.
-
-In front of the fire, with a glass of cider in his
-hand, and talking to Mr. Webster (who was at
-last forced to confess himself “a bit winded”) stood
-Mr. Sheridan.
-
-He seemed quite content to stand there listening
-to his host’s reminiscences of his uncle and the times
-they had had together; and to talk about the various
-features of country life as compared to life in the
-city; and to laugh at the droll yarns of the other
-old gentlemen; and to watch the multi-colored swarm
-of dancers spinning about to the lively rhythms of
-the negro music. But as a matter of fact, Mr.
-Sheridan had, in a remarkably short time singled
-out one slim figure, and followed it through the
-kaleidoscopic motion of the crowd.
-
-“Well, sir, I hope you have decided to settle
-down here for good,” said Mr. Webster, heartily.
-
-“I—I haven’t exactly decided. But I shall probably
-be here for some time.”
-
-“You have a fine old place there. You don’t
-happen to be thinking of getting rid of any of that
-land of yours?”
-
-“It all depends,” replied Mr. Sheridan vaguely.
-
-“Bless me!” exclaimed Mr. Webster suddenly bethinking
-himself of his duties. “I’m nearly forgetting
-that you’re not an old fellow like myself.”
-
-And the hospitable old soul took his guest by the
-arm and dragged him off to be presented to the
-young ladies.
-
-First, Mr. Sheridan danced a lively two-step with
-the plump but agile Dolly. He enjoyed it, and he
-enjoyed talking to Dolly, and he enjoyed the music.
-
-Then Dolly, with a wicked twinkle in her eye,
-said,
-
-“I want to introduce you to one of my dearest
-friends.” A hopeful, eager expression came into
-Mr. Sheridan’s face, until Dolly, greatly enjoying
-his disappointment (which he hastily concealed under
-a pleasant smile) betrayed him into the hands
-of a pallid young lady, wearing a wilted-looking
-Grecian robe, and a wreath of laurel leaves in her
-long, scanty, mouse-coloured hair. It was Amelia,
-the poetess.
-
-These proceedings aroused great interest in a
-quarter to which none of the guests had given a
-thought: namely, in the hayloft, or musicians’
-gallery. Here since the early part of the evening,
-Paul had ensconced himself, his long legs dangling
-over the edge, his chin between his hands, brooding
-above the jolly turmoil of the dance floor like a
-large, thoughtful crow; and here several of the
-younger folk had joined him, disdaining the flighty
-amusements of their elders, and greatly preferring
-to spend their time in the more solid enjoyment of
-devouring nuts and raisins and oranges.
-
-Jane was the latest addition to this noble company.
-Having ascended the wooden ladder, she slid
-along the edge of the loft to Paul’s side.
-
-“Hullo,” she said.
-
-“Hullo,” responded Paul, “been having a good
-time?”
-
-“Yes. What are you doing?”
-
-“Watching.”
-
-“It’s nice up here. It’s near the music. You
-know, I’d like to learn how to play the bassoon,”
-said Jane.
-
-“Then you probably will. How would the trombone
-suit you? That seems more your style.”
-
-Jane turned up her nose at him, and then without
-replying focussed her attention on the dancers below.
-
-Suddenly, half laughing and half annoyed she
-exclaimed,
-
-“Oh, that *is* too mean of Dolly!”
-
-“What’s too mean?”
-
-“Why—oh, she is a wicked-hearted girl!—she
-*knows*, just as well as I do that the main reason Mr.
-Sheridan came was so that he might meet Lily Deacon.
-And she’s gone and tied him up with Mealy
-Amelia!”
-
-“Huh?” said Paul.
-
-“He’ll be with Amelia until the dance is *over*!”
-
-.. File: 141.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“Is that your friend, Sheridan, down there? He’s
-sort of a nice-looking fellow,” remarked Paul, condescendingly.
-“I thought he was about ninety.
-Seems a bit glum, doesn’t he?”
-
-“Well, you’d be, too, if you had Amelia talking
-about the infinite with you for a whole evening. I
-saw Dolly introduce him to her at least half an hour
-ago, and he hasn’t been rescued yet. Dolly did that
-on purpose—just to tease me!”
-
-“To tease you? Humph, you seem to think yourself
-a pretty important person, don’t you?” observed
-Paul with a grin.
-
-“Well, I asked Dolly myself please to introduce
-him to Miss Lily as soon as she could. I *told* her
-he was very sad, and needed cheering up—and just
-see what she’s done!”
-
-“I must say you aren’t very easy on Amelia. You
-usually seem to like everyone. What’s the matter
-with her?”
-
-“I *do* like nearly everyone, but I *do not* like Amelia.
-She’s a—a hypocrite,” said Jane. “She’s a
-*fake*. That’s what I don’t like about her. I don’t
-like people who write about the stars, and then turn
-around and say mean, nasty, cattish little things just
-because they’re jealous. Oh, *poor* Mr. Sheridan!”
-
-The object of Jane’s ardent sympathy really deserved
-it. He was doing his duty manfully and
-gallantly; but every now and then a haunted and
-desperate expression came into his face, as he summoned
-up all his faculties to respond to Amelia’s
-discourse.
-
-.. File: 142.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-She was trying, by various subtle, melancholy little
-observations to make him feel that she understood
-that he was not a happy man, and that he
-might confide in her. His only escape from this
-harassing conversation was to dance with her
-(tripping at every second step on her Grecian draperies)
-and—his only escape from the disasters of
-the dance was to talk to her.
-
-“Paul!” said Jane in a tone of decision, “something
-must be done.”
-
-“Eh?”
-
-“I’ll tell you what. *You* must go down, and ask
-Amelia to dance with you!”
-
-“*What!*”
-
-“Yes. Now, do an unselfish act, and it shall be
-returned to you a thousandfold,” said Jane, unctuously.
-
-“Not interested in any such bargains,” returned
-Paul.
-
-“Yes. Now, Paul, don’t be stubborn. It’ll only
-be for a minute. I’ll ask mother to get Daddy to
-go and rescue you—or Mr. Webster, or Mr. Buchanan.”
-
-“Can’t. Thank heaven, I don’t know how to
-dance anything but a highland fling.”
-
-“Well, teach Amelia how to do that. Come on,
-now, Paul—like a good, delicious angel.” And
-with that she began to tug at his arm.
-
-“Jane, you’re going to be a horrible, horrible
-old woman. You’re going to be a matchmaker.
-You’re going to make all your friends hide in ambush
-when they see you coming, and you’ll probably
-be assassinated.”
-
-“I don’t care. Come along, now—ni-ice little
-Paul, and teach Amelia how to do the pretty highland
-fling!” And actually, so irresistible was her
-determination, she coaxed the enraged Paul down the
-ladder, and standing disinterestedly at a certain distance
-away, heard him say meekly, according to
-her instructions,
-
-“Miss Hartshorn, may I have the pleasure of this
-waltz?” his voice fading away to an anguished
-whisper. Mr. Sheridan, beaming with satisfaction,
-professed abysmal regrets at being forced to
-lose his charming partner; and then Paul, with the
-sweetly wan expression of an early martyr, placed
-one arm around Amelia’s waist, and began the peculiar,
-grave capering which in his dazed condition,
-he believed to be a waltz.
-
-.. File: 144.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-CHAPTER IX—“THE BEST LAID PLANS—”
-=================================
-
-Mr. Sheridan, turning about, suppressing a vast
-sigh, beheld Jane, standing and smiling at him with
-her most benevolent expression.
-
-“Why—so there you are again! How glad I am
-to see you! Why haven’t you ever come to call
-on me? I’ve missed you,” he said, taking her
-hand. His pleasure was too sincere not to be extremely
-flattering.
-
-“I *would* have come, only I’ve been pretty busy,”
-she explained; then her eyes twinkled. “That was
-Paul,” she said. “You remember I told you that
-he was coming. Isn’t he a nice boy?”
-
-It was only the mischievous sparkle in her eyes
-that told Mr. Sheridan that she had a double meaning.
-
-“A *charming* boy!” he declared with fervor; and
-then he laughed guiltily.
-
-“That was mean of Dolly,” said Jane.
-
-“What was mean?”
-
-“To tie you up with Amelia Hartshorn.”
-
-“Why, on the contrary, I—I thought Miss
-Hartshorn very agreeable,” replied Mr. Sheridan,
-fibbing like a gentleman.
-
-.. File: 145.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-Jane shrugged her shoulders.
-
-“I was afraid that Dolly might have forgotten
-that you were a stranger, and leave you with one
-partner for the rest of the dance. And then you’d
-have been bored, and—and would have wanted solitude
-worse than ever.”
-
-This remark brought first a puzzled expression
-and then a burst of half-shamefaced amusement from
-Mr. Sheridan.
-
-“You evidently remember our conversation very
-clearly,” he remarked.
-
-“Oh, yes, I do. I’ve thought about it quite often—that
-is, about some of the things you said.”
-
-“And I must add that you seem to take great
-interest in your friends.”
-
-“I suppose,” replied Jane with a sigh, “that *you*
-think I’m an awful busybody, too. Well, if I am
-I can’t help it. I mean well.”
-
-Mr. Sheridan chuckled again. He had never before
-met any youngster who amused him quite as
-much as Jane did.
-
-“Was it because you brought some pressure to
-bear on—er—Paul that he interrupted my dance
-with Miss Hartshorn?”
-
-“Yes,” answered Jane absently.
-
-“You seem to find it easy to make people do what
-you want.”
-
-“No, not really—not at all. I had an awful
-time with Paul.” Then after a short pause, she
-added, “I’m awfully glad you came to-night. It
-seems to have cheered you up.”
-
-.. File: 146.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“Why do you think I needed cheering up?”
-
-“Because you were so gloomy.”
-
-With a smile Mr. Sheridan changed the topic by
-suggesting that he get some refreshments, and to
-this proposition Jane assented enthusiastically.
-
-“Do you remember that Miss Lily I told you
-about?” she inquired casually, when she had finished
-her ice. “There she is.”
-
-“The very pretty young lady in the Spanish
-costume?”
-
-“Yes. She’s horribly pretty, isn’t she? Would
-you like to dance with her?”
-
-“Very much. Only I haven’t had the pleasure——”
-
-“Oh, *I’ll* introduce you to her, if you like,” interrupted
-Jane, putting her plate on the window
-sill.
-
-Mr. Sheridan raised his head, and looked at Jane
-with a touch of wariness. But her face was innocence
-itself, utterly disarming in its childlike simplicity.
-
-Enormously amused, he gravely followed her
-across the room, to where Lily was sitting, chatting
-gaily to the two Webster boys; and Jane sedately
-performed the ceremony of introduction. Then,
-well-satisfied with her accomplishment, and feeling
-that she could do no more at present for these two,
-she retired to her eyrie in the hayloft, entirely forgetful
-of the unhappy Paul.
-
-It is just possible that, as, out of the corner of
-her eyes she saw Mr. Sheridan approaching, Lily
-pretended to be enjoying the conversation of the
-Webster boys a little more than she really was. She
-felt the color burning in her cheeks, and was angry
-with herself.
-
-“He’ll think I’m just a—a silly village girl,” she
-thought. Her natural shyness was greatly increased
-by the presence of this young man with his indescribable
-air of self-confidence; he was not at all like
-the two simple hearty, countrified Webster boys.
-There was something about him that marked him
-unmistakably as a product of city life, of ease, and
-rather varied worldly experience, and for some reason
-this made her a little bit afraid of him; or, perhaps
-afraid of herself. Usually the least self-conscious
-person in the world, she now found herself
-filled with misgivings about herself. She was
-afraid that there were numberless shortcomings
-about her of which she was unaware, but which he
-would not fail to notice; and this thought stung
-her pride. Furthermore, she was a trifle piqued
-at his attentiveness to Amelia, though not for worlds
-would she have admitted that any such silly vanity
-existed in her. Added to all this, was the sting that
-Amelia had left in her sensitive mind. Perhaps he
-had thought it undignified of her to have chatted
-with him so informally that day in the field—and
-then he had seen her peeping at him from the window.
-
-All these doubts excited in her a desire to snub
-him a little. He was *not* to think her just a “silly
-village girl.” Perhaps her gay, dashing costume
-made her feel unlike herself, and gave her some of
-the self-confidence that she lacked by nature. Indeed,
-the pretty senorita was altogether quite a different
-person, from the simple, artless girl that
-Timothy Sheridan remembered so vividly. He was
-himself a thoroughly simple young man, and he was
-puzzled by the change in her.
-
-Fluttering her fan nervously, she chatted with
-him, asked him questions, laughed,—all with a little
-air of frivolity, and carelessness. She felt a sort of
-resentment toward him, and this lead her once or
-twice to make a remark designed “to take him down
-off the high horse” that she imagined (on no
-grounds whatever) that he had mounted. His expression
-of bewilderment and polite surprise gave
-her a satisfaction that was not unmixed with regret
-and displeasure at herself. At length, when the
-music started up again, he asked her to dance. By
-this time, his manner had grown a little cold and
-formal, and Lily was piqued. So, with a little shake
-of her head, she told him that she had promised this
-one to Mr. Webster. There was something in her
-slight hesitation before she answered that made
-him feel that this was not quite true; and, hurt and
-puzzled, he bowed, expressed his regret, and the hope
-that he might have the pleasure later, and withdrew.
-On the whole, Jane’s diplomacy had been anything
-but successful.
-
-Mr. Sheridan slipped out to smoke a cigar in the
-fresh, cold air, and to meditate on the irritating
-vagaries of the feminine gender. Lily’s reception
-had hurt him more than he liked to admit even to
-himself.
-
-“What was the matter with her? She wasn’t a
-bit like that before—she seemed so gentle and unspoiled
-and kind. Hang it, there’s no way of understanding
-what a girl really is like, anyhow. I’ve
-just been an idiot.”
-
-After a moment or two, he told himself fiercely,
-
-“Well, if she doesn’t want to dance with me, I
-certainly shan’t bother her.”
-
-A little later, he threw away his cigar, and went
-in again. But he did not dance. He sat and talked
-pleasantly to Mrs. Webster for twenty minutes or
-so, and then joined his host by the fire, with whom
-he discussed agriculture and politics for the rest of
-the evening.
-
-In the meantime, Paul, deserted by Jane, had
-managed to extricate himself from the toils of the
-fair Amelia, and possessed by a deep sense of injury,
-had climbed up again to the hayloft, with the
-double purpose of expressing his indignant feelings
-to Jane, and getting well out of the reach of his
-recent partner.
-
-“Well, I must say—if that’s the way you keep a
-bargain—” he began. Jane looked around at him
-with an abstracted expression, and then unable to
-control herself at the sight of his aggrieved face,
-burst into the most unsympathetic laughter.
-
-“Oh, you poor creature! I *am* sorry! I forgot
-all about you!”
-
-“Do you think you’re giving me fresh
-information?” inquired Paul, in tones of bitterest sarcasm.
-
-“How *did* you get away?”
-
-“Much you care!”
-
-“There, don’t be angry. Tell me how you *did* get
-away?”
-
-“If you must know—I just bolted.”
-
-“Paul!”
-
-“Couldn’t help it. Just had to. Sorry if it was
-uncouth and all that—but there are limits to human
-endurance!”
-
-“Now who’s hard on Amelia?”
-
-Paul grinned unwillingly.
-
-“I guess you were about right. The whole time
-I was with her, she was picking on things about people—all
-the other girls who were the least bit pretty.
-Not plain, straight-forward out-and-out wallops,
-mind you, but all sorts of sweet and sly—”
-
-“Oh, I know her way. And did you just up and
-leave her?”
-
-“No. We pranced around a while, and then she
-sat down, and made me fan her. And then we
-pranced around some more—until I thought I was
-going to die, and she kept talking—first about what
-she thought about girls nowadays, and then about
-poetry—you can imagine about how much I had to
-say to that sort of stuff. And then we pranced
-around some more, and by that time I’d concluded
-that I had only myself to rely on”—this with renewed
-bitterness, “so I told the woman that I had
-a—a weak heart, and guessed I’d better get a little
-air—”
-
-.. File: 151.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“Paul, you didn’t!” cried Jane, horrified.
-
-“Yes, I did,” said Paul, grimly. “I’d gotten to
-the point where I’d have flopped down, and played
-dead if necessary. She seemed to swallow the
-story, bait, line and hook, and was quite sympathetic—and
-here I am, and the next time you try to get
-me into a fix like that—”
-
-“I say,” interrupted Jane, “Mr. Sheridan hasn’t
-danced with Lily at all! He’s gone and plopped
-himself down with all those old fogies around the
-fire!”
-
-At this Paul took his turn to chuckle.
-
-“Serves you right! *Now* will you keep your fingers
-out of other people’s pies? I told you you
-were too young to be meddling with such things.
-But I guess you’re just like all women—jump
-at conclusions, and then start trying to run
-things—”
-
-“You think you’re awfully clever, don’t you?”
-retorted Jane acidly.
-
-“Not clever—just humanly intelligent. Intuition
-may be all right for women, but plain horse-sense
-is good enough for me.”
-
-“What’s intuition?” demanded Jane.
-
-“The thing that makes girls think they know
-more than men do,” replied Paul, scornfully. “Your
-friend Amelia says she’s got a lot of it. Ask her
-what it is.” Then he turned to her with an exasperating
-grin; he was getting immeasurable satisfaction
-out of her discomfiture. “Practice
-what you preach, old lady. I guess it’s about
-time that *you* left a thing or two to Providence.”
-
-Jane felt that it was time to change the subject.
-
-“People are queer,” she remarked.
-
-“I’ve heard that before,” said Paul, rubbing his
-nose, “I’ve observed it, and I know it.”
-
-“I think you’re sort of detestable to-night.”
-
-“It’s your fault, then. I think you’ve ruined my
-disposition for life. The next thing you’ll be trying
-to make me be sweet to that fat old dowager
-with the moustaches!”
-
-“*Hush*, Paul! That’s Mrs. Deacon.”
-
-“Nobody could hear me in all this noise. She
-seems in an awful stew about something, doesn’t
-she?”
-
-Jane did not answer. Paul stared at her.
-
-“What’s the matter with you? You look as if
-you were going to have a fit.” Still Jane did not
-answer. There was indeed a frozen look on her
-face.
-
-“Well,” said Paul, eyeing her, “what have you
-been up to now?”
-
-“N-nothing,” said Jane.
-
-“That won’t go with me, old salt. What have
-you done to that poor, defenseless old widow?”
-
-“I—I’m afraid I’ve made rather a mess,” Jane
-confessed, faintly.
-
-“Oh, I’m quite sure of that. And you won’t
-catch me coming to the rescue again. Here I am
-and here I stay until I go home under Uncle Peter’s
-sheltering wing. Well, what have you done?”
-
-“I—I didn’t mean—”
-
-.. File: 153.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“Of course not. Your kind never do. They’ll
-have a revolution in this town, if they keep you here
-until you’ve grown up—which I doubt very much.”
-Then, seeing that she was really distressed, he patted
-her hand, and said, consolingly, “There, tell your
-Aunt Rebecca what you’ve done—I’ll help you out,
-if I must.”
-
-“No one can help me,” said Jane, darkly.
-
-“Is it murder this time? Well, tell me anyhow.
-I’m always prepared for the worst with you.”
-
-“Don’t tease, Paul. I sent her sleigh away,”
-said Jane, with the calm of deep trouble.
-
-“You—*what*?”
-
-“I said—I sent Mrs. Deacon’s sleigh away.”
-
-There was a pause, during which Paul made
-every effort to guess what earthly designs Jane had
-had in perpetrating such a peculiar deed. Then he
-gave up.
-
-“You have something against Mrs. Deacon?” he
-suggested, delicately. “You don’t like her moustaches,
-perhaps? Or perhaps you think that a five
-mile walk would be good for her health?”
-
-Jane was not listening.
-
-“I—you see, I thought it would be nice if Mr.
-Sheridan took Lily home. And a little while ago
-I was talking to Mr. Buchanan who brought the
-Deacons here. He was sitting outside, and he
-seemed awfully tired and sleepy, and kept saying
-that late hours were bad for young and old; and
-then I said that—that the Deacons weren’t going
-back with him. And he didn’t wait a minute. He
-just got into his sleigh, and went off like Santa
-Claus. And now, it looks as if Mr. Sheridan and
-Lily were mad at each other—and if Mrs. Deacon
-finds out that I told Mr. Buchanan to go—I don’t
-know *what* to do!”
-
-“Well!” said Paul, “I suppose you’re about the
-*coolest*—rascal I ever met in my life. I don’t think
-I’ve ever even heard of anyone like you.”
-
-“What shall I do?”
-
-“Do? Why, to be perfectly consistent with your
-kind, after having gotten everything into a sweet
-kettle-of-fish, just wash your hands of it. Leave it
-to Providence—and hike for the tall timber.” Then
-he began to chuckle, hugging himself, and shaking
-up and down, in a rapture of mirth.
-
-“Oh, don’t bother about it. They’ll get home all
-right—”
-
-“I’m not bothering about that. I’m thinking
-about what’ll happen if Mrs. Deacon finds out that
-I sent Mr. Buchanan away.”
-
-“Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. She
-hasn’t found out yet.”
-
-“I wonder why Mr. Sheridan and Lily are mad at
-each other.” Then she jumped up.
-
-“What are you going to do now?” demanded
-Paul.
-
-“I’m going down.”
-
-“Take my advice and stay where you are.” But
-Jane was already on her way down the ladder.
-
-The party was beginning to break up. The wild
-tooting of horns, the shrill notes of whistles, and
-showers of confetti announced the New Year.
-Jane made her way through the tangles of colored
-streamers, and the knots of merry-makers toward
-the huge chimney-place where a group of older people
-were standing, watching the picturesque scene.
-
-“Ah-ha, here’s my girl again!” cried Mr. Webster.
-“Come here and watch the fun with your old
-god-father.”
-
-With his big hands on her shoulders, Jane leant
-against him, and looked on as placidly as if there
-were not a care in the world troubling her peace
-of mind. When the noise had subsided a little, she
-looked round and up at Mr. Webster’s face, and
-raising her voice a little so that it was impossible for
-Mr. Sheridan not to hear what she said, remarked,
-
-“Mr. Buchanan has gone home, and left the Deacons
-here.”
-
-“What? What is that?” said Mr. Webster
-hastily. Jane repeated her remark, glancing furtively
-at Mr. Sheridan, whose face had suddenly
-grown rather red. But he stared straight ahead
-and pretended not to have heard her.
-
-“Ah, well, Sam can hitch up our sleigh in a moment,”
-said Mr. Webster. “I daresay he’ll be only
-too glad to take Lily home.” And he chuckled slyly.
-
-For some reason, Mr. Sheridan was able to hear
-*this* remark quite distinctly. He looked around,
-and after a momentary hesitation said,
-
-“There is no reason for that. Mrs. Deacon and
-her daughter are near neighbors of mine, and I—I’d
-be delighted to take them home.” And without
-giving his host a chance to argue the point, strode
-off hastily in the direction of the majestic dowager.
-
-By this time the old lady, undergoing the process
-of being wrapped up in a dense cocoon of furs and
-mantles, while the two Webster boys clamored for
-the pleasure of putting on her carriage boots, was
-quite besieged by young men begging to be allowed
-to drive her home. Lily stood behind her chair,
-smiling, but a little tired-looking.
-
-Mr. Sheridan worked his way deftly and determinedly
-through the group.
-
-“Will you let me drive you home, Mrs. Deacon?”
-He did not look at Lily, and Lily dropped her eyes.
-
-“I am taking Miss—Mrs. Deacon home,” said
-Sam Webster firmly, unconsciously grasping that
-dignified lady’s plump foot more tightly, as if he
-intended to hold her by it, should she attempt to
-evade him.
-
-Now Mr. Sheridan *did* look, at Lily. Would
-she or would she not prefer to go with him?
-
-“Why, if Mr. Sheridan has—has room for us,
-we needn’t trouble Sam, mamma,” said Lily, demurely.
-“That is—”
-
-“It’s no trouble,” interrupted Sam,—which was
-quite true—“and I’ve got the sleigh already hitched
-up”—which was not true. He sent an almost belligerent
-glance at Mr. Sheridan, who ignored it.
-
-Mr. Sheridan felt extraordinarily jubilant. Nothing
-should prevent his taking Lily home—not if he
-had to slaughter this mob of impertinent young
-men in cold blood.
-
-.. File: 157.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-Then Mrs. Deacon, extricating her foot from
-Sam’s convulsive grip, rose up. There was a warm
-light in her eye, the peculiar, benevolent beam which
-enlivens the glance of the far-sighted mamma as it
-rests upon an eligible young man.
-
-“Mr. Sheridan, I thank you. I accept your pusillanimous
-offer,” she said, in the full, bell-like
-tone of a public official. “Samuel, we shall not
-emburden you.”
-
-In vain did Sam assure her that he would be
-only too happy, that there was nothing he would
-like to do more; meanwhile sending at Lily reproachful
-looks fit to melt a heart of stone. Lily
-simply did not see them. In cool triumph, Mr.
-Sheridan escorted the two ladies to his sleigh.
-
-An hour later,—it was after one o’clock—he entered
-his library, where Peterson had kept the fire
-burning, threw off his coat, and sat down to try to
-work out the puzzle of Lily’s conduct. On the
-way home, they had exchanged hardly six words.
-But if Lily had been silent, the same could not be
-said for her mamma. Even now he seemed to hear
-the incessant, rich tones of Mrs. Deacon’s voice
-ringing in his ear, as they say the booming of the
-sea echoes in certain shells. He could not remember
-whether he had ever answered her or not. But
-Lily? It seemed evident to him that she had not
-wanted to talk with him or to dance with him during
-the party. It seemed equally evident that she *had*
-wanted to drive home in his sleigh. Now what was
-the meaning of behavior like that?
-
-.. File: 158.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-By two o’clock he had come to the conclusion that
-she was a coquette, that he was a donkey, and that
-the best thing he could do was to tell Peterson to
-pack up and be ready to pull up their stakes the day
-after to-morrow. He had been acting like an awful
-fool anyway. He was twenty-five years old; too
-old to be acting like a schoolboy. How in the
-world had Mary Abbott been able to—
-
-By three o’clock he had come to another conclusion.
-He wasn’t going to go away at all. He’d
-be hanged if he’d be chased around the earth by
-*women*. He was going to stay where he was. He
-was going to go in for farming. He liked the
-quaint old town, he liked the solid, intelligent, industrious,
-practical people. He liked Mr. Webster
-for instance, and Mrs. Webster, and Dolly, and
-old Mr. Pyncheon, and he quite loved that little
-Janey Lambert, and he liked—well, already the list
-had grown to a fairly respectable length for a confirmed
-misanthrope.
-
-At half past six, Peterson coming into the library
-to see that everything was in order, discovered
-his master sleeping placidly in the huge armchair,
-surrounded by, almost buried under books,
-pamphlets and almanacs which had never been
-taken down from their shelves since the late Major
-had been a young and hopeful devotee of farming.
-He picked one up, and holding it at arm’s length
-read the title, “Fertilizers and Fertilization.” The
-old man drew a deep, long-suffering sigh.
-
-“Lord, it was bad enough before,” he thought
-despondently, looking down at Mr. Tim, and shaking
-his head slowly. “It can’t be that he’s goin’ in
-to be a useful citizen. Whatever would the Major
-say to that?”
-
-Then he suddenly remembered the old Major’s
-invariable reply to such propositions. Quite undisturbed,
-and in the most astounding French, he used
-to say, “Searchez le Femme.”
-
-.. File: 160.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-CHAPTER X—PAUL AND CARL
-=======================
-
-Paul, in his heavy canvas apron, his sleeves rolled
-up, flour in his hair, on his eyelashes, and on the end
-of his nose, sat on a three-legged stool in front
-of the door of the big oven. There was an expression
-of such dogged concentration on his face, such
-fierce intensity in the grim frown between his eyebrows,
-that one might have thought he was expecting
-to draw forth a new universe, remodelled
-nearer to his heart’s desire, from the roasting bakeoven.
-The event he was anticipating was indeed
-of great moment not only to him but to at least
-four other members of the household who had
-gathered in the kitchen—Aunt Gertrude, Jane,
-Elise, and ruddy little Anna, the bouncing little assistant
-cook and shop-keeper, who never could
-watch Paul’s culinary struggles without going into
-a fit of giggling.
-
-“It’s been in twenty minutes,” announced Jane,
-glancing at the clock. Paul raised his head and
-glowered at her.
-
-“Can you or can you not hold your tongue?”
-
-“I can not,” answered Jane, frankly.
-
-“Who’s making this cake?”
-
-.. File: 161.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“Come, Janey, leave Paul alone and don’t bother
-him,” said Elise. “Come over here and let me try
-this sleeve to see if it fits.” Elise was engaged in
-making over one of her mother’s gowns into a
-school-dress for Jane. Jane obediently stood
-through the process of a fitting, but craning around
-to keep her eye on Paul.
-
-Suddenly, taking hold of the hot handle of the
-oven-door with his apron, he flung it open; and
-reaching in, pulled forth the huge cake pan.
-
-“There! Now, Aunt Gertrude, come and look
-at this fellow! How’s *that* for a blooming success?”
-His face simply beamed with pride as a
-chorus of “Oh’s” and “Ah’s” greeted his first real
-triumph. Five big disks of cake, delicately, perfectly
-browned, light as a feather, he turned out
-onto the wooden board.
-
-“Beautiful!” cried Aunt Gertrude. “I’ve never
-made a better one myself, have I Elise? No, not
-even your grandfather could make that cake more
-perfectly.”
-
-Paul swelled out his broad chest.
-
-“Now I am a Baker!” he announced. “*I’m* the
-boss around here, and I think I’ll begin by firing—Jane!”
-
-Jane, delighted and quite as triumphant as he,
-made a spring for him, and flinging both arms
-around his waist hugged him ecstatically, shouting,
-
-“I knew you could do it! *I* said you could!”
-
-Paul tweaked her nose.
-
-“I suppose you’ll be saying *you* made that cake,
-next. You couldn’t learn to bake an article like
-that in a life time. Unhand me, woman, I’ve got
-to fix the frosting.”
-
-His satisfaction sprang from a deeper source
-than that of the mere success. Some people might
-think it quite a trivial matter to make a good cake,
-but Paul, during weeks of abject failure, had come
-to consider that it required superhuman powers.
-It must be remembered of course, that Winkler’s
-cakes were not like any others, and that into the
-mixing and baking of those delectable goodies there
-had to go a skill and care that not many people
-could give. Repeated failure had made Paul
-moody; he had even begun to think that his lack
-of success was attributable to some deep-rooted
-weakness in himself. He had, in fact, begun to
-give it quite an important significance; and, in his
-earnestness, had even gone to the length of making
-a curious pact with himself. He had determined
-not to touch a pencil, not even to open the precious
-box of paints that Jane had given him, until he had
-learned to make cakes and bread that should be an
-honor to the venerable traditions of his family.
-Moreover, considerable reflection had convinced him
-that Jane had been right in advising him to try to
-win his uncle’s good will; and he had not liked to
-have Mr. Lambert believe that he was deliberately
-trying *not* to make good.
-
-Jane understood very well the real cause of his
-satisfaction; and she was as pleased as if he had accomplished
-a Herculean task.
-
-.. File: 163.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-That night Mr. Lambert expressed his satisfaction
-in Paul’s final success. He was a very just
-man, and he did not fail to commend his nephew
-for his patience.
-
-“I am glad to see, my boy, that you have taken a
-reasonable view of your situation; and have so fully
-realized your peculiar responsibilities.”
-
-Thereafter he began to treat Paul with a marked
-difference of manner; he consulted him quite as
-often as he consulted Carl, discussed domestic and
-public business with him, entrusted important errands
-to him, and, in a word, no longer treated him
-as if he were an eccentric and willful child.
-
-Within the three months that had passed since
-Paul had come to live with his relatives his position
-had changed astonishingly. At the beginning of
-February he found himself looked up to by the
-“women-folk” as if he were a prime minister. He
-suggested, and was allowed to carry into effect
-several important changes in the simple business
-system of the Bakery; and customers with special
-requests were now referred to the big boy, who
-handled their concerns and their temperaments with
-perfect tact and good sense.
-
-But if Paul seemed at last to have given in to
-his uncle’s wishes, he was in truth no more reconciled
-to the lot which destiny had flung in his way
-than before. He simply kept his own counsel.
-
-On the other hand two things had contributed
-to teach patience to the impetuous boy, who never
-in his life before had known anything like restraint.
-At first he had consoled himself for his repeated defeats
-in the simple matter of cake-baking by the
-thought that he was designed for more impressive
-things. But the impressive things were not ready to
-be done yet, and he was being measured by his failure
-in that which *was* at hand. And so it came
-about that he put all his will to the simple, woman’s
-task, until he had mastered it. In the process, he
-had come, also, to take a more personal interest in
-the family affairs; and no longer to think of himself
-as an outsider, to whom the interests of his
-kindly relatives were matters of total indifference.
-He was proud, too, to bear the name of one of the
-first inhabitants of Frederickstown. It made him
-feel that he had some share in the little community;
-he was no longer a boy “without a country,” as he
-had told his farmer acquaintance. He knew everyone;
-and he was more or less interested in their
-various affairs. Once, after he had been listening
-to some of the older men discussing, in his uncle’s
-warehouse, a question which had arisen concerning
-the matter of running the state highway through the
-town, or turning it off from one of the outlying
-roads, he had said laughingly to Jane that he was
-getting a mild attack of “civic interest”; and then
-after a moment’s thought, he had added more seriously,
-“But it’s true. I’ve gotten pretty fond of
-this place. I almost feel as if I belong to it, and
-it belongs to me. I’d like to make it proud of me
-some day. It’s all very nice and fine to say that
-you’re an independent citizen, and don’t hail from
-anywhere in particular, but you *do* feel lonely
-and left-out, and there are lots of things you never
-can understand. Lots of things,” he repeated,
-with more emphasis. “I’ve seen dozens of fellows
-knocking around the world, coming from nowhere
-in particular, and going nowhere in particular.
-Some of ’em were pretty clever, I guess—I’d hear
-’em talking, sometimes on board ship, sometimes
-around the tables in the taverns. I used to listen
-to them—they talked as if they knew a lot, and were
-usually worked up over something,—Americans,
-and Italians and down-and-out Englishmen. Lord,
-how they used to shout and argue and pound their
-fists. But, now that I think of it, all they said was
-nothing much but a lot of noise. They were like
-sea-weed floating around without its roots sticking
-anywhere. They sounded awfully fiery and
-patriotic, but I don’t think they honestly cared
-much about any place under the sun, or about any
-*thing*. And that’s a bad way to be. It would be
-better, I think, to spend all your days in one place
-and to love that place, even if you got kind of narrowed
-down—than to belong nowhere.” These
-grave views surprised Jane, and perhaps she did not
-wholly understand Paul’s meaning. He was older
-than she, and was beginning to think like a man,
-and sometimes she could not quite follow his
-thoughts. But she hoped that he meant that he
-would find it possible to work out his own ambitions
-without going away. Sometimes she wondered—he
-spoke so little now about his plans—whether he
-had given them up altogether; and this she did not
-like to believe. But Jane, inquisitive as she was,
-could hold her peace very patiently when she felt
-that it was better so.
-
-In the second place, Paul had become very conscious
-of his almost total lack of education. He
-could read, and write, and figure well enough to
-cast up the accounts with accuracy; but beyond these
-elements he knew nothing save what he had gleaned
-from his rough contact with the world. His ignorance
-of many things which even the twins had
-learned, sometimes startled even Jane; and Carl
-had never left off making sly fun of him for counting
-on his fingers like a kindergarten child when he
-had to calculate a simple problem in multiplication.
-
-At first he had pretended to scorn his cousin’s
-book-learning, but little by little he found himself
-envying Carl’s extensive knowledge, which that
-youth was rather overfond of airing. Every generation
-of Winklers had seen to it that the young
-ones acquired a sound, simple, thorough education;
-and among them poor Uncle Franz had stood out
-as the “dunce.”
-
-There was something quite pathetic in the sight
-of the big boy sitting on those winter evenings, listening
-to the twins lisp out their next day’s lessons
-to Elise, and storing away as well as he could the
-simple things he heard; and many times, he sat up
-until after midnight, over the ashes of the fire, poring
-over an old “Elementary History of the United
-States,” humbly beginning where Janey had long
-since finished; and stumbling over words that even
-Lottie could spell easily.
-
-In the midst of these occupation, Paul spent little
-time in dwelling upon plans for departure. He
-seemed content to bide his time, if necessary, for
-an indefinite period; and had settled into a state of
-peace and amity toward all the world, with one and
-only one exception.
-
-That exception was Carl. Just where the rub
-came between the two boys it would be hard to say;
-but hard as he tried to hold his temper in check,
-Paul found it impossible either to hit it off with
-Carl, or to discover the root of his cousin’s grudge
-against him; and it often seemed to him that Carl
-deliberately tried to rouse the old Adam in him.
-Every day Carl’s disposition became more acid, and
-as the spring progressed he became positively intolerable.
-Paul had put up with his ill-humors as
-well as he could, partly because, during the latter
-part of the winter, Carl, who was the least sturdy
-of his cousins had not been very well. He suffered
-frequently from severe headaches, and his constant
-studying, which he doubled as the spring examinations
-approached, certainly did not improve either
-his health or his disposition. Aunt Gertrude was
-worried about him, and tried to coax him to spend
-more of his time out of doors, for by the end of
-March the snow had melted away from the hills,
-the sun was growing warmer, and the trees already
-turning green with buds opening in the genial
-warmth of an early southern spring. He resisted
-these gentle efforts, however, and even when the
-long Easter holiday came, settled down to a process
-of cramming, utterly indifferent to the delicious
-weather. Even his father had one or two slight
-difficulties with him, so uncertain was his temper,
-and the other members of his family treated him
-with kid gloves, but with Paul he squabbled almost
-continually. Now Paul had mislaid some of his
-papers; now he had left the stopper off the inkwell,
-now he had put his shoes where he couldn’t
-find them. More than once it occurred to Paul that
-Carl was actually trying to goad him into leaving.
-“But what on earth have I ever done to the idiot?”
-he wondered. That Carl was jealous of him never
-dawned on his mind; and yet it was the case. Carl
-was jealous of the position his cousin had taken in
-the household; he was jealous of his physical
-strength; he was even jealous of the self-control
-with which Paul curbed his anything but mild temper,
-under his continual nagging.
-
-One day, flying into a rage over some trivial matter,
-Carl informed him that the trouble with him
-was “his confounded swell-head.” By this time,
-Paul had reached the end of his tether; he retaliated,
-with a sudden thrust that went home to Carl’s most
-vulnerable spot.
-
-“What’s the matter with you, anyway?” he demanded
-whirling upon his cousin. There was a
-black frown on his face; and suddenly losing his
-temper altogether, he seized Carl’s shoulder fiercely.
-“I’m sick of your eternal whining, and snarling.
-You snap at me at every chance you get,—but nothing
-on earth would make you fight like a—a man!
-Would it? Hey?”
-
-Carl wrenched himself out of his grip, and
-backed toward the door, trembling with fury.
-
-“You’ve a swell-head,” he repeated, stubbornly,
-his eyes flashing, “and you’re a—don’t you dare to
-touch me! I hate you! You’re a bully—that’s
-what you are!”
-
-“A bully! It’s you that’s the bully. You know
-darn well that *you’re* safe in nagging the life out of
-me—you’re pretty sure that I wouldn’t hurt a little
-fellow like you. You’re a little coward, Carl Lambert,
-but I tell you now that if you don’t stop your
-eternal whining, I’ll—I’ll—”
-
-“You’ll what?” sneered Carl.
-
-“I’ll thrash you until you can’t stand up. Do you
-understand me?” And once more Paul’s big hand
-clamped down on his shoulder. Carl’s face went
-white, and a look of such utter terror superseded
-the one of rage, that Paul was astonished.
-
-“What on earth is the matter with you?” he repeated,
-in a milder tone. “Will you tell me what
-I’ve ever done to you?”
-
-“I hate you! I’ve hated you ever since you came
-here! Thrash me if you want to! Nothing will
-ever make me hate you any worse than I do now!”
-
-Paul frowning more in bewilderment than anger
-stared into his cousin’s pale, distorted face. Then
-suddenly he asked,
-
-“If you hate me so much, why didn’t *you* tell
-Uncle Peter about my playing billiards—for money—with
-Jeff Roberts?”
-
-Carl did not answer.
-
-“I can’t make you out,” went on Paul, as if he
-were talking to himself. “You bother the life out
-of me, you squabble and row from morning to
-night, and you never say *what* you’re down on me
-for. I honestly believe that until recently you had
-a lot to do with Uncle Peter’s bad opinion of me,
-and yet—somehow, I *don’t* believe you hate me as
-much as you think you do. If *you* had told Uncle
-Peter about that business with Jeff Roberts he
-would certainly—not certainly, perhaps, but very
-likely—have sent me packing, and you would have
-been rid of me, and yet you didn’t do it. And it
-wasn’t as if you weren’t a tell-tale, because you are.
-And what under the sun makes you say I’ve got a
-swell-head?”
-
-“It’s the truth,” repeated Carl, doggedly, and not
-another word would he say. There was nothing
-to do but to leave him alone; but the strain of putting
-up with his sullen silence—which he maintained
-for a full week—wore on Paul’s patience, until more
-than once he was on the point of declaring his
-definite intention to put up with it no longer. It was
-at the end of that week—the last in a warm, summery
-April—that matters changed suddenly, bringing
-the first trouble that Paul had yet had to share
-with his kinsfolk.
-
-One warm Saturday afternoon, when it was May
-in everything but name, Jane revelling in the last
-days of the spring vacation proposed a long walk
-into the country. The twins, Paul, and Elise approved
-heartily.
-
-“And try to coax Carl out, too, Lisa,” said Aunt
-Gertrude, who wanted to stay at home to do some
-mending while she took charge of the shop. “He
-doesn’t take any exercise at all these days.”
-
-At first Carl growled, and said he wished they’d
-leave him alone, but just as Elise had given up trying
-to persuade him, he suddenly changed his mind;
-though still grumbling as if they were making him
-do something against his will, joined the jolly little
-party. But it cannot be said that he was a particularly
-lively member of it. He looked pale and
-sulky, walked by himself, and with a moody expression
-kept his eyes on Jane and Paul as if their high
-spirits, their perfect camaraderie angered him. And
-in fact, not the least of his grievances against Paul
-was Jane’s affection for him; for cold and selfish as
-Carl might be, he loved Jane in his own way, and
-in addition, he hated not to be the chief object of
-interest. Besides, he was feeling half ill again.
-
-“Shall we ask Lily to come with us?” suggested
-Elise, as they reached the top of Sheridan Lane.
-
-“Let’s ask everyone we meet,” said Jane, “everybody!
-Nobody ought to stay cooped up indoors to-day.
-Poor Lily—she’s practising again.”
-
-And in fact Lily’s voice, a little listless and monotonous
-to-day came sweetly through the quiet air;
-there did not seem to be much joy in Schubert’s
-beautiful little spring song as she sang it—“And
-winking Mary-buds begin, to ope their golden
-eyes—” she broke off in the middle of the second
-part.
-
-“Lily!”
-
-A moment later she appeared at the window.
-
-“Come along! You’ve got to come along with
-us!”
-
-“Where are you going?”
-
-“A-maying.”
-
-“But it isn’t May,” said Lily trying to sound
-merry. Nevertheless, in another minute she was
-with them, swinging her straw hat on her arm. On
-down the lane they went, under the light shade of
-the budding trees, past the old iron fountain.
-
-“Whoa. Where are you off to?” shouted the
-voice of some invisible being; there was a scrambling,
-scraping sound in the branches of a tree that,
-growing inside of the wall around the Sheridan
-place, extended its patriarchal boughs across the
-road; and presently the lord of the manor, hot, and
-red, with a three foot saw in his hand swung gracefully
-into view.
-
-“Are you going to have a party without *me*?”
-he asked in an injured tone. “Can’t I come, too?”
-
-“There!” said Jane in a low tone, giving Paul a
-surreptitious pinch, “what did I tell you?”
-
-“Are you going to begin meddling with that
-again?” demanded Paul, also in a low tone, remembering
-bitterly the unhappy part he had been called
-upon to play at the Webster’s party. “Because if
-so, I’m going home.”
-
-.. File: 173.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“I’ll meddle if I think it’s necessary,” returned
-Jane, calmly, “but I don’t believe it will be.”
-
-And, indeed, from the first it seemed quite plain
-that her valuable services were not required. With
-the air of one who feels that her small tasks have
-been well done, she watched Lily and Mr. Sheridan
-who wandered on ahead, leading the way across the
-old wooden bridge, and up the hill.
-
-Jane said frankly to Paul that she would “sort of
-like to hear what they were talking about,” but
-Paul was pained, and undertook to lecture her on
-the spot for her deplorable habits.
-
-On each side of the road lay the broad fields,
-where, in the furrows of dark earth, freshly
-ploughed, young corn was already thrusting upwards
-its vivid green blades.
-
-“How do you like my scare-crow?” Mr. Sheridan
-called back, waving gaily toward the grotesque figure
-which bore an absurd resemblance to Peterson.
-“I made Peterson dress him up in his winter suit.
-Isn’t he a fine, impressive fellow, though. How do
-you think he’d strike you if you were a crow?”
-Then without waiting for an answer, he went on
-talking to Lily, describing all his late activities in
-the line of agriculture, his plans for new buildings
-on his land, and airing, boyishly all his newly acquired—and
-perhaps not entirely assimilated—knowledge
-of farming. Jane might have found this
-talk distinctly disappointing, but to Lily everything
-that he said seemed remarkable.
-
-“And then, perhaps, you are going to live here—a
-good deal of the time?” she asked timidly. “I
-very glad that you have found so much to interest
-you.”
-
-Mr. Sheridan turned to help her over a stile.
-For some reason, her words, so simply said, and
-without the slightest tinge of coquetry, seemed to
-disconcert him.
-
-“I—yes. I—have grown very much attached
-to Frederickstown—and farming is interesting because—because—”
-But for the life of him he
-could not think of any reason *why*.
-
-The little party trailed across the field, all walking
-together now, laughing and talking. Only Carl
-hung behind. To begin with, he was not yet on
-speaking terms with Paul, and he was piqued at
-Jane, and the sunlight made his over-strained eyes
-ache, and he was thoroughly tired out already.
-Lily was walking arm in arm with Elise, and both
-were talking to Mr. Sheridan, the twins were running
-ahead, trying to catch the yellow butterflies
-that they frightened away from the early field-flowers;
-and Paul and Jane strolled along side by
-side sometimes joining in the talk of the others,
-sometimes discussing their own affairs. But at
-last Jane turned around, and noticing for the first
-time how Carl was lagging, called to him.
-
-“Why don’t you come and walk with us, Carl?”
-
-“I’m all right as I am, amn’t I?” he returned.
-Jane shrugged her shoulders.
-
-“What’s the matter with him?” she asked Paul.
-“Have you had another quarrel?”
-
-.. File: 175.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“Not since Monday,—haven’t had a chance. He
-won’t speak to me. I don’t know what’s the matter
-with him,” Paul shook his head. “I *have* tried
-to get along with him, but I can’t seem to work it.
-He says he hates me, and that he’s always hated me—and
-maybe its true, though I don’t see why. I
-mean that I’ve never given him any cause that I
-know of. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately.
-I seem to make him downright unhappy—he acts as
-if I had slipped into his shoes, and I’ve never taken
-anything he wanted, have I?” and after a short
-pause, he added, “And I’m sure that I don’t want
-anything he has. It seems to get worse with him all
-the time. Perhaps, Janey, his feelings may be
-hurt because you and I get along so well. Maybe
-I’d feel the same way if I were your brother, and
-he were a ‘swell-head’ cousin from nowhere.
-After a bit, why don’t you drop back with
-him?”
-
-“Why should he hate you?” wondered Jane. “I
-could understand if you were really—”
-
-“What?”
-
-“If you were like what you *seemed* to be like the
-first night you were here,” she said frankly. “I
-didn’t like you then either. I didn’t like you for
-quite a long time. I didn’t like you until you said
-that you were going away.”
-
-“Maybe Carl would like me better if I told him
-that,” said Paul, laughing, but with a rather sad
-expression in his eyes. “And I’ve been thinking
-lately—”
-
-.. File: 176.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“What?” asked Jane, quickly, looking up into his
-face.
-
-“I’ve been thinking that I—perhaps I ought to,
-Janey.”
-
-“No, no, no, *no*! Not yet, Paul! You said, just
-the other day—and what a silly little thing to make
-so much of. Lots of *brothers* squabble and call
-each other names—”
-
-“But it doesn’t make a particularly happy household,
-does it? I don’t want to go, Janey—not yet.
-J don’t want to go until—it’s a hard thing to explain
-exactly, but this is the way it is. When I first came,
-I was thinking only of one thing—father was gone,
-and I didn’t care for anyone in the world, and I
-didn’t want to. I wanted to work by myself and for
-myself, in the way that seemed most to my liking—and
-when I found that Uncle had other plans for
-me, and intended to force me into them, it made me
-furious—and what was worse was the thought that
-I had to do either as Uncle wanted or—well, *starve*,
-if I was out of luck. And I was afraid of starving,
-being an ordinary human being. I started to run
-away the first night I was here—Carl knows that—and
-I didn’t because I was afraid to. He knows
-that, too. And so I stayed on, planning to make a
-break as soon as I could. And I hated everything—I
-was perfectly miserable—until that night, do
-you remember, when we had that talk by the fire.
-After that, I began to look at things differently.
-It seemed to me that I’d been acting like a donkey,
-and so I decided to do as you said—make the best
-of things as I found them, and see what would happen.
-And now—I don’t know how it is—but
-you’ve all been so good to me, and it makes a difference
-not to be all alone. Now, when I think of the
-fine things I may do some day, I think of how you
-all may be proud of me, and how—perhaps—maybe
-Frederickstown would be proud of—all that seems
-silly, doesn’t it—but anyway that’s the reason why
-I’d hate to go away now—why I’d hate to go away
-with any hard feeling behind me. That is, unless
-it simply *had* to be. Men *have* lived alone, and
-worked and done great things with no one to care
-whether they lived or died—and I could do it, too.
-But, over and above cake-baking—” he laughed,
-as if a little ashamed of his own seriousness, “I’ve
-learned that—I’ve learned that it is a better thing
-not to be all alone.”
-
-Jane made no reply, and presently Paul went on,
-
-“I daresay I made myself pretty disagreeable at
-first, and I don’t wonder that Carl hated me then—but
-I *have* tried to be decent to him, and to make
-him like me. If he doesn’t, it certainly isn’t his
-fault—it can’t be helped. Only, I haven’t any right—I
-mean, if he’s going to be miserable while I’m
-around, if I get on his nerves every minute—it isn’t
-as if we were little kids, we’ll soon be men, and two
-men quarrelling with each other in one family can
-make an awful mess of things. You were all happy
-together before I came.” As he said this he looked
-down gravely into the round, sober little face beside
-him. “Don’t you see, Janey?”
-
-.. File: 178.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-Janey did not answer; but a little later as they all
-turned into the cool shade of the woods, she dropped
-back until she was walking near Carl. She had too
-much instinctive wisdom to seem to do so deliberately,
-and she did not talk to him until the twins
-started to hunt for violets and jacks-in-the-pulpit,
-when she began to remind him of the places they had
-explored the summer before, and the grotto they
-had found the summer before that until he began to
-feel as if he were receiving the attention which was
-his brotherly due.
-
-The beautiful afternoon wore on happily. For
-a long time they all sat talking and laughing under
-the trees, sorting the white and purple violets that
-they had picked. Once or twice Tim Sheridan
-thought of what Phil Blackstone and Johnny
-Everett and Mary and all the rest of them would
-say to his bucolic pleasures, and grinned at the
-thought of the expressions they would wear; and he
-wondered himself at his own enjoyment in the company
-of these simple young people—but he was having
-a better time than he had ever had in his life,
-and even Peterson was beginning to show some
-interest in his eccentric master’s latest occupations.
-
-And for a time, Carl, too, joined in the chatter, as
-poor little Janey, inwardly saddened by what Paul
-had told her so simply, tried to coax him out of his
-sullen humor.
-
-When, at length they all started homeward, he
-even linked his arm through hers. Now, she
-thought, was the time to ask him what was the root
-of his ill-feeling against Paul, now was the time
-to tell him what Paul had said—she hated so for
-people to be unhappy for no reason, or for silly reasons.
-
-“Carl, listen,” she began, “I want to—” but he
-suddenly interrupted her.
-
-“Look here, Jane—I don’t know what’s the matter
-with me. But I—I feel like the dickens.”
-
-She did not quite understand him.
-
-“What about?” she asked.
-
-“What about? About nothing—my head aches
-like all get-out, and every now and then everything
-gets to jiggling in front of my eyes.” She looked
-at him in alarm, and saw that his face was terribly
-pale.
-
-“Carl! You mean you’re ill? Let me—oh,
-what’s the matter?”
-
-“For heaven’s sake, don’t kick up a fuss now.
-No, don’t tell Elise,” he said, impatiently. “I’ll get
-home all right. And don’t scare mother to death
-when we get there. I guess it’s the sun or something.
-And—don’t walk so fast.”
-
-Jane, more frightened by the look of his face,
-than by his words, obediently slackened her pace.
-The others were eight or ten yards ahead of
-them.
-
-“Hurry up, Janey—we’ll be late for supper,”
-called Elise, glancing back at them. Jane looked
-pleadingly at Carl.
-
-“I *have* to tell Elise. Please, Carl, dear, don’t be
-foolish.”
-
-.. File: 180.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“No, you must *not*. I tell you I won’t have them
-all fussing over me, and talking, and asking questions!”
-he exclaimed, with a sudden flash of temper.
-“Let ’em go ahead if they want to.”
-
-They dropped farther and farther behind, until
-the others were already crossing the bridge as they
-were just gaining the road. But Paul, strolling
-along with his hands in his pockets whistling an accompaniment
-to his own thoughts was midway between
-the two divisions of the party.
-
-Suddenly Carl declared that he had to rest until
-his head stopped throbbing a bit. Just then Paul
-happened to glance back.
-
-“Hey! Are you going to spend the summer
-back there?” he shouted, cheerfully, but the next
-moment he seemed to guess that something was
-wrong, for after a little hesitation, he turned and
-started to walk toward them.
-
-“We’re coming,” said Jane, “only Carl has a little
-headache, and he wanted to rest a minute.”
-
-Paul looked critically at his cousin’s white face.
-He did not waste any time in asking the well-meant
-questions that Carl found so objectionable, but said
-simply,
-
-“I guess you’d better let me help you, Carl.”
-
-To Jane’s surprise there was no hostility in her
-brother’s eyes.
-
-“I won’t have *them* make a fuss over me, do you
-hear,” he said in a dull voice. Paul glanced at
-Jane.
-
-“You cut along with the others, Janey. There’s
-a short cut through this field. Carl and I’ll go this
-way.”
-
-“Good idea,” muttered Carl. “Guess we’ll—try
-that, Jane.” And with an effort, he got to his feet.
-
-“Take my arm,” said Paul.
-
-Jane watched them as they started across the field,
-and then obediently ran at full speed to catch up
-with the laughing, chattering group ahead.
-
-As for the two sworn enemies, they made their
-way slowly along the little, meandering footpath,
-that cut through the field, Carl leaning more and
-more heavily on Paul’s sturdy arm, frankly, if
-silently grateful for its solid support. They said
-nothing, and Paul, who realized more than Jane had
-that Carl was seriously ill, wore a grave expression.
-He was thinking, not of the many bitter words that
-Carl had showered on him, but of the angry threat
-he himself had uttered, and the memory of it made
-him wince.
-
-“We’ve only a little way to go, now, cousin,” he
-said gently. “Would you like me to give you a lift?”
-
-Carl, quite exhausted by now only looked at his
-cousin incredulously.
-
-“*You* couldn’t carry me,” he said, thickly, and
-then drawing a long breath, he added, “but I wish
-to goodness you could!”
-
-Paul smiled.
-
-“I guess you aren’t much heavier than a keg of
-olives,” and with that, he lifted Carl quite easily in
-his arms, and set off at a quicker stride across the
-field.
-
-.. File: 182.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-An hour later poor Carl was far past caring
-whether “they” made a fuss over him or not. But
-indeed the worst part of it was that there was very
-little fuss made at all. His room was so quiet that
-the chirping of the birds in the budding trees outside
-his window, the sound of voices in the street
-below could all be heard distinctly, and yet Aunt
-Gertrude and Mr. Lambert sat beside his bed, and
-Janey was there, clinging to her father’s hand, and
-Paul sat half hidden in the little window embrasure,
-staring out soberly at the fading sky. The shock
-and suddenness of it all had stunned the little
-family.
-
-It was only Mr. Lambert’s face that Paul could
-see clearly in the dusk of the room, and the transformation
-it had undergone since the old man realized
-the danger of his only son, left an indelible
-memory on the boy’s mind. All its pompousness
-had fled—it looked old and helpless and humble.
-And apart as he was, Paul, looking upon their fear
-and sorrow, felt that he was being welded to his own
-people. All his own desires seemed at that moment,
-small and selfish, and with a thrill of pity,
-he vowed silently that if the need came, he was
-ready to lay aside his own hopes forever, without
-regret, and be their son.
-
-.. File: 183.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-CHAPTER XI—CARL SQUARES HIS DEBT
-================================
-
-It was not until the nineteenth of May that the
-burly, grey-haired little doctor could say definitely
-that Carl would get well. And even then he could
-not entirely dissolve the cloud that hung over the
-family. Carl’s eyes which had always been weak
-and near-sighted had been gravely injured by incessant
-overstraining, and the doctor said frankly
-enough that unless he took the greatest care of
-them there was a strong possibility of his losing his
-sight.
-
-“No books, Mrs. Lambert. Nothing but rest,”
-he said, firmly. “Later, he must be out of doors.
-Plenty of exercise, plenty of sleep, and no study for
-at least a year.”
-
-This program, so entirely opposed to all Carl’s
-tastes was not imparted to him until he was well on
-the road to recovery. He listened to it stoically,
-propped up among Aunt Gertrude’s downiest feather
-pillows, in the dark bedroom, a green shade almost
-bandaging his eyes, and hiding half of his thin
-white face.
-
-“Does the old boy think there’s a likelihood of
-my being blind anyway?” he inquired, using the
-blunt word without a tremor. No one answered
-him. His face turned a shade paler as he turned
-helplessly from one side to the other trying to
-guess where his mother and father were standing.
-Mr. Lambert attempted to say something, but all he
-could do was to take his son’s groping hand in
-his.
-
-“Well—that’s all right, father. I guess I’ll go
-to sleep now,” said Carl, after a short pause.
-“There’s no good kicking up a fuss about that yet.”
-And drawing his hand away he lay down quietly,
-turning his face to the wall. He was quite still, until,
-thinking that he was asleep, his father and
-mother left the room noiselessly, Mr. Lambert with
-his arm around his wife’s shoulders.
-
-Then, wide-awake, Carl almost savagely worked
-himself up on his pillows, and sat alone, thinking.
-
-He wondered what time it was. He did not know
-whether it was morning or afternoon. That it was
-day and not night he could guess from the busy
-rumbling of wagons on the street, and the soft chattering
-of the twins’ voices in the little garden below.
-Then he heard the solemn, monotonous tones
-of the old church clock.
-
-“Just noon-day,” he thought. “The twins have
-been home all morning, so school must have closed.
-And it must be fair, or they wouldn’t be playing in
-the garden.”
-
-At that moment he heard careful, tiptoeing footsteps
-outside his door. He had already become
-quick at recognizing the tread of different members
-of the family, and without the least uncertainty he
-called out,
-
-“Paul!”
-
-Then he heard the door open.
-
-“I thought you were asleep,” said Paul’s voice.
-
-“Well, I’m not.” Then in a jocose tone, Carl
-said, “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”
-
-“Why, yes,” answered Paul, in some surprise.
-“Look here—have you been taking off that bandage?”
-
-“No. But it *is* a beautiful day isn’t it? I just
-wanted to be sure I guessed right.”
-
-Paul said nothing. To him there was something
-indescribably terrible and touching in Carl’s
-cheerfulness, and in the sight of that half-hidden
-face turned nearly but not exactly in his direction.
-
-“*You* heard what the doctor said,” said Carl
-abruptly, “there’s a chance that I may be blind,
-isn’t there? Come on, and tell me. You certainly
-can’t keep me from knowing sooner or later. *Did*
-he say that?”
-
-“Yes. He did,” Paul replied briefly. Carl
-seemed to think this over quite calmly for a moment
-or two; then with a dignity that he had never shown
-before, he said slowly,
-
-“You once said I was a coward, cousin. And
-you were right. I *am* a coward in the way you big
-fellows think of it. But maybe I’m not a coward
-in *every* way. Maybe I’m not. I don’t know.
-Maybe I am.”
-Paul said nothing, but stood helplessly with his
-hands on the back of the chair.
-
-“Sit down—that is, if you want to,” Carl suggested
-rather awkwardly. “It isn’t time for your
-lunch yet, is it? Where’s Janey?”
-
-“She’s helping Elise.” Paul sat down, crossed
-his legs and looked at his cousin, not knowing exactly
-what else to say. He looked odd enough
-sitting there, in his apron, his sleeves rolled up and
-his shirt open at the neck, sunburnt and strong in
-contrast to the bony, pallid boy in the bed.
-
-Carl fingered his eyeshade wistfully.
-
-“Lord, I wish I could take this confounded
-thing off for just a minute,” he muttered moving
-his head restlessly. “Do *you* believe what the
-doctor says?”
-
-“I believe you’ll be all right in six months,” said
-Paul. Carl sat bolt upright.
-
-“*Do* you think so? Do you really. You aren’t
-saying that just to cheer me up? No, *you* wouldn’t
-do that, would you?”
-
-“No,” said Paul, “I wouldn’t.”
-
-“Do you think I’ll be able to go back to school
-next year?”
-
-“No,” said Paul, “I don’t.”
-
-“You don’t?” Then Carl laughed. “Well, I’m
-glad you say what you think.”
-
-“It’s very likely, though, that you’ll be able to
-study a little, and a fellow as clever as you are
-won’t be behind long,” went on Paul, gravely.
-Carl was vastly pleased at the compliment.
-
-.. File: 187.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“What makes you think I’m—clever?” he asked
-presently.
-
-“Why, you *are*,” answered Paul in a surprised
-tone, and then with a rather sad little laugh, he
-added, “I wish I knew one tenth—one *hundredth*
-as much as you do. I’m a dunce, I don’t know as
-much as Lottie does—not nearly.”
-
-In the face of this humble remark, Carl remembered
-rather uncomfortably the innumerable jibes
-he had directed at his cousin’s ignorance.
-
-“Well, you can teach yourself a lot,” he said a
-little patronizingly. Paul laughed.
-
-“I try to. But I—I can’t even read decently,
-and it takes the dickens of a long time.”
-
-“Can’t *read*!” cried Carl.
-
-“Well, not enough to boast of. I never went to
-school in my life. A long time ago my mother or
-somebody must have taught me something, and
-then I picked up what I could here and there.
-There was an old fellow I knew years ago,—he
-was a passenger on a little coast trading vessel—we
-were going from Marseilles down to the south
-of Italy, and on the voyage, which was pretty slow,—because
-we sometimes stayed for two or three
-days at different ports,—he taught me a few things.
-And then I learned to read French pretty well, and
-a little Italian, and a young Englishman—a college
-fellow, who’d given up studying for the ministry
-and run away to sea—even taught me some Latin,
-though what under Heaven he thought I’d do with
-it I don’t know. He was a funny one,” said Paul,
-chuckling reminiscently, “a thin little chap, with
-a long nose. He used to say that every gentleman
-should have a knowledge of the classics, and you’d
-see him washing the deck, with copy of some old
-Latin fellow’s poetry sticking out of his back
-pocket.”
-
-“What did he go to sea for?” inquired Carl; for
-the first time he had deigned to listen to some of
-Paul’s adventures, and he found himself getting
-very much interested.
-
-“I don’t know. His uncle was a lord or something—at
-least he told me so, and I daresay it was
-true. He said he was a younger son, though what
-that had to do with it I don’t know. Anyway it
-seemed to be an awfully important thing for me to
-remember. He wanted to make something of himself,
-he said. I told him he’d do better as—well,
-anything but a cabin boy, or deck hand or whatever
-he was. But he said he loved the sea—though
-he was just about the worst sailor I ever saw.”
-
-“What happened to him?”
-
-“I don’t remember. Oh, yes, I do. The poor
-little cuss died—got typhus or something and off
-he went. Bill Tyler told me about it. They buried
-him at sea.”
-
-“Who was Bill Tyler?”
-
-“Bill was—everything! He was an old bird—older
-than father. He’d done everything, seen
-everything—you never knew such a man! He
-couldn’t write his own name, but he was the canniest,
-drollest—and talk about strength! Next to father,
-I guess I liked him better than anyone on earth!”
-Paul’s face glowed, and he launched forth into an
-animated account of his friend’s virtues and exploits,
-urged on eagerly by Carl, who made him go on every
-time he stopped. There were no absurd exaggerations,
-a la Munchausen, in his tales that day. He
-was thinking only of amusing the sick, feeble boy,
-and making him forget his own dreary thoughts.
-Nor did he once reflect that it was this same boy
-who had told him so passionately that he “hated
-him, and always would.”
-
-Elise appearing at the door with Carl’s tray
-stopped short at the sound of his laugh—the first
-spontaneous laugh she had heard from him in many
-a day.
-
-“How much better you seem, dear,” she said,
-setting the tray on his knees, and shaking up his
-pillows. “Paul, your lunch is waiting for you.”
-She sent him a grateful glance.
-
-“If you haven’t anything special to do, come on
-up when you’ve fed,” suggested Carl elegantly.
-Elise nodded eagerly, and following Paul to the
-door, said in a low voice,
-
-“I wish you would, cousin. There isn’t much to
-be done to-day—I can take care of it, and it seems
-to have done him so much good.”
-
-So Paul spent the afternoon, a long, sunny afternoon,
-in that dark room, talking to his cousin, telling
-him about people he had seen—and what a
-heterogeneous collection they were!—places he had
-visited, adventures he and his father had had together.
-A whole new world he opened to the young
-bookworm, who listened with his hands folded, and
-a keen but detached interest, to all these tales of
-action and happy-go-lucky wanderings.
-
-“All that’s great to hear about,” remarked Carl,
-“but I don’t think I’d like to live that way. Too
-much hopping about, and too—uncomfortable.”
-
-“I suppose it was uncomfortable—but I never
-knew what it was to *be* comfortable—that is, to be
-sure of a good bed to sleep in, and plenty to eat,
-and all that—so I never minded.”
-
-“It must bore you to be cooped up here—baking
-cakes! Ha-ha!” Carl laughed outright. “I never
-thought before of how funny that was!”
-
-“I have,” remarked Paul, drily.
-
-“What do you suppose that Bill Tyler would say?”
-
-“I can’t imagine,” replied Paul, smiling glumly.
-“He’d probably say it was a good job, and that I
-ought to thank Heaven for it. He was a practical
-old egg, or he pretended to be. He was forever
-preaching what he called ‘hard sense’—and getting
-himself into more tight squeezes—he was worse
-than father. He had more common sense and used
-it less than any man I ever saw.”
-
-“Do you really want to be a painter?” asked Carl
-suddenly. “That’s such a queer thing to want to be.”
-
-“Oh, well,” said Paul, evidently not anxious to
-pursue the subject.
-
-“And so—*useless*.”
-
-“That’s what Bill Tyler used to say. And yet
-*he* was the one who took me to a picture gallery for
-the first time in my life—I was only eleven or
-twelve years old. And it was there that I met old
-Peguignot—so it was partly Bill’s fault that I began
-to think about painting at all. The old duffer!
-He’d spend an entire afternoon rambling around
-some gallery, going into raptures over this picture
-and that, pointing out what he liked and what he
-didn’t like—and then when we’d come out, he’d say,
-’but that’s all nonsense, and waste of time.’”
-
-“Who was Peguignot?”
-
-“Why, he was a little artist—a funny, shabby,
-excitable little guy, with a perfectly enormous moustache
-that looked as if it were made out of a lot
-of black hairpins; and his eyebrows were just like
-it. When he talked and got enthusiastic about
-something, they’d all work up and down. Bill and
-I came upon him one day in some gallery or other.
-He was sitting up on a high stool making a copy
-of a big religious painting. Bill began to talk to
-him, and, I suppose, just to tease him, started on
-his favorite line about what nonsense it all was.
-I thought Peguignot would blow up. He shook
-a whole handful of wet paint-brushes in Bill’s face,
-called him every name he could think of—I began
-to laugh and then he turned on me, and told me I
-was a miserable boy, and please both of us to go
-far away from him. But I said I agreed with him
-altogether, and then we both started in on Bill.
-Well, anyhow it wound up by all of us getting to be
-the best of friends; and after that Bill and I used
-to go around and see him quite often. And he
-taught me all I ever learned about painting. He
-wasn’t very good himself, and he certainly wasn’t
-successful, but he knew a lot, and when he wasn’t
-exploding about something, he could tell what he
-knew very clearly. Poor little beggar, he had a
-hard time of it—he was as poverty-stricken as Job
-most of the time.” And then Paul began to laugh.
-“I remember one day his landlady came up to get
-his rent. He heard her coming, and got into a perfect
-panic, and was actually trying to crawl under
-his bed when she knocked at the door. Then he got
-very calm and dignified, and told me to let her in.
-So in she came, and then an argument began, and
-finally both of them started to weep and wring their
-hands—you never heard such a rumpus. Finally
-he said to her, ‘Madam, put me out. Put me out
-on the streets—it is what I deserve,’ and he began
-to hunt for his bedroom slippers which were the
-things that were most precious to him I suppose.
-And then she threw her apron over her head and
-wailed, and said she couldn’t do that because he was
-so ‘leetle.’ Well, at last he took a picture that I
-had painted down from his easel, and said to her,
-‘Madam, I give you this. Sell it, and keep the
-money.’ Well, she stood there glowering as if she
-simply couldn’t think of anything strong enough
-to say; until she suddenly roared out, ‘Ah-h-h!
-You leetle *moustache*! Why don’t you sell it *yourself*!
-Then I should have my money.’ And she
-took the picture with both hands, and banged him
-over the head with it. But at last she said she’d
-wait another month, and then she would have him
-imprisoned—and off she went with my picture.”
-
-Carl laughed.
-
-“And did he pay her the next month?”
-
-“I don’t know. In any case, he certainly wasn’t
-imprisoned. But don’t think he took his debts
-lightly. He was ashamed of them and he was
-ashamed of himself; and he worked for money in
-the only way he could, and never tried to shirk
-his responsibilities. People knew that, and they
-were lenient with him, because he was honest and
-good and they loved him.”
-
-There was a pause, then Carl asked curiously,
-but with some hesitation,
-
-“If I—if my eyes *don’t* get all right, what will
-you do?”
-
-“What do you mean?”
-
-“I mean—will you stay on in the business?”
-
-“In any case, it’s my job, isn’t it?” returned
-Paul evasively. Then suddenly, he dropped his face
-in his hands. For so many nights, in the little room
-to which he had been relegated since Carl’s illness,
-he had been wrestling with that problem. A hundred
-times he had decided that there would be only
-one course open to him in the event that Carl should
-not get well; he would stay with his family and
-help them. His uncle was getting old, and the
-silent, tragic appeal in the poor man’s eyes, and
-his dreadful anxiety about his son had touched Paul
-even more than Aunt Gertrude’s sorrow.
-
-“Ah, well, what’s the use of trying to settle the
-whole course of your life,” he said aloud, but more
-as if he were speaking to himself. “You get
-worked up, and start pitying yourself before there’s
-anything definite to pity yourself for.” Then suddenly,
-he said, “Tell me, cousin, I have wanted
-to ask you—why is it that you hated me? If you
-don’t want to answer never mind. We seem to be
-friends now—or I may be mistaken.”
-
-Carl was silent for several moments, then he said
-rather gruffly,
-
-“I—there was no reason perhaps. Let that be.
-You were right—when you said that I didn’t hate
-you as much as I thought I did.”
-
-That was the last reference that was made to
-their former enmity. They were too different, perhaps,
-ever to be really intimate, but the hatchet
-was buried between them.
-
-During Carl’s convalescence Paul was with him a
-great deal. His stock of stories seemed inexhaustible,
-and in lieu of books Carl found them the only
-source of novel entertainment to be had; and for the
-time being Paul was exempted from his duties in the
-Bakery to amuse his cousin. It was not any too
-amusing for *him*; but he willingly passed hour after
-hour at Carl’s bedside. It was the sight of the
-bandaged eyes that kept his sympathy keen and
-made him gentle and patient even when Carl was
-fretful and hard to please.
-
-One day Carl said to him,
-
-“Why don’t you read aloud to me? The doctor
-says it’ll be all right now. I’ve a mountain of stuff
-to make up for school, and we’ll both gain something.”
-
-Paul blushed. He was not particularly keen on
-displaying his shortcomings outright to Carl, even
-if he did confess them. But oh second thoughts, he
-got the book that his cousin asked for, and opening
-it, plunged in bravely. It was a humiliating experience
-for him, to have to stop before a long
-word, and pronounce it syllable by syllable, and
-although Carl did not laugh at him, he corrected
-him with an air of grave superiority that was even
-more trying. But the very fact that he did not
-shine in this particular province, increased Carl’s
-good will toward him.
-
-“You are getting on very well,” he said in a
-patronizing tone. “Keep it up.”
-
-The books that they read frequently led to arguments—friendly
-debates, and these were Carl’s special
-delight. He liked to pretend that he was addressing
-a jury, and would launch forth into a flood
-of eloquence, to which Paul listened very respectfully,
-usually taking care not to contradict his cousin
-or to wound his vanity by remaining unconvinced
-by his oratory. But sometimes he would get carried
-away himself, and a vigorous battle would follow,
-in which Paul had only his clear, simple reasoning to
-pit against Carl’s confusing knowledge. But both
-of them enjoyed it; Carl loved to dispute any point
-at all, and Paul “liked the exercise.”
-
-But in the long run, Paul found Carl’s favorite
-occupations very little to his taste. He grew weary
-of his cousin’s books, with their long-winded dissertations,
-he positively hated the dim room; and
-the innumerable games of checkers that they played,
-when Carl’s eyes finally began to improve, gradually
-developed in him a profound detestation of that
-pastime. His only satisfaction came to him from
-his aunt’s and uncle’s gratitude.
-
-By the end of the month Carl was well enough to
-sit up in a chair by the window for three or four
-hours a clay, and even to take off his eyeshade for a
-little while in the evening when the light was softer.
-The family happiness over this improvement was
-boundless, and in the late afternoons everyone
-gathered in Carl’s room. These were gay occasions,
-and even Mr. Lambert, who always sat beside his
-son, and never took his eyes from his face, cracked
-jokes, and laughed and was in the best humor
-imaginable.
-
-One Sunday afternoon they were thus collected—all
-of them, including Granny, who sat rocking
-serenely back and forth, smiling benignly and a little
-absent-mindedly upon them all, winding a skein of
-deep magenta wool, which Lottie held for her. The
-whole room was in pleasant disorder, books and
-games lay scattered around, for Mr. Lambert had
-relaxed his usual strict Sabbath rules while Carl was
-ill, and permitted all sorts of uncustomary amusements.
-Minie was cutting new paper dolls out of
-the Sunday paper, and painting them in glorious
-hues. Everyone was gossiping and chattering—everyone,
-that is except Jane and Paul, who sat on
-the little bench that made a seat in the embrasure of
-the casement window.
-
-Jane, who had missed her cousin severely during
-the last weeks, was content to have him with her
-again, and sat beside him, looking through the section
-of the newspaper that Minie had graciously
-spared. Paul, a trifle out of spirits, was staring out
-of the window. It was open, admitting a gentle
-evening breeze, which rustled through the full-blown
-foliage of Jane’s beloved nut-tree. Below, on the
-other side of the street some children were playing
-hop-scotch. And from somewhere came the sound
-of boyish voices singing in “close harmony”—“I
-was seeing Nelly ho-ome, I was seeing Nelly home,
-It was from Aunt Dinah’s quilting party, I was seeing
-Nel-ly home.”
-
-Suddenly Jane laid her hand on Paul’s to attract
-his attention. “Look! Look at this, Paul,” she
-said in a low voice, putting the paper on his knee,
-and pointing to a paragraph.
-
-He glanced down and read,
-
-“C——. June 1st. The Academy of Arts announces
-that it will offer a series of prizes for painting
-and sculpture, to be competed for according to
-the following rules.” Then followed a list of regulations,
-after which the notice went on to say that,
-“All work must be submitted on or before September
-1st. Three prizes will be awarded in each department.
-No work will be considered unless etc., etc.”
-
-“Well, what of it?” said Paul, shortly.
-
-“Can’t you—why don’t you—”
-
-.. File: 198.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“You know I can’t. Look at that kid down there,
-will you—”
-
-“Paul, why not?”
-
-“Because I can’t, I tell you,” he repeated, irritably.
-
-“But why don’t you try,” persisted Jane, undaunted.
-“If you don’t win anything, there’s no
-harm done, and if you *should*, Paul—if you
-*should*—”
-
-“When and where would I be able to do any work,
-will you tell me?” He spoke almost angrily, but he
-took the paper from her hand and looked at it again.
-
-“What are you two whispering about?” inquired
-Carl. He still felt a twinge of jealousy when he
-saw Jane and Paul talking without taking him into
-their confidence.
-
-“Nothing,” said Paul. “Just something Jane saw
-in the paper.” And picking up Minie’s rubber ball
-he began to bounce and catch it monotonously.
-
-“What is it?”
-
-With a shrug of his shoulders, Paul handed the
-paper over to Carl, pointing out the paragraph.
-Carl gave it to Mr. Lambert.
-
-“Read it, father.” So Mr. Lambert put on his
-spectacles, while Jane looked uneasily at Paul.
-
-Mr. Lambert read it aloud, and then without making
-any comment, laid the paper aside. He looked
-displeased.
-
-“Why don’t you compete, Paul?” said Carl suddenly.
-“There’d be no harm in trying.”
-
-Then Aunt Gertrude, glancing timidly at her husband,
-found courage to put in a word.
-
-.. File: 199.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-There was a silence, during which everyone waited
-for Mr. Lambert to say something; but no remark
-from him was forthcoming. That he was annoyed
-could be seen plainly, but because the suggestion had
-come from Carl he maintained his silence.
-
-“Do you think you’d stand any chance of winning,
-Paul?” Carl asked secure in his peculiar privileges
-of free speech.
-
-“I don’t know. How should I?”
-
-Jane was simply on tenter-hooks. If only Carl
-would take up the case!
-
-“Would you like to try it?”
-
-“Yes. I would.”
-
-“Well, why don’t you? You could find some
-place—”
-
-“That isn’t the point,” interrupted Paul, looking
-directly at his uncle, “it’s up to you, Uncle Peter.
-You told me that I wasn’t to touch a paint-brush
-while I was in your house. And I haven’t. But
-I—”
-
-“Well, you’ll let him, won’t you, father? He
-might as well have a go at it.”
-
-“My boy, I think it is hardly—”
-
-“But it’s only a little matter, father. I’d like to
-see how he’d make out. We’d feel pretty fine if he
-*should* win anything, and if he doesn’t, there’s nothing
-lost.”
-
-Mr. Lambert bit his lip. But at that time he
-could no more have refused his son’s slightest wish
-than he could have struck him.
-
-“Well, well—go ahead if you want, Paul. I am
-sure I wish you every success.” It was stiffly and
-unwillingly said, but it was a victory nonetheless,
-and Paul did not know whether to be more amazed
-at his uncle’s concession or at Carl’s intercession.
-Jane, her face beaming with delight, started to clap
-her hands, and then realizing that any evidences of
-unseemly joy might have unpleasant results, quickly
-folded them in her lap.
-
-And so it came about, through the play of circumstances,
-that the one member of the Lambert family
-who had been so bitterly inimical to Paul for eight
-months assumed the rôle of benefactor, and gallantly
-squared his debt by a few right words spoken at
-exactly the right moment.
-
-.. File: 201.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-CHAPTER XII—JEFF ROBERTS
-========================
-
-“Do you think I’ll be able to put it across?” Paul
-asked, despondently, stepping back from the half
-finished picture and eyeing it with his head on one
-side and a frown on his brow.
-
-Jane, perched on an old barrel, her chin on her
-fists, studied the embryo masterpiece with a grave,
-judicial air.
-
-“I think it is going to be *very* good,” she observed
-at length.
-
-“Do you, honestly?” Paul knew of course that
-Jane was about as capable of judging as Anna, but
-he had reached the point where encouragement from
-any source was sweet. “Lord, I hope I get it done
-in time.”
-
-“You will,” said Jane. Paul grinned at her.
-
-“You’re about the most optimistic character I
-ever knew. I suppose you think I’m certain to win
-a first prize.”
-
-“Don’t *you* think so?”
-
-“No, my child. I don’t think there’s a chance in
-the world.”
-
-“Oh, Paul! But you’ll win something.”
-
-“No, my jovial Jane, I won’t. But that’s neither
-here nor there. Whew! Let’s get out of here.
-I’m melting. How about you?”
-
-“It *is* pretty hot,” Jane admitted. It most certainly
-was. An attic, even on coolish days seems
-able to store up heat as no other place can, and on
-a sizzling August afternoon a bakeoven is Iceland
-in comparison. The only thing to be said in favor
-of the Lambert’s attic was that it had a northern
-light if not a northern temperature, and here Paul
-had set to work.
-
-“Want to take a walk?” he suggested, dropping
-his paintbrushes into a can of turpentine.
-
-“Can’t. I promised Elise I’d help her with
-some of the mending.”
-
-“Well, I think I’ll browse around for a while.
-Tell Aunt Gertrude I’ll be back for supper. She
-said there wasn’t a thing for me to do.”
-
-“Where are you going?”
-
-“Nowhere in particular. I feel like doing something
-rash and reckless, but there’s no danger of
-anything like *that*—here. Where’s Carl?”
-
-“Out in the garden with Elise and the twins.”
-
-“Well—good-bye. I’ll be back in half an hour
-or so.”
-
-Paul selected for his solitary ramble a certain
-rough, dusty, shady lane that led down past the
-ruins of an old mill. Here on those breathless
-afternoons a crowd of little urchins were wont to
-gather to splash and paddle in the gurgling stream
-that tossed over its stony bed on to the water-fall
-above the mill. On the opposite side of the road
-rose a wooded hill, where the tree-tops were gilded
-with ruddy sunlight, and the deep fern scented recesses
-were always cool and dim.
-
-The shade and freshness of the woods on that hot
-day were not to be resisted, and Paul turned into
-them, following a soft, weed-grown road that lead
-along a little tributary of the mill-stream. But he
-was feeling restless and even a little rebellious. The
-calm, uneventful course of his life during the past
-nine months had gotten on his nerves, and he found
-himself longing for some kind of change or excitement.
-What wouldn’t he give to see old Bill Tyler
-coming toward him at that moment!
-
-He stopped, and leaning against an old wooden
-railing, stared down at the stream that flowed by at
-the foot of the steep bank. For more than a month
-he had been working as hard as he could at his picture,
-taking good care not to let it interfere with his
-other duties, lest his uncle should recall his permission;
-Aunt Gertrude tried to help him, and he had
-progressed; but there wasn’t a chance in a million
-of his winning anything, and he was not sure but
-that he had made a mistake in undertaking the task
-at all. He started on again, walking slowly, with
-his hands buried in his pockets, forgetful of the passage
-of time, and of his uncle’s dislike of having
-anyone late for a meal. Suddenly he stopped. It
-seemed to him that someone had called his name.
-
-Looking back over his shoulder he saw a small
-man running easily along the road toward him.
-
-“Hello! Where are you off to?” inquired the
-newcomer, as he came up, smiling in a friendly
-way. “I saw you back there, and thought I recognized
-you. How are you?”
-
-It was no other than the notorious Jefferson
-Roberts, his face beaming with a friendly, winning
-smile, and his hand outstretched. Paul shook the
-hand, and said that he was off to nowhere—that he
-was just walking.
-
-“Communing with Nature?” said Jeff, cocking his
-head on one side, while his bright brown eyes twinkled
-merrily. “May I commune with you? I’m going
-in your direction.”
-
-“Come ahead. That is, unless you’re in a hurry.
-I *won’t* walk fast.”
-
-“Oh, I’m never in a hurry. What have you been
-doing since I saw you last?”
-
-Paul answered the question briefly without going
-into any details.
-
-“What an industrious life!” exclaimed Jeff gaily.
-“How is your good little cousin, Carl Lambert? Do
-you remember that day in Allenboro? He was horrified
-at you—he thinks I’m the most wicked creature
-alive. But then, most of those good souls *do*.
-And why? simply because I like to enjoy myself—and
-succeed at it.” And as he said this he laughed
-so spontaneously, his face was so full of arch, easy-going
-good nature that Paul joined in his laugh,
-feeling convinced that the tales about Jeff were
-mostly absurd exaggerations. In fifteen minutes or
-so he began to believe, also, that there was a great
-deal of good in Jeff that had been most uncharitably
-overlooked. There was nothing “smarty” about
-him; he seemed frank and boyish, overflowing-with
-high spirits, impulsive, enthusiastic, and happy-go-lucky
-all at once. He was even rather a confiding
-soul, and strolling along beside Paul, whose arm
-he had taken, chattered naïvely about himself and
-his affairs with child-like frankness.
-
-Presently his mood changed; he began to blame
-himself for his idleness, and to talk about his
-mother. He told Paul that he had decided to get
-a good job in the fall, and work hard.
-
-“I’m a lot more serious than anyone thinks, let
-me tell you,” he remarked gravely. “I like fun,
-but I’m not like the rest of those chumps you saw
-up at Allenboro. *They* think they know me—but
-they don’t. They only see one side—so does
-everyone else. But I’ll show ’em. One of these
-days I’ll be a nice, respectable—Mayor, with three
-chins, and a gold watch-chain.” This fancy sent
-him off into a fit of amusement. His humors
-changed so rapidly from melancholy to gaiety that
-there was no way of being sure that he was not
-joking when he seemed grave, and serious when he
-was laughing; but he was a delightful companion,
-and the two boys sauntered along talking as if
-they had been intimates from their childhood.
-
-Suddenly, Paul realized that much time must
-have flown since Jeff interrupted his meditations.
-
-“Gee! It must be pretty late,” he exclaimed
-looking up through the trees, trying to guess the
-time by the sun. “Have you got a watch?”
-
-.. File: 206.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-Jeff laughed, and pulling his watch-chain from
-his pocket, displayed a bunch of keys, which he
-twirled jauntily.
-
-“My watch, I’m sorry to say, is on a short vacation.
-But you don’t have to bother about the time.
-Come on with me—I’m going to scare up some of
-the fellows, and see what we can find to do.”
-
-Paul hesitated. He was decidedly in the mood
-for falling in with Jeff’s harmless suggestion; besides,
-he would certainly be late for supper, and,
-was consequently, slated for his uncle’s reproof
-anyhow.
-
-“All right. What are you going to do?”
-
-“Oh, sit around and talk most likely. Probably
-ramble off to get something to eat, and then we
-might go up to see Tom Babcock—he’s a nice fellow.
-You’d like him.”
-
-This seemed a mild and agreeable program, and
-was very much to Paul’s taste. If his uncle should
-ask him where he’d been—well, hang it, did he
-have to give an account of everything he did, as if
-he were a child of ten? And all this fuss about
-Jeff Roberts was such utter nonsense anyhow.
-
-Accordingly, he accepted Jeff’s friendly invitation,
-and they went off together following the road
-on through the woods which led by a short cut to
-the neighboring town, of Goldsboro.
-
-Goldsboro was a progressive young community
-where, unquestionably you could find more to do
-than at Frederickstown. The streets were brightly
-lighted at night, every Wednesday and Saturday
-evening during the summer a band played for two
-hours in the Square, and the shops stayed open
-until ten o’clock, and there was even a theatre where
-such old classics as “Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” “The Old
-Homestead,” and “Billy, the Kid,” were enacted by
-an ambitious stock company.
-
-Jeff seemed to know everyone, and it was not long
-before he had collected a jolly party of five or six
-boys. He also knew where you could get a capital
-sea-food supper, and insisted that Paul should be his
-guest. In fact, Paul found the attentions bestowed
-upon him by this rather famous youth, decidedly
-flattering though he was at a loss to know just why
-Jeff should suddenly have begun to treat him as if
-he were his best friend. The truth was that Jeff
-was inclined to sudden friendships, which were
-often as speedily broken as made.
-
-Supper over, it was suggested that they drop
-around and see what Tom Babcock was doing.
-
-Tom was a young man older even than Jeff—two-and-twenty,
-perhaps, or twenty-three. He lived
-magnificently alone in a small room over a corner
-drugstore, where they found him smoking his pipe
-and hanging half way out of his window to watch
-the crowd in the Square, and to hear the strains of
-the brass-band which at that moment was playing
-“Kathleen Mavourneen” with deep pathos.
-
-Upon the arrival of his guests, Tom lighted his
-gas, and after a little conversation they all sat down
-to a game of cards.
-
-Paul enjoyed himself immensely. He liked Jeff,
-he liked Tom, he liked Jim, and Jack and Harry.
-They were “nice fellows,” all of them. Why they
-should be considered such a dangerous crew was
-more than he could understand.
-
-And meantime the night wore on.
-
-In the Lambert household mild wonder at Paul’s
-absence gave way to anxiety.
-
-“Well, I suppose the boy knows how to take care
-of himself,” remarked Mr. Lambert, drily.
-
-“Perhaps, Peter, you had better put the latch-key
-under the doormat,” suggested Aunt Gertrude, but
-Mr. Lambert would not agree to this.
-
-“No, my dear. He knows quite well that everything
-is locked at ten o’clock. If he prefers to be
-roaming around the country at that time, he must
-be prepared to take the consequences. I hope you
-do not expect me to alter all the rules of the household
-for the boy.”
-
-So at ten o’clock, Paul not yet having made his
-appearance, the front door was locked, and the family
-went to bed.
-
-But Jane was not able to take his absence so
-calmly. Suppose he had got lost? Suppose he had
-hurt himself? He might even have been kidnapped.
-These fears made it impossible for her to sleep, and
-so she sat down at her window, determined to wait
-up for him all night if necessary. With the house
-locked, how could he get in—where could he go?
-
-The time that she waited seemed endless. The
-tones of the church clock, striking eleven, boomed
-solemnly through the stillness that lay over the town.
-All the houses were darkened; the street was quiet.
-Now and then, solitary footsteps rang out on the
-bricks, and Jane sat up eagerly only to hear them
-die away in a neighboring block.
-
-Where *could* he be? She was almost in tears
-when after an eternity of waiting she heard the
-sound of whistling far up the street.
-
-“That *must* be Paul. It *must* be!” She leaned
-far out of the window, trying to get a glimpse of
-the wanderer, who was in fact coming nearer to
-the house. At last he came into the light of the
-street lamp, and she recognized him with a great
-sigh of relief. In another moment she had flown
-noiselessly down the stairs, and unbolted the door
-with as little squeaking and rattling as possible.
-
-“Hello,” said Paul as calmly as if he had just
-run up to the corner to mail a letter.
-
-“Oh, *where* have you been?”
-
-“Where have I been?” Paul was instantly on
-the defensive. “Why—what’s the matter?
-What’s everything locked up for?”
-
-“Sh! Everyone’s asleep but me. Oh, I thought
-you were *dead*!”
-
-“Good Heaven’s—*why*? It isn’t late.”
-
-“It’s nearly twelve. Everyone’s been in bed for
-ages. We couldn’t imagine what had become of
-you—”
-
-“Well, I must say I don’t see why there’s so
-much fuss. I just walked over to Goldsboro to
-see what was going on, and fooled around there
-for a while. It was later than I thought when I
-went out, and when I found out I’d miss supper, I
-thought I might as well take a good walk, and get
-something to eat over there.”
-
-“Oh,—well we couldn’t imagine—you’d better
-walk softly, Paul.”
-
-For some reason, Paul suddenly chose to think
-that Jane was reproving him.
-
-“I don’t see why I can’t be a little late without
-everyone’s getting so worked up over it. Do you
-mean to say that I mustn’t leave the house without
-telling everyone exactly what time I’ll be back?”
-he grumbled. “Gee whiz! Life isn’t worth living
-if you have to be worrying every minute—”
-
-“*Sh-sh*, Paul! You’ll wake everybody up,”
-whispered Jane. He subsided a little, but was still
-muttering indignantly when he parted from her
-and tiptoed cautiously up to his room.
-
-The next morning at breakfast, Mr. Lambert
-asked him casually what had delayed him, and appeared
-quite satisfied at his off-hand answer.
-
-“And how did you get in? Everything is always
-locked at ten, as you know.”
-
-“I heard him whistling, Daddy, and I let him
-in,” spoke up Jane. Mr. Lambert merely said,
-
-“Ah! Well, don’t let it happen again my boy.
-It made me very uneasy.”
-
-No further reference was made to the matter.
-
-“There was no harm in it,” thought Paul. “They
-have the impression that Jeff is a black sheep, and
-it would be a silly thing to go out of my way to tell
-’em that I saw him again. Uncle would have a fit,
-and it’s such a little thing to deliberately get up a
-row about.”
-
-And so being satisfied that his mild escapade would
-have no uncomfortable results he thought no more
-about it.
-
-.. File: 212.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-CHAPTER XIII—DISASTER
-=====================
-
-Poor Janey was feeling very blue indeed. During
-the last week it seemed to her that Paul had
-somehow grown so different—rather inclined to be
-cross and uncommunicative, and even to avoid her
-company. That very afternoon he had told her
-please not to bother him while he was painting, or he
-never would get his picture done, and twice when she
-had offered to take a walk with him, he had refused
-her company with no very gracious excuse.
-
-Thus ignored and rebuffed, she had sadly devoted
-herself to deeds of charity, and on that sultry afternoon
-sat with Carl reading aloud to him from a fat
-dull book about the ancient Britons. They were sitting
-in the little garden, where the shadow of the
-house offered some protection from the sun; Carl
-reposing like a Sultan in his easy chair, gazing up at
-the motionless weathervane on the gable of the attic,
-and occasionally begging Jane “*not* to mumble her
-words.” The attic was on the third floor just above
-Granny’s room, in a part of the house that formed
-an ell, bounding the garden on the south side with
-its ivy-covered wall.
-
-“I say, Jane, do you suppose that Paul is
-*smoking*?” said Carl suddenly, interrupting the monotonous
-flow of Jane’s reading.
-
-“What?”
-
-“Well, that’s smoke, isn’t it? coming out of the
-attic window—and cigar smoke, too, or I’ll eat my
-hat!”
-
-Jane looked up. It was an undeniable fact that
-a blue spiral issued from the attic, and, caught by
-the faint breeze, was wafted gracefully upwards,
-and dissolved. A very faint scent drifted down to
-the garden, and that scent—if such it could be
-called—was of tobacco. Paul, happily ignorant
-of the dismayed interest he had roused in the
-garden below, was sampling a cigar that Jeff had
-lavishly bestowed on him.
-
-“Well, all I’ve got to say is that if he knows
-what is good for him, he’ll cut *that* out,” observed
-Carl drily.
-
-“I guess—I guess he’s just doing it for fun,”
-said Jane.
-
-“He won’t think it fun if father catches him.
-But it’s none of *my* business, I suppose. Go
-on.”
-
-Jane went on reading, furtively glancing aloft
-every now and then to see if the tell-tale puffs of
-smoke were still issuing from the open window.
-To her intense relief they had stopped after a few
-minutes, and presently she heard Paul talking to
-her mother in the kitchen.
-
-“Do you really like this book?” she asked at
-last, looking at her brother pathetically.
-
-.. File: 214.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“Very much. But you needn’t read any more if
-you’re tired. Here’s Elise, now, anyway.”
-
-Elise had just entered by the garden gate.
-
-“Carl! Jane! What do you think! The most
-exciting thing—”
-
-“Lily Deacon is engaged to Mr. Sheridan,” said
-Jane promptly. Elise stared at her, her round
-blue eyes wide with amazement.
-
-“How did you know?”
-
-“I put two and two together. Aren’t I clever?”
-
-“No, how *did* you guess, Janey? Lily hasn’t
-told anyone but me.”
-
-“Well, I knew it *was* going to happen, and I
-knew that you’d been up to see Lily this afternoon,
-and I guessed the rest. Isn’t it *nice*, though!”
-cried Jane, clapping her hands. “And you know
-*I’m* really responsible for it.”
-
-“*You*!” hooted Carl derisively.
-
-“Yes, me. When did it happen, Elise, and
-when are they going to be married? I do so love
-a wedding, and there hasn’t been one here for
-ages. Do you suppose she’ll wear a veil?”
-
-Elise, who under her placid exterior had the most
-romantic of souls, sat down to recount all the
-details that she had gleaned from her best friend.
-
-“And she’s going to live in that lovely house,
-and she’ll travel, and she—goodness, do you suppose
-Paul has burned up *another* batch of cakes?”
-she broke off short in her rhapsody over Lily’s
-prospects to sniff the air.
-
-“Don’t you smell smoke? I do hope he hasn’t
-had another disaster—he’s been getting along so
-well. Well, anyway—where was I?”
-
-“You said she was going to travel. What *I* want
-to know is when the wedding is going to be,” said
-Jane.
-
-“Oh, that isn’t decided yet—in the spring, I think.
-You know, that doesn’t smell like cake burning. It
-smells like rags. I suppose somebody’s burning
-trash.”
-
-Carl laughed and looked at Jane; but the burning
-smell did not resemble tobacco at all, and besides,
-Paul was still in the kitchen with Aunt Gertrude.
-
-“Go on and tell some more, Elise,” said Jane.
-
-“I’ve told you all I know. I must get you your
-milk, Carl.”
-
-A minute later Elise reappeared at the dining
-room door, bearing a tray well stocked with milk and
-cookies, and followed by Paul and Aunt Gertrude.
-
-“Dear me, who *can* be burning rubbish?” exclaimed
-Mrs. Lambert. “Don’t you smell smoke,
-children?”
-
-“*I* do, I can tell you,” said Carl. “By Jove, Paul,
-what’s going on up in your den?”
-
-Everyone looked up in consternation to the attic
-window. Paul had closed it before he came down,
-but smoke was coming slowly from under the pane.
-
-“Good heavens! It couldn’t be on fire!” cried
-Elise. “Run, Paul! Run, *quickly*!”
-
-But Paul had not waited to be urged. Up the
-stairs he was flying, as fast as his long legs could
-carry him, followed by Jane, Elise and poor Aunt
-Gertrude, whose only thought was for Granny, the
-twins having gone out to play early in the afternoon.
-
-The smoke was already thick on the second floor.
-
-“Elise, you and Aunt Gertrude take Granny downstairs,”
-ordered Paul. “Jane, you’d better not come
-up.”
-
-“I’ll get a bucket of water. Oh, Paul! Your
-*picture*!”
-
-“Never mind my picture—get the water *quick*!”
-And Paul dashed on up the stairs.
-
-With his heart in his boots, he made his way to
-the attic, trying to hold his breath so that he would
-not swallow the smoke.
-
-It turned out that so far as danger was concerned
-there was no great cause for excitement. Although
-the attic was dense with smoke, the cause of it was
-only a small blaze in the heap of rags near the window,
-which subsided under two bucketfuls of water.
-
-Jane, whom Paul had not allowed to come up,
-waited for news at the foot of the stairs; but after
-he had informed her that the fire was out, she heard
-nothing more from him. After a few moments she
-shouted,
-
-“Paul! Are you all right?”
-
-“Oh, *I’m* all right,” replied a muffled voice, in a
-tone of the utmost despair.
-
-“Well, come on down, or you’ll smother. What’s
-happened?”
-
-“I’ll be down in a second,” and then through the
-fog Paul appeared slowly, descending the stairs carrying
-a square of canvas.
-
-.. File: 217.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“Is it hurt?” asked Jane, fearfully. “Oh, Paul!”
-
-“I don’t know. I can’t see it properly yet.”
-But his face showed that he expected the worst
-Neither of them spoke a word until they reached
-the garden again, where Aunt Gertrude pounced
-upon Jane.
-
-“Oh, *child*, how you frightened me! Paul, are
-you quite sure everything’s all right? Oh, how
-did it start—was there really a *blaze*?”
-
-“Just a little one—it’s all out—a few rags. I
-pitched ’em all out of the window. I’m—sorry,
-Aunt Gertrude.”
-
-“Oh, my poor boy—your picture!”
-
-“What’s the matter? Is it ruined?” asked Carl.
-Jane said nothing, but stood looking first at her
-cousin’s face, and then at the smoke-begrimed
-and blistered canvas on which there was hardly a
-semblance of the picture that had been so nearly
-completed.
-
-“Yes,” said Paul, with the calmness of despair,
-“it’s ruined. It’s ruined all right.”
-
-No one knew what to say, and a silence followed,
-until Elise asked timidly if he didn’t have
-time to do another.
-
-“In four days? This is the twenty-seventh.
-No, cousin, I couldn’t—and besides, even if I
-could, I haven’t anything to do it with. So I guess
-that’s all there is to that.” He tried to sound cheerful,
-and turning the picture against the wall of the
-house, announced that he was going back to the
-attic to see if everything was calm up there.
-
-.. File: 218.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“Well, that’s pretty hard luck,” remarked Carl.
-“I daresay he’s more broken up than he lets on.”
-
-Jane had begun to cry, hiding her face in
-Granny’s lap. Not even Paul could have been as
-cruelly disappointed as she.
-
-“Oh, he *would* have won something! I’m sure
-he would have!” she wept, disconsolately. “He
-said he didn’t think so, but he *did*, and I know
-he did.”
-
-“Well, one way or the other, it’s his affair,”
-said Carl, “and I certainly don’t see why *you*
-should be in such a stew over it.”
-
-“It is my affair, too,” wailed Jane, and at this
-characteristic remark no one could help smiling.
-
-“Come, Janey, darling, there’s no use in taking
-it so to heart,” said Mrs. Lambert, laying her
-hand softly on the curly head. “We are all dreadfully
-distressed about Paul, but he has taken his
-misfortune bravely, and after all he will have
-many more chances. Elise, isn’t that the bell in
-the bakeshop? Dear me, what can people think
-coming in to all that smoke. I wonder if it’s clearing
-out at all. Come now, Janey, cheer up.”
-
-Janey lifted her face from Granny’s knees, and
-wiped her wet cheeks with the palms of her hands,
-leaving long smudges.
-
-“There now. We must all be thankful that there
-was no worse harm done,” said her mother, kissing
-her. “Come along, Elise. You come with me
-too, Janey. We mustn’t keep anyone waiting.”
-
-But Paul was already in the bakeshop, and was
-calmly counting out change to the customer when
-his aunt came in. He was rather pale, but apparently
-quite cheerful.
-
-“I looked around in the attic again, Aunt Gertrude.
-It’s all right up there,” he said calmly,
-when the customer had gone. “The floor is charred
-a bit where the rags were—but that’s all the damage.
-And the smoke’s clearing out. It didn’t get
-into the rooms much, because all the doors were
-closed.”
-
-“We’re all so distressed about your picture, my
-dear,” said Aunt Gertrude, laying her hands on his
-arm. “I know what disappointment you must feel—and
-you are a very plucky boy.”
-
-Paul looked down at her, started to say something,
-and then abruptly left the shop.
-
-“But how in the world could it have started?”
-wondered Aunt Gertrude, for the first time. “He
-surely couldn’t have had the oil-stove lighted in
-this weather, and it couldn’t have started by itself.”
-
-But Elise had no theory to offer, and Jane was
-in tears again, so Aunt Gertrude carried her mystification
-out to the kitchen, to see whether Anna
-had returned with the groceries.
-
-At six o’clock, Mr. Lambert returned to the
-bosom of a highly excited family, and, at the supper
-table, listened with a peculiarly austere expression
-to the incoherent accounts of the disaster. Presently,
-he held up his hand.
-
-“Come, come! I cannot find the beginning or
-end of all this,” he said, and then bending his gaze
-on Paul, added, slowly and sternly, “there was
-a fire to-day in the attic—where you, Paul, have
-been—er—working. So much I understand. But
-what I do *not* understand is—how this fire
-started.”
-
-There was a silence. Jane glanced at Carl, and
-Carl took a drink of water.
-
-“We hear of such things as spontaneous combustion,”
-pursued Mr. Lambert, “but for anything
-of the sort to take place, there must be certain conditions.
-I do not imagine that such conditions
-could exist—in a pile of rags—under an open window.
-No,” said Mr. Lambert, shaking his head,
-“I must discard that theory.”
-
-Again the unpleasant silence followed these remarks.
-Paul, who had eaten nothing, drummed
-nervously on the table.
-
-“You were there, were you not? a short time
-before the fire started?” inquired Mr. Lambert.
-“Did you notice any—er—odor of burning?”
-
-“Why, Paul was with me in the kitchen for quite
-a little while before any of us noticed anything,
-Peter,” Aunt Gertrude broke in innocently.
-
-“Well,” said Mr. Lambert, shaking his head, but
-still keeping his eyes fixed immovably on his
-nephew’s face, “it is quite beyond my comprehension.
-How anything of the sort—”
-
-At this point Paul suddenly interrupted.
-
-“There isn’t anything so very queer about it,
-uncle,” he said coolly enough, at first, though once
-he had spoken his courage seemed to leave him a
-little. “I—I was smoking up there, and I suppose
-I threw a match—or maybe—”
-
-“Ah-h-h!” said Mr. Lambert slowly. Then he
-pressed his lips together, and for a moment or two
-said nothing. At length he observed,
-
-“There are one or two matters I should like to
-take up with you after supper, Paul. However,
-we won’t go into them just now.” And then he
-changed the subject with an abruptness that so
-far from drawing the thoughts of his family *away*
-from speculations upon what was in store for Paul,
-only made them more dismally foreboding. And
-when after supper the family showed a desire to
-disperse before the coming storm, Mr. Lambert
-solemnly asked them to remain while he asked
-Paul a few questions.
-
-“Peter, don’t scold the poor boy to-night,” said
-Aunt Gertrude in a low voice. “He has—he is
-very much distressed and disappointed.”
-
-“It is true that he brought his own punishment
-upon himself,” returned Mr. Lambert, “and I
-should, perhaps, overlook the matter of his smoking
-this time, although he knew quite as well as
-Carl that I have absolutely forbidden that. It is
-a far more serious matter that I have to speak
-of.”
-
-And with this he turned to Paul, who had been
-trying to collect his thoughts. He was not ignorant
-of what the serious matter might be, but it
-seemed to him that his uncle was making a good
-deal more out of it than it was worth, and he had
-begun to wonder whether he had been guilty of
-some crime that so far he knew nothing of.
-
-“I have heard to-day—from a source that I fear
-is only too reliable—certain reports concerning
-you, which in justice to you I must ask you to deny
-or confirm,” said Mr. Lambert.
-
-“What are they, uncle?” asked Paul.
-
-“I was told—and by one of my most respected
-fellow-citizens—that you have been seen not once,
-but at least half a dozen time of late with a young
-man of a most undesirable character and reputation—Jefferson
-Roberts. Could my informant
-have been mistaken? Have you or have you not
-seen this young man several times—recently?”
-
-Paul swallowed. The entire family was aghast,
-for it was very plain that Mr. Lambert was deeply
-angered.
-
-“Well?” said the old merchant. “Is this true?”
-
-“Yes, uncle.”
-
-“You knew what my feelings would be if I
-learned that this *was* true?”
-
-“Yes, uncle.”
-
-“Yes,” repeated Mr. Lambert, “I think you
-knew very well that you were disobeying my strictest
-injunctions. Just before Christmas you were—or
-could have been—seen with this notorious
-youth—a gambler, a rascal, a shameless loafer.
-When I learned of this, I pardoned you, thinking
-that you might not have known how deeply outraged
-I should feel at discovering that any member
-of my household should wish to associate with
-such a person. But now you have disobeyed me
-without such excuse. What am I to think? You
-give me no choice but to believe that you find pleasure
-in disobeying me, and mortifying me.”
-
-After a pause, he went on,
-
-“Yes, mortifying me. You have treated me as
-I have not deserved to be treated. I have given
-you a home, I have considered your welfare as attentively
-as I have considered the welfare of my
-own children; I have been lenient with you, though
-you would, perhaps, not be willing to admit as much—and
-in return I find you willing to—perhaps you
-are not aware that in associating with this Roberts
-and his crew you not only injure your own standing
-in this town, but injure me also. For more
-than a hundred years the family whose name you
-bear, and my own have stood for every principle
-of good citizenship; and that honorable reputation
-is to be marred through the willfulness of a youth
-who counts such a thing so lightly that he will toss
-it away for a few hours’ idle amusement!”
-
-This grave, stern accusation was not what Paul
-had expected. He turned white and then blushed
-crimson. His vocal chords felt stiff, but at last
-he managed to speak.
-
-“I—I didn’t think that Jeff Roberts was judged
-fairly, sir,” he stammered.
-
-“Ah!”
-
-“And what have I done that’s so terrible?” cried
-Paul, “I only—”
-
-“You knew that you were disobeying me?”
-
-.. File: 224.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“Yes, sir.”
-
-“Perhaps you think that at eighteen years of age
-you are a better judge of character than grey
-headed men and women? Perhaps you think that
-you are old enough to be your own master?” Mr.
-Lambert got up. “I cannot allow willful disobedience
-in my house. You have been guilty of it too
-often. I feel now that it would be best for all
-concerned—for you especially—to—let you *be* your
-own master. You are free now to go where you
-like, make friends with whom you will, direct your
-own life as you please.” He stopped. There was
-not a sound in the room—indeed no one quite realized
-that Mr. Lambert’s words actually constituted
-a dismissal.
-
-“Your father,” continued the old man immovably,
-“left with me a small amount of money, which
-I shall turn over to you at once. It should be
-sufficient to maintain you until you are able to support
-yourself, and I am willing to add to it if
-necessary. I think—I believe that in the course
-of time experience will show you that I have been
-just with you, and if you show yourself worthy
-I shall always be ready to help you to the best of
-my ability.”
-
-Aunt Gertrude looked pleadingly at her husband,
-but he did not see her. No one else had courage
-to say anything, and indeed to do so would have
-been worse than useless; for whether Mr. Lambert
-had judged his nephew too harshly or not, it was
-certain that he could not be made to look at the
-facts of the case in a different light. To him two
-things were of paramount importance,—obedience
-to his wishes, and respect for public opinion,
-and Paul had offended against both of these fundamental
-statutes. The old merchant had not exaggerated
-when he said that his nephew’s conduct
-had mortified him.
-
-Paul made no attempt to defend himself; he was
-too much dazed by all that the day had brought
-forth to find a word to say.
-
-Well, he was free. He should have been glad—and
-only a few months before he would have been.
-But looking helplessly around the table, from one
-face to the other he realized suddenly that he was
-*not* glad. Why, he had grown to love them all—he
-had even a certain fondness for Carl. Who
-was there now to care whether he got into scrapes
-or out of them, whether he won prizes or burnt
-his pictures to cinders, whether he was defeated
-or triumphant. But his face showed nothing of
-what was passing in his mind. Somewhere in the
-distance Mr. Lambert was saying,
-
-“I wished for all of you to hear what I had to
-say to my nephew, so that you would understand
-that I judged him by nothing but what he himself
-admitted. And I believe, Gertrude, that when
-you have considered the matter as carefully as I
-have you will feel that I am doing only what is just,
-and, I hope, wise. Paul is not a child, but a young
-man, quite able to think for himself. It is plain
-that our ways and customs are disagreeable to him,
-and I have come to believe that it is only fair to
-him to let him go his own way as he thinks best.
-And—er—that is all.”
-
-One by one the others rose from the table, and
-left the room. Only Paul and his uncle remained.
-
-“Have I made myself quite clear?” asked Mr.
-Lambert, sitting down at his desk, and putting up
-the roll-top.
-
-“Yes, uncle. I—when do you want me to—go?”
-
-“That I leave entirely to your convenience,” returned
-Mr. Lambert. He opened a drawer and
-took out an envelope with a rubber band around
-it, which he gave to his nephew. “If you should
-find that this is not sufficient for your needs you
-may let me know. I am very sorry that you have
-forced this painful duty upon me—I had hoped
-that you—I still hope that you will realize—”
-
-“My responsibilities,” said Paul absently. “Oh,
-I have—but never mind. I’m sorry, uncle. I
-didn’t understand—”
-
-“Quite so. I want you to know that I am not
-acting with any thought of punishing you. I am
-doing only what I believe to be best.”
-
-“Yes, sir.”
-
-Mr. Lambert looked curiously at his nephew’s
-face, and saw that the contrition in it was sincere.
-He did not for a moment waver in his decision,
-but after a moment he held out his hand.
-
-“I hope you do not harbor any hard feelings
-against me?”
-
-.. File: 227.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-Paul slowly and wonderingly took the proffered
-hand. His uncle’s cold, immovable justice was
-something that he had never been able to understand.
-Not for a moment did he dream of asking
-for pardon, but he could not “harbor any hard feelings”
-against the austere old man, who judged
-everything according to an inflexible standard of
-right and wrong—who saw all conduct as either
-black or white, and to whom the crime of disobedience
-was equally unpardonable whether it affected
-the routine of a little household or the affairs of a
-nation.
-
-.. File: 228.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-CHAPTER XIV—THE CROSSROADS
-==========================
-
-Along the dusty road, Paul trudged alone, his
-head bent. He did not look up until the little town
-lay behind him. There was very little feeling of
-exultation in his heart as he made his way along
-the shady road, under the apple trees, from which
-the yellow fruit was already falling. For the first
-time in his life, this young citizen of the world
-knew what homesickness was—and he could not
-bring himself to look back to the town to which
-he had come so unwillingly ten months before.
-Well, he was free—he was his own master. That
-was what his uncle had said. The whole world
-lay before him—but where should he go? There
-was no one out there who knew that he was coming,
-or who cared whether he came or stayed.
-There was the city—“lots of people, lots of streets,
-lots of houses.” But what was Paul Winkler to
-the city? And even if at some time in that future
-to which he looked forward with dogged hope, he
-should make fame and fortune, would the city care
-any more about Paul Winkler? Would he not
-have been wiser—and happier—to have fitted himself
-to the ways of his own people, to have gone
-on growing up among them, learning to know
-them, to honor them for their simple virtues, and
-to forgive them their weaknesses? He shook his
-head impatiently; it was too late to think about
-the might-have-beens.
-
-He had just reached a bend in the road, when
-he heard a voice calling him.
-
-“Paul! Oh, Paul, wait a minute!”
-
-He stopped, and looked around slowly. Janey
-was running toward him, stumbling over the
-stones in the road, panting, her round little face
-puckered with distress.
-
-“Janey!” He dropped his bundle in the dust,
-and held out both hands to her. But she ignored
-his hands, and flinging both arms around him,
-clung to him tightly.
-
-“What is it, Janey darling?”
-
-“N-nothing,” she sobbed, “only I—oh, *Paul* don’t go!”
-
-He patted her red head tenderly; for a moment
-or two he found it difficult to say anything.
-
-“There, Janey—don’t. I—and you’d better
-run on back, dear,” he said at last, stooping to pick
-up his bundle.
-
-“No, mother said I could come—she said I
-could walk to the crossroads with you. And she
-said I was to give you another kiss for her—and
-tell you that she loved you—and Granny’s crying.”
-
-“Is she?” said Paul. “Oh, Janey— Well,
-come along, kidlet.” He took her hand, and they
-went on slowly between the sweet-smelling fields
-that lay turning to gold under the August sun.
-
-With his hand in hers, Janey seemed to feel
-comforted, but with every step Paul’s heart grew
-heavier.
-
-“Do you think, Paul, it would have been different
-if your picture hadn’t burned up?”
-
-“Why, Janey?”
-
-“If you had won a prize?”
-
-“I don’t think it would have won any prize.
-And—it *did* burn up, so there you are. Besides,
-it wasn’t as good as that old thing I did of Aunt
-Gertrude. Do you remember? That thing on the
-top of the flour barrel? That was much better—though
-I don’t know why.”
-
-Jane stopped short, looked at him for a moment
-or two, her face brightening, then, without
-saying anything, walked on again.
-
-“What is it? What were you thinking about?”
-asked Paul.
-
-“Nothing.”
-
-In a little while they reached the top of the hill
-from which Paul, in the farmer’s wagon, had had
-his first glimpse of Frederickstown. Now he
-paused to take his last.
-
-There it lay, a pretty town, in the shade of its
-old trees. There was the spire of the very church
-which old Johann Winkler had attended regularly
-in his snuff colored Sunday suit, his wife beside
-him, and his children marching decorously in front
-of him. There were the gables of the Bakery, and
-there the very window from which Paul had so
-often gazed out longingly toward the open road.
-There was the slate roof of his uncle’s warehouse
-where, no doubt the old man was calmly engaged in
-his day’s work, going over his books, talking and
-haggling with the farmers that sold him their
-goods;—a stern character, narrow, perhaps, and
-obstinate, but upright and self-respecting in all his
-dealings, a good father, a loyal citizen and an honest
-man; justly proud of his standing among his fellow
-townsmen. It was thus for the first time, that
-Paul understood the uncompromising old man, who
-had judged his ne’er-do-well, lawless father so
-harshly, and with whom he himself had been in
-constant friction since he had come there. To
-Peter Lambert, respect for family traditions, regard
-for the feelings and even the prejudices of his fellow
-citizens, and submission to domestic and civil
-laws, written and unwritten, were the first principles
-of living and he could not pardon anyone who took
-them lightly.
-
-In the few short moments that he stood there
-looking back, Paul felt his heart swell with affection
-for all that he was leaving behind him; for
-Granny, his father’s mother, who cried over him,
-for Aunt Gertrude who had always loved him, for
-gentle, industrious Elise, for the twins, with their
-pranks and their coaxing little ways, and—yes, for
-Carl, who had shown himself a good fellow, with
-all his fussy habits, and irritating superciliousness.
-
-“I’ll miss you the most, Paul,” said Janey, as if
-she guessed his thoughts.
-
-.. File: 232.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-He looked down at her.
-
-“I know you will—and I’ll miss you the most.”
-
-That was all they said until at length they reached
-the crossroads.
-
-“Which way are you going, Paul?” asked Jane,
-struggling to keep back her tears.
-
-Paul looked up at the weather-beaten sign-post.
-
-“To the City,” he said firmly. “That’s the road
-I’m taking now, Janey.”
-
-“Oh, Paul! Where will you be? Where will
-you be?”
-
-“I don’t know, Janey. I can’t tell you. I don’t
-know anything now. But I shall be all right—don’t
-worry about me.”
-
-“Oh, will you ever, ever come back again?”
-Poor Janey’s tears streamed down her rosy cheeks.
-Paul looked at her seriously.
-
-“Yes, I will, Janey. I promise you that. I
-don’t know when or how, but I’ll be back some day.
-Now give me the kiss Aunt Gertrude sent, and one
-from you.”
-
-She dried her eyes on her apron, and then standing
-on tip-toe, put both her arms around his neck
-and kissed him on each cheek.
-
-“Good-bye, Paul.”
-
-“Good-bye, Janey.”
-
-She stood there under the sign-post, watching
-him as he walked briskly down the country road.
-Once, when to her he was only a miniature figure in
-the distance, he looked back and saw her, standing
-motionlessly, with the summer wind blowing her
-bright blue dress, and the summer sun shining on
-her red head. She had been, and was, and always
-would be, his faithful friend, and he knew in his
-heart he would never find anyone like her in the
-whole wide world that lay before him.
-
-When he had disappeared under the shadows
-of the trees far down the road, Janey turned and
-retraced her way homeward. She had been a little
-comforted by his promise to come back again, and
-was already imagining how one day he would
-walk into the bakeshop, suddenly, when no one
-was expecting him, and say that he was going to
-live with them all for ever and ever. And so he
-would live there, and everyone would love him,
-and he would paint wonderful pictures and become
-famous; but he would never go away again—the
-world would come to him! Never for a minute
-had Jane doubted that Paul was a rare and extraordinary
-being, and in his wildest moments of
-self-confidence he did not believe in himself as
-completely as she did.
-
-Then everything dropped from her thoughts,
-except the one idea that had come to her a little
-while before.
-
-To-day was the twenty-eighth. There was
-plenty of time.
-
-Aunt Gertrude, was in the Bakery setting the
-trays of freshly baked cakes under the glass counters,
-with a sad face. She missed her nephew,
-and in her heart believed that her husband had
-been harsh with the boy whose efforts to master
-himself had not escaped her, and whom she loved as
-much as her own son. But she knew quite well
-how useless it would have been for her to have
-tried to intercede for him—and after all, what had
-happened might be for the best. Aunt Gertrude
-was always inclined to believe that anything that
-happened was always “for the best” in the long run—and
-that, no doubt, was why, in spite of a life
-that had not escaped many sorrows and difficulties,
-she was still young and fresh in spite of her forty-odd
-years.
-
-But she had expected her Janey to return inconsolable
-for the loss of her beloved cousin, and
-was surprised and puzzled when her daughter ran
-into the shop in almost her usual state of high
-spirits.
-
-Without stopping Jane ran through the shop, and
-up the stairs to the little room that Paul had occupied
-since Carl’s illness—a small room, with one
-window, and rather scantily furnished. Under the
-window was a table, with one drawer, in which
-Jane promptly began to rummage. Its contents
-were hardly valuable—two or three thumb tacks, a
-bed castor, a scrap or two of lead pencil, a shabby
-copy of “A Short History of Greece”—the pathetic
-testimony of Paul’s efforts at “getting to know
-something”—and a portfolio stuffed with papers.
-And then from this clutter of what seemed to be
-school exercises of one sort or another, Jane finally
-extracted what she was looking for—the newspaper
-clipping that she had cut out for Paul three months
-before, with the address to which he was to have
-sent his ill-fated picture.
-
-Jane did not lose a minute. She was now in
-quest of the old picture he had painted on the top
-of the flour barrel! *He* had said that it “wasn’t
-so bad”—and she had once heard him say that some
-great painter had painted a celebrated Madonna on
-the top of a wine cask.
-
-She remembered now that she had seen it lying
-on the dinner table, one day when Elise was dusting
-the dining room, and Elise had put it behind Mr.
-Lambert’s desk, where it had reposed since the day
-he had confiscated it. It must still be there.
-
-And there, indeed, she found it. A fine coat of
-dust had collected over its surface, but when she
-had brushed it off with her apron, she found it
-quite as fresh as ever.
-
-And now, how was it to be wrapped so that it
-could withstand the rough treatment of a long
-journey? She glanced at the clock. It was not
-yet noon-day.
-
-Holding it face inwards under her arm, she
-started forth to look for counsel in this important
-matter. Mr. Wheelock, at the post-office, was one
-of her particular friends; he would be able to tell
-her exactly what was to be done.
-
-She found that gentleman sitting on the steps
-of the post-office, smoking a calabash pipe, and
-sunning himself placidly while he waited for the
-noon mail.
-
-“What have you got there?” he called out.
-
-.. File: 236.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“I want you to tell me something, Mr. Wheelock.”
-
-“How many calves’ tails it takes to reach the
-moon?” said the old man, facetiously. “No?
-What is it to-day, then?”
-
-“I can’t tell you here. Come inside.”
-
-He knocked his pipe out on the step, rose, and
-followed her as she skipped back to his little office.
-
-“Now, tell me how to send this away.”
-
-Mr. Wheelock took a pair of steel-rimmed spectacles
-out of the pocket of his grey alpaca coat, and
-put them on. Then he picked up the barrel top
-and looked at it in an astonishment that gave way
-presently to something like profound admiration.
-
-“Well, I declare! If it ain’t Mrs. Lambert!
-And its a mighty fine thing, too. How did you
-come by this?”
-
-“*Do* you think it’s good, Mr. Wheelock?” cried
-Jane, eagerly, her face glowing.
-
-“It’s fine,” said Mr. Wheelock, in a tone that indicated
-that he considered his opinion quite final.
-“And on the top of an old flour barrel, too!” he
-went on, turning the picture over. “Ain’t that
-quaint? Well, now, where did you want it sent?”
-
-Jane sat down and copied out the address for
-him.
-
-“And you’ll wrap it up *carefully*, Mr. Wheelock?”
-
-“Sure thing. And send it by express, too.”
-
-“And you won’t tell a living soul?”
-
-“Nary a breath. Here, hadn’t you better write
-your address on the back of this here pitcher—or
-somewheres, case it might get lost.”
-
-Jane had nearly forgotten this item. She took
-a post card, and wrote on it boldly, “Paul Winkler,
-Frederickstown, N. C.”
-
-“There, Mr. Wheelock, will you paste that on
-the back?”
-
-Mr. Wheelock was inspecting the card.
-
-“Paul Winkler! That young feller I seen
-around here a lot with you folks? Did he make
-this pitcher?”
-
-“Yes,” said Jane proudly.
-
-“I declare! Now I call that right smart. If it
-ain’t Mrs. Lambert to the life I’ll eat my hat.”
-And he set it up on his desk again, leaning against
-the wall. Jane looked at it intently. If only she
-knew just *how* good it was. She did not feel that
-Mr. Wheelock was exactly an authoritative critic—then
-she remembered again that Paul had said
-it wasn’t “so bad,” and that settled her doubts.
-
-It was, in fact, in spite of the crudities of which
-Paul had been very well aware, a piece of work that
-might have done credit to many a more experienced
-painter; and there were things in it that neither
-Jane nor Mr. Wheelock saw, vigor and harmony
-and beauty, over and above the superficial likeness
-to Mrs. Lambert that Mr. Wheelock found so amazing.
-
-“You’ll send it off right away, Mr. Wheelock?
-And—and let me know how much it costs. I can’t
-pay before Saturday.”
-
-.. File: 238.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-He laughed.
-
-“I’ll try to get along ’til then. Don’t you bother
-your head, child.”
-
-Satisfied, though full of hope and fear, Jane went
-home.
-
-The family gathered for its noonday meal, Mr.
-Lambert taking his seat at the head of the table,
-grave and pompous as always in his well-brushed
-black coat. The difference of one place seemed to
-make the table unnaturally small, and yet no one
-seemed to notice it. Mr. Lambert talked about some
-man that had been in to see him, about the prospects
-of the new courthouse being finished, about the
-harvests. His family docilely listened to him, interpolating
-the proper question or remark here and
-there. Paul’s name was not mentioned, it being
-tacitly understood that such were the wishes of the
-master of the house.
-
-.. File: 239.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-CHAPTER XV—AN UNSUSPECTED HERO
-==============================
-
-Paul’s departure left the old problem still unsolved.
-Well, there was no help for it; if the family
-tradition was to be destroyed at last, so it must
-be. The time was coming when the ancient name
-of Winkler should be erased from the glass window
-of the Bakeshop, and a stranger’s name put
-in its place. Even Granny, usually so little troubled
-from her serenity by the vicissitudes of earthly
-things, seemed to brood over the prospect with melancholy.
-But the subject was not discussed so frequently
-as of yore, partly because there was little to
-be gained from such discussion, and partly because
-it reminded Mr. Lambert of his nephew’s delinquency
-and put him in a bad humor.
-
-As September was always a hot month in that
-part of the country, school never began until early
-in October.
-
-Jane felt utterly lost. Usually so resourceful,
-so capable of finding something to amuse her or
-interest her every minute of the day, she now went
-about her tasks indolently, and spent the rest of
-her time wandering around listlessly. Several
-times, she went down to call on Mr. Sheridan, who
-trotted her down to see his new Leghorn hens and
-his six Jersey cows. He had gone in for farming
-with his whole soul. He also discussed the changes
-he was making in the old house. Yes, he had decided
-to live in Frederickstown for good, as his
-grandfather had done before him, and his uncle,
-the Major, had done for many years. No, he
-didn’t think so much of solitude as he once had—but
-then there were reasons. Yes, he might travel
-now and then, but that didn’t count. No, he had
-not planned to settle permanently in Frederickstown,
-when he had first come, but things had happened
-since then that had changed his mind. Of
-course Janey had heard the news. Yes, he was the
-happiest man in the world. No, he had never been
-*really* in love before. No, he didn’t think Peterson
-would ever get married. Jane listened to him with
-the half-disdainful interest that one, who has
-been hardly dealt with by fate, pays to the cheerful
-talk of the fortunate. Their positions were
-reversed.
-
-Jane was almost sorry that everything had gone
-so smoothly with Lily and Mr. Sheridan—she
-would have liked to have some complications to
-work on. It also seemed to her hardly dignified
-in Mr. Sheridan to have abandoned his pessimism
-so readily—whatever the cause of it might have
-been. And now that he was so cheerful and full
-of plans, he seemed to her less interesting than he
-had been before.
-
-She was on pins and needles waiting for news
-of what had befallen Paul’s picture. She had allowed
-no one to share this secret which was absolutely
-her own, and her restless eagerness to
-hear was increased by not having anyone with
-whom to speculate on the chances of its success or
-failure.
-
-No word had come from Paul. Where he was,
-what he was doing, how he was living were unknown
-to the family.
-
-One fine, sunny day Aunt Gertrude declared that
-she was going to shut up shop and take a holiday.
-
-“Come, we’ll take Dinah and the old wagon, and
-go out to the country. Elise, you and Jane can
-make up sandwiches. Granny doesn’t want to go,
-but Anna will be here to take care of her. Father
-is going over to Allenboro, so there doesn’t have
-to be any lunch cooked here, and Anna can get
-Granny’s.”
-
-The prospect of this unexpected spree put everyone,
-including Jane into high spirits. Aunt Gertrude
-roasted two chickens, to be eaten cold, baked
-a chocolate cake with marshmallow filling, and
-boiled eggs, while Elise and Jane cut and spread
-enough sandwiches to stay the appetite of a small
-army.
-
-At noonday they set out in the old wagon that
-had made the trip to Allenboro, Carl driving, with
-Aunt Gertrude and the twins beside him, Jane and
-Elise in the back with the luncheon hamper, books,
-embroidery and games.
-
-And away they rumbled. Aunt Gertrude who
-actually had not been into the open country lying
-around Frederickstown in years, had set her heart
-on picnicking in one particular spot.
-
-“I remember it from the time when I was a girl,”
-she said, blushing as she did so easily. “Long ago
-we had a picnic there—it’s about a mile below the
-Webster’s farm, Carl—I’ll show you—Nellie Webster,
-and Sam (she was referring to Dolly’s father
-and mother) and poor Nannie Muller and Ben
-McAllister—just think, they’re all old folk like me,
-now! And it was there that I met your father!
-Think of that now!”
-
-Jane, finding this interesting, moved so that she
-could kneel behind the seat, with her elbows on the
-back.
-
-“Is that really true, Mummy? And did you like
-him right away? Was he handsome?”
-
-“Certainly he was handsome—and your father is
-still a *remarkably* handsome man, my dear!” said
-Mrs. Lambert, rather aggressively; and indeed she
-firmly believed that her husband was a perfect
-model of masculine good looks.
-
-“Yes. Well, go on, Mummy. What did you
-wear?”
-
-“What did I wear? Well, it’s very queer but
-I *do* remember that quite plainly. I wore a green
-muslin dress—that very dress, Lisa, that you found
-in my old trunk the other day—and a white leghorn
-hat, with little pink roses. Lisa, have you any idea
-what ever became of that hat? No—I remember
-now, I trimmed it up again and gave it to you when
-you were a little girl—and how sweet you looked
-in it!”
-
-“I want a hat with pink rothes,” murmured
-Lottie.
-
-“Don’t interrupt, Lottie. Go on, Mummy.
-What was Daddy like?”
-
-“Your father,” said Mrs. Lambert complacently,
-“was a *great* catch. He was older than the rest of
-us, and so dignified. At that time, I remember,
-he wore a big moustache—and such a lovely brown.
-I was quite afraid of him, and I was sure that he
-thought me a very frivolous girl, as I certainly was.
-But—he didn’t seem to mind. And that night,
-there was a lovely big moon, and the hay had just
-been cut—and he took me home.”
-
-That seemed to be the end of the story; Mrs.
-Lambert stopped, and a thoroughly sentimental
-smile spread over her youthful face. Lisa sighed.
-She was, if possible, even more sentimental than
-her mother, and in the hours that her flaxen head
-was bent over her incessant handiwork, it was filled
-with imaginings of romantic scenes, and dashing
-young gentlemen like Walter Scott’s heroes. She
-liked the portion of her mother’s artlessly told romance
-that touched on the moon and the new-mown
-hay, but for herself she would have preferred a
-smooth-shaven hero to one with the dragoon’s
-moustache that her mother so greatly admired.
-
-“Now, Carl, you drive along this road to the
-left,” said Mrs. Lambert. “It’s all changed very
-little. I remember that rock, *perfectly!* And we
-can lead Dinah off from the road and hitch her to
-a tree. And here we all get out.”
-
-So out they got, and Carl tied Dinah to a tree,
-while his sisters took the impedimenta out of the
-wagon. Mrs. Lambert holding a twin with each
-hand, lead the way along a shady path that skirted
-the bank of a meandering stream. The shadow
-of a grove of trees lay over the long grass; on each
-side of the stream stretched meadows colored with
-patches of golden-rod, and red pepper-grass; in the
-apple-trees the fruit was already bright red among
-the green leaves; the sun was warm, and the wind
-caressing.
-
-“This is the very place—these are the very trees,”
-said Mrs. Lambert. “And now we shall all have
-lunch,”—this in a brisk, practical voice, for notwithstanding
-her romantic memories, Mrs. Lambert
-was hungry.
-
-Elise spread a white cloth out on the grass,
-weighting it at the corners with three large stones
-and “The Vicar of Wakefield.” Carl went to put
-the bottles of loganberry juice in the stream to cool,
-and the others unloaded the hamper. Then they
-all sat down to eat. And when they had eaten all
-they wanted—that is, until there was nothing left
-to want—Aunt Gertrude took a book, pretending
-that she was going to read, and went to sleep, Elise
-took her sewing—pretending that she was going to
-be industrious, when she was really going to sit
-and dream—the twins, took off their shoes and
-stockings, and made for the shallow stream like a
-pair of ducks; Carl, who had recently acquired some
-enthusiasm for natural history, began to look
-around for specimens of the local flora and fauna—in
-the shape of mulberry leaves, and spiders, and
-Jane rambled off to see what she could see.
-
-With her hands clasped behind her, she wandered
-through the trees, sometimes stopping to smell the
-ferns that grew in the moist rocks. At length she
-reached the edge of the little wood, where the
-stream, as if it had been playing a game with her,
-chuckled pleasantly at having appeared where she
-had not expected to find it. Again, on the opposite
-bank was the meadow, where now a few brown
-cows were to be seen in the distance, placidly
-munching the grass.
-
-But it was not the cows that interested Jane at
-that moment; her curiosity was piqued immediately
-by a certain peculiar figure under an oak-tree on the
-far side of the stream.
-
-This figure was seated on a little camp stool, beneath
-a green umbrella—as if the oak tree did *not*
-come up to the mark in furnishing the amount of
-shade required.
-
-“What *can* he be doing?” wondered Jane. The
-odd character had his back to her so that she could
-not make out exactly what his occupation was, and
-therefore left her no alternative but that of picking
-her way across the stream on the stones, and
-ascertaining his business for herself.
-
-As she approached him her wonder grew. He
-wore a suit of black and white checks, an emerald-hued
-necktie of such proportions that the loops of
-the bow were visible even from Jane’s inconvenient
-angle of sight. But most remarkable of all, was
-his hat. It was such a hat as, once seen, would
-leave an indelible impression, and yet defied all description.
-It can only be said that it was large—extremely
-large—that it was of straw, and that it
-was ornamented with a scarf of a rich and vivid
-green. But the jaunty freedom of its lines, the
-expression of its broad and supple brim—these were
-the individualities that distinguished it from all the
-other hats ever made by the hand of man.
-
-After a moment or two Jane made out what he
-was doing. He was painting a picture. In front
-of him was a small easel, and on the easel was a
-small canvas, and on the canvas was a bewildering
-blur of colors. On his thumb he supported a huge
-palette.
-
-It occurred to Jane that this fellow craftsman of
-Paul might have heard of her cousin, and in any
-event his occupation interested her. She drew
-nearer, until she was close enough to watch the
-airy strokes of his brushes which he selected from
-time to time from a large bunch, much as a golfer
-selects his clubs.
-
-Presently, evidently hearing some motion on the
-grass behind him, the artist looked around and saw
-her. At once he sprang up, doffing his wonderful
-hat.
-
-“Ah! How do you do?”
-
-Jane stared at him, and then said, with dignity,
-
-.. File: 247.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“How do you do? Am I disturbing you?”
-
-“Not at all! *Not* at all.”
-
-“Can I watch you?”
-
-“I shall be delighted; though I fear that your
-interest will be ill repaid,” he said modestly. “I
-am, as you see, endeavoring to render my impressions
-of the beauty and tranquillity of this charming
-scene. Ah, Nature! Nature! there is nothing like
-Nature, my dear young lady,—you may take my
-word for it. I am a great worshipper of Nature—I
-wear her colors like a true knight!” And he
-pointed to the scarf around the crown of his hat,
-which, as has been said, was of a green that was
-surely never to be met with on land or sea. He
-resumed his seat on the little camp stool, under the
-green umbrella—also, let it be observed, of Nature’s
-hue—and Jane, whose curiosity had been much
-piqued by this odd little man, settled herself sociably
-on a hillock. He set to work again, this
-time using certain self-conscious little mannerisms,
-throwing his head on one side, thrusting out his
-underlip, pondering over his palette, and then holding
-up one finger, saying briskly, “Ah-ha! Now
-I’ve got it!” and impetuously dashing a blob of
-paint onto the meek canvas, which seemed to have
-had already far more trouble than it deserved.
-
-Jane looked at him intently. He was a little
-man, of twenty-six or seven, with a rosy face, a
-pug nose, and bright blue eyes, like pieces of Dutch
-china. His straw colored hair was combed down
-on his forehead, curled slightly around his ears,
-and grew down the nape of his neck. He wore a
-tiny moustache, which seemed to have no kinship
-with either his hair or his eyebrows, for where
-these last were almost flaxen, the stiff fringe on his
-upper lip was as red as rust. Yet he was a pleasant
-looking young man; the simplicity and earnestness
-of his expression, even his frank satisfaction with
-himself, made one like him in spite of all his absurdities.
-
-“Now, you’re putting in the cows, aren’t you?”
-inquired Jane, respectfully.
-
-“Yes, indeed. I am going to put in three cows—three
-is rather a symbolic number, you know.
-Faith, Hope and Charity—Good, Better, Best, so—so
-many things run in threes. I should like to
-suggest the number Three to the spectator—in fact,
-that’s really what I’m driving at.”
-
-It seemed a quaint idea to Jane, but original.
-
-“Do you—do you live in Frederickstown?” she
-ventured, presently.
-
-“No. I regret to say that I am not a native of
-these delightful environs,” said he, “I am a bird
-of passage.” He looked at her thoughtfully as
-he repeated this definition of himself, evidently
-wondering how she liked “birds of passage.”
-
-“You mean you don’t live anywhere?”
-
-“Just that. All Nature is my home—the trees,
-the rocks—”
-
-“You *live* in trees and rocks?” gasped Jane, looking
-at his dapper little suit, and wondering how it
-withstood the strain of such habits.
-
-.. File: 249.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“Figuratively speaking. I confess that at times
-I inhabit—hotels. Deplorable as such necessity is,
-still it exists.”
-
-“Yes,” said Jane, who did not understand why
-such a necessity should be particularly deplorable,
-“of course.”
-
-The little man looked at her, and then in a confidential
-tone, remarked,
-
-“I am an enemy to Civilization, Look! Look
-about you! These noble trees, this grassy meadow,
-that purling stream—all are doomed, my dear
-young lady. Have you ever thought of that?
-Civilization will overtake this natural Paradise—the
-factory will rise, the stony arms of the City
-will crush out the fresh beauty of the flowering
-mead—even these cows are slightly civilized already.”
-And a look of discontent overshadowed
-his cheerful, rosy face, as he gazed at the peaceful
-animals munching the grass under some distant
-willow trees.
-
-Just at that moment a series of shrill cries rent
-the air. Jane sprang up. There could be no doubt
-that they came from the spot where she had left her
-family. She darted past the little artist, flew along
-the bank of the stream, and finally reached the scene
-of the commotion; though she was forced to view
-it from the opposite bank.
-
-This is what had happened: Mrs Lambert, as
-has been said, had gone to sleep, and, while Elise
-had been sitting quietly, with a book in her lap, a
-large, black cow had ambled up behind her, and in
-the friendliest way in the world had thrust its head
-over her shoulder. Elise had promptly screamed;
-Mrs. Lambert, waking suddenly and seeing the cow,
-had screamed also, and then the twins, making mudpies
-down by the water’s edge, had added their
-shrieks to the general uproar. Elise, losing her
-presence of mind, had started to run, whereupon,
-after a moment’s thought, the cow had followed
-her.
-
-“One moment! Allow me!” cried a voice behind
-Jane. “Ladies, be calm!” And the dapper little
-figure of “Nature’s Knight” sprang forward,
-hopped nimbly across the stepping stones of the
-stream, clambered up the muddy bank, and clutching
-the green umbrella, flew to Elise’s rescue.
-
-He ran around in front of the cow, shouting
-loudly, recklessly drawing all the attention of the
-astounded animal upon himself. By this time the
-whole family had collected to watch the proceedings.
-Carl was chuckling. Mrs. Lambert was half-weeping,
-half-laughing, and wringing her hands all at
-once. Jane, open-mouthed, followed all the extraordinary
-actions of the rescuer, who, making the
-strangest sounds in his throat, waving his green
-umbrella, appeared to be trying to mesmerize the bewildered
-cow.
-
-But singular as his methods were, the stranger
-actually succeeded in coaxing the animal away from
-Elise, and then began to shoo it across the field,
-with such energy and determination that presently
-it began to trot and then to gallop until it had vanished
-out of sight around the edge of the woods.
-
-Elise, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, and
-looking rather foolish, got down from the fence
-to which she was clinging in desperation, and timidly
-thanked the young man, who had again removed
-his hat with something of the flourish of an
-acrobat.
-
-“You aren’t hurt?” cried Mrs. Lambert, rushing
-to her daughter. “Oh, my dear, I really don’t think
-there was any danger at all—I’m sure that was
-quite a dear old cow—that is,—I don’t mean that
-it wasn’t extremely kind of you, sir, and I’m sure
-we are all *very* grateful to you—”
-
-“Madam, I was fortunate to have this opportunity
-of serving you,” said the young gentleman,
-grandiloquently, and then turning to Elise, he
-added, with deep concern, “I trust that *you* feel no
-ill effects from this unpleasant adventure—”
-
-“Oh, no—no, indeed, thank you.” Elise, being
-very self-conscious, blushed, and looked at her
-mother as if asking what she should say next.
-
-“Won’t you rest for a moment, sir?” said Mrs.
-Lambert, “and have something cooling to drink?
-Carl, my dear, aren’t there one or two more bottles
-of loganberry down in the stream?” And then
-turning again to the stranger, who listened very
-willingly to her invitation to refreshment, she asked
-him if she might know his name.
-
-“My name, Madam?” he looked around at them
-all as if to assure himself that they were quite prepared
-for anything that might follow. “My name is
-Montgomery,—P. Hyacinth Montgomery!” No
-one turned a hair. Mrs. Lambert then told him her
-name, and that of each member of her family, and
-then they all sat down, under the tree.
-
-Very soon all constraint between the Lambert’s
-and Mr. Montgomery had quite disappeared. He
-was an adaptable, sociable person, and with all his
-eccentricities and absurdities, had a certain air of
-wistfulness that touched Mrs. Lambert. He did not
-seem at all loath to talk about himself, especially
-about his feelings; and the only thing he touched on
-rather vaguely was the matter of his native section
-of the country.
-
-He was in “these environs” only temporarily, he
-said, and was lodging at the Red Fox Hotel, between
-Frederickstown and Goldsboro.
-
-“Why, then,” said Mrs. Lambert, “we can take
-you part way home, if you are ready to start soon.
-We are going in the same direction.”
-
-She could not tell what it was about Mr. Montgomery
-that seemed to her pathetic, but whatever it
-was it inspired the kindly woman to be cordial and
-friendly to the odd little man. He accepted her
-offer eagerly, and Jane fancied that as he did so he
-looked timidly at Elise.
-
-While the others were packing up various odds
-and ends into the picnic basket, he ran off to collect
-his own possessions which he had left under the oak
-tree up the stream.
-
-“He’s a queer duck,” remarked Carl, carefully
-sorting out his specimens of plant and animal life.
-
-.. File: 253.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“Can *I* have a hat with a green thcarf?” demanded
-Lottie.
-
-“I’ll borrow his suit to play chess on,” added Carl.
-
-“Hush! Carl,—don’t make fun of him,” said
-Mrs. Lambert, smiling in spite of herself. “He
-seems to be a very good-hearted young man. Here
-he comes now.”
-
-All flushed and panting, Hyacinth appeared with
-his numerous burdens; but notwithstanding the fact
-that he was laden like a camel with his box, and stool
-and easel and umbrella, he insisted upon carrying
-Elise’s books, and even offered to manage the basket
-*somehow*.
-
-Just why, each and every one of the Lamberts
-felt a distinct liking for the ridiculous P. Hyacinth
-it would be hard to say, yet that they did was evident.
-And on his part, he seemed upon half an
-hour’s acquaintance to feel as much at home with
-them all as if he had known them all his life.
-
-As they rumbled and bounced back to town he
-chattered happily and confidingly to them all, but
-for Elise he reserved some of his choicest thoughts
-on the beauties of nature.
-
-“Yes,” said Mrs. Lambert, when he had finally
-parted from them at the road that led off in a short
-cut to Goldsboro, after assuring them that he
-hoped for nothing more ardently than to renew his
-acquaintance with them, “a very nice young man,
-indeed. Where a good heart is so plainly beneath
-it one can forgive a small matter like a checker
-board waistcoat.”
-
-.. File: 254.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-Elise meantime had been thinking over not the
-checker-board waistcoat but the orange-colored
-moustache,
-
-“But it was certainly very brave of him to frighten
-that bull away,” she remarked, half as if to herself.
-Carl shouted.
-
-“A bull! You mean one poor old cow!”
-
-Elise undisturbed by this interruption, added again
-in a tone as if she were arguing out his faults and
-virtues with herself,
-
-“And even if his moustache *was* queer, he—he had
-a very nice complexion.” Then realizing that Jane
-had overheard this remark, she blushed a vivid pink,
-pretended to be looking for her work bag, and then
-asked, coldly,
-
-“What are you laughing at, Janey?”
-
-“I?” said Jane innocently; “*I* wasn’t laughing.
-Gracious! I wasn’t *laughing*.”
-
-.. File: 255.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-CHAPTER XVI—A FAMILY MATTER
-===========================
-
-The appearances of Mr. P. Hyacinth Montgomery
-at the Bakery became very frequent. His devotion
-to the family increased so rapidly that in a
-little while, not a day passed without his calling to
-inquire solicitously for the health of all, to talk to
-Aunt Gertrude, present a bouquet of wild flowers to
-Granny (who always had to have them taken out
-of her room because they made her sneeze), and play
-with the twins like an affectionate uncle.
-
-One day, having noticed the sign on the Bakeshop
-window, evidently for the first time, he inquired
-how the name there happened to be “Winkler,” when
-the family name was “Lambert.” He showed so
-much interest in the matter that Mrs. Lambert, flattered,
-gave him a short history of the family, to
-which he listened thoughtfully, once murmuring
-something about “coincidence.”
-
-“A quaint history,” he remarked.
-
-No member of the household was so blind as not
-to notice the preference that Mr. Montgomery
-showed for the society of Miss Elise, nor her tell-tale
-bashfulness when he plucked up sufficient courage to
-address her. But Mr. Lambert so plainly disapproved
-of the young man that not even his wife
-dared to open any discussion on the subject with
-him, for fear that a violent explosion would result.
-The old merchant maintained a stolid silence which
-all the pathetic efforts of Mr. Montgomery were
-powerless to thaw; though now and then Mr. Lambert
-was inspired to break it himself in order to
-utter sarcasms that reduced the poor young man to
-the last stage of discomfort and despair, and frequently
-caused Elise to weep bitterly in the solitude
-of her little bedroom. At the same time, she found
-something rather agreeable to her romantic taste in
-this rôle of unhappy love-lorn maiden.
-
-“You are enjoying a great deal of leisure, Mr.
-Montgomery,” Mr. Lambert remarked one evening,
-looking at the writhing youth over his spectacles.
-“Is it a vacation—or a habit?”
-
-P. Hyacinth smiled uncertainly, with a beseeching
-expression in his large blue eyes.
-
-“Neither a vacation—nor yet exactly a—a habit,
-sir. I—I have my own philosophy of life, as you
-might say—”
-
-“Ah!—a rather expensive one, I *do* say,” interrupted
-Mr. Lambert. “You are fortunate to be able
-to afford your philosophy. You expect to remain
-for long in these parts?”
-
-“Not *very* long—that is, I—my plans are not definite.”
-
-“My wife has given me to understand that you
-are—an *artist*?” Mr. Lambert observed in a tone that
-almost overcame the miserable Hyacinth.
-
-.. File: 257.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“Not really—that is—with me, sir, Art is an—an
-avocation, as you might say—”
-
-“Ah! And what might your *vo*\ cation be?”
-
-Mr. Montgomery waved his hand.
-
-“That, sir, is inconstant, variable.”
-
-“I am not surprised that it *is*,” remarked Mr.
-Lambert, and after that, he withdrew into his shell
-of icy silence, evidently waiting for further developments
-before he expressed his opinion of P. Hyacinth
-still more plainly.
-
-In Jane, Elise found a highly sympathetic confidante,
-but even Jane was prompted to ask frankly,
-
-“But what does he do, Elise? Does he sell his
-pictures?”
-
-“He does,” cried Elise. “He’s sold *three*! He
-did a perfectly lovely design once for a stationer’s
-advertising calendar—it was a picture of a girl, he
-said, with a lot of red roses in her arms. And he
-did a picture of some wild animals for a sportsman’s
-den.”
-
-“And what was the other one?”
-
-“I—he didn’t tell me. We started to talk of
-something else. Oh, Jane, are you going to be horrid
-about him, too?” cried Elise, suddenly bursting
-into tears. Then, having grown quite artful where
-any defense of her suitor was necessary, she added,
-“Paul was an artist, and you didn’t laugh at *him*!”
-To Jane it seemed hardly worth while to point
-out what appeared to her to be the many differences
-between Paul and Mr. Montgomery. So
-she disregarded Elise’s challenge, and putting
-both arms around her sister, said half-laughing,
-
-“You know I’m not going to be horrid about him.
-I like him very much.”
-
-“Do you really, Janey?” asked Elise, brightening.
-“Oh, Jane you can’t imagine how unselfish he is.
-He—he said he’d give up everything for me. He
-said he’d break stones in a quarry—boo—hoo!”
-And here Elise again dissolved into tears.
-
-“Well, he won’t, dear,” said Jane comfortingly,
-“I mean—that is—he probably won’t have to.
-There are so many other things that he could do, you
-see. What else did he say?”
-
-“What else? Oh, well—not very much,” answered
-Elise, blushing, and beginning to dimple.
-“He said that—he—he’d have to have a talk with
-father.”
-
-“Good gracious! Then he—oh, Elise!”
-
-“Only he’s *so* afraid of Papa. Of course, Janey,
-you must understand that Mr. Montgomery hasn’t—you
-know—hasn’t—that is, I know he likes me, but
-he hasn’t said so. He says he can’t, until he’s talked
-to Papa; he says that wouldn’t be honorable. And
-Papa won’t give him a chance!” And once more,
-Elise began to weep gently.
-
-“Don’t cry, Elise darling—father *will* give him a
-chance,” said Jane; but these words of comfort only
-elicited sobs from Elise.
-
-“That’s what I’m afraid of!” she wailed disconsolately.
-
-This state of affairs seemed hopelessly complicated
-to Jane. It had no points in common with the romance
-of Lily and Mr. Sheridan, and in this fact
-Elise found a certain melancholy satisfaction. Elise
-of course kept Lily well-posted on the details of her
-own affair of the heart, and unconsciously assumed
-a certain superiority in recounting and describing
-her difficulties that almost irritated the sweet
-tempered and sympathetic Lily.
-
-“*I* was very unhappy, too,” said Lily; but Elise
-shook her head as if to say, “What opposition did
-*you* meet with?”
-
-Jane simply looked on, vastly interested in this
-new development of domestic happenings, but exceedingly
-dubious as to the outcome. Mrs. Lambert
-was, of course, deeply sympathetic with her daughter,
-and Mr. Lambert feeling that there was a conspiracy
-among the feminine members of the household
-to overcome his objections, became more than
-adamantine in his silence.
-
-So matters stood one warm evening, when, notwithstanding
-the date the summer still lingered on,
-perhaps from sheer curiosity to know how the problem
-was going to be solved.
-
-Jane, with a book in her lap, was sitting at her
-window, not reading, for the light was fading out
-of the sky, and she was unwilling to light her lamp,
-so lovely were these last twilight moments of that
-mild autumn day.
-
-Presently, hearing voices in the garden, she
-thrust her curly head out of the window.
-
-Elise was sitting on the green bench against the
-wall; in front of her stood Mr. Montgomery, who,
-judging from the open gate, had just made his appearance.
-He held his hat in his hand, but Jane,
-accustomed to having her attention caught by the
-green scarf upon it, now noticed with surprise that
-the green scarf had been replaced by a black one.
-Now, what might be the significance of that? Mr.
-Montgomery’s tow-colored hair was slightly disordered,
-giving yet another reason for one’s believing
-that he was in distress of some sort.
-
-“Poor little man, what *can* be the matter?” wondered
-Jane, and she leaned a little farther out so
-that she could hear some of the conversation.
-
-“No, dear Miss Lambert—I feel that I must go,”
-he was saying in sincerely miserable accents. “You
-cannot—I must not flatter myself that you *can* feel
-what this parting means to me. Indeed, desiring
-your happiness above all things, I earnestly hope
-that you are untouched by *my* wretchedness! I have
-come to-night to say farewell to you and your
-charming family for whom I could not feel a deeper
-affection were it my own.”
-
-“Oh, Mr. Montgomery—surely you don’t mean
-that you are going for good?” cried Elise.
-
-He drew a heavy sigh. And then, letting his
-head droop pathetically, said,
-
-“Miss Lambert, that must be for you to decide.
-And yet I cannot allow you—even though my dearest
-hopes were to be realized thereby—to make any
-decision. Miss Lambert, I think you may have
-guessed my feelings. How deep and sincere they
-are I can only prove by my readiness to disregard
-them. In short, dear Miss Lambert, I feel my
-unworthiness to aspire to the happiness—” here
-he swallowed his words completely so that Jane
-found it impossible to make out what he was
-saying.
-
-“But where are you going, Mr. Montgomery?”
-stammered Elise, evidently on the point of tears
-again. Her concern and emotion affected P. Hyacinth
-deeply and rapidly. Taking a step closer to
-her, he looked into her eyes;
-
-“Are these tears, Miss Lambert—Elise? Is it
-possible that my departure is not wholly indifferent
-to you?” he cried, casting his hat recklessly on the
-ground and seizing both her hands.
-
-“Oh, Mr. Montgomery, you know—that it is not,”
-murmured Elise, freeing one hand in order to dry
-her eyes.
-
-“Then,” declared Hyacinth heroically, “I shall—I
-shall seek an interview with your parent to-night—”
-
-“You may have an interview immediately, if you
-want,” announced a bass voice from the dining-room
-doorway.
-
-“Jiminy!” gasped Jane, drawing herself back from
-the window.
-
-The two young people started as if a cannon had
-exploded beside them. Mr. Montgomery, minus at
-least three shades of his rosy color, drew himself up,
-and breathed a deep breath. His knees were quaking;
-yet it was not without an air of real dignity that
-he prepared to brave the old lion.
-
-.. File: 262.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“Wait here, Elise. I think I had better see your
-father a—alone.”
-
-“Not at all,” said Mr. Lambert again raising his
-terrifying tones, “Elise, I wish you to step in here,
-too.”
-
-Instinctively, Elise clung to Hyacinth’s hand, and
-like the babes in the wood, they slowly walked into
-the dining room.
-
-Mr. Lambert was seated at his desk; and the light
-coming in through the window shone upon his
-glasses so that neither of the quailing young people
-could quite see his eyes. There was a ferocious
-frown between his bristling grey eyebrows.
-
-“Mr. Montgomery, I heard some of the remarks
-you were making to my daughter. I also heard you
-say that you wanted to see me. I am willing to listen
-to anything you have to say—provided that you
-come to the point *quickly*!” He brought out the
-last word so sharply that poor Hyacinth gasped as if
-he had been struck by a high wind.
-
-“Yes, sir,” he managed to articulate, faintly; and
-after this effort seemed unable to utter a sound.
-
-“Well?” said Mr. Lambert. “Proceed.”
-
-Hyacinth squared his shoulder.
-
-“Mr. Lambert—sir—I—er—I—”
-
-“Do you wish to marry my daughter?”
-
-“Yes, sir. Exactly.”
-
-“Then why don’t you say so?”
-
-“I *do* say so, sir.”
-
-“And you wish to ask my permission?”
-
-“Yes, sir—just so. I *do* ask your permission.”
-
-.. File: 263.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“Well, sir,” said Mr. Lambert, removing his
-spectacles, and polishing them slowly on his handkerchief.
-“It is *not* granted.”
-
-Here Elise began to weep, but disregarding her
-distress, Mr. Lambert continued,
-
-“And I should advise you, sir, to keep to that very
-excellent plan of yours to depart, at once.”
-
-Notwithstanding the grim look around Mr. Lambert’s
-mouth, Hyacinth held his ground heroically.
-
-“Sir, I love your daughter. I think I have a right
-to ask you why you object to me as a son-in-law.”
-
-Mr. Lambert turned upon him slowly in his swivel
-chair, eyed him gravely from head to foot, and then
-said,
-
-“Yes. Quite so. You have such a right. Very
-well, then,—I object to your clothes, to begin with.”
-
-“Sir,” said Hyacinth, turning a deep pink, “they
-can be—changed.”
-
-“No doubt,” said Mr. Lambert. “In the second
-place I object to your profession,—if you are pleased
-to call it such.”
-
-“You object to my being an interpreter of nature—an
-artist, sir?” stammered Hyacinth. “Surely sir—however
-that too can be changed.” And he
-bowed his head submissively. “In fact, sir,” he
-added with an ingenuous expression, “I shall be
-quite willing to change it.”
-
-“Ah,” said Mr. Lambert. “Well, my dear sir,” a
-slightly sarcastic smile illumined his rugged features
-for a moment, and he rose as if he were about to
-finish off the matter, with his final objection, “well,
-my dear sir, lastly, I don’t like your name. Perhaps,
-though” (*very* ironically), “you can change
-*that*!”
-
-Hyacinth hesitated a moment, and then said pathetically,
-
-“Don’t you really like it, sir?”
-
-“I can hardly express my feelings about it!” cried
-Mr. Lambert, losing patience. “Really, my dear
-sir—”
-
-“One moment, please,” urged Hyacinth, “I—I *can*
-change it—”
-
-“No doubt! No doubt! Perhaps you can change
-your skin—indeed I should not be surprised—”
-
-“But really, sir. Allow me to explain. I—well,
-it is necessary for you to know sir, that, very often,
-persons who embrace any line of artistic activity
-may desire to assume a fictitious name—”
-
-“I can easily imagine that in many cases regard
-for their personal safety would force them to it,”
-observed Mr. Lambert, drily.
-
-“Precisely. And sir—I confess that heretofore
-you have known me under a name that—that is not
-my own.”
-
-“Not your own!” roared Mr. Lambert. “What
-the deuce do you mean sir? Not your own! Then
-whose is it?”
-
-“No one’s sir, believe me!” cried Hyacinth, backing
-away from the indignant old man. “I invented
-it, sir—”
-
-“And you mean to tell me that you have had the
-audacity to enjoy my hospitality under false pretences!—to
-say nothing of paying court to my
-daughter—”
-
-“Pray, sir—one moment!” implored Hyacinth,
-wringing his hands. “Oh, don’t misunderstand
-me—”
-
-“And will you have the goodness to tell me, sir,
-at once, *what* and *who* you are?” bellowed Mr. Lambert.
-“Come, I won’t tolerate your insolence.”
-
-“Oh, my *dear* Mr. Lambert, don’t, *don’t* be hasty.
-I—I don’t know what I am. But I—”
-
-“What is your name, sir?” shouted Mr. Lambert.
-
-“My name, sir, is—Winkler. P. Hyacinth Winkler.
-The P. stands for Pol—”
-
-“Winkler!” gasped Mr. Lambert, “*Winkler*!”
-
-“Winkler!” murmured Elise, faintly.
-
-“For Polybius,” continued Hyacinth, not heeding
-their ejaculations. “I will conceal nothing from
-you sir. The P. stands for Polybius. My sponsors,
-not I, are to be blamed—”
-
-“Winkler!” repeated Mr. Lambert.
-
-“If you are afflicted with the same sensitiveness
-of the auditory nerve that nature bestowed on me,”
-went on Hyacinth, “you cannot doubt that there is
-something in the combination of the word Winkler
-with the two polysyllabic names preceding it, which
-is grating, imperfect—”
-
-“Winkler,” Mr. Lambert was still repeating monotonously.
-
-“Yes, sir. I now perceive the cause of your astonishment.
-It is a name with which you have some
-connection—”
-
-.. File: 266.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“Will you be good enough to tell me what part
-of the world you are from?” demanded Mr. Lambert.
-
-“I was born in the state of Missouri, in the year
-1895. My parents were people of consequence in a
-humble way. My father had for many years been
-the proprietor of a solid business in dyes and textiles—”
-
-“My dear sir, I don’t want your biography,” interrupted
-Mr. Lambert, but in a remarkably softened
-voice. “Your father’s name was—?”
-
-“Samuel Winkler.”
-
-“Samuel? And his father’s?”
-
-“John.”
-
-“John—Johann! By Jove!” cried Mr. Lambert.
-And he began to rummage in the drawer of his desk,
-bringing to light the large scroll on which was
-traced the family tree of the Winklers. Just as he
-had unrolled it under Paul’s eyes, he now unrolled it
-again, and eagerly began to trace the lines of twigs
-and branches.
-
-“Here!” he exclaimed, “Samuel Winkler—son
-of the first Johann—moves to Missouri in 1817—two
-sons, Ferdinand and Johann. Ferdinand died
-1824. Johann married, 1850—Samuel, your father,
-born 1857. Is that right, sir?”
-
-“Yes.”
-
-“Do you realize,” inquired Mr. Lambert, throwing
-himself back in his chair, “that you are the
-fourth or fifth cousin of my wife? That you are,
-in fact, the legal heir—or can be made so by her
-consent and yours—to this famous establishment.
-That, in a word sir,” cried Mr. Lambert, growing
-almost too excited to speak distinctly, “if you
-show aptitude, and willingness to fit yourself to
-carry on this business, I shall withdraw all my objections
-to you—I will accept you as a son-in-law—Embrace
-one another, my children! Bless you a
-thousand times! Ah, Heavens! Gertrude!” And
-almost apoplectic with excitement, Mr. Lambert
-sprang up, and actually cutting a caper, flew to the
-door to call his wife.
-
-As a matter of fact, he had not far to look;
-for his roars and bellows had brought his entire
-family down to the hall outside the dining-room
-door, Jane having informed her mother of
-the probable nature of the scene going on within,
-and a natural concern for the well-being of the
-two victims having stirred their sympathy and
-anxiety.
-
-“Come in! Come in!” cried Mr. Lambert, throwing
-the door wide. “Gertrude, my dear, embrace
-me!” and he promptly hugged his startled wife.
-“Jane, kiss your dear sister. Gertrude, salute your
-son—”
-
-“But w-what—”
-
-“What? What? You ask what? He has been
-found!” Then suddenly, Mr. Lambert remembering
-that actually Hyacinth had not consented to the
-conditions of his acceptance at all, turned upon him
-abruptly.
-
-“I presume, sir, that I am right in believing that
-you are willing to lay aside all other interests,
-and—”
-
-Then seeing Hyacinth and Elise standing by the
-window, evidently quite oblivious to his oration, he
-smiled with positive benevolence.
-
-“I have found a *Winkler*, my dear wife,” he
-said. “And this time, I believe,” with a playful
-glance in the direction of the two at the window,
-“a Winkler who—”
-
-“Who will stay put,” finished Jane.
-
-There was no need for much explanation, Mr.
-Lambert’s tones during the interview having been of
-such a quality that not only the entire household
-might have heard him, but the neighbors into the
-bargain.
-
-And thus, as Jane had once prophesied to Paul,
-the incredible had happened—the Other Winkler
-was found.
-
-.. File: 269.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-CHAPTER XVII—AN HONOR TO THE FAMILY
-===================================
-
-“And of course *I* shall lend you my pearl pin,”
-cried Lily, embracing Elise for the sixth time.
-“Oh, I *am* so delighted! And to think, you sly
-girl, that you’re going to be married four whole
-months before I am!”
-
-“And I,” announced Dolly Webster, taking her
-turn at embracing the blushing and dimpling Elise,
-“*I’ve* brought you a pair of blue garters. Annie
-Lee made ’em, but I sewed on the little pink roses,
-so they’re from both of us. And mamma is going
-to give you the dearest set of tea cups—though
-that’s a secret. I *never* was so surprised at anything
-in my life!”
-
-“And your fiancé is charming,” added Amelia,
-“*so* interesting. Now, do let me look at all these
-pretty things you are making.”
-
-“Well, I want to hear more about all this,” said
-Annie Lee, sitting down, and taking off her rain-soaked
-hat. “Here, my dear, give me some of your
-sewing to do. You must be rushed to death.”
-
-“I *am* rushed—but everyone has been helping.
-The house is simply upside down,” said Elise.
-“Just look at this room! I don’t know how we’re
-going to get everything straightened out for the
-wedding. Papa insists that we must have a big
-party here afterwards, but where in the world we’ll
-find room to move I don’t know.”
-
-Indeed, since the events recorded in the last
-chapter, the gentle routine of the Lambert’s family
-life had been unhinged at its very foundations.
-Everyone knows that the prospect of a wedding has
-a thoroughly disturbing influence, and during the
-weeks of trousseau making, and festivity-planning,
-Mr. Lambert’s rules of law and order were freely
-and boldly disregarded.
-
-The wedding date was set for early winter,—to
-this suggestion, Mr. Lambert had given a ready
-consent, being anxious to have his son-in-law firmly
-attached to the household and his duties as soon as
-possible, and the domestic machinery moving once
-again with its customary smoothness. At the same
-time the old merchant desired to have his daughter’s
-marriage do him credit. He discussed the preparations
-fussily; he made decisions and redecisions
-on the household articles and heirlooms which should
-go to his daughter on her marriage; he even had
-his opinions on the bride’s dress. One evening he
-called her down and presented her with an ancient
-silver chain, set with curious, embossed medallions,
-which had belonged to his own grandmother—“Now
-I have the ‘something old,’”—Elise said, as she
-showed it proudly to her friends—: another time,
-on his return from a trip to Allenboro, he brought
-her a pair of tiny blue silk slippers, so small that
-no woman of the modern generation could possibly
-have pressed her feet into them. Altogether, his
-satisfaction was so profound that at times he was
-positively kittenish, and teased the young lovers with
-elephantine playfulness. He no longer saw in his
-prospective son-in-law and distant relative those
-eccentricities that had annoyed him so excessively.
-He called Hyacinth, Polybius—a name, which in his
-opinion had classic dignity—and treated him with
-a solemn regard that disconcerted the young man
-even more than his former sarcasm.
-
-Everyone was pleased. Letters of a most friendly
-and cousinly nature had been exchanged with the
-family of the bridegroom who did not hesitate to
-express very frankly their surprise and delight in
-that young man’s unlooked for good sense in choosing
-the bride he had, and in preparing to lay aside
-his artistic whimsies in favor of a solid and thriving
-business.
-
-Hyacinth had been exhibited to all the Lamberts’
-neighbors; he had been approved and congratulated.
-Frederickstown received him amiably into its midst.
-He had bought a calm, dark blue suit, and was growing
-a small beard to give some air of age and authority
-to his rosy, youthful face. He spent much
-of his time at the warehouse with Mr. Lambert
-where he sat and listened gravely to the talk of the
-other merchants, spoke rarely, but always with a
-judicious, reflective manner, which was positively
-impressive.
-
-“A fine young man, who’ll be a credit to you,
-Mr. Lambert, and as good a husband as any young
-lady could wish,” was the general opinion of the
-new Winkler.
-
-He had been admitted to the secrets of the Bakery,
-and here his talents shone. Here he proved his
-claim to his descent, exhibiting a genius for cake-making
-that might in time rival that of old Johann
-himself. He had already invented three new recipes;
-and so great was his enthusiasm that he actually
-sat up at night thinking out new mixtures.
-He had found the natural outlet for his creative instinct,
-and his whole soul was possessed with an
-ardor for increasing the name and fame of his
-house.
-
-But it was not without a slight shadow of resentment
-that Jane, although she was sincerely fond
-of her future brother-in-law, saw him usurping the
-place that had been Paul’s. Now Paul seemed to
-be entirely forgotten; his place was filled; in the
-flurry of preparations even Aunt Gertrude did not
-have a thought to spare for him. It was as if he
-were no longer a member of the family at all, as
-if his life and theirs had no connection. How could
-they feel that way, Jane wondered indignantly.
-And to cap all, she had heard no news of the fate
-of the picture. She was bitterly disappointed, for
-even while she had tried to pretend that she had
-no reason to hope for much, she had really been
-building all sorts of delightful imaginings on her
-unshakable belief that it *would* win a prize.
-
-But Jane was too entirely feminine not to be diverted,
-and greatly absorbed by the plans for the
-wedding; and on that rainy, windy afternoon, she
-busily pricked her fingers trying to make tiny stitches
-in the pretty, simple lingerie that she was helping
-Elise to make, and listened eagerly to the chattering
-of the other girls who were all talking and asking
-questions at once.
-
-The brisk, kindly Annie Lee promptly fitted a
-thimble on her finger and took up the piece of muslin
-that Elise had been hemming. The two engaged
-ladies exchanged open confidences for the benefit
-of all, while Dolly sat by munching chocolates from
-the box of candies that she herself had brought as
-an offering to the bride-to-be.
-
-“Now, do tell about the wedding,” she said, giving
-a bounce of anticipation. “Have you started on
-your dress?”
-
-“Oh, yes—and Granny has given me a lovely piece
-of lace. Wait, I’ll show you. Janey, dear, will
-you go and put the kettle on, and I’ll make some
-tea in a little—you dear girls have gotten soaked
-coming to see me.”
-
-Then the half-finished wedding dress was taken
-out of its box, and held so high that its immaculate
-cream-colored flounces should not touch the floor.
-
-“It was mother’s,” Elise explained. “And I’m
-just altering it a little, so it will not look very old
-fashioned—but I can’t bear to change it, and I think
-it’s lovely as it is.”
-
-“It’s *delicious*!” cried Lily.
-
-“I wouldn’t *think* of changing it,” said Annie Lee.
-“Why that’s just the style that suits you. You’ll
-look lovely!”
-
-“I suppose it was once white,” said Amelia, “but
-still, that cream-color is very nice—though a pure
-white would be more to my taste.”
-
-“What are you talking about, Amelia—that old
-ivory shade is a *thousand* times nicer than dead
-white. Hold it up against you, Lisa.”
-
-Aunt Gertrude’s wedding dress was made of silk,
-with a tight little bodice and a huge skirt, brave with
-flounces and gathers; and above its mellow ivory-colored
-tones Elise’s flaxen hair shone like gold.
-Lily, Dolly and Annie Lee were loud in their raptures
-over her plump, blooming prettiness, but
-Amelia looked on with a rather strained smile.
-
-“Now, put it back in the box, or you’ll soil it,”
-said Annie Lee. “And *I* shall help Janey with the
-tea; you can’t do half a dozen things at once.”
-
-Over the tea-cups these feminine tongues rattled
-on still more exuberantly. Amelia drew attention to
-the probable differences in the futures of the two
-brides-to-be, and wondered which would be the happier,
-then Annie Lee began to tease her about some
-imaginary suitor whom she declared was languishing
-for Amelia.
-
-“What nonsense! What are you saying? Whoever
-heard of such a thing!” cried Amelia, but she
-was immensely pleased, and put on a mysterious
-expression meant to convey to them that there was
-more truth in their pleasantries than they were aware
-of.
-
-.. File: 275.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“Tell me,” she said, presently, with a lively air,
-“what has become of that delightful cousin of
-yours?”
-
-“You mean Paul?” inquired Jane, looking up
-stolidly enough, but with a grin twitching at the
-corners of her lips.
-
-“Yes. I met him out at your dance last winter,
-Dolly,” said Amelia, “and he was really charming
-to me. We had many dances together—such an interesting
-boy!”
-
-Even Elise bent her head to conceal a smile at the
-mention of the “many dances” Paul and Amelia
-had had together. She had heard Paul’s account
-of that pleasure.
-
-“Why, Amelia! did you set your cap at Paul?
-I’m surprised at you. And he was only a child!”
-
-“Dear me—how can you say such things, Elise,”
-cried Amelia coyly. “I—”
-
-“I wish I could tell him that you asked about him,”
-added Elise, “I know it would make him very
-happy.”
-
-“Nonsense! I’m sure he wouldn’t care in the
-least! But tell me what has become of him.”
-
-“He went away last month—or six weeks ago,”
-said Elise, briefly, glancing at Jane. “Isn’t that
-Papa just coming in, Janey? It must be after five.”
-
-“After five!” cried Lily, “then I have to run,
-dear. Mamma didn’t want me to come at all in this
-rain—”
-
-“We’ve got to go too, so we’ll take you home,
-Lily,” said Annie Lee. “Come along, Amelia. We
-may drop in to-morrow, Lisa, and Mama says that
-if you want any extra sewing done that Roxie can
-do it easily.”
-
-Mr. Lambert entered the dining room just after
-the four girls had gone. There was a peculiar expression
-on his face—a mixture of annoyance, pleasure
-and pride, and he seemed to take no notice of
-the disorder of the room as he kissed his two daughters,
-and asked them to give him a cup of tea.
-
-“And, Jane, call your mother. Where is Carl?”
-
-“I think he came in just a moment ago, father.
-He has been out walking.”
-
-“Well, well. Well, I’ve got a piece of news—quite
-a piece of news, I must say.” Still, he seemed in
-no hurry to part with it, and Jane and Elise were
-left to exchange inquiring glances behind his back,
-until Mrs. Lambert and Carl had obeyed the summons
-of the master of the house.
-
-“And what is this piece of news, Peter?” asked
-his wife, at length. They all looked up at him, as
-he stood in front of the fire, drinking his tea.
-
-“Well, I must say I am very much surprised.
-And yet not so much surprised either. I had an
-idea that there was something in the boy, and that
-was one reason I wanted to let him have his own
-rope for a while—”
-
-“Daddy!” cried Jane, springing up, “is it about
-*Paul*?”
-
-Mrs. Lambert looked at her with a little frown and
-a shake of the head, but Jane did not see these warning
-signs.
-
-.. File: 277.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“Why, yes,” said Mr. Lambert, smoothing his
-beard. “The boy, it seems won a third prize in that
-competition. I found the letter in the mail that
-was left at my office—”
-
-“Daddy!” shrieked Jane. “Oh, let me see! It
-isn’t—it can’t be true—”
-
-“Don’t yell like that, Jane!” admonished Carl.
-
-“I will—I *must* yell! Oh, mother, darling, isn’t
-it—”
-
-“Sh, Janey! Of course it is wonderful news—”
-
-“But Paul doesn’t know anything about it. Oh,
-Daddy, where is he? Why he—” “*I* don’t see
-how it could be—since his picture was burnt up,”
-observed Carl. This fact had so far not occurred
-to anyone.
-
-“That’s true!” exclaimed Mr. Lambert. “Do you
-imagine that there is a mistake after all?” And
-his face fell slightly. He was inordinately proud of
-the honor that had redounded to the family from
-his discredited nephew’s achievement.
-
-“No, *no*! There’s no mistake!” cried Jane. “It
-wasn’t the burnt picture—it was the other one—the
-one he did on top of the flour barrel. Don’t you
-remember, Mummy?”
-
-“How do *you* know?”
-
-“Why, because I sent it off. After Paul had
-gone—and he doesn’t know *anything*!”
-
-“Well, well—the boy must learn of this, somehow,”
-said Mr. Lambert. “It was absurd of him to
-fly off in a temper as he did—but that’s the way of
-young people. Gertrude, my dear, I think it would
-be quite proper to have a notice of this inserted in
-the *Frederickstown Star*. In fact, I dropped by on
-my way home this evening, and told Jim Braintree
-about it, and he’s putting it in on the front page to-morrow.
-‘Well,’ he said to me, ‘I certainly must
-congratulate you, Peter Lambert.’ The prize by
-the way was seventy-five dollars. Not bad for a
-youngster—by Jove! Frederickstown will have
-reason to boast of this family for a good many
-years to come, *I’m* thinking!” And the worthy
-old man swelled almost visibly with pride, as if
-in some way he was entirely responsible for the
-new honor that had been bestowed upon his
-house.
-
-In fact, not even Jane herself was more delighted
-than her father who less than a year before had angrily
-consigned the prize-winning picture to dust and
-oblivion behind his desk.
-
-But it was all very well to say that Paul must
-learn of his success. Where was he? For all that
-they knew, for all that anyone knew, he might at
-that very moment have been once again on the ocean,
-or in New Zealand or Timbuctoo. This sad possibility
-somewhat dampened Jane’s boundless, blissful
-rapture; and yet she declared stoutly that she had
-a feeling in her bones that Paul was coming
-back—
-
-“And if he does come back, Daddy,” she asked
-timidly, “will you—will it be all right?”
-
-“I haven’t the slightest doubt that as soon as he
-gets over his little fit of temper, he will return,”
-replied Mr. Lambert. “He must be running short
-of money now, indeed—”
-
-“*That* won’t bring him back!” interrupted Jane.
-
-“Well, well, I am sure that he will feel—I am
-sure that he will realize—that he has acted very
-impetuously—and—and will do the sensible thing,”
-said Mr. Lambert a trifle impatiently. “And now,
-Jane, will you bring me my slippers!”
-
-.. File: 280.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-CHAPTER XVIII—THE WANDERER COMES HOME
-=====================================
-
-The weeks which seemed so long to Elise and
-Hyacinth, and so desperately crowded to Aunt Gertrude
-(who was quite as excited and flustered as if
-she were going to be married herself) *we* can skip
-over at will. It is enough to say that within them
-the old house underwent such a cleaning and scrubbing
-and furbishing up as it had not known in five
-and twenty years. Mr. Lambert talked of building
-a new wing for the newly married couple. The
-floors were scrubbed and freshly oiled, the brass
-and pewter was polished until the antique household
-wares fairly winked at you through the glass
-doors of the cupboards. The woodwork was
-rubbed until it shone like satin; fresh curtains went
-up at the windows, carpets were beaten, the front
-door and the window frames received a fine new
-coat of green paint, and Mr. Lambert himself put
-on a new latch to the door of the Bakery. And
-when these wonders had been accomplished, Aunt
-Gertrude entrusted the proprietorship of the Bakery
-to Hyacinth and Anna, and solemnly shut herself
-up to make the wedding cake. It was to be such a
-wedding cake as Frederickstown had never seen before—a
-mammoth delicacy, destined to be long remembered,
-composed of spices and raisins and citron
-and nuts, all buried under a snowy frosting, and
-artistic decorations designed by the versatile Hyacinth,
-who was allowed to contribute to this part
-of it, only.
-
-And then came the day when the Samuel Winklers
-arrived, and took up their quarters at the Red
-Fox Inn, midway between Frederickstown and
-Goldsboro. And after they had paid their respects
-to their cousins, and presented their daughter-in-law-to-be
-with innumerable gifts, there was a party in
-their honor, at which Granny presided with the
-greatest dignity and Mr. Lambert proposed no less
-than eighteen toasts which were enthusiastically
-drunk in blackberry wine. In fact, the wedding
-festivities in honor of a union which restored the
-house of Winkler to its former state of security
-threatened to completely disorganize the delighted
-community.
-
-At last the sixth of December—the wedding-day—was
-come.
-
-In accordance with a time-honored custom, the
-ceremony was performed at eight o’clock at night.
-And what a night it was! The first snow of the
-winter had fallen, covering streets and house-tops
-with a thick, soft, sparkling mantle. And like a
-Russian bride, Elise returned from the old church
-with the sound of sleigh bells jingling in the clear,
-frosty air.
-
-A beautiful bride she was, too, rosy and golden-haired
-and blue-eyed; and as for Hyacinth! with a
-flower in his button-hole, with his hair all sleek and
-glossy, with such an expression of importance and
-sedateness—it was no wonder that his parents gazed
-upon him with eyes actually moist with pride, and
-Elise thought him a matchless paragon amongst
-men.
-
-No one knows to this day how all the guests that
-came managed to crowd themselves into the old
-house, but they did, and no less than thirty of them
-sat down at the table with the bride and bridegroom.
-There was scarcely one imprint of footsteps
-in the new-fallen snow that night that did not
-point in the direction of the Bakery.
-
-A little after nine o’clock, the musicians arrived,
-Tom Drinkwater with his fiddle, and Mr. Mellitz
-with his trombone in a huge green felt case, and
-Frank Fisher with his harp and old Mr. Gilroy with
-his cello. They settled themselves in a corner, tuned
-up a bit, and then the dancing began.
-
-It was with immeasurable pride that on this occasion,
-Mr. Lambert welcomed Mr. Sheridan
-amongst his guests—Mr. Timothy Sheridan, nephew
-to the late Major, and of a family that had had its
-roots in Frederickstown as long as the Winklers
-themselves, or nearly. Lily was a bridesmaid, and
-it was with her that Mr. Lambert himself started
-the dancing. Mrs. Deacon was there, gorgeous in
-purple and plumes, the Websters in a solid phalanx—in
-fact there was not a face that was familiar in
-Frederickstown that was not to be seen that night
-glowing with satisfaction and good will and personal
-enjoyment under the roof of the Lambert-Winkler
-dwelling.
-
-It was when the general merriment was at its
-height that Jane, laden with a tray of refreshments
-approached the overheated musicians who were
-scraping and blowing and thumping away in that
-corner of the dining room from which Mr. Lambert’s
-desk—as an article that harmonized too little
-with the elegance of the occasion—had been temporarily
-banished.
-
-“In another four or five years or so, we’ll be making
-music at *your* wedding no doubt—if we live,
-eh?” said old Elias Gilroy at last laying aside his
-cello for a moment, to take a long draught of cider.
-When he came out of the mug, wiping his grizzled
-moustaches delicately on a blue polka dot handkerchief
-he winked merrily at Jane, who had sat down
-beside him.
-
-“And why aren’t you twirling round with the
-boys, my lassie?” he went on affectionately, now
-helping himself to a gigantic slice of cake.
-
-“I came over to watch you—and besides, I’d
-rather look on,” said Jane, carefully smoothing out
-the skirt of her new blue silk dress. “Shall I get
-you some more cider, Mr. Gilroy?”
-
-“Well—I’ll not trouble you,” said he, uncertainly,
-“though if there’s plenty to be had—”
-
-“There’s lots. There’s lots and lots of everything!”
-cried Jane. “I’ll bring a pitcher!”
-
-When the enthusiastic musicians had had “fresh
-heart put into ’em” as Mr. Gilroy said, she stood
-by watching them tune up their instruments for a
-new onslaught on the famous, lively measures of
-“Old Uncle Ned.”
-
-“Oh, I *do* wish I could make music out of that
-big thing!” she cried pointing to the cello.
-
-“You have to be born to it,” replied Mr. Gilroy
-solemnly, sawing away with all his might. “It’s an
-easier matter to blow a tune through that—” he
-jerked his head in the direction of Mr. Mellitz’s
-gleaming trombone, whose huge tones fairly
-drowned out the voices of the other instruments.
-Mr. Mellitz, though he might have taken offense at
-the disparaging manner in which his colleague referred
-to his instrument, seemed not to have heard
-Mr. Gilroy’s remark. He sat behind the other
-three, directly under the window, staring fixedly
-down the shining tube of the trombone at his music;—a
-meager, melancholy looking man, little given
-to sociable conversation, with a tallow-colored
-face which just now was swollen out as he forced
-all the breath in his lean body into the mouthpiece.
-
-“Why,” wondered Jane, “did he choose to play
-the trombone?”
-
-With her hands folded in her lap, she sat watching
-him fixedly, as he pushed his slide up and down.
-All around her people were dancing, eating, drinking,
-talking, laughing. People were leaving, people
-were coming—she was not thinking about them—she
-was not even thinking about solemn Mr. Mellitz
-nor of how Mr. Gilroy coaxed his deep, sweet tones
-out of the frayed strings of his old cello.
-
-She was wondering where Paul was. The very
-gaiety of the family reunion made her feel the absence
-of the outcast all the more keenly. Her cheerful
-hope of his return had waned steadily during
-the past weeks. There was no news of him, although
-Mr. Lambert himself had tried to trace
-him. No, he was gone.
-
-“Well, my lassie, if you watch us hard enough
-no doubt you’ll learn a thing or two about it,” remarked
-Mr. Gilroy, when the music came to a stop
-at the end of the dance, and the musicians mopped
-their perspiring faces. “Here, take this bow, since
-you’re so curious, and have a try at it, while I
-breathe easy a moment or two.” He put the neck
-of his cello into her hand, and showed her how to
-press her fingers on the strings.
-
-“Now, just take the bow so—like this, see?
-That’s better—and *bite* the string with it—”
-
-Jane laughingly tried to do as she was told, but the
-sound that the instrument emitted under her touch
-showed only too plainly that sweetly as it could sing
-under the fingers of Mr. Gilroy it had a very different
-temper for rash amateurs.
-
-As she looked up, laughing, into the old man’s
-face, she suddenly caught her breath in a
-gasp. Through the window, just behind the long
-head of Mr. Mellitz, it seemed to her that she
-had seen a face—though the next moment it had
-disappeared.
-
-.. File: 286.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“What is it?” inquired Mr. Gilroy, noticing her
-frightened expression. “Aren’t seeing ghosts are
-ye?” he added jocosely.
-
-Jane shook her head, but she looked again, uneasily,
-at the window. There was nothing there
-but the reflection of the interior of the room—Anna
-taking plates of the table, two or three older men
-standing by the fire, the silhouettes of the musicians’
-heads, her mother hurrying in to see about something
-and then hurrying out again, people moving
-past the door.
-
-Then, all of a sudden, there it was again! Fantastically
-white, it seemed to Jane, and apparently
-without any body accompanying it, so that it looked
-like a mask suspended outside the window. She
-sprang up in a fright, not thinking for a moment
-that it might be no more than the face of some
-inquisitive wayfarer, who had stolen into the garden
-to peer in upon the festivities.
-
-All at once, hope, fear, doubt and joy broke over
-her.
-
-*“Paul!”*
-
-The cello fell over onto the floor with an indignant
-“thrum-m!” as she darted forward. The
-next moment, she had opened the door, and stood
-upon the snowy step, looking eagerly about in the
-shadows of the garden.
-
-“Paul! Paul! Are you there?”
-
-A figure moved out of the darkness, into the shaft
-of light that streamed through the open door.
-
-“Janey!” She heard the unmistakably familiar
-short laugh as she flung herself into his bear-like
-hug.
-
-“You’ve come back! I knew it! I knew you
-would!” she cried, patting his shoulders and the
-wet, rough sleeves of his shabby coat in a perfect
-ecstasy of delight. “Oh, Paul—come in! come in
-quickly!” But he drew back.
-
-“No, no Janey. I can’t do that. But what’s
-going on, anyway?”
-
-“Why, Paul—don’t you know? It’s Elise—Elise’s
-wedding. And what do you think? There’s
-another Winkler after all—Oh, you’ve got to come
-in, Paul—”
-
-“No; Janey—I can’t,” he repeated firmly. “I’ll
-come back again some day, as I promised—but not
-now. I can’t do it now. I only stopped to look
-in—I’m on my way down to Riverbury—there’s a
-fellow down there who says he has some work for
-me, if I want to come. I—I just stopped to peek
-in, thinking that perhaps I’d see you all sitting
-around the fire. A fine wedding guest I’d make,”
-he added laughing. “I’d be a worse mortification
-to Uncle Peter than ever I was. No, Janey, I can’t.
-Walk in there like this? The black sheep of the family
-coming in like a vagabond at the wedding feast?”
-
-Indeed, he was shabby enough—and in his laugh
-was a tell-tale note of something like shame. It
-stung his pride not a little to have even Janey see
-the plain evidences of the rather unsuccessful struggle
-he had been waging with circumstances. He
-wore the same old seaman’s cap, the same old short,
-thick jacket—but frayed edges, patches, and empty
-buttonholes did not escape Janey’s eyes, and he knew
-it, and tried to draw out of the light. He was
-much thinner too, and even a trifle taller, so that
-his garments, which had never fitted him kindly
-were now still looser in the places where they had
-once been much too loose and tighter where they
-had once been much too tight. He felt also that
-the light showed only too plainly the traces that actual
-hunger had drawn in his face, and of these he
-was more ashamed than of his clothes.
-
-“You mustn’t stand out here, Janey—you’re
-shivering in that thin dress. And I must say good-bye—you’ve
-left the door open, and here come some
-people.”
-
-Janey glanced over her shoulder. Through the
-door from the hall, her father was entering the
-dining room, with Elise, followed by Hyacinth and
-Aunt Gertrude, and then the remaining guests. The
-ceremony of solemnly drinking the bride’s health
-was about to take place. Granny sat at the head of
-the table.
-
-“How lovely Elise looks,” said Paul, “and how
-nice it is to see them all. There’s Mrs. Deacon—and
-Lily and Mr. Sheridan—and there’s my friend,
-Amelia. Is that fellow with the beard the bridegroom?”
-
-“That’s Hyacinth. And he’s a Winkler—a real
-true Winkler, Paul. I found him.”
-
-“Did you?” said Paul, laughing, “I’m not surprised.”
-
-.. File: 289.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“Only I didn’t know he was a Winkler—so it
-doesn’t count—”
-
-“Here comes Uncle Peter! He’s seen you, Janey.
-Good-bye, dear.” But she held both his hands
-tightly.
-
-“I won’t let you go! I won’t, Paul! You don’t
-understand. It’s all right—”
-
-Just then, Mr. Lambert pushed the half-open door
-wide.
-
-“Jane! What are you doing? Come in at once—you’ve
-chilled the whole house!”
-
-Everyone had turned, and was staring in amazement,
-as Jane pulled Paul to the threshold, under
-her father’s very nose.
-
-“What’s this?” cried Mr. Lambert, seizing his
-nephew by the arm.
-
-“It’s—me, Uncle,” said Paul. “I am going. I
-only—”
-
-“Going!” cried Mr. Lambert. “Going! Not at
-all! Come in! Come in!”
-
-The next thing that the bewildered Paul was
-conscious of was that he was standing inside the
-room, facing the table full of guests, with his
-uncle’s arm jovially embracing his shoulders, Jane
-clinging to his hand, and everyone exclaiming over
-the returned prodigal.
-
-“Ladies and gentlemen!” announced Mr. Lambert,
-but his speech was cut short, as Aunt Gertrude
-rushed forward to kiss the utterly dazed,
-uncomprehending, and horribly embarrassed boy.
-
-“Ladies and gentlemen!” Mr. Lambert began
-again, “you are aware, I think, of the recent honor
-bestowed upon my nephew—an honor which is
-shared not only by his family, but by this community
-of which he is a part!” The remainder of
-the speech, no less than its resounding introduction
-was pure Greek to Paul, who stood with his long
-arms dangling, helplessly, and with open mouth,
-gazing from face to face, as if trying to piece out
-the solution of the mystery.
-
-Then everyone began to clap their hands. His
-appearance had for the time being absorbed all interest.
-Granny, almost hidden behind the towering
-wedding cake, which had just been brought on to be
-cut, pulled him to her, and kissed him. Carl, looking
-very clean and spruce in his new suit, and snowy
-collar and polished shoes, shook hands with him.
-Elise embraced him, regardless of her silk dress, and
-her flowers and her veil; Hyacinth, looking abnormally
-solemn and important—the exuberant nature
-lover and enemy of civilization had miraculously
-vanished to give place to one of the most civilized
-and sedate of young men—Hyacinth shook his
-hand, and said something very incoherent and
-flowery about the pleasure and honor of meeting his
-distinguished cousin, and about their being in some
-sense, kindred spirits.
-
-And then Paul, understanding nothing whatever,
-not at all sure that he was not dreaming, but feeling
-as happy as he was puzzled, took his place beside
-his uncle, to drink the health of the bride, and long
-life to the name of Winkler. It was nice to be
-there, to see all the familiar faces, to hear the familiar
-voices—above all it was good to have his
-part in this celebration of family happiness, to feel
-that these were his kin folk whose joys and sorrows
-must affect his life just as his affected theirs. But
-why was it that the glances that he met shone with
-pride? What had *he* done? Why were they not
-ashamed of him as he stood there, tattered and
-muddy—the very picture of the aimless, shiftless
-wanderer that his father had been before him? He
-blushed for himself, feeling vaguely that he ought
-not to be there, after all, that he should have resisted
-Jane and Mr. Lambert and gone his way.
-He looked around the familiar room,—above the
-chimneyplace hung the old, clumsily executed portrait
-of Great-grandfather Johann, in his snuff-colored
-Sunday suit—a severely pleasant-looking
-old man, with a constant expression of honesty and
-self-respect—who now seemed to gaze down placidly
-and commendingly upon the united gathering of his
-descendants. He had worked for them, had old Johann
-Winkler; it was his industry, his self-respect,
-his respect for the opinions of his fellow-citizens
-that had laid the foundations of their comfort and
-prosperity and their good standing in the community;
-from him had come the simple principles upon
-which they lived and worked together. And Paul
-felt, as he looked up into the painted blue eyes that
-old Johann would have dealt harshly with those who
-disregarded family responsibilities, or brought any
-shadow of public censure upon the name. And
-there, under those keen little blue eyes, he stood,
-ragged and disreputable-looking, and the keen little
-blue eyes seemed to ask him, “What does this mean,
-sir?” Yet, Uncle Peter had bidden him to the
-feast, and was even now filling the glass in front
-of him.
-
-And then the toasts were drunk, and the glasses
-clinked, and the wedding cake was cut. And after
-that, Elise went up to her room to change her dress,
-for the sleigh was at the door, and it was high time
-that the bride and bridegroom should be on
-their way. Of peculiar interest, the fact should
-be chronicled that when the ascending bride
-tossed her bouquet over the bannisters into the
-midst of her maids, Dolly and Amelia, and Lily,
-and Annie Lee, it was Amelia who caught the
-nosegay!
-
-And at last, the sleigh with its jingling bells had
-driven swiftly away over the snowy road. The last
-handful of rice had been flung; the last guest had
-gone, and Aunt Gertrude stood laughing and weeping
-over the flight of the first of her little flock—though
-indeed Elise and her Hyacinth were going
-no farther than Salisbury, and would be back in
-two days!
-
-Paul and Jane stood side by side on the rice-strewn
-steps looking up the moonlit street.
-
-“Mr. Daniels is building a porch on his house,
-isn’t he?” remarked Paul, quickly detecting the little
-alterations that had occurred on that familiar street
-since his going.
-
-.. File: 293.png-----------------------------------------------------
-
-“Come in, children,” said Aunt Gertrude, “come
-in, my dears, and let me count you all to make
-sure that no more than one has run away from
-me!”
-
-And when they had all gathered around her in
-the old dining room in the midst of the gay disorder
-of the wedding-feast, she made a pretense of
-counting them, laughing and crying at the same
-time.
-
-“Here is my Jane and my Carl, and my two sleepy
-twinnies! That’s four—and here’s my missing
-fifth!” And she gave Paul an extra kiss.
-
-Paul looked around him. Then turning to his
-uncle he said;
-
-“Uncle Peter, you’ve been very kind to me. I
-had no intention to come in here to-night—I only
-stopped to look in at you all—and I’m afraid I
-wasn’t anything to be proud of at Elise’s wedding—”
-
-“Come, my boy, no more of that!” said Mr. Lambert
-briskly; then he came closer to Paul, and laying
-his hand on his shoulder looked keenly into the
-lean, and somewhat haggard face.
-
-“You’ve not found life easy since you went
-away?” he asked kindly.
-
-“Not too easy, sir—and not so bad either,” returned
-Paul, sturdily. “I’ve been out of luck a bit
-lately, but I’m on my way now to Riverbury.
-There’s a man there that has good, honest work for
-me. With a little time, sir, I hope—”
-
-“Why should you be on your way to Riverbury
-for work when there’s work enough in this town,
-and a comfortable home for you?”
-
-Paul looked uncertainly from face to face, and
-then at his uncle again.
-
-“It’s here that your people have lived these many
-years,” went on Mr. Lambert. “It’s here that those
-who are proud of you live now,—”
-
-“*Proud* of me?” repeated Paul; then he hung his
-head as he said in a low voice, “It is not long since
-that you showed me you had good reason to be
-ashamed of me, sir. I was only hoping that in a
-little I might do—I might be of some account, sir—as
-*he* would expect,” and he jerked his head as he
-spoke toward the picture of old Johann.
-
-“My boy, I do not say but that I may have judged
-you over-harshly for what to other men might seem
-a light enough indiscretion. I thought you—a
-scatter-brained lad that thought too little of things
-that old men know to be worth valuing. I had but
-little sympathy with your notions, and was angered
-that you should prattle of pictures and what-not
-when—ah, well, let all that be forgotten.”
-
-“But Daddy!” cried Jane suddenly, “Paul doesn’t
-know!”
-
-“Doesn’t know what?”
-
-“Let *me* tell him! Let me tell him! It’s your
-picture, Paul—”
-
-“What picture?” asked Paul, with a puzzled
-frown, looking down at her eager little face.
-
-“It won, Paul! Don’t you understand—it won!
-And we’re all so proud of you—and it was in the
-papers—only we didn’t know where you were,
-and—”
-
-“What *are* you talking about, Janey?” demanded
-Paul, cutting short this rush of breathless words.
-“*My* picture won? What picture? Won what?”
-
-“The other one—the one that wasn’t burnt—oh,
-don’t *anybody* interrupt me! I want to tell him
-every bit. And they said that ‘in spite of many
-something-or-other faults it showed’—I’ve forgotten
-what—they said it was awfully, awfully good—oh,
-I don’t know where to begin!”
-
-“Begin at the beginning, darling. No one will
-interrupt your story,” said Aunt Gertrude, drawing
-Jane to her. “And Paul’s not going to run away.”
-
-So Janey took a deep breath and commenced
-afresh; while Paul listened, first growing pale, and
-then blushing a deep red. He felt the glow rushing
-all over him, and when she had finished, he could
-not say a word. They were all looking at him with
-eyes full of that warm pride that only a family can
-feel, and it seemed to him that his triumph had
-brought more happiness to them even than to himself.
-He could not think of anything to say to them
-all, and presently he got up, and walked over to the
-window, where he stood looking out into the cold
-little garden. But what he saw was only the reflection
-of the group around the fire—that very group
-which he had so often pictured to himself with such
-homesick longing during his months of exile. He
-thought of his lonely father, and his aimless wanderings,
-and then he knew that he was glad to have come
-home again. The world could teach him no more
-than he could learn by working and growing and
-thinking among his own people, and the world
-could not give him any praise half so sweet, or
-half so inspiring as their simple pride.
-
-Suddenly he felt a warm little hand slip into his.
-It was Janey.
-
-She looked up at him timidly—his serious profile
-seemed quite stern to her.
-
-“Paul, what are you thinking about now?” she
-asked plaintively.
-
-Then he laughed, and looked more like his old self.
-
-“I was thinking that I shall *not* go away—if Uncle
-Peter means that I needn’t. And I was thinking
-how unpleasant things might be if you, ma’am, attended
-strictly to your own affairs!”
-
-“And I,” said Mr. Lambert, “am thinking that it
-is time we all went to bed. Gertrude, my dear,
-I hope that Anna will be able to get everything into
-order to-morrow. I shall want my desk to be in
-place especially. And—er—Breakfast at seven,
-as usual.”
-
------
-
-And now the doors and windows were locked, and
-the lights were put out, and the household was
-silent and slumbering. But the pale reflection of
-the moonlit snow glimmered through the window
-upon the scene of the late revelry, and a red glow
-still shone among the ashes of the fire, throwing a
-faint red light through the shadows that deepened
-over the painted face of Great-grandfather Johann.
-And a well-contented expression that plump, ruddy
-old face wore—a comfortable, benevolent patriarchal
-look, as if that excellent old lover of law and
-order were saying, “And now I think everything is
-quite as it should be!”
-
-.. class:: center
-
- THE END
-
-|
-|
-|
-|
-|
-
-.. _pg_end_line:
-
-\*\*\* END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JANE LENDS A HAND \*\*\*
-
-.. backmatter::
-
-.. toc-entry::
- :depth: 0
-
-.. _pg-footer:
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diff --git a/35593-rst/images/cover.jpg b/35593-rst/images/cover.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index f0713fc..0000000 --- a/35593-rst/images/cover.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/35593.txt b/35593.txt deleted file mode 100644 index d697702..0000000 --- a/35593.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8720 +0,0 @@ - Jane Lends A Hand - - -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 http://www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Title: Jane Lends A Hand - -Author: Shirley Watkins - -Release Date: March 17, 2011 [EBook #35593] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: US-ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JANE LENDS A HAND *** - - - - -Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net. - - - - - - - - Jane Lends A Hand - - BY - - Shirley Watkins - - _Author of "Nancy of Paradise Cottage,"_ - _and "Georgina Finds Herself"_ - - The GOLDSMITH Publishing Co. - CHICAGO ILL. - MADE IN USA - - - - - _Copyright 1923, by_ - _George W. Jacobs & Company_ - - All rights reserved - PRINTED IN U.S.A. - - - - - - -Contents - - - - CHAPTER I--AFFAIRS OF THE LAMBERT FAMILY - - CHAPTER II--BUSYBODY JANE - - CHAPTER III--CIVIC INTEREST - - CHAPTER IV--THE APPEARANCE OF PAUL - - CHAPTER V--PAUL HESITATES - - CHAPTER VI--A REBEL IN THE HOUSE - - CHAPTER VII--GIRLS - - CHAPTER VIII--JANE LENDS A HAND - - CHAPTER IX--"THE BEST LAID PLANS--" - - CHAPTER X--PAUL AND CARL - - CHAPTER XI--CARL SQUARES HIS DEBT - - CHAPTER XII--JEFF ROBERTS - - CHAPTER XIII--DISASTER - - CHAPTER XIV--THE CROSSROADS - - CHAPTER XV--AN UNSUSPECTED HERO - - CHAPTER XVI--A FAMILY MATTER - - CHAPTER XVII--AN HONOR TO THE FAMILY - - CHAPTER XVIII--THE WANDERER COMES HOME - - - ------------------------------------------------------ - - JANE LENDS A HAND - - - - - - -CHAPTER I--AFFAIRS OF THE LAMBERT FAMILY - - -At six o'clock Jane had awakened, and, lifting her tousled head from her -pillow, sniffed the frosty air. - -The red sunlight of an October morning was sending its first ruddy beams -into the bare little room, but notwithstanding this sign that the -morning was advancing, and the fact that all the children had had their -first summons to get up and dress, Jane, this lazy Jane, merely burrowed -down deeper into her warm nest, and buried her round nose in the -patchwork quilt. - -She had a strong disinclination to leaving her cosy bed, and braving the -penetrating chill of an autumn morning. Owing to Mr. Lambert's Spartan -ideas on the up-bringing of children, the little bed-rooms under the -irregular roof of the old house were never heated until the bitterest -days of mid-winter. _His_ children were not, said he, to be softened and -rendered unfit to endure the various hardships of life by pampering. His -wife, the jolly comfort-loving Gertrude, sometimes confided privately to -Grandmother Winkler that she thought it was too hard on the children to -have to leave their warm beds, and dress in rooms where the ice formed a -film in the water pitchers, and in which they could see their breath; -but when anyone in the Lambert household had ideas contrary to those of -the master, they did not advertise them publicly. - -Among Mr. Lambert's pet aversions were Unpunctuality and Laziness, and -no one had better reason to know this than Jane. Nevertheless, she -infringed upon the iron-bound rules of the household every day of her -life, and cheerfully paid her penalties with a sort of serene stoicism. -She had inherited from her placid, happy-tempered mother a vigorous -dislike of physical discomfort, and a calm way of doing what she wanted, -and then good-naturedly paying the piper as circumstances demanded. - -In the adjoining room, the twins, Wilhelmine (or Minie) and Lottie could -be heard chattering and laughing in their fresh, sweet voices. -Shivering, but rosy and wide-awake, the two little girls were dressed in -their warm woolen frocks inside of ten minutes. Since they were six -years old, Mr. Lambert had permitted no one to help them but themselves; -and so, with their little cold red fingers they buttoned each other's -dress and plaited each other's smooth, shining yellow hair; then set to -work making up their wooden beds, sweeping, dusting, and putting their -room to rights. - -At half-past six came the summons to breakfast, which had already been -announced by appetizing odors of porridge and frying bacon. - -Little Minie, running past her sister's door, glanced in, and stood -transfixed with horror at the sight of Jane rolled up like a dormouse, -and still dozing peacefully. - -"Oh, _Ja-ane_!" - -A head covered with curly, reddish hair rose above the mountain of -bed-clothes; a pair of sleepy eyes blinked at the little girl. - -"Um." A yawn. "What time is it?" - -"It's _half-past thix_, and breakfath's all ready, and you'll be late -_again_, Jane. Whatever will Papa thay!" This was Lottie, who never -failed to join her twin on any occasion of grave importance. The two -plump, rosy-cheeked little girls, with their stiffly starched white -pinafores, and with their yellow pig-tails sticking out at the sides of -their heads, were as much alike as a pair of Dresden ornaments. They -stood now, hand-in-hand, their china-blue eyes round with reproof and -dismay, gazing at lazy Jane. - -"I've got a--a headache," announced Jane unblushingly, "I don't think -I'll go to school to-day." - -"O-oh, Jane!" remonstrated the twins in chorus. - -"Well, I haven't exactly got one _now_," said Jane, "but I would have if -I got up too suddenly. I've been studying too hard. That's what." - -"Ooooh, Jane!" The twins covered their rosy mouths with their hands, and -tittered. - -"You don't know anything about it," said Jane, tartly. She reflected for -a moment. On second thought the plea of a headache seemed weak; -furthermore, if it were accepted the chances that Mr. Lambert would -recommend a bitter dose and a dull day in the house had to be -considered; for the stern parent had a certain grim humour of his own, -and was not easily to be imposed on even by Jane's fertile invention. - -"Well, then put down the windows, Minie--like a good little darling, and -I'll be down-stairs in three minutes. The day after to-morrow's Saturday -anyhow." And encouraged by this cheerful thought, Jane at length -prepared to rise. - -Her idea of "three minutes" was astonishingly inaccurate. She dawdled -into her clothes, interrupted by fits of abstraction, during which, with -one foot on the chair, and the button-hook thrust through the -button-holes of her sturdy shoes, she stared out of the uncurtained -window. - -The old house, a rambling two storey building, half-wood, half-brick, -abounding in gables and dormer windows which gave it its quaintly -picturesque outline, fronted on the busiest street of the industrious -but placid little town. - -For more than a hundred years the Winkler family had held there a -certain calm, unassailable position; rightly theirs as the unfailing -reward of industry, honesty, and the other simple, respectable virtues -of conscientious, self-respecting citizens and tradesfolk. - -One hundred and thirty years ago, to be exact, old Johann Winkler had -settled there, and had founded what deserves the name of an Institution. -Certainly, it was the most wonderful bakeshop in the world. - -Now, no one but a true Winkler had ever been intrusted with the precious -recipes for those spiced fruit cookies, or those rich snow-cakes, those -golden breakfast-rolls, or those plum-puddings which have immortalized -the name. And in view of the importance which such a family must have in -the eyes of all who respect supremely excellent baking, a short history -of its affairs may be admitted here. - -It is hardly necessary to say that it prospered for no Winkler had ever -been born lacking the virtue of wise thriftiness, or the ability to make -small savings bring in generous increase. At the same time, the shop was -never moved from the spot where it had first been opened, nor was any -attempt ever made to give it a more pretentious appearance. - -The corner stone which old Johann Winkler had laid himself with so much -pride bore the date, "A.D. 1789." - -A good many generations of little Winklers had grown up in the shelter -of the quaint old house; and a good many generations of little -townspeople had stuffed their round stomachs with those incomparable -spice-cakes and ginger-nuts, had loitered hungrily around the tempting -show-window, and had scrawled caricatures on the walls and the worn -stone steps. - -The business had been inherited in a direct line from father to son; -until the day when Uncle Franz Winkler had gone to sea, and left his -domestic patrimony in the hands of his sister. - -This sister was no other than the jolly Gertrude, once the prettiest, -most blooming maiden in Frederickstown; who, in the course of time -married one Peter Carl Lambert, a grave, practical-minded young man; and -this grave, practical-minded young man (who, as the years went on became -more and more grave, not to say, severe, and more and more practical) -was no other than the father of all the young Lamberts, a portion of -whose history is going to be the subject of this story. - -Mr. Lambert was, himself, the owner of a moderately prosperous business, -dealing in the whole-sale and retail distribution of hay and grain; but -at the some time he had no inclination to allow his wife's inheritance -to decline, and while he managed his own affairs, Gertrude and -Grandmother Winkler continued in charge of the bakery, which under his -shrewd supervision became more flourishing than ever. - -On one point and only one did husband and wife find cause for -dissension. It had become a tradition in the family, as has already been -said, that no one but a Winkler had ever possessed the magical recipes -for those cakes and pies which had no rivals. Now, since the outrageous -and even impious conduct of Uncle Franz, the question had risen, who -should be regarded as the heir to the business and the name? For there -were no more Winklers. Gertrude wanted her only son, Carl, to be her -heir, although he was a Lambert. But Mr. Lambert had other ideas for the -youth, and the hope that his son would, by becoming a professional man, -take a step up in the world, was dear to his heart. Furthermore, Carl -himself, a calm, phlegmatic and determined boy, shared his father's -views. He had announced his intention of becoming a lawyer. - -So matters stood. There seemed to be no solution to the problem. But -these family difficulties had no place in Jane's mind as she took her -time to wash and dress on that October morning. What engrossed _her_ -thoughts was the concocting of a feasible plan to avoid the distasteful -prospect of going to school. - -The sun had fully risen now, and already the frosty air had been -softened by its genial warmth. She opened her window again, and leaned -out, looking critically from east to west with the gaze of an old -seaman, calculating the possibilities of the weather. - -There was not a cloud in the sky. Never before, it seemed to her, had -the heavens displayed such a vast expanse of deep, untroubled blue. A -light, fresh wind rustled through the hazel-nut tree whose boughs -touched her window; and sent a few of the ruddy, copper-colored leaves -drifting lazily down to the uneven brick pavement below. - -Across the square, she could see the broad, open door of Mr. Lambert's -warehouse, where already two men in blue shirts were at work tossing a -fresh wagon-load of corn husks into the well-filled loft. Early to bed -and early to rise was the motto of the industrious folk of -Frederickstown, one and all. Wagons covered with white canvas hoods, and -filled with tobacco, others, overflowing with pumpkins, celery, apples -and cranberries--all the rich autumn produce of the fertile farming -country beyond the town--were rumbling over the cobblestones in a -picturesque procession, on their way to the market-place. And the -well-known smell of the rimy vegetables was to the adventuresome Jane an -almost irresistible call to the open. - -Her meditations were soon cut short by a final summons--and this in the -firm cold tones of Mr. Lambert himself--to breakfast. - -"Jane! Coming? Or must I fetch you?" - -"Jiminy!" said Jane, and banging down the window she fled, clattering -down the old wooden staircase like a whirlwind. - -In the large, sunny room, which served nearly all purposes, the family -had gathered for breakfast; Granny Winkler at one end of the table--a -miniature old lady with a frilled cap,--Mr. Lambert at the other end, -Carl at his right and flaxen haired Elise at his left, Mrs. Lambert with -one twin beside her and another facing her. Jane's chair, between Elise -and Lottie was still conspicuously empty. - -A door at the right of the dining room opened into the bakeshop, and a -second door at the back led to the kitchen, from which the exquisite -odors of the day's outlay of fresh cakes and bread were already issuing. -The big, bright room, with its casement windows opening onto the small -garden hemmed in by high brick walls, with its pots of geraniums, and -Chinese lilies,--which were Elise's special care--its immaculately -dusted cupboards on whose shelves gleamed rows of solid old German -pewter ware, was the scene in which the Lambert's, great and small, -carried on a large part of their daily affairs. In one corner stood Mr. -Lambert's squat, business-like desk, where every evening, from nine to -ten, he went over his accounts. At the round table in the center, the -family ate their meals, and at night, the children prepared their -lessons, while Grandmother Winkler, seated in her padded rocking chair, -read her Bible, or nodded over her knitting. - -When Jane made her unceremonious entry, the family was seated, and, with -their heads bent reverently over their plates of steaming porridge, were -reciting grace in unison. - -Mrs. Lambert, glancing up, made her a sign to take her place as -inconspicuously as possible; and accordingly just before Mr. Lambert -raised his head, she slipped into her chair. - -Her father eyed her for a moment with uncertainty and displeasure; but -this morning he had another matter on his mind of greater importance -than that of reprimanding incorrigible Jane. Moreover, he had made it a -rule, always, if possible, to avoid unpleasantness at meals, owing to -the unfavorable effects upon the digestion. Consequently, after a brief, -cold stare at his daughter, whose shining morning face was as bland as -if her conscience were completely innocent of guilt, he said, solemnly, - -"Good morning, Jane." - -And Jane said, beaming at him, "Good morning, Papa," and rose to kiss -his cheek, and then to give her mother a hug that left the plump, -smiling, dimpling Gertrude quite breathless. - -"Sit down now, you bad child," whispered Mrs. Lambert, patting Jane's -ruddy cheek, "and don't talk. Your father is going to." - -The family sat silent and expectant, while Mr. Lambert gravely salted -his porridge, then fumbled for his steel-rimmed spectacles in the pocket -of his coat, fitted them on his high-bridged nose, and at length cleared -his throat. - -By this time Jane, whose curiosity was of the most irrepressible -variety, had all but broken her neck by craning and wriggling in her -chair to see the letter which lay beside her father's plate. It bore a -foreign stamp, and she guessed, and guessed rightly that it had some -bearing on Mr. Lambert's gravity of demeanor. Finally, unable to endure -her father's pompous preparations for speech any longer she pointed to -the envelope, and inquired timidly, - -"Who's that from, Papa?" - -"That is none of your affair, Jane," said Carl, with perfect truth, but -in his unfortunately superior and reproving way, "and you are very -ill-mannered." - -He spoke with his characteristically priggish air, with a pomposity -ludicrously like his father's, and doubly ludicrous in a lad of barely -sixteen. - -Carl, who was Mr. Lambert's darling, was at that time a tall, thin, -delicate looking boy, with a long pale face, straight brown hair, which -was cut in a bang across his forehead, and a pair of nearsighted, light -grey eyes, that blinked owlishly behind the thick lenses of his -spectacles. - -It is true that his character was as nearly faultless as it is possible -for any youth's character to be; he was quiet, studious, and dutiful. At -school he shone as by far the best of all the pupils, and at home he was -never known to disobey a single rule of the household. Intelligent -beyond the average, with a precocious love of accuracy; astonishingly, -even irritatingly self-controlled, and with a dry judicial quickness and -keenness already strongly developed, he was an unusually promising boy, -in whom one already saw the successful, complacent, cool-tempered man. -But at the same time he neither cared for, nor could boast of great -popularity. His mother felt more awe than affection for him; in all of -his sisters but Jane, he inspired only a sort of timid admiration and -respect; and his school-companions summed him up tersely as a "muff" and -a "grind." For, while he walked away with the highest honors at the -close of every session, he was, if the truth must be told, something of -a coward. He had moods of sulkiness, and moods of maddening superiority. -His brain was nimble enough, but he had never been known to accept any -challenge to match his physical strength and courage with theirs. He -professed a deep contempt for their primitive and barbaric methods of -settling difficulties, and adroitly evaded the outcome of any -schoolboy's discussion that seemed likely to end in mortal combat, by -yielding his point with a self-contained, contemptuous politeness, and a -premature diplomacy which mystified and enraged his companions. - -Jane only was not to be dominated by his assumption of patronizing -authority; and at his unsolicited correction, she promptly bristled up. -It rarely took much to rouse the fiery, impulsive Jane. - -"Mind your _own_ business!" - -"_Jane_!" Mr. Lambert turned to her, his spectacles glistening -warningly. There was a moment's silence. - -"Do you wish to leave the table?" - -"No, Papa, but--" - -"Very well, then. Have the goodness to be quiet." - -"Yes, Papa. But--" - -"Silence, ma'am! Your brother was quite right. He is older than you, and -he had good reason to reprimand you." - -Jane meekly subsided; but when her father had withdrawn his gaze, she -refreshed herself by making a most hideous grimace at her brother, who, -more complacent than ever, retaliated with a look of icy and withering -scorn. - -By this time, Mr. Lambert had almost finished a second reading of the -letter, while his wife scanned his face anxiously, not daring to urge -him to share its news with her. It covered three or four pages of cheap -paper, and was written in a great, sprawling script that consumed one -sheet in six or seven lines. - -"It looks as if it were written by a _sailor_," murmured Jane, without -lifting her eyes, and seemingly speaking to herself; and in the same -dreamy undertone, she explained this singular observation, "Everything -about a sailor is sort of loose and blowy; they've got blowy coats, and -blowy neckties, and blowy trousers--" - -"You've never seen a sailor," said Carl also in a low tone, "so you -don't know what you're talking about." - -"I _do_ know what I'm talking about," returned Jane, "I wrote a story -about a sailor once, and I could see him inside of my head just as -plainly as anything. He had red hair, and a fuzzy wart on his cheek, -like a caterpillar, and his name was Moses Thomson--" - -"Well, wife, after all there is no choice left us," said Mr. Lambert -laying down the letter. "Without a doubt, this will be a burden, a heavy -responsibility; but I hope I am not deficient in generosity. I think no -one can accuse me of that. I am prepared to do my duty in this matter as -in all others." - -"But--but what does the letter say, Peter?" asked Mrs. Lambert timidly. -"I haven't seen it." - -"This letter is from your brother--" - -"Yes. From Franz. I recognized his hand after all these years--" - -"Your poor brother. Far be it from me to judge him. I have nothing to -say about him. A shiftless idler, a hair-brained, irresponsible -ne'er-do-well comes to no good end, and leaves better folk to take up -his burdens. But it is not for _us_ to judge. I have nothing to say -about him--" - -"Peter! My poor brother--my poor Franz!" cried Mrs. Lambert, greatly -agitated, "what are you saying?" She stretched out her hand to take the -letter, and, in her concern, half-rose from her chair. - -"I will read you his letter, my dear," said Mr. Lambert. "Try to control -yourself." He looked at her calmly and firmly, and she sat down again, -with tears welling up in her soft, beautiful eyes. - -Mr. Lambert cleared his throat, and read: - - "Dear brother and Honored Sir; I hope this finds you and my - good, dear mother, and my dear sister, Gertrude, and all your - dear little ones in good health. I am not in good health. I am - thinking that my time is about up although not an old man, just - forty-two which is the Prime of life. The doctor, who is a good - fellow, thinks it is about up with me but I have got a lot out - of life and have no complaints to make. But I would ask you a - favor, and hope that you will see your way to granting me this, - seeing that I am a dying man and have no one to turn to and - being in a forran country. My son, Paul, will soon be left - alone, I fear, which is a bad thing for a young lad and I am - hoping that perhaps being kinsfolk and he being a likely young - fellow, good hearted though a bit unlicked, you may find your - way to giving him a home until he can shift for himself. I - haven't done all I should have done by the lad, perhaps, living - a kind of touch and go life, and I am hoping that you may find - your way to letting him get some education which I think a - valuable thing for a man, though having no great love of letters - myself. This is a great favor I am asking I know but I trust you - may find it in your heart to do me this favor and the boy will - not forget it. The boy will work for you also and do as you say. - He is sixteen years old now, and an orphan my wife being dead - these ten years or so. - - "My dear brother, I beg you to forget me and my failings, which - have been many and show your kindness to my poor boy. And now I - will close with respectful regards to yourself and give my love - to my dear old mother and to my dear sister and all her sweet - children who must be big youngsters now. - - - "Respectfully your brother, - "Franz Winkler. - - - - "P. S. Am not letting on to the boy what the doctor says as he - will take it hard and I can't bear that. Have just told him that - I am sending him back to America with a friend, Mr. Morse, and - that I will join him as soon as I am in better shape, and have - told him how to find you." - -A silence followed the reading of this letter, and the emotions that it -had roused among the members of the little family, were plainly to be -seen in their faces. The twins who had not been able to understand it -but who felt that it had brought some grave news, looked first at their -father and then at their mother. Carl watched Mr. Lambert, and Elise's -plump, rosy face was solemn; but Jane, as if she were pierced by an -understanding of the pathos that was magnified by the very clumsy -illiterateness of the letter, sat perfectly still; her vivid face -contracted with a look of genuine pain. - -Mrs. Lambert was weeping. Then, suddenly, old Grandmother Winkler, who -had not said a word, got up, took her son's letter out of Mr. Lambert's -hand, and leaning on her cane, went out of the room. - -The astonishment and awkwardness depicted in Mr. Lambert's face showed -that he had not guessed that the letter would produce such an effect. - -After a moment or two, he cleared his throat, and said in a gentle but -somewhat unctuous tone to his wife: - -"My dear, we must not be impatient under our afflictions. This is very -sad; but it is the will of heaven, and we should learn to endure our -sorrows--er--uncomplainingly. Furthermore, Providence has seen fit to -soften this blow by--er--that is after all, you have not seen Franz in -ten years or more." - -"Yes, Peter. Of course," answered Mrs. Lambert, meekly wiping her eyes -on her napkin. "But when I think of poor Franz--all alone--and the -boy--that poor child--" - -"Of course my dear, your brother may have deceived himself. Come, he may -be on the road to health at this moment. Let us hope for the best. Let -us prepare to welcome our nephew, and perhaps,--who knows, Franz himself -may be spared to us." - -Mrs. Lambert's face brightened. She was naturally optimistic, and -eagerly grasped this ray of hope. Moreover, while she had been very fond -of her brother, in years of absence his features had somewhat faded from -her memory. She was not fond of sorrow or melancholy, and was ready to -exchange grief for hope, and tears for sanguine smiles the moment she -saw a possibility of the future setting her fears at nothing. - -"Yes, yes. What you say is quite true, Peter. After all Franz may -recover completely." - -"Certainly," said Mr. Lambert, briskly. "And now my dear, let us -consider." - -"Is Paul our cousin, Papa?" asked Jane. - -Mr. Lambert ignored her question. - -"I feel great sympathy for the boy," he said to his wife. "It is hard -indeed to lose a father at his tender age. For after all, to whom can -one turn for such disinterested guidance? Who will have his welfare more -deeply at heart? I hope my son, that in comparing _your_ lot," he turned -to Carl, "with that of this unfortunate young man, you will realize your -blessings. And I hope, nay, I believe that in me, this orphaned youth -will find one who in every way will strive to fill in his life a place -worthy of the revered name of 'father.'" - -"Then," continued Jane, who had been following up her own train of -thought, "then Paul is a Winkler. And so he can go into the business -when he is a man." - -This simple observation, which had not yet occurred to anyone, called -forth looks of surprise. - -"That is quite true!" exclaimed Mr. Lambert. - -"But of course!" cried his wife. - -"I see the beneficent hand of Providence in this," said Mr. Lambert, who -was fond of thinking that Heaven had his domestic affairs very much in -mind. "Yes, we must prepare to welcome our nephew. I hope, my dear, that -he will not prove difficult to manage. I hope that he is not lacking in -a grateful heart." - -"Poor child. No father or mother, and so young," murmured Mrs. Lambert, -her eyes again filling with tears. "And I never even knew that Franz had -a child. I had forgotten even that he had married." - -"Yon can put a cot in Carl's room," suggested Mr. Lambert; "I presume -that the boy will arrive in a day or two. And now, children, it is a -quarter past seven." - -Everyone rose from the table, and the day's routine began again in its -accustomed groove. Mr. Lambert departed for the warehouse. Elise helped -the fat young servant girl to clear away the dishes; Carl went out to -bring in wood for the stove; even the twins had their household tasks -which had to be finished before they started to school at eight o'clock. - -But Jane went off to find her Grandmother. Behind the counter, in the -bakeshop, the old woman was sitting, weeping quietly; and the slow tears -of age were trickling down her wrinkled, brown face, while she strained -her eyes to read the crooked awkward lines of her son's letter. - -"He was a good boy," she said, taking Jane's little hand in her gnarled -old one. "I understood him, never fear. He was a brave, fine boy--and he -always loved his old mother. I know that. Didn't he send me this pretty -shawl--" - -"But Granny, darling, he may get well. Don't cry, Granny. Don't you -cry." She kissed the old woman, and patted her, feeling awed and -oppressed by this aged sorrow that she could not share. - -After a minute, she quietly left Grandmother Winkler, and in an -unusually silent, and subdued mood, went away to help the twins. - - - - -CHAPTER II--BUSYBODY JANE - - -At half past eight, Elise had seen that the two little girls had their -books and their packages of sandwiches, and started them off to school, -Carl and Jane marching behind. - -"Oh, and Janey!" she called, hastening back to the doorway. "Will you -remember to give those patterns back to Lily Deacon for me. I'm going to -be _so_ busy. Any time this afternoon will do. I put them in your school -bag." - -"All right," said Jane, and Elise, always busy, always placid and -gentle, went back to her work. - -"Well, what do _you_ think about it?" Jane asked, presently. She had -quite forgotten her recent friction with Carl, for quick tempered as she -was, she rarely remembered a quarrel ten minutes after it occurred. - -"Think about what?" said Carl, gruffly. - -"About Paul's coming, of course. It's awfully sad about Uncle Franz--but -it _is_ sort of exciting having a new cousin to stay with us, I think." - -"You wouldn't think it so awfully exciting if _you_ had to share your -room with someone you never saw in your life," returned Carl, sulkily. -"I don't see why one of the store-rooms couldn't be cleared out for him. -All I know is that I won't stand for it a second if he tries to sling my -things around, or scatter his all over the place." - -Carl was never very enthusiastic about sharing anything with anyone -(though in this instance one might sympathize with his annoyance) and -his fussy love of neatness reached a degree that one would far sooner -expect to find in a crabbed old maid than in a boy of sixteen years. - -Jane did not reply to this indignant objection. - -"What do you think he'll be like?" she asked next, scuffling through the -piles of ruddy brown leaves that lay thick on the uneven brick walk. - -"I think he'll be a big, roistering bully. That's what I think," -answered Carl savagely; his lips set in a stubborn line, and the lenses -of his spectacles glinted so angrily, that Jane decided to drop the -subject. - -For several minutes they walked along in silence: the twins marching -ahead, chattering like little magpies, their yellow pigtails bobbing -under their round brown felt hats. Each clutched her spelling book and -reader, and her package of sandwiches and cookies; each wore a bright -blue dress, a bright red sweater, and a snow white pinafore. - -It was fully a mile to the school, but as a rule the brisk young -Lamberts walked it in twenty minutes. This morning, however, Jane -dawdled shamelessly. - -"I don't feel like school to-day a bit," she remarked, looking up -through the trees. - -"You never do," returned Carl, dryly, "but you've got to go all the -same. I bet you don't play hookey again in a hurry." - -"H'm?" said Jane, "why not?" - -"Why not?" the first really mirthful grin that Carl had shown that day -spread slowly over his serious features. "Didn't you catch it hot enough -last time? You're such an idiot anyway. If you'd only do your work -conscientiously you wouldn't mind school. I'd hate it too if I were as -big a dunce as you." - -"Oh,--you would, would you, Goody-goody?" retorted Jane with spirit. -"I'm not a dunce. I'm the brightest girl in my class." - -"Whoo-ee!" whooped Carl, staggered by this cool conceit. "Well! If you -haven't got cheek!" - -"'Tisn't cheek," said Jane, calmly, "I am. I heard Dr. Andrews say so to -Miss Trowbridge." - -"Well--he must have been talking through his hat, then," observed Carl. -"He was _probably_ talking about someone else." - -"No, he wasn't. They were standing outside the school-room door, at -lunch-hour, and I was in there, and I heard Dr. Andrews say, 'That -little Jane Lambert has brains. She's one of the brightest children--'" - -"That's the trouble with you!" broke in Carl, thoroughly exasperated. -"You've got such a swell-head that you won't work at all. And I don't -see how anyone could say that you were clever when you get about one -problem right out of a dozen." - -"I don't see how either," said Jane placidly; "but he did. Oh, -look--Miss Clementina has got a new canary!" - -There was no event that occurred in Frederickstown which did not excite -Jane's interest. She stopped to peer into the front window of a small -brick house, where amid a perfect jungle of banana plants and ferns, a -brightly gilded cage hung between two much befrilled net curtains. - -"Poor old lady, I'm glad she got her bird. He has a black spot on his -head just like her old one. I daresay her cat will eat him too. I wonder -what she has named him. Her old one was named William." Jane giggled. - -"What an idiotic name for a bird!" said Carl. Like his father, he was -never amused by anything that seemed to him fantastic. "You'd better -hurry up and stop peeking into everyone's window. Come on." - -Jane reluctantly obeyed. - -"William is a queer name for a bird," she agreed amicably, "but it's no -queerer than calling her cat Alfred, and that awful little monkey of -hers, Howard. She told me that she named her pets for all her old -sweethearts." - -"Her old sweethearts!" echoed Carl derisively. - -"Yes. She said that she had dozens. And you know what? I believe it's -true. Anyhow, she has lots of pictures of beautiful gentlemen, with -black moustaches and curly side-whiskers. I've seen the whole -collection. She said she never could bear fair men." - -"Humph!" said Carl. - -"She said that she was dreadfully heartless when she was a girl. An -awful flirt. Professor Dodge still calls on her every Sunday -afternoon--all dressed up with a flower in his button-hole, and kid -gloves, and a little bouquet wrapped up in wet paper. And she plays the -piano for him, and sings 'Alice Ben Bolt' and 'The Mocking Bird' and -'Coming Thro' the Rye.'" - -"What a busybody you are. Always prying into other people's affairs. It -wouldn't hurt you to mind your own business for a while, I must say." - -"I don't pry into other people's affairs," said Jane, quite unruffled. -"Most of 'em seem to like to talk, and I just listen--that's all." - -"There's the bell, now! Hang it, we're late. Why can't you--" but here -Carl set off in a race for the school-house, outstripping the two -squealing, panting twins. And in another moment, Jane, too, was -scampering across the square as fast as her legs would carry her. - -That was, in truth, not destined to be a very successful day for Jane. -To begin with, she was marked "tardy" for the third time that month. The -first classes went off passably; but she came to grief as she was -congratulating herself on the fact that she had managed to scrape along -fairly well. - -With all her quickness and curiosity, Jane had small love for hard -study; but her aptness in gathering the general sense of a lesson at -almost a glance stood her in good stead, and with very little trouble on -her part she succeeded in shining quite brilliantly in history, general -science, and geography. When it came to mathematics however, she met her -Waterloo. - -This class was presided over by Miss Farrel, a vague old lady, with -near-sighted, reproachful blue eyes, and an almost inaudible voice, who -taught a dry subject in the dryest possible manner. - -For some reason, Jane found it more difficult than ever to keep her mind -on square roots and unknown quantities that morning. Her eyes wandered -longingly to the window. It was open, for the day had grown warmer -toward noon, and in the quiet square an old man was raking up the fallen -leaves into a row of small bonfires, and lifting them in bundles into a -little wheeled cart. Patiently he limped back and forth, stopping every -now and then to push his old felt hat back on his head and mop his -forehead with a colored handkerchief, which in between times waved -jauntily from his hip pocket. The pungent smell of leaf smoke drifted in -through the window. The golden and ruddy foliage of the elm-trees and -lindens made a fretted canopy over the drowsy green, through which -sifted the mellow light of an Indian summer sun. - -Fat Lulu Pierson's thick, glossy pig-tails next engrossed Jane's -attention. She took one gently in her fingers; the evenly clipped end of -it reminded her of the brush that Sam Lung, the Chinese laundry-man used -when he wrote out his receipts. She dipped it in the ink, and began to -make hieroglyphics on her scratch-tablet. Then Lulu gave an impatient -jerk, and the wet pig-tail just missed causing general disaster. Jane -carefully took it again, dried it on her blotter, and made a serious -effort to concentrate her attention by fixing her gaze gravely on Miss -Farrel's wrinkled face. But she soon found that she was merely wondering -why that prim old dame took the trouble to wear a little bunch of false -curls across her forehead--such a remarkable cluster, as smooth and -crisp as spun glass, pinned with a little bow of black taffeta ribbon. -And so honestly false--certainly they could not have been selected with -the intention of deceiving, for not even Miss Farrel, near-sighted as -she was, could have imagined for a moment that they matched the -diminutive nubbin into which her own grey locks were twisted every -morning. - -"Why doesn't she wear a wig? Though after all that auburn is rather -nice. I don't see why she doesn't change 'em around sometimes--" - -"Well, Jane, perhaps you can tell us," Miss Farrel's soft voice broke in -upon these reflections, and Jane started as if she had been awakened -from a sound sleep. She gasped, and then quickly recovering herself, -said blandly, - -"Yes, Miss Farrel." - -There was a dead silence. Jane looked about her in surprise, to find -every eye in the room fixed on her. - -"Well?" prompted Miss Farrel. - -Jane swallowed. She had not the remotest idea what the question was. -Nevertheless she made a bold attempt to conceal this fact, and with an -aplomb admirable under the circumstances, said, - -"I didn't exactly understand the question, Miss Farrel." - -A faint tinge of color appeared upon each of Miss Farrel's cheekbones, -and her almost invisible eyebrows went up. - -"And what didn't you understand about it? I am sure I don't see how it -could be expressed in any clearer terms. Will you repeat it to me? Then -we can soon find out just where my words confused you." The old lady -felt that she was being exceedingly cunning. - -Jane winked her eyes rapidly, opened her mouth, shut it, and moistened -her lower lip with the tip of her tongue. She knew she was cornered. - -"Yes, Jane. And stand up please when you recite," said Miss Farrel in -ominously gentle tones. "And don't fidget, Jane. Put that eraser down. -We are waiting, Jane." - -"Well, what I didn't understand was--was--I didn't understand--I didn't -understand the question." - -Another silence. - -"Did you _hear_ the question?" - -"No, Miss Farrel." - -"Oh. And what, pray, have you been doing?" - -"Why--just thinking." - -"Ah. How interesting. And what were you thinking of?" - -Jane tried to keep her face straight, and looked down to hide the -laughter in her eyes. - -"Nothing, Miss Farrel." - -Silence again. Miss Farrel opened her little black record book, and -slowly and deliberately registered Jane's crime. - -"Sit down, Jane. And will you please wait for me here after school. At -three o'clock. Well, Isabel, will _you_ give me the formula for finding -the area of a circle." - -Jane took her seat. - -"What a goose I am, anyway," she thought, and accepted her punishment -with her usual calmness. - -At three o'clock, when the other girls, chattering and laughing gathered -their books and left the school-room singly and in groups, she sat at -her desk waiting for Miss Farrel. The cleaning woman came in, with her -mop and bucket, and began to splash the dusty wooden floor. She was a -talkative, good-natured old thing, and one of Jane's numerous intimates. - -"Well, now, what are they keepin' you here for, this fine afternoon, -Miss Janey?" she said sympathetically. - -"Oh, I don't mind much. How's Amelia, Mrs. Tinker?" - -"Fine. Fine, miss, thank yer." - -"And how's Henry Clay?" - -"He's fine, too, I thank yer." - -"Is Mr. Tinker out of the hospital yet?" - -"Not yet, I thank yer," said Mrs. Tinker, cheerfully. "They think as how -he'll have to be there another six weeks or so. Well, I'm not one to -complain against what the Lord thinks best, and I says to Henry Clay, -'Don't complain, Henry. You let well enough alone,' says I." - -"Is Henry Clay the one that's going to be an undertaker?" - -"That's right, miss. The boy's always had his heart set on it, and as I -says to Mr. Tinker, 'Don't oppose him.' And Henry shows wonderful talent -for it, miss. Wonderful." - -Jane was going to ask how a precocious talent for undertaking manifested -itself, when Miss Farrel appeared. - -"Perhaps, Mrs. Tinker, you might work just now in one of the other -rooms," she suggested with dignity. "You may return in an hour." - -And then she turned her attention to Jane. - -The old lady began by a plaintive little discourse on Jane's -shortcomings, and on the future disasters that they would most certainly -lead to. She tried to sound severe and cold, but now and then she said -"my dear," and once she laid her small, old hand on Janey's. It was so -difficult to be severe with Jane. - -"And now, Jane, we must review all last week's work. You see how much -time you lose?" - -The lesson began; but it turned out that Jane was able to answer very -nearly every question that Miss Farrel asked. - -"Now, you see? Oh, if you would only put your mind on your work, my -dear, it would really be a pleasure to teach you. My dear old teacher -used to say--" - -And here, veering away from the discussion of altitudes and bases, the -good dame began to prattle in the friendliest way about her own -girlhood, and about the little school she used to go to, way up in the -country, where half the tuition was paid in salt pork and other -provisions, and about her father and brothers. Everybody seemed to drift -into talking about their own affairs to Jane, and Jane remembered -everything they told her. There was hardly a soul in Frederickstown -whose general history she was not familiar with; very simple histories -for the most part, for the inhabitants of Frederickstown were simple -souls, yet each had its measure of comedy and tragedy, and each had its -mysterious relationship to the character of its confiding narrator. - -So now Miss Farrel told her about her sister, Miss Elizabeth, who was, -she said, so much the cleverer and better in every way--the last of her -whole family, and crippled with inflammatory rheumatism; and about her -wonderful cat, Amaryllis, and so on, and so on. - -It was nearly half-past four when the old lady suddenly realized how -little of the time she had given to the lesson. Then she made a last -attempt to assume her dignity. - -"Well, now, my dear. Let me see. I think that if only you will train -yourself--so much depends on our own selves, you know, my dear." And -then after a second little discourse, delivered no doubt principally to -assure herself that everything she had been saying had had some bearing -on Jane's particular case, she picked up her inevitable knitting-bag, -and took her departure. - -Jane, remembering her promise to Elise, to return Lily's patterns, set -out toward the Deacon's house. - -It stood just at the top of Sheridan Lane, a sleepy, prim old street, -regarded as being rather fashionable and aristocratic, principally -because at the lower end of it stood the deserted Sheridan mansion, -which, notwithstanding the fact that its owners had not deigned to pay -any attention to it in fifteen years, was still one of the prides of -Frederickstown. - -The quiet street was paved with cobblestones as it descended the hill -from Frederickstown itself, as far as the ancient rusty fountain, in -whose basin the leaves collected in the autumn, and the birds bathed in -the spring; but on the opposite side, where the hill began its rise, the -street became simply a white dusty road, leading on through sweet -smelling fields, over wooden bridges, where a meadow stream doubled back -on itself in loops, past the Sheridan mansion, which marked the limits -of Frederickstown proper, and on to the open country. - -The branches of the elm trees arched over Janey's head, and now and -then, shaken by a drowsy breeze, the yellowed leaves fell noiselessly. - -Through the open window of the Deacon's little parlour, came the sound -of chords struck on a tinkling square piano, followed by scales and -arpeggios sung in a sweet, if rather timid and unsubstantial, feminine -voice. - -"Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah." Chord. "Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah." -Chord. And so on, patiently up the scale. Miss Deacon was practising. It -was a part of her daily program, and never would it have entered Lily's -head to deviate from that daily program, mapped out by her excellent but -strong-minded and dictatorial mamma. Singing was a very genteel -accomplishment for a young lady, and Mrs. Deacon desired above all -things that Lily should be elegant. - -Jane leaned on the window sill, and listened to the scales for a little -while, watching Miss Lily's slender throat swell and quiver like a -bird's. - -"How pretty she is. If I were as pretty as that, I think I'd be -perfectly happy; but she always looks sort of sad. Maybe it's because -she's always being fussed at." - -There was indeed no girl in Frederickstown who could claim to be quite -as pretty as Lily Deacon. Slender and small, with a little tip-tilted -nose, which gave the most unexpected and charming spice of coquetry to -her delicate face, with large serious blue eyes, and glossy black hair -so neatly coiled on the nape of her neck, with beautifully drawn -eyebrows, and a tiny mole at the corner of her under lip, accentuating -the whiteness of her skin, she would have drawn her tributes of -admiration from any pair of eyes that rested on her--and would have been -perfectly blind to them. Lily's mother would not have allowed her for a -moment to imagine that she was pretty, and Lily never thought of -disobeying mamma. Prettiness, according to Mrs. Deacon's severe -judgement, counted for nothing; as she had once observed, "It was only -as deep as the epidermis." Elegance alone was desirable. You should -never say that you were "hot"--a lady spoke of being "warm." And the -word "scared" was abominable; you should speak of being "startled" or -"alarmed." Lily was almost perfectly elegant. She wore a silk dress, and -her pink nails were polished, and even when she sat at the piano, she -was so afraid of not having her feet demurely crossed, that she did not -dare to use the pedals. - -"But, Miss Lily, don't you ever sing anything but scales?" demanded Jane -presently. Miss Deacon jumped, put her hand to her throat, and then -slowly turned her head. - -"Oh--Janey! How you sc-alarmed me!" - -"I'm sorry," said Jane, "Elise told me to give you these patterns. Here -they are in my bag. No--I don't believe she put 'em in at all. Well, -then it's her fault this time--no, here they are." - -"Thank you so much. How thoughtful of you. Won't you come in?" - -"Well, you're practising, aren't you?" - -Lily shook her head. - -"It's nearly five. And I'm tired." - -"What a lovely day it is," she got up, and came to the window, where she -stood, looking up the street, one hand resting on the frame above her -head. The wind ruffled her hair a little, and blew the end of her lacy -kerchief against her cheek, shaking free a faint scent of sachet. - -She sighed gently, and a momentary frown ruffled her smooth forehead. - -"I wish--" she began impetuously, and then abruptly checked herself. - -"What?" prompted Jane, curiously. For some reason, she really wanted -very much to know what Miss Lily wished. But Lily shook her head, -smiling a little awkwardly as if she regretted even having said so much; -or as if she wasn't sure herself what she did wish. Every now and again, -one caught that quick, vanishing expression in her large blue eyes, -which seemed to say, "I wish--" and never got any farther. - -"Oh, I don't know what I was going to say. Something foolish, no doubt," -and then to change the subject, she said hastily, - -"I suppose you have heard the news about the Sheridan house?" - -"No! What? It isn't sold, is it? If they tear it down, and build a -horrid old factory there, I don't know what I'll do." - -"Oh, no--not that. But some member of the family is going to live there -again, and is already moving in." - -"Why, that's nice," said Jane. What a lot of events were taking place in -Frederickstown! "Do you know who it is? Man, woman or child? Any people -of my age? Anybody _interesting_?" - -Lily blushed slightly. - -"Why, I'm not sure. I think there's only one--a Mr. Sheridan, I -suppose." - -"Young, old or middle-aged?" inquired Jane, who had already rather lost -interest. - -"Why, he seemed rather youngish," said Lily, blushing again, "but I -couldn't tell very well." - -"When did you see him?" - -"Why, I didn't exactly see him. I heard mamma talking about it last -night, and then this morning I just happened to see a carriage drive -past--in my mirror, while I was doing my hair, so of course, I couldn't -be sure--but, anyhow, someone was sitting in it leaning back, with a -stick--but it seemed to be fairly young--though I couldn't tell," Lily -explained confusedly. It seemed to her to be a little indelicate perhaps -to look at a fairly young man in a mirror, while you were doing your -hair. - -"Um," said Jane. "Well, I suppose it's too late to go and investigate -now. But I think I'll go to-morrow." - -"Oh, Jane! You couldn't do that!" said Lily, in a shocked tone. - -"Why not? How else'll I find out." - -"Why, I don't know." - -"Very well then. Somebody's got to know something about strangers when -they come here." - -"Yes--that's true," said Lily. - -"Of course," said Jane. "It's what you call civic interest." - -"Oh," said Lily,--she had been taught to call "it" curiosity; but then -mamma's vocabulary was not like other peoples'. - -"I have a tremendous amount of civic interest," said Jane, complacently, -"I ought to be able to do this town a lot of good." - -And with a jaunty wave of her hand, she took her leave. As she turned -out of Sheridan Lane, she once more heard the light, pure tones of -Lily's voice, but now they sounded a little gayer, a little warmer and -sweeter than they had before, and what was more, instead of the -monotonous scales, Lily was singing a pert song, which mamma, had she -heard it, would probably not have thought elegant at all. - - - - -CHAPTER III--CIVIC INTEREST - - -Young Mr. Sheridan might perhaps have grudgingly admitted that the -morning was beautiful. It would have been hard even for a young man who -had definitely made up his mind to be no longer pleased with anything, -to deny that there was something almost pleasant in a day as soft and -quiet as that June itself could bring, in a garden all enmeshed in net -of stirring shadows, and in a free outlook toward hills that glowed with -autumn colors. - -The old "home place" wasn't so bad; rather overgrown with weeds and -vines and somewhat dilapidated; the roof leaked on the third floor -front, and the wooden steps at the back had broken down completely; but -this crumbling and tumbling state harmonized with the state of young Mr. -Sheridan's mind. He accepted it with a sort of gloomy satisfaction. This -general poetic decay seemed to him quite touchingly suitable to the mood -which he fully believed was to color the declining years of his short -and blasted life. Mr. Sheridan had convinced himself that he had -received a crushing blow; a blow that no self-respecting gentleman -_ought_ to survive for very long. He had convinced himself that he -neither could nor should be happy again. He had quite made up his mind -that the world was a dreary waste, and all human beings, rascals and -base deceivers, whose society a wise man would shun. This unfriendly -humor was directed to mankind in general and to the feminine element in -particular. - -He had awakened that morning--his first in the old mansion--in a -gigantic mahogany bed. Peterson, his servant, was kindling a fire to -drive the lingering dampness out of the long unused room. - -"Good morning, Mr. Tim, sir," said Peterson with objectionable -cheerfulness, "I hope sir, ye had a good night?" - -Mr. Sheridan eyed the old man with melancholy suspicion. He was loath to -class Peterson in with the rest of the miserable human race; -nevertheless, it was wiser to trust no one absolutely--not even -Peterson. - -"Oh, well, I suppose I slept as well as I could expect, Peterson. An owl -or something woke me up at about one o'clock, and I couldn't get to -sleep for hours. But still--" - -As a matter of fact, Mr. Sheridan had slept as soundly as a baby, but -having been entirely unconscious while he did so, he certainly could not -have _known_ whether he was asleep or awake. But his latest fancy was -that he suffered from insomnia. Insomnia was the traditional affliction -of all broken-hearted lovers, and there was no ailment common to the -broken hearted that Mr. Sheridan would allow himself to forego. - -"Any letters, Peterson?" - -Of course there were no letters. In the first place, who knew or cared -that he had buried himself away in this forsaken corner of the earth, -and in the second place, what did letters mean to him, who with all the -contempt that they deserved had severed his relations with his fellow -beings--especially the feminine ones--forever. He must remember not to -ask Peterson again if there were any letters. Peterson might imagine -that he was so weak as to hope that Miss Abbot had repented of her cruel -and barbarous treatment, and under no circumstances was Peterson to -imagine anything of the sort. Why, on the contrary, if Mary, that is to -say, Miss Abbot--were to come to him and beg his pardon on her knees, -and tell him that she knew she was a wicked coquette, and unworthy of -his slightest notice, he would say to her, - -"No, Mary--or, No, Madam, what you ask now is no longer in my power to -give. My forgiveness is yours--gladly, but neither you nor I can -revive--or, but never again, I fear, can that sweet emotion--" or -anyhow, something to the effect that while he forgave her gladly--he -wouldn't forgive her at all. But magnanimously. He would be very -magnanimous. Nothing could be more crushing than a lofty and -unapproachable kindness. He would let her know the extent of the damage -she had wrought, but she should also be made to feel that he was capable -of supporting it without bitterness--to the end. - -So engrossed was he in the composition of that final speech of -forgiveness and farewell--which he had composed at least a dozen times -already--that he absent-mindedly tucked away every morsel of Peterson's -generously provided breakfast, comprising fruit and coffee, poached -eggs, bacon, marmalade, and half a dozen of the most exquisite rolls he -had ever eaten. - -"Those rolls, Peterson--they are rather nice," he remarked, with a touch -of enthusiasm that he quickly suppressed. - -"Yes, sir. Thank you, Mr. Tim. I'm glad to have found something as -pleases you, sir," said Peterson, with a perfectly grave face. - -"Yes. My appetite hasn't been very good lately." - -"No, Mr. Tim," agreed Peterson, tactfully. - -After a short silence, Mr. Sheridan asked indifferently, - -"Where did you get them?" - -"Up in the town, sir. There's a Bakery there sir as I never see the like -of, Mr. Tim. Why, what with the cakes and rolls and puddin's and -what-not, I fairly lost me eyes, sir! You should stroll up to the town, -like, Mr. Tim. It's a neat little place, sure enough--" - -His young master checked him gently, reminding him with a little wave of -his hand, that he could not be expected to be interested in all that. - -"But the rolls, Peterson. You might see that I have them for breakfast -every morning." So saying, he lit a cigarette, and walked out through -the open window into his garden to meditate; leaving Peterson to -meditate in his turn on this absolutely novel way of acting that Mr. Tim -had adopted. Why, he could hardly believe that this formal and taciturn -gentleman was Mr. Tim at all, and the old man who remembered the days, -not long since, when he had connived in all sorts of pranks and waggery; -when he had, many's the time, been called in as judge and counsel as to -how his young master should get himself out of this and that "scrape," -when in fact, Mr. Tim never dreamed of doing anything without Peterson's -opinion--remembering those jolly days when he had been honored with Mr. -Tim's perfect confidence, Peterson felt wounded. Then he glanced through -the window. Mr. Tim, who had been promenading back and forth, leaning on -a stick, in keeping with his extraordinary notion that blighted love -always left one a semi-invalid, had now allowed himself to sink wearily -onto a stone bench. On second thought, Peterson did not feel wounded; he -felt rather like shaking dear Mr. Tim. - -"Say what you like, that's no way to go on, now. Life's too easy for -him, and that's the truth, though I don't say I wouldn't hate to see it -hard for him. But to take on so, just because a young lady was pleased -to make up her mind not to have him! 'Tisn't every young feller has the -leisure to sit and mope himself into the vapors over a chip in his -heart, that'll be whole again in three months." Then Peterson grinned. -After all, such absurdities had not been entirely absent from his own -youth; and he could not find it in his heart to censure Mr. Tim severely -for any of his eccentricities. In his opinion this young man whom he had -systematically spoiled since his childhood was not to be judged by -common standards. Things that one might call faults in other young -gentlemen, became merely "peculiarities" in the case of Mr. Tim. And it -was not Peterson alone who inclined to shameless leniency with young Mr. -Sheridan. His friends always managed to explain why it was perfectly all -right for Tim to do things he oughtn't to do, and leave undone all the -things he ought to do; at college his teachers were forever giving him -one more chance, and at home his grumpy uncle scolded him and pampered -him, and feebly allowed his usually sharp old wits to be completely -fuddled by Tim's airy arguments. - -"Somehow or other you'll manage to persuade all your devoted friends and -wellwishers to help you to the dogs," Major Sheridan had once remarked -acidly; and as proof of the truth of this, as the Major himself pointed -out, the old man, notwithstanding many threats of disinheritance, had -left every sou of his fortune to his nephew, simply because, while his -common sense told him that the best thing in the world for the young man -would be to leave him nothing at all, like Peterson he couldn't quite -bear the thought of Tim's lacking anything. - -At the age of twenty-seven, then, Timothy Sheridan possessed of an -honorable name, health, wealth, good looks, and a very fair measure of -intelligence, could consider himself sufficiently unencumbered by duties -and responsibilities to indulge in the luxury of doing nothing whatever. -But somebody has said that no one can be thoroughly happy without -finding something to be unhappy about; and the truth of the matter is -that Mr. Sheridan was exceedingly gratified to discover that his heart -was broken; though it need hardly be said that this was the last thing -in the world he would ever have admitted. It was such a refreshingly new -experience. His only fear was that he was not getting out of it all that -some people claimed to feel. He checked up all his symptoms to make sure -that he had the real disease. Sleeplessness, loss of appetite, a longing -for solitude--yes, he was quite sure that he had all these symptoms, and -the satisfactory conclusion was that his heart was broken. He might -really consider the matter settled. Now, what is the next thing to be -done? Under the circumstances one should make no effort. One simply -shunned society, amused oneself with solitary walks perhaps, looked on -sceptically from afar at the insipid lives of other human beings, and -made sweet melancholy a constant companion. But how long did one keep -this up? The very fact that he could ask himself such a crudely -practical question, made him feel rather uncomfortable; how could he -even imagine the possibility of _wanting_ to do anything else? - -He leaned back, and looked about him with an indifferent eye. From where -he sat, he could see beyond the wall that enclosed the garden--a wall -seven or eight feet high, its cracked plaster laced together by the -strong black tendrils of the ivy-vine. If he turned his head he could -see the whole length of Sheridan Lane. All the trees on Sheridan Lane -had turned yellow, and the leaves strewing its cobblestones, looked like -golden coins--the generous largess scattered in the progress of jovial -King Autumn. Above the mass of frost-nipped foliage rose the rounded -belfry of the old church, and underneath lay the double rows of pretty -gardens all glowing with their asters and chrysanthemums. - -Then, if he looked in front of him he saw those wine-tinted hills, -rising beyond the gentle basin of the valley meadows, where the sun was -melting the early morning frost, and scattering the light mists. Two men -with leggins laced up to their sturdy knees, and carrying guns and game -bags, were striding across the field, followed by their dogs. A glint of -interest sparkled up in Mr. Sheridan's listless eyes. - -"By Jove, I'll bet there's shooting here. I wonder if Peterson had the -sense to pack my guns. I'll wire Phil to-night--" then he checked -himself hastily. Such diversions were premature to say the least. But as -he resumed his seat on the bench, his attention was attracted by another -object. On the wall was something which had not been there when he had -last looked in the direction of Sheridan Lane. Calmly planted on its -broad flat top, with a pair of slender black-stockinged legs swinging, -calmly polishing off a monstrous scarlet apple on the front of a bright -green sweater, sat a perfectly strange specimen of the condemned human -race; and, what was more, it was unmistakably _feminine_. It was, in -short, a girl of about fourteen years of age, though apparently not very -tall for her years, with a dense mop of curly, reddish hair, a pair of -uncommonly bright, and observant eyes, and the beaming hospitable smile -of one who has the rare faculty of making herself thoroughly at home in -any circumstances. Even Mr. Sheridan's cold and unmistakably hostile -stare did not seem to make her feel that she was not welcome, or that -she ought to offer any explanation for her presence. She looked at her -apple, polished it some more, and at length fastened her sharp little -teeth in its red cheek, biting off what seemed to be at least one half -of the entire fruit. - -After a pause, Mr. Sheridan said, with freezing courtesy, - -"Is there anything I can do for you?" - -"Oh, no," said Jane, kindly. "Nothing at all." And until she had -finished her apple, and flung the core with admirable markmanship -against a tree at the other side of the road, silence reigned--the -silence of indignation and helplessness on Mr. Sheridan's part, of -serene composure on Jane's. - -"I am just looking around," she condescended to explain at last. - -"I see," said Mr. Sheridan politely. "Do you know that you are -trespassing?" - -"Oh, yes. But that's all right. I'm always trespassing. I can't help it. -Out there--" she jerked her head in the direction of the fields, "there -are signs everywhere you go, 'No trespassing.' But by the time I come to -'em I've already been trespassing for miles, so I might as well go on. -Besides, I've often done it purposely just to see what would happen, but -nothing ever does." And having said this in a most reassuring tone, she -fished a second apple out of the pocket of her sweater and began to -polish it as she had the first. To his horror, Mr. Sheridan saw that -those green pockets were bulging. - -"You'll make yourself ill," he remarked. - -"Oh, no. I never make myself ill," said Jane. - -"Are you going to eat _all_ those?" he demanded, pointing with his stick -at her crammed pockets. - -"Well, I could, easily," said Jane, "but you can have as many as you -like. Catch." And she pulled out a third apple, and tossed it to him. He -caught it; but feeling that it was not dignified even to pretend that he -wanted it, he laid it down beside him on the bench. - -"Try it," said Jane, "it's a good one. It's still wet, because I just -picked it up. Mr. Webster has millions, and he _said_ I could take all I -wanted. Here, I'll dry it for you if you don't want to get your -handkerchief all wet." - -"Thank you," said Mr. Sheridan, "I don't believe I care for it just -now." - -Another silence. Then as if the idea had just occurred to her, Jane said -almost with alarm, - -"_You_ don't mind my trespassing, do you, Mr. Sheridan?" - -"How did you know my name?" he asked in surprise, and at the same time, -feeling a trifle flattered. Like most people he was vain enough to be -pleased when anyone seemed to know who he was without being told. - -"Oh, I recognized you." - -"Recognized me? When did you--" - -"By your stick. Miss Lily said that you had a stick, and that you were -youngish." - -"Oh." A brief pause, during which Mr. Sheridan did not look displeased. -Jane, who never missed a change of expression, felt that she had hit -upon a happy thread of conversation, and she ventured to commence -another apple. - -"Who is Miss Lily?" inquired Mr. Sheridan, forgetting that he was not in -the least interested in hearing about his fellow creatures--especially -the feminine ones. - -"Why, Miss Lily Deacon. She lives up there," Jane jerked her head -casually in the direction, "in the first house on the left hand side -just as you turn into Sheridan Lane. The one with iron deers on each -side of the gate. She's _very_ pretty. Mrs. Deacon is very fat, but she -certainly is what you'd called impressive looking, and she does a lot of -good. I mean she's on committees and things, and _always_ president." - -"Um," said Mr. Sheridan. Then, boring the end of his cane through a dead -leaf, he asked carelessly, - -"But when did Miss Lily see me? I've never been here before." - -"Yesterday morning she said. She said she couldn't tell exactly what you -were like, because she only saw you in her handmirror while she was -brushing her hair, but _I_ think she got a pretty good idea." - -Poor Miss Lily. If she had ever dreamed that Jane would be placidly -repeating her indiscreet little confidences, she would have died of -mortification. But Jane, who, in her own peculiar way, was immeasurably -more astute than Miss Lily, saw very plainly that Mr. Sheridan was -trying to suppress a complacent smile. - -"And how did _she_ know who I was?" - -"Why, in the first place, she'd heard that one of the family was going -to live in this house again, and then she saw you drive in here, so she -just used her common sense, I suppose." - -"Ah--of course." - -After a moment, he said, with the most engaging friendliness, - -"I think you might tell me _your_ name." - -"My name? Jane." - -"Jane what?" - -"Lambert. Are you going to live here a long time?" - -Mr. Sheridan sighed. - -"I think so." - -"What are you going to do?" - -"Do? Well,--that would be a little difficult to explain. I came here -primarily for--solitude." The melancholy tone of his voice prompted a -dozen inquisitive questions to the tip of Jane's tongue. - -"Oh. Are you sick?" - -"There are different kinds of illness," said Mr. Sheridan gloomily and -mysteriously. Jane's grave eyes considered him attentively. Perhaps he -was suffering from a guilty conscience. He might have embezzled money -from a bank. He might even have killed someone. She felt very sorry for -him. - -"Don't you ever want to see anybody? I can't understand that." - -"My dear child," said Mr. Sheridan in a patronizing tone, "there are -probably several things that you don't understand yet. How old are you, -may I ask?" - -"Fourteen. Fifteen really. My birthday comes next month. But don't you -remember that it says in the Bible that it isn't good for people to be -alone. That was the text just last Sunday, and I remember thinking that -that was why we are all crowded together into this town, instead of -scattering out over there--" she waved in the direction of the country, -"where it seems much nicer." - -Mr. Sheridan made no reply, for a moment. Then as Jane made a motion to -depart, he said hastily, - -"What do _you_ do?" - -"Oh, _I_ go to school, and help mother, and go on adventures--" - -"Go on adventures?" - -"Yes. Long, long walks. Sometimes with the twins, and sometimes with -Carl, though he never wants to go where I want to go, and often by -myself. I take a package of bread and cheese because I get hungry very -easily, or sometimes some Raisin Delights, and I pretend that I'm going -out into the world to seek my fortune. And I walk and walk, sometimes -taking this road and sometimes that--until it's time to turn around and -come home." - -"Don't you ever get lost?" - -"Oh, often. That makes it more exciting than ever." - -"What are Raisin Delights?" - -"Oh, just sort of cookies, with raisins and cinnamon and orange peel. No -one knows how to make them but mother, because you see, she's the only -real Winkler--except Granny, and Granny's too old to do much in the -Bakery any more. When Paul comes of course he'll learn how, because he's -a real Winkler too." - -"Who is Paul?" - -Jane, at this, launched into the complete history of her family, charmed -to find her listener who was far more interested than he himself was -aware of being. - -"And--and is this Miss Lily a cousin or something of yours?" inquired -Mr. Sheridan, artfully bringing the topic around to the subject that for -some reason he found particularly agreeable. - -"No. She's just Elise's best friend." - -"And what does _she_ do?" - -"Oh, she practises on the piano, and sings, and embroiders, and goes to -committees with her mother--though I don't think she likes that much. -And then she makes up bundles of things to send to people in China, and -goes to see sick people." - -"Does she like that?" - -"I guess so. She takes things to poor people--there are a whole lot of -them who live along the creek, and she's awfully good to them." - -"I see," said Mr. Sheridan. He could not think of anything more to say -just then, and after a pause, Jane began to think that she ought to be -going. - -"Well, good-bye. I hope you'll feel better after a while," she said, -catching hold of a low hanging branch, preparatory to swinging herself -down to earth. - -"Thank you." Mr. Sheridan did not understand why he felt just a trifle -foolish. "I hope you will pay me another visit." - -"Oh, but I thought you wanted to be alone," said Jane, innocently. - -Mr. Sheridan hesitated. - -"People in general are terrible nuisances," he said, at length. "I came -here to avoid the boredom--that is, at present I am very little in the -mood for being bothered by the curiosity of a host of friends and -acquaintances. But on the other hand, it would be a pleasure to chat -with you now and then." - -Jane was tremendously flattered. - -"Oh, I can understand that perfectly," she said, nodding her curly head -with a great air of wisdom. "Well, I'll come and see you again. Aren't -you really going to eat that apple?" - -Mr. Sheridan laughed, and tossed it back to her. - -"There you are, Eve. Like Adam, I'd be much better without it." - -With the agility of a monkey, Jane, holding the apple between her teeth, -swung herself lightly and easily to the ground. A little later Mr. -Sheridan saw the curly auburn head and the green sweater moving up the -hill, and with the feeling that he would very much like to be going in -the same direction, toward that busy little town--yes, in the very same -direction of that human society which he had resolved to shun--he turned -away. - -He had already begun to doubt his wisdom in allowing this slight -infringement of the iron rule of seclusion he had resolved to follow. -Already he felt very little inclined to spend the rest of the morning -going over the battalions of musty volumes in the Major's library, as he -had planned,--his idea had been to bury his sorrows in grave -bookishness. Already he found himself possessed by a desire to venture -out beyond the security of his garden. And if he had followed Janey up -the hill, if he had seen her stop for a few moments, at the gate of the -house on the left hand side, to report to a demure and shocked and -vastly interested young lady on various features of her late venture, he -would have felt that all his doubts on the wisdom of allowing anything -feminine within thirty yards of him, were more than justified. - - - - -CHAPTER IV--THE APPEARANCE OF PAUL - - -Jane lay on her stomach, stretched out comfortably on the window-seat in -Granny's room, her elbows propped on a cushion, her chin in her hands -and a book open on another cushion. The light was already waning, for -the days were growing perceptibly shorter, and furthermore the afternoon -had been dark and stormy. A driving autumn rain pattered steadily -against the window, drummed on the roof, gushed from the drain pipes, -and angrily stripped the branches of the trees of their gaudy foliage. -Now, only the stark black boughs creaked in the wind; here and there one -stubborn brown leaf still clung to a twig, but you could see the whole -lead grey sky clearly, and the irregular outlines of glistening roofs. - -But Granny's room, always cosy, was cosiest when the outside world was -bleakest. A coal fire glowed brightly in the old fashioned open stove, -reflecting in the window panes, on the elaborately carved head-board of -the great four-poster bed, and in the plump, bulging surfaces of the -well-polished pewter jugs which stood in a row along the -shelf--treasured heirlooms, glistening self-complacently, as if they -knew that they had outlived four generations of human beings. Granny's -room, was in fact, a regular museum; a big, speckled sea shell served as -the door prop; chunks of rock sparkling with mica lay on each side of -the stove; a stuffed owl, with only one glass eye stared down from the -lintel of the door. Wherever you looked you saw some singular object -which interested you simply because you could not imagine what it was -for, why it had been treasured, or how it had ever got into Granny's -room in the first place. But there was not an article that Granny would -not have missed sadly if it had been removed. Each curiosity had its -particular association which made it valuable to her; each was linked to -some memory, and she could not have parted with one without parting with -the thing it stood for. - -The atmosphere, warm almost to the point of suffocation, was permeated -with a peculiar, and far from unpleasant odor, of apples, spices, and -camphor, emanating from the gigantic chest on one side of the room. Like -all good Winklers, Granny had a sweet tooth, which was one reason why -the young Lamberts found her society so desirable. To be sure, some -people might not care much for the flavor of camphor or cedar in their -candied orange peel, or Smyrna figs, but it was inseparable from -Granny's tid-bits, and her grandchildren had cultivated an especial -taste for it. - -The twins sat on the floor in front of the fire, playing with their -paper dolls, while Granny nodded over the many-coloured quilt she was -knitting, happily unconscious of the fact that Phyllis, her maltese cat, -had playfully carried the ball of red wool off to a far corner, and was -gleefully tangling it around the legs of the dressing table. Every now -and then a burst of fresh laughter from one of the flaxen haired twins -roused her, and she smiled sympathetically, and for a little while -listened to their chatter; then her head drooped again, her steel-rimmed -spectacles slid down on her nose, and lulled by the heat of the fire, -the drumming of the rain, and the sound of their soft, happy voices, she -dozed off peacefully. - -Lottie, looking up, and seeing that Jane was no longer engrossed in -"John Halifax," ventured to suggest timidly, - -"Will you play with uth, Janey?" - -Occasionally, Jane condescended to forget her fifteen years, and to take -part in their infantile games. - -"All right." She rolled herself off the window seat. "Want to play -'French Revolution'?" Jane had little taste for the domestic character -of the twin's doll games. - -"How do you play that?" asked Minie. - -"Why, first of all you get me some books out of my room," ordered Jane, -and Minie obediently trotted off to return grunting under the burden of -"stage properties." - -"Now, you see, build a prison out of 'em," went on Jane; "this is the -Conciergerie, and it has to be full of prisoners; princesses and -duchesses, and of course Marie Antoinette. Now, we'll make a guillotine, -and chop all their heads off. Don't you think that'll be fun?" - -The twins were enchanted. Lottie piled the hooks into a "scaffold," -while Minie sat by, clashing the scissors, eagerly. And presently, one -by one, the poor paper prisoners were marched to their doom, Jane -directing the carnage, describing the history of each victim, like a -Greek chorus, and delivering their last speeches, while Minie, -hypnotized into passive obedience, snipped off the paper heads of her -innocent, and dearly treasured dolls. - -Suddenly Jane jumped up. - -"I think this is an _awful_ game!" she exclaimed. - -"Oh, Jane, aren't you going to play any more?" cried Lottie in dismay. -Jane shook her head. - -"And all my poor dollies are dead!" wailed Minie, suddenly realizing the -extent of the disaster. Jane looked really guilty. - -"We can make some more," she said hastily; "there are lots of old -magazines in mother's room." - -"But you can't make Isabel again," wept Minie. - -"Well, _you_ cut her head off," said Jane. - -"But _you_ told her to," cried Lottie, taking up her twin's cause. - -"Well, you asked me to play with you, didn't you?" But Minie's tears -went to Jane's heart. "I'm sorry, Minie, darling. Please don't cry. I'll -tell you a story if you like." - -Minie's chubby, tearful face brightened. - -"A fairy story?" - -"Yes. About a prince and princess." - -"And you won't have it end up badly?" - -"No. I promise." So Jane, whose mind was a perfect storehouse of stories -and legends, had soon charmed the twins into forgetfulness of their late -bereavement while she launched forth upon her tale of giants and -enchanted princes. - - ---- - -On this very afternoon, and in fact, at exactly the time that Jane had -staged her disastrous amusement, a boy was tramping stolidly with his -head bent against the rain, along one of the country roads a good three -miles from Frederickstown. He was a big, raw-boned boy, whose shabby -clothes originally much too loose for his lean frame, and now soaked -through, gave him an almost grotesque appearance. A faded dark blue cap, -with a patent leather visor, such as sea-captains wear, and the upturned -collar of his coat, almost concealed his long brown face, in which the -most striking features were a pair of black eyes, set rather close -together, and a big handsome Roman nose. With a bundle slung over his -shoulder on the end of a stick, he looked like any one of the foreign -immigrants who were frequently seen seeking for work as laborers on the -neighboring farms. - -He did not raise his head until he reached a cross-roads. Then he -stopped, pushed back his cap from his face, which was flushed and hot -from his long walk, and looked up at the signs. On the left, the white -board, roughly carved into the semblance of a pointing finger, read, -"Frederickstown, 2-1/2 Miles." The name on the right-hand sign-post was -too badly damaged by weather to be intelligible to a stranger's eyes; -only the distance, "30 miles" was legible. - -There was no reason why the boy should have hesitated for a moment; his -destination was Frederickstown, the second direction did not concern him -in the least; and yet, perhaps because the vagueness of the destination -of the second road appealed to his imagination; perhaps because the -greater distance lent it greater charm, and the very impossibility of -walking thirty miles that day made it seem the more desirable, at any -rate there he stood, looking uncertainly to the right, then to the left, -and back to the right again. A gust of wind, flapping the skirts of his -coat rudely, seemed to shove him forward, as if impatient of his -indecision, but he planted his feet firmly, and continued to gape -uncertainly up at the sign posts. "I'll make up my own mind, thank you, -and I'm not to be hurried," was the reply which his determined attitude -made to the impatience of the wind. - -There was little difference in the features of the country traversed by -the two roads; all that he could see through the blur of the rain, were -bleak fields, muddy furrows, here and there a clump of leafless trees, -the skeleton of a forest, or, down in a hollow the sheds and barns of a -little farm. A cheerless prospect for a hungry and footsore Wanderer. - -Behind him he heard the weary splashing of a horse's feet, and the -creaking of wheels. He turned around. A covered wagon, drawn by a tired, -steaming horse was approaching. - -"Hey!" he hailed the driver, who pulled in the horse to a stand-still, -and thrust out a grizzled face from under the canvas. - -"Where does that road go to?" asked the boy, pointing to the right. - -The driver tilted his hat, scratched his head, and straightened his hat -again before replying, thus gaining time to cast a shrewd eye over the -appearance of the questioner. He was one of those excellent back-country -farmers who regard every stranger with suspicion, and do not like to be -hurried into speech. - -"That road," he said at length, "goes to the City--thirty miles. Going -to walk it, stranger?" - -"Which way are you going?" - -The farmer jerked his head in the direction of Frederickstown. - -"Will you let me go with you?" asked the boy, feeling nervously in his -pocket. "I cannot pay you much, but I will gladly give you what I can." -He pulled the last coin out of his pocket, and looked at it uncertainly -as if he were not at all sure how much it was. "I will give you -twenty-five cents." - -"That's all right. Keep your money, young feller, and get in if you want -to. I'll be glad of yer company." - -The boy looked surprised and grateful, and without wasting any more -words, clambered up to the hard wooden seat, and settled himself beside -the farmer. - -The road was rough, the wheels were rimmed with iron, and the board seat -joggled unmercifully, so that the boy found it hard to answer his -neighbor's endless questions without biting his tongue in two; moreover, -now that he was sitting down, after walking almost steadily since early -morning, he found himself almost too tired to think; but he tried to be -civil, since it seemed that if his companion was kind enough to refuse -payment, the least he could do was to gratify his curiosity. - -"Where might you be goin', now?" - -"My uncle lives in Frederickstown. His name is Lambert. Mr. Peter -Lambert." - -"That so? I know Mr. Lambert. Well, I took you for a furriner." - -"I am not a foreigner." - -"Not but that you don't talk good English, only sort of care-ful like. -Like it wasn't yer natural langwidge. What part of the country might yer -be from, now?" - -"I have never been in this country before. My father, who--who was Mr. -Lambert's brother-in-law, was a sailor, captain, also a trader. I don't -belong to any country. I have come back to work with my uncle, because -my father is dead, and I have no other relatives." The boy explained -this in a dry, precise way, as if it were an answer that he had already -had to make many times. - -"Well! I'll be!" exclaimed the farmer, much interested. "And what might -yer name be, young feller?" - -"Paul Winkler." - -After a short pause, during which Paul fervently hoped that the -catechism was over, his companion asked again. - -"And why was you askin' me where that other road went to?" - -The boy smiled, and shook his head. - -"I don't know." - -"Jes' for curiosity?" - -"Yes." - -"Hum. How old might you be?" - -"Seventeen." - -"Yer a well grown lad for yer years. I should have taken yer to be -older." - -This time Paul broke the silence that followed. - -"What is the City like?" - -"Like? Why like any other city. Lots of houses, lots of streets, lots of -people, lots of noise. I'm a countryman myself, and don't have much -hankerin' for the big towns. Though there's my son now, my second boy, -he can't stand the farm. No, he has to be off to the city. I suppose -that's the way all you youngsters are feeling nowadays. What you're -after is always somewhere different from where the Lord put you. -Opportunity--that's what my boy's forever chatterin' about--you got to -get where you have opportunities. I says to him, 'Well, Tom, what is it -ye're after?' 'Independence, Dad,' says he, 'Like George Washington.' 'A -good thing,' says I. 'And what do ye call independence?' Well, sir, we -argue away for hours, and for the life of me I can't see that he ain't -just about the most _de_pendant feller I know. No sir, when ye live the -sort of life I live ye get plenty time to think, and I tell ye when ye -sift down to rock bottom just what ye _do_ want, and don't dress it up -in a lot of fine words, ye find that there's precious little as really -matters to ye, that ye can't get without having to trot all over the -country after it." - -Notwithstanding his companion's challenging tone, and evident eagerness -for further discussion, Paul made no reply to this speech. - -They had now gained the top of a hill; and at last the comfortable -lights of Frederickstown shone through the dusk. - -"There ye are," said the farmer pointing ahead with his whip, "and I've -no doubt it's a glad sight to ye, youngster. Have ye walked far?" - -"Fifteen miles, I think." - -"Fifteen miles! Pretty hungry, eh?" - -"Yes." - -"Did ye come across the water alone?" - -"No. There was a friend of my father's travelling to this country also. -I left him last night." - -Now the wagon was jolting over the cobblestones, jarring every bone in -Paul's weary body. And, he was so hungry! All at once he caught the odor -of spices, of fresh ginger-bread--such a friendly smell, such a homey, -domestic smell, that made you think of a warm hearth, and familiar -faces-- - -The horse stopped. - -"Well, young man, I guess we part now." - -Paul felt as if he were asleep. He climbed stiffly out of the cart, -shook the friendly, horny paw that his erstwhile companion thrust out, -and tried to mutter his thanks. The wagon rumbled away up the -street--and here he was. - -He stood in the shelter of the quaint wooden balcony which extended from -the second story of the Lambert's dwelling out over the pavement. In -front of him the light shone cheerily through the bakeshop window. -Somehow, he rather dreaded to go up and knock at the door. Suppose that -after all it was the wrong place? Suppose that no one knew that he was -coming? Or, suppose that they wouldn't believe he was Paul Winkler? - - ---- - -"So the prince took his knife and cut the third of the golden apples in -half, and to his astonishment--" - -"Janey, _who_ is that talking to your father?" demanded Granny, opening -her eyes suddenly. - -Jane stopped and listened. Granny's room was directly over the dining -room, and sounds carried easily through the thin walls of the old house. - -"I don't know, Granny," said Jane. "Nobody in particular, I guess." - -But the old lady felt nervously for her stick. - -"Heavens! It _couldn't_ be--Janey, just run to the head of the stairs -and see. Minie, darling, do you see Granny's stick? Run, Janey--just -peep over." - -But the door of the dining room was half closed, and Janey, hanging over -the bannister, had to wait several moments before she caught a glimpse -of the stranger, whose low voice occasionally interrupted her father's -eloquent talk. - -"My dear boy, we will go into this at length, later this evening. I see -that you are tired now. You say you _walked_ from Allenboro?" - -"It was necessary. I did not discover that my money had been stolen -until after I left the ship." - -"Did Mr. Morse know of your misfortune?" - -"No. I did not tell him." - -Then Jane caught her first glimpse of the speaker, as he took a step -back toward the fireplace, and into her line of vision through the half -opened door. - -"It's _Paul_!" The thought flashed across her mind instantly. Her first -impression of her new cousin was disappointing. Though such matters -rarely counted for much with Jane, she was really shocked by the -shabbiness of his appearance; for covered as he was with mud, his -ill-fitting, outworn clothes made him look like a veritable ragamuffin. -But it was not this so much as his whole bearing and expression that -displeased her. There was something both sullen and stubborn in his -face, which, combined with lines of weariness and hunger, made him seem -much older than he really was, and decidedly unattractive. And she had -been so sure that she was going to like her new cousin; she had pictured -him as a jolly, ruddy, lively boy who would probably enter heart and -soul into her enjoyments; someone with whom you could make friends in -five minutes; whereas unsociability was stamped on every feature of -_this_ boy's sallow, unsmiling face. - -Just then the sharp tapping of Granny's cane resounded through the -corridor. The old lady's singular impatience to know who the stranger -was, had not allowed her to wait for Jane's tardy report. With her cap -askew, she appeared at the head of the stairs. - -"Who is it? Who is it?" she demanded, almost breathlessly. "Stand aside, -child." And without waiting for a reply, she descended the stairs with -wonderful rapidity, marched to the dining room door, and flung it open. - -"Peter! Gertrude!" she blinked nervously into the room, where only the -firelight illumined the two figures in the dusk. Then she stared into -Paul's face. It was only a moment before her uncertainty disappeared. - -"I knew it! I knew it!" she cried. "Peter Lambert, why didn't you tell -me? Ah, heaven's! My dear boy, _I_ am your old Granny!" And weeping from -sheer joy, she unhesitatingly flung her arms around his neck and kissed -him. - -A few moments later the entire family had collected to welcome the -newcomer. The twins with their round blue eyes fastened on him gravely, -clung to their mother, who kissed him warmly, exclaimed over his size, -and at once began to worry affectionately about his wet clothes. Elise -greeted him with her usual gentle, modest smile, Carl with a -patronizing, "How do you do, cousin?" and a keen glance, as if he were -"sizing up" an opponent of some sort. - -During these proceedings Paul looked utterly bewildered, and exceedingly -awkward, as if he could not believe that all these good people who were -smiling at him, shaking hands with him, and asking him if he were tired, -were really his family. All that interested him was the fact that he -smelt supper cooking. - -Last of all to welcome him was Jane, who had stood aside, watching him -intently; and it was he who turned to her, and with the polite smile -that he had forced for the occasion, held out his hand. - -"How do you do, cousin?" - -"How do you do, cousin Paul?" repeated Jane decorously. - -Jane was not over impulsive, and she had not yet made up her mind as to -the degree of liking she felt for this tall, reticent youth, this sober, -chilly, self-assured boy, whom Destiny had now placed at the head of the -House of Winkler. - - - - -CHAPTER V--PAUL HESITATES - - -"Poor child, you are dripping wet! You'll catch your death of cold!" -cried Mrs. Lambert, noticing Paul's state for the first time. "What can -I be thinking of! You must have a hot bath and some dry things at once. -Carl, take Paul up to your room, dear, and see that he makes himself -_very_ comfortable. I must see to supper. You must be starving, too!" - -Accordingly, Carl undertook his duties as host as hospitably as he -could, and Paul followed him upstairs. - -In a moment or two Carl returned, wearing the prim expression of one who -would like to express his opinion, and is merely waiting to be asked, -and at length, one by one, the family began, naturally enough, to -discuss the impression that the newcomer had made on them, severally. -The criticisms were very kindly, but at the same time, it soon became -clear that so far no one felt any great enthusiasm for the stranger. His -curt manner had hurt his aunt and his grandmother, who had been so eager -in their welcome to the fatherless boy, and had irritated Mr. Lambert. -The short, brusque answers he had given to the endless kindly questions -with which he had been plied, had discouraged the well-meant, and very -natural curiosity of his relatives, and had made them feel rather -uncomfortable. - -Grandmother Winkler and Mrs. Lambert staunchly insisted that the poor -boy was only lonely and unhappy; but down in their hearts they had been -sadly disappointed in Franz's son. Elise also ranged herself in his -defense, feeling that any disapproval, expressed or unexpressed, of the -new head of the clan, was a form of treason. - -"Think how you would feel, Carl," she said, "if you had lost your -father, and had landed in a strange country among strangers--for after -all we _are_ strangers to Paul." - -"That's all right," returned Carl, "I could understand it if he were -just gloomy. But I don't see any reason why he has to be downright -disagreeable." - -"I'm sure he doesn't mean to be disagreeable, my dear," said Mrs. -Lambert. - -"Well, we mustn't lose any time in getting the boy settled down to his -work," said Mr. Lambert. "That will take his mind off his own troubles. -I shall have a talk with him after supper." - -"I shook hands with him, and said I was glad to see him, and he just -stared at me as if I were a--a fish," went on Carl, still dwelling on -his own grievances. "I know he's here to stay, and I'll try to get on -with him, though I'll tell you right now, it's not going to be an easy -job. And I hope to goodness I won't have to room with him permanently, -mother. Can't you find somewhere to put him? Can't you--" Carl broke off -abruptly, reddening, for at that moment Paul entered the room. He was -scrubbed and brushed, and, dressed in Mr. Lambert's summer suit, looked -vastly better than the young tramp who had entered their midst an hour -before. Unfortunately he had overheard Carl's remark, and his expression -had changed from one that was almost friendly to the stony, immobile -look that absolutely altered the whole character of his face. The cozy -family scene in the dining room, where now the table had been set, and -the lamp lighted, and where the firelight shone upon the faces of three -generations, from Granny to little Minie, had done much to make Paul -feel that he would be happy after all among these simple, happy -people--until his quick ears caught Carl's unkind remark. - -Only Jane had seen the look that showed he had overheard; but everyone -felt that he had, and an awkward little silence followed his entrance, -during which Elise glanced at her brother in distress, and Mrs. Lambert -struggled to think of something to say that would mend matters a little. -But Carl met his cousin's eyes defiantly, and from that moment the tacit -hostility of the two boys was sealed. - -So Paul, who had been on the verge of thawing a little, had frozen up -again. He concluded immediately that _everyone_ disliked him, and like -many sensitive people, instead of attempting to overcome this imagined -dislike, he carefully hid all that was winning in his nature, under his -cold, unsympathetic manner. He even fancied that his aunt's affectionate -little attentions were only assumed to hide her real feelings. Poor Aunt -Gertrude! No one in the world was less capable of insincerity than she, -and her gentle heart ached over the forlorn, taciturn youth. - -Supper was a decidedly uncomfortable meal; and Paul, who had felt that -he could have eaten the proverbial fatted calf, found it difficult to -swallow a mouthful. During the journey there had been too much to occupy -him, too many difficulties and strange events for him to think much -about the abrupt change that had taken place in his life; but now, as he -sat with his eyes on his plate, in the midst of these strange faces, he -felt as if the bottom had dropped out of everything. A perfect wave of -depression engulfed him, and all he wished for was to get off by -himself. - -"Well, my boy, are you too tired to have a little talk?" asked Mr. -Lambert, at length pushing back his chair. - -"No, sir," muttered Paul, curtly, thinking to himself, "I don't suppose -that they want to have me on their hands any longer than is necessary." - -"Children, you may prepare your lessons in your own rooms to-night. -Well, Paul, suppose you and I get over here into my corner," suggested -Mr. Lambert, walking across to his desk. "Sit down." - -Paul sat down, folded his hands in his lap, and fixed his eyes -attentively on the window. The rain still rattled on the glass panes, -and the wind banged the shutters, and moaned through the leafless trees. - -"I am only going to acquaint you with the wishes which your father--my -poor brother--expressed in a recent letter," began Mr. Lambert, -rummaging through his orderly pigeon-holes. "It might be best for you to -read it for yourself." But Paul declined the letter with a gesture. - -"Ah, well," said Mr. Lambert, replacing the poor, blotted sheets in the -envelope, "I don't want to pain you, my dear boy, and I would not touch -on the subject at all, if I did not feel that it were best for you to -find something to occupy your thoughts at this time." He paused, but as -Paul did not seem to think it necessary to make any reply, he continued: - -"You must understand how deeply I am interested in your affairs. Er--how -old are you?" - -"Seventeen, sir." - -"Seventeen? I should have thought you were older. But seventeen is not -an age of childhood, and in any event I feel that you are fully capable -of assuming the responsibilities which must fall upon you as the -only--living--male descendant--of--the Winkler Family." Mr. Lambert -uttered these last words with an impressiveness that cannot be -described. Paul looked up, suddenly interested, and with a wary, -defensive expression. - -"No doubt your father acquainted you with his wishes?" - -"My father told me to come to you, and that you would help me," said -Paul. - -"Help you? Indeed I will help you. I would help you in any event because -you are my nephew, and blood runs thicker than water, my boy. Always -remember that. But believe me, it is not family duty alone that impels -me to give you all the assistance I can,--I feel that you are a young -man who is _worthy_--worthy to enter upon the duties of your position." - -Paul was puzzled. He could not understand these allusions to his -"position," and his "responsibilities." - -"Never hesitate to come to me for any advice. Do not allow little -discouragements to overwhelm you," continued Mr. Lambert. "Your aunt, of -course, will be your real teacher--" - -"My _aunt_?" echoed Paul, completely bewildered. "I don't understand--" - -"Ah," said Mr. Lambert, smiling, "perhaps you are not familiar with the -traditions of your family. Then, I will tell you; your -great-great-grandfather, on your father's side, Johann Winkler, was, as -you surely know, the founder of this Bakery. He was, moreover, the -inventor of certain delicacies which have made it famous, and which -cannot possibly be made by any other baker in this country--in the -world, I may say. It was his wish that the fruits of his labors should -be the heritage of his descendants, and that only those who bore the -name of Winkler, should learn the secret recipes by which those cakes -are mixed. A moment's thought will make it clear to you that you are the -next in line to be initiated into these secrets, which are sealed from -me, and my children. In a word, you are the only living heir to this -business. Your aunt, of course, is the present proprietor, and she and -she alone can instruct you in the work in which you must follow her." - -Paul was speechless, and Mr. Lambert, mistaking his astonished silence, -for a calm acceptance of what he had said, now drew forth a large -parchment from a drawer of his desk, and spread it out with a pompous -air. - -"This, my boy, is the family tree of the Winklers, which establishes -your claim to your inheritance. Here, you see--" his broad forefinger -began to trace the branches, "Johann Winkler had two sons, Frederick and -Samuel. Frederick, the elder had two sons, also Samuel and Johann. In -this case, the younger became the Baker, and Samuel became a hardware -merchant in Missouri. Thus, Johann was the father of your Aunt Gertrude, -and _your_ father, who also relinquished his inheritance, like Esau--" - -"But what of Samuel's children?" stammered Paul. "Maybe he has a son or -a grandson--" - -"However that may be they have forfeited their claims," replied Mr. -Lambert. "No, you need have no fears of any disputes, my boy. Surely, -your father must have acquainted you with all these matters which relate -to you so closely." - -"My father never even mentioned anything of the sort!" exclaimed Paul, -pushing back his chair, as if he were thinking of sudden flight. - -"I need hardly tell you that you are doubly welcome, my dear boy," -continued Mr. Lambert placidly, totally misunderstanding Paul's -astonishment. - -"But, sir! One moment! I don't understand! You surely can't mean that -you think I am going to learn how to _bake bread_, and make _pies_!" -burst out Paul at last. "Great heavens! My father couldn't have -dreamed--_I_! Making biscuits!" - -"And why not, pray?" demanded Mr. Lambert, sharply. "Am I to understand -that you consider yourself too good for a profession that the great -Johann Winkler thought worthy of his genius? Is it that you do not -consider it _manly_? Surely, you do not mean me to understand this?" Mr. -Lambert's face hardened a little; the expression of bland benevolence -left his eyes, which now grew cold and piercing. He had not expected -rebellion, but recovering quickly from his surprise he prepared to cope -with it as only he could. - -"Of course I don't mean that, sir!" exclaimed Paul. "But don't you -see--I can't--I'm not fitted for such work. I couldn't learn how to bake -a pie in a life time. I--" - -"Oh, I am sure you underrate your intelligence, my boy. Don't give way -to discouragement so soon. A little patience, a little industry--" - -Paul began to laugh, almost hysterically. Even in the midst of his -serious anxiety, the idea of himself demurely kneading dough was too -much for his gravity. - -"But I'd poison everyone in town in twenty-four hours! Bake bread! -Rolls! Tarts! Sir, I could far more easily learn how to trim hats!" - -"I don't doubt it. Any silly schoolgirl can learn that. I freely admit -that the art of a great baker is not readily acquired. I admit that in -some measure it requires an inborn gift, and a gift that is by no means -a common one. Great cooks are far rarer, believe me, than great orators, -or great artists, although the world in general does not rank them as it -should. There was a time when a fine pastry or a sauce composed with -genius called forth the applause of kings, and when eminent bakers were -honored by the noblest in the land. But to-day, through the ignorance -and indifference of the world, the profession is fallen in value, -because, forsooth, it is fancied that it caters to the less noble tastes -of mankind. My dear boy, it is for you, in whose veins flows the blood -of the King of Bakers, to maintain the fame and dignity of your -profession. Do not imagine that you lack the gift. It has lain idle, but -a little practice will soon prove that it is in your possession." - -Paul, feeling that he had come up against a wall of adamant, got up and -began to pace the floor. Here he was with exactly twenty-five cents in -his pocket, without even a suit of clothes that deserved the name, -without a friend within three thousand miles, nor the faintest idea of -where he could go, if he rashly broke away from the family roof-tree. - -"It seems that you had other ideas," remarked Mr. Lambert in a politely -interested tone, which said, "I don't mind _listening_ to any of your -fantastic notions." Paul hesitated. He most certainly _had_ had other -ideas, and, what was more, he did not have the slightest intention of -relinquishing them. The question was, could he lay them simply before -his uncle? One glance at Mr. Lambert's smooth, practical face was -sufficient to make him feel that anything of the sort was not to be -considered; certainly not at this time, in any case. Mr. Lambert had -fixed his mind on one idea, and tenacity was his most striking -characteristic. It was his boast that he never changed his mind, and the -truth of this statement was recognized by everyone who had any dealings -with him. - -"I should like to think over all that you have said, Uncle Peter," Paul -at length said warily. "All this has been very unexpected, and I don't -know just what to say." - -"You mean that you are still doubtful as to whether you will accept or -reject the position, to which Providence has called you, and which it is -plainly your Duty to accept?" inquired Mr. Lambert, raising his -eyebrows. He was surprised and annoyed by his nephew's resistance, but -knowing the boy's circumstances he had no fear that Paul would decide -against his own wishes. - -Paul was quick to perceive this underlying cocksureness, and his whole -soul rose in rebellion. - -"I don't see that either Providence or Duty has anything to do with the -case," he retorted, instantly firing up. - -Mr. Lambert shrugged his shoulders. - -"You do not feel that you are under obligations to your Family? I don't -like to believe that you have so slight a sense of your -responsibilities. No, I am sure that a few moments reflection will -convince you to the contrary. By all means consider the matter. I -should, however, like to have your answer to-night, if it is convenient -for you. I have several letters to write, and shall be here when you -have reached your decision." And with a curt nod, he swung around to his -desk, and took up the old-fashioned goose-quill pen, which he was in the -habit of using under the impression that it lent him an air of business -solidity. - -Paul, lost in thought, went up to Carl's room for the "few moments of -reflection" that his uncle had advised. - -His cousin, wearing a brown dressing gown, with a hideous pattern of -yellow fleurs-de-lis, was sitting at the table, with a book in his -hands, and a greenshade over his nearsighted eyes, engrossed in his -studies. The two boys glanced at each other, and nodded brusquely -without speaking. - -Paul threw himself across the bed. - -"Duty! Providence!" All he could see in the matter was that he had got -into a pretty kettle of fish. "And uncle thinks that just because I'm -broke, I'll knuckle under without a murmur." - -Obligations! That was a nice thing to preach to him. - -"Would you mind not kicking the bed?" said Carl's thin, querulous voice. -"It makes it rather hard to concentrate." This petition, uttered in a -studiedly polite tone, was accompanied by a dark look, which this time, -however, Paul failed to see. - -"Sorry," said Paul, gruffly, and got up. - -Now he began to walk the floor; but at length stopped at the window, -pressing his face to the glass so that he could see something besides -the reflection of his cousin's mouse-colored head, and monotonous -rocking in his chair. - -He peered out over the roofs of the town, up the street, all sleek and -shining with the rain, in the direction of the cross-roads at which he -had stood, less than four hours ago. Why hadn't he taken the Other One, -anyway? He had been perfectly free to choose--no one had been preaching -Duty and all the rest of it to him then. He hadn't taken it, because he -had been tired and hungry, and almost penniless--and lonely, too, and -the farmer had turned up. Perhaps he had been a coward. It had led to -the City, where, even if he were penniless, he would at least have been -his own master, free to work according to his own ideas, and not Uncle -Peter's. - -"Would you mind not whistling!" snapped Carl. "It's the most maddening -sound. Hang it! I'm trying to study." - -Paul's mournful whistling stopped. - -Baking pies! So that was to be his future, was it? Well, he still had -something to say. It wasn't too late to take the other road yet. He'd -walk a _thousand_ miles before he would let himself be trussed up in a -canvas apron, and put to kneading dough for the rest of his days. - -He glanced around for his cast off clothes, and saw them hanging, still -dismally wet over a chair. But not even the cheerless prospect of a -clammy shirt dampened his resolution. He began to fling off his dry -clothing, sending collar, necktie, socks and shoes flying in all -directions. - -Presently Carl, aroused by the commotion, put down his book. Then he -stared in astonishment, at the sight of his cousin rapidly climbing into -the soaking, muddy garments. But he felt that it was not in keeping with -the dignity he had assumed, to inquire into the reasons for this strange -proceeding. All he said was, - -"Would you mind not shaking that mud over my things?" - -Without replying, Paul shouldered his ridiculous bundle, felt in his -pocket to make sure that his quarter was still there, and marched out of -the room, down the stairs, and to the door. - -Then it occurred to him that this abrupt departure, without a word of -farewell to anyone was rather a shabby way of returning the hospitality -he had received, and he hesitated. - -"Well, if I don't get out now, it'll mean a lot of argument and -explanation. I could write a note." But he had no paper, and he did not -want to go back to Carl's room. So there he stood uneasily enough, -wriggling in his damp clothes, and glancing uncertainly toward the -closed door of the dining room behind which his uncle sat waiting for -his decision. Overhead, he heard the low murmur of his aunt's voice, and -the thudding of the twins' little bare feet as they romped and squealed -in a pillow fight. Paul felt his resolution waver, and then anger at his -own weakness steadied his determination. He opened the door, strode out, -and pulled it to quietly behind him. - -A wild gust of wind nearly robbed him of his breath, and made him -stagger. The rain had gathered up its forces, and now came down in a -solid sheet, swept this way and that by the wind. - -"Whew!" Paul bent his head, and ploughed his way against it, without -looking to the right or to the left. The branches groaned and tossed, -creaking as if they were being torn from the trunks of the swaying -trees. - -Then all at once, with a crash a dead bough fell in front of him, -missing him by not more than fifteen inches. Paul stopped. The very -elements seemed opposed to his unmannerly flight, and again he -hesitated, looked back, and saw the friendly, ruddy windows of the -Bakery. Thirty miles in this tempest! He smiled sheepishly, and then -frowned. His impetuousness had put him in a very ridiculous position. -His pride rebelled at the idea of returning, and with the thought of -Carl's smothered amusement, came the memory of his cousin's inhospitable -speech. On the other hand, he saw that it was no less absurd to follow -up his plan of flight, and the streak of common sense underlying his -hasty, high-handed nature told him that it was less foolish to go back -and undertake the immediate problem that had been thrust upon him, than -to plunge himself into the serious difficulties that his adventure would -entail. And at length, inwardly raging at his own folly, he retraced his -steps. - -As the dining room door opened, Mr. Lambert looked up, started to remove -his spectacles, and then with a start, adjusted them more accurately. -Paul, who had left his cap and bundle in the hall tried to stand in the -shadow so that his clothes would not be noticed. After a short silence, -Mr. Lambert preferring to observe nothing extraordinary in his nephew's -appearance, folded up his spectacles, put them in the breast pocket of -his frock coat and said, pleasantly, - -"Well? What have you decided?" - -Paul cleared his throat. - -"I have decided--I have decided--" he finished by spreading his hands -and shrugging his shoulders. - -"To undertake your--er--responsibilities?" prompted Mr. Lambert, as if -he were administering an oath. - -"To learn how to bake pies," said Paul, feebly, and then mumbling some -vague excuse he backed out of the room, leaving Mr. Lambert to indulge -in a short chuckle. - -Paul hid himself in the bakeshop until he felt reasonably sure that his -cousin had gone to bed, and then, boots in hand tiptoed shamefacedly up -to the bedroom, and began to undress in the dark. But Carl was not -asleep, and after listening to Paul's smothered exclamations as he -struggled with wet button holes and laces, could not resist a polite -jibe. - -"Oh," came in interested tones from the bed, "where did you go, cousin?" - -"For a walk," replied Paul, laconically, and a certain note in his voice -warned Carl that it would be wiser not to refer to the delicate subject -again. - - - - -CHAPTER VI--A REBEL IN THE HOUSE - - -"You take a tablespoonful of butter, a pound of sugar, half a -teaspoonful each of cinnamon and all-spice, a pound of raisins, and a -cupful of molasses," said Aunt Gertrude timidly, reading from the -yellowed pages of the century-old book of recipes, in which were traced -in brown ink, and in the quaint, tremulous handwriting of old Johann -Winkler himself, the secret formulas of the "King of Bakers." Then she -closed the book. - -"And now, my dear, I have to show you the rest." - -Paul submitted to his instructions meekly enough but nevertheless his -aunt felt singularly at a loss with this strange pupil on her hands, and -she had her own grave doubts as to whether the culinary genius of the -Winklers really lay dormant in him at all. - -On that bright, windy afternoon, aunt and nephew were closeted in the -room off the kitchen, which was called the Mixing Room. It was here that -the book of recipes was kept, and here that the bread and cakes were -mixed, according to the time-honored tradition of secrecy. No one had -the right of entry without Mrs. Lambert's permission, and that -permission was never given while she was engaged in preparing her doughs -and batters. It was a cheerful little room, snug and warm, lined with -the old, well polished cupboards in which the tins of spices and dried -fruits and crocks of mysterious, delicious mixtures were kept safely -locked. Seated at the table, was plump, rosy, beautiful Aunt Gertrude, -full of the importance of her business, but a trifle uncertain of her -six-foot disciple, who, shrouded in a great white apron, and with his -sleeves rolled up on his muscular, brown arms, stood soberly measuring -out flour and sugar with hands that looked better fitted for a lumber -camp. - -But little by little, as the lessons progressed, Paul became less -austere; and as he unbent, Aunt Gertrude regained her natural jollity; -until she actually dared to tease him. - -"What a frown! You will frighten all my customers away," she said, -gaily, peeping up into his swarthy face. "You must practice how to look -very cheerful." - -"Must I? Well, how is this?" And Paul promptly expanded his mouth into -the empty grin of a comic mask. "Only I can't remember to grin while I -count out spoonfuls of cinnamon. It's like trying to pat your head and -rub your stomach at the same time." - -"In a little while you won't have to think so hard while you are -measuring your ingredients. I do it by instinct," said Aunt Gertrude, -proudly. And Paul smiled at her air of naive vanity. - -"Oh, _you_ are a very remarkable person, Aunt Gertrude," he said -gravely. - -"Tut! You mustn't laugh at me, you impudent boy," said Mrs. Lambert, -shaking her head, and pretending to be severe. "You must be _very_ -respectful." But she was tremendously pleased with herself for having -discovered a vein of gaiety in her unsociable nephew. His slight smile, -the first spontaneous expression she had seen on his face, was like a -light thrown across his harsh, aquiline features, giving the first -glimpse that anyone of the family had seen, into the gentler traits of -his character; and Aunt Gertrude felt that she had been right in -attributing his abrupt, ungracious manner to loneliness and depression. - -"Now," she said briskly, "_I_ shall finish this first batch, just to -show you how it is done, and then you must do one all by yourself. How -nice it is to have you to help me! You can't think how I dislike being -shut up in this room for hours every day without anyone to talk to." -Indeed, there was nothing that Aunt Gertrude disliked more heartily than -solitude and silence. Like Jane, she adored people in general, she loved -chat and gossip, she loved to hear all that was going on, and could -never escape too quickly to the shop, where all day long the townspeople -were running in and out, always stopping for a short chat with the -lively, inquisitive merry proprietress. - -"You see, now, you have to knead this dough _quite_ vigorously," was her -next instruction, and turning her sleeves back from her strong, white -arms, she proceeded to give a demonstration, while Paul sat by, with his -elbow on the table, resting his head on one hand, and smiling at her -_very_ vigorous treatment of the meek, flabby dough. - -"You're certainly giving that poor stuff an awful trouncing, Aunt -Gertrude. Don't you think you ought to let up a bit?" - -"Not at all," returned Mrs. Lambert, seriously, "I never let up, once I -begin." - -"What a terrible character you are, Aunt Gertrude! Here, do you want me -to take a hand at it?" - -"No, no," panted Aunt Gertrude. "Now don't interfere. Just _watch_ me." -And again she began her pummelling with redoubled energy. The exercise -brought a deep flush to her smooth cheeks; a lock of brown hair barely -tinged with grey kept falling over her forehead, and she kept tucking it -back with the patience of absent-mindedness. - -"You can't imagine how good these cakes are, my dear. They are my very -favorites, though I know I shouldn't eat so many myself. I'm afraid I'm -going to be a very fat old lady." - -"Then we'll put you in the window as an advertisement." - -Aunt Gertrude thought this a huge joke. - -"But what will people think when they see you, my dear? We'll have to -get you fatter, too. Then people will say, 'Do you see that fine, stout, -rosy, cheerful man? Well, once he was as thin as a poker. Winkler's -Pastry gave him that lovely figure.'" - -At the end of twenty minutes she had finished kneading and rolling the -dough, and with a sigh of relief, turned to Paul. - -"There now, you see exactly how it is done, don't you?" - -But Paul did not answer. With a stub of charcoal which he had fished -from his pocket, the future baker was sketching busily on the smooth -round top of a flour barrel. Aunt Gertrude's mouth opened in speechless -indignation. - -"Tut! what are you doing?" - -Paul looked up. Then, seeing Mrs. Lambert's face, he began to laugh. - -"Well, you told me to watch you, Aunt Gertrude. I've been watching you. -Why are you cross?" - -"But is that any way to do?" demanded Mrs. Lambert, clasping her hands -with a gesture of indignant reproach. "Here I've been working and -working, and there you sit, you bad boy--what are you drawing?" - -Here her curiosity got the better of her annoyance, and she peered over -his shoulder. The hasty sketch, which had been executed with a skill -that Aunt Gertrude could not fully appreciate, showed a woman with her -arms in a basin of dough--Aunt Gertrude herself, in fact. In -arrangement, and in the freedom and vigor of every line, the rough -picture gave evidence of really exceptional talent. Aunt Gertrude tried -to look like a connoisseur. - -"Now, that is very clever. Where did you learn to make pictures?" - -Paul shrugged his shoulders. - -"I don't know." - -Then Aunt Gertrude, suddenly remembering the business in hand, put on a -severe expression. - -"That is all very well; but what have you learned to-day from me? -Nothing! I have wasted my time! Oh, you are--" - -"There, Aunt Gertrude,--I know all about those old cakes. Please just -let me--" - -"Old cakes, indeed!" - -"Beautiful, wo-onderful cakes, then. Please just let me finish this, -like a nice good aunt. And then, I'll tell you what--I'll finish it in -colors, and I'll give it to you. You haven't any idea how lovely you are -to draw, Aunt Gertrude--you're so nice and round." - -Aunt Gertrude tried not to simper; she was as susceptible to flattery as -a girl of sixteen, and found it impossible to resist even when she knew -perfectly that she was being cozened. - -"What nonsense!" But nonetheless she resumed her position at the bowl of -dough again, and Paul chatted artfully, to distract her thoughts from -his lesson in cooking, while he hastily completed the sketch. - -From that afternoon on, there was no longer the slightest shadow of -constraint between aunt and nephew. But Paul was very slow to drop his -aloof curt manner with the rest of the family, and except for Mrs. -Lambert and Granny none of them had penetrated his shell. - -Carl had by no means lost his dislike of his cousin, and indeed he was -not entirely to blame. To begin with he inspired Paul with an -uncontrollable desire to annoy him, and when he felt like it, Paul had a -perfect genius for irritating people. He had found all the joints in -Carl's armour, and he took a thoroughly infuriating delight in probing -him in every unguarded spot. Every now and again, Carl would adopt a -peculiar, affected accent in his speech, and would use very grand -language; then Paul would mimic him perfectly gravely, until Carl was -fairly writhing with suppressed rage. Again, Carl was rather given to -boasting about himself in an indirect way, and Paul would promptly cap -these little bursts of vanity with some outrageous story about -_himself_, making himself out the hero of some high-flown adventure, and -modestly describing his own feats of strength until Carl, who could not -decide whether his cousin was serious or slyly making fun of him, came -at length to the opinion that Paul was the most insufferable braggart -that ever lived. He was particularly vulnerable on this point, because -he had, secretly, a great admiration of physical strength and courage, -and Paul's superiority to him in these qualities had much to do with his -dislike. - -As the weeks went on, the twins were next to lose their timidity with -their strange cousin. He teased them fearfully, and tweaked their yellow -pig-tails, and told them they looked like a pair of little butter balls; -but on Saturday nights, while Elise read "Ivanhoe" aloud, and the family -gathered around the big fireplace in the dining room, he used to make -them the most wonderful paper dolls, beautifully drawn and colored, and -in the greatest variety; mediaeval ladies and knights, brigands, Italian -and Rumanian peasants, and hosts of comic ones; until Minie and Lottie -finally came to regard him as quite the most enchanting and remarkable -member of the family. - -Jane, however, was still neutral; she neither liked nor disliked him, -and was perfectly indifferent as to whether he liked or disliked her. - -And meanwhile, under Aunt Gertrude's guidance, he struggled, more -manfully than successfully with the difficult art of baking cakes and -bread. It cannot be said that he showed the slightest signs of the gift -which Mr. Lambert believed that Johann Winkler had bequeathed to all his -descendants; and so far not one of his attempts had been fit to go into -the shop. His bread was as heavy as lead, his rolls were like sticks of -dynamite, his cakes invariably scorched, or had too much baking soda in -them. - -Notwithstanding the fact that he really tried hard to learn, as much to -please his aunt as for any other reason, and cheerfully rose before -daylight on those wintry mornings to knead his dough, and see that the -ovens were properly heated, Mr. Lambert chose to believe that his nephew -was deliberately trying _not_ to be successful; and seeing in Paul's -repeated failures a sly rebellion against his plans, he became more and -more out of humour with the boy. - -"See here, young man, how long is this business going to go on?" he -demanded at length, losing patience altogether. "All of us have got to -earn our own salt. I'm not a rich man, and I simply can't afford to -provide for a big, strapping boy who can't even learn a simple trade--" - -"'A little patience, Uncle--'" quoted Paul serenely. Mr. Lambert -flushed. - -"You are impudent. Patience, indeed. I have been patient. But I feel -that it is high time that you proved yourself in earnest, or at least -told me frankly whether you intend to make yourself of some use or not." - -Paul thought for a moment, then he said slowly, - -"Uncle, I _am_ trying to learn this confounded business. There is no use -in getting angry with me--it isn't my fault if I don't succeed. Ask Aunt -Gertrude whether I've worked hard or not. But I don't want to be a -burden to you--you've been very kind, and I should hate to feel that you -think I'm simply sponging on you. If you aren't satisfied with me, -please just say so." - -"Oh, come now, my boy, there's nothing to take offense about," said Mr. -Lambert hastily, changing his tactics immediately. "It merely occurred -to me that _you_ were not satisfied, and to urge you, if that is the -case, to speak out frankly." - -Paul hesitated. During the last three or four weeks he had been -repeatedly on the point of coming to an understanding with his uncle, -and had put it off, certain that it would not be an "understanding" at -all, but simply a good old-fashioned row. There was not one chance in a -hundred that Mr. Lambert could be made to understand his ideas or -sympathize with them in the least, and Paul, financially, as well as in -other ways, was too helpless to struggle just then. At the same time, it -had occurred to him, that from one point of view, he was not acting -fairly. He was ashamed of accepting Mr. Lambert's hospitality when, -plainly, it was extended to him only on the condition that he conformed -with Mr. Lambert's wishes, and when he had not the slightest intention -of fulfilling his uncle's desires. - -"It's a pretty shabby trick, and cowardly too, to live here until I get -ready to do what I want, when all of them are depending on my being a -fixture. It would be better to put the whole business up to uncle, and -stand my ground openly. Then, if he wants to kick me out, he can." - -Paul reached this decision in the pause that followed Mr. Lambert's last -remark, during which his uncle eyed him narrowly. - -"I see that you are deliberating," said Mr. Lambert, coldly. "Again let -me urge you to be frank." - -"Very well, sir. I will!" declared Paul impetuously. "I'll be telling -you very little more than I told you when I first came. I can never -learn to be a baker. You can see that for yourself. And what's more, it -isn't as if I hadn't tried. I don't want charity, and I thought that if -for a while I could be of some help to Aunt Gertrude, it might be one -way of paying for my board and lodging. And that's why--whatever you may -think--I've done my best to learn how to make all this stuff. But it's -no use. I never can be a baker, and _I don't want to be a baker_!" - -"Ah!" said Mr. Lambert, leaning back in his chair. "I thought that was -how the land lay." He was silent for a moment, and then, carefully -plucking a thread from the buttonhole in his lapel, he inquired. - -"And what _do_ you want to be?" - -"I want to be--" ("Here's where the music starts," thought Paul), "I -want to be a painter." - -Mr. Lambert looked as if a cannon had suddenly been discharged in his -ear. For fully thirty seconds he was quite speechless; then pulling -himself together, he articulated, - -"A _what_?" - -"A painter," Paul repeated. - -"Do you mean a house-painter, or--" here Mr. Lambert raised his eyes to -the ceiling as if invoking the mercy of the gods upon this benighted -youth, "or an _artist_?" - -"I'm afraid I mean an artist, sir." - -"A person who," Mr. Lambert went through a tragic pantomime of painting -in the air, "who paints _pictures_?" - -"Yes," said Paul briefly. - -There was a long pause while Mr. Lambert struggled to assimilate this -preposterous idea. At last a tolerant, half-pitying smile spread over -his features. - -"My dear boy, we all have foolish notions in our youth. You will get -over this nonsense. Meanwhile, be so good as never to mention it to me -again." And without another word, he left the room. - -"Well!" said Paul aloud, "I certainly didn't accomplish much. Where do I -stand, anyhow?" Again the picture of the cross-roads rose in his mind, -again the thought of the city. - -"Here I am, just because I didn't have the _nerve_ to make a break for -the other direction," he thought bitterly, recalling his ignominious -attempt at flight, "because I was afraid of being cold and hungry, and -now, I'm in a worse fix than I was before." For while he cared very -little about his uncle's opinions, he had grown to love his aunt, and -the thought of disappointing her hopes troubled him deeply. - -Well, at least his uncle knew his intentions. If he did not choose to -regard them seriously, that was his own affair. Paul decided to let -matters take their own course for a while. - -Now, as a matter of fact, Mr. Lambert considered his nephew's -declaration a great deal more seriously than he appeared to. He knew -just enough about people to realize quite clearly that there was a good -likelihood of Paul's _not_ getting over his absurd notions; but he was -quite determined that they should be suppressed with a firm hand. He -made no reference whatever to their conversation, and continued to act -as if Paul's expostulation had never been uttered, but at the same time -he was keenly alert to note any further symptoms that Paul still -harbored his outlandish, preposterous, ridiculous, and treasonable idea. - -It was not long before he discovered that these symptoms were very -alarming indeed. - -One Sunday afternoon early in December, he returned from a two days' -trip to Allenboro to find his family gathered in the dining room, -indulging in a general spirit of gaiety, which in Mr. Lambert's opinion -was exceedingly out of place on the Sabbath. He was strongly persuaded -in favor of the most rigid observation of Sunday, not as a day of rest, -but of strenuous inactivity. All out of door games were forbidden, any -books not of the most serious character were sternly prohibited, and -laughter was frowned upon by the worthy old merchant, who ruled his -household with a rod of iron. Furthermore, he had not accomplished all -that he had wished at Allenboro, and he was in no very genial humour to -begin with. What were his feelings, therefore, when, appearing in the -doorway, tall and formidable in his burly overcoat, and wide-brimmed -black felt hat, he discovered his family enjoying themselves in defiance -of every rule of Sabbath decorum and solemnity. - -The twins were popping corn over the fire, Granny was _knitting_! While -over by the window, Elise, Jane and Aunt Gertrude were grouped around -Paul, all talking at once, and apparently in great excitement. What they -were talking about, and exclaiming over, Mr. Lambert did not know. The -window shade was run up as far as it would go, admitting the wintry -twilight, and under the window, propped against the back of a chair was -an object which looked like the top of a flour barrel. Paul, evidently -in a most unfamiliarly happy and animated frame of mind, was talking -vivaciously. - -"You see, if I only had some decent colors! But it's not so bad, either. -What it needs, now--" here he broke off abruptly, as Mr. Lambert, with a -loud, and threatening "Ha-hum!" announced his presence. - -Everyone turned around with as much consternation, as if they had been -caught conspiring to rob a bank, and blank, guilty silence fell over the -room. - -"Ah!" said Mr. Lambert. He allowed his displeasure to show very plainly -in his face, through the chilly smile with which he received his wife's -timid kiss. - -"Elise, will you take my coat?" - -"You are cold, Peter. Do get warm, while I see about supper," said Aunt -Gertrude hastily. - -"But I am anxious to see what it is that interests you all so much," -said Mr. Lambert, walking over to the window. Paul, with a rather -defiant expression, stepped aside to allow his uncle a full view of the -picture. - -"You have been painting? My dear boy, you must know that I cannot allow -you to indulge in such frivolous pastimes on this day of the week," said -Mr. Lambert calmly. "Gertrude, I am surprised that you allowed this -infringement of our rules." Poor Aunt Gertrude blushed red under this -reproof, and stammered like a school-girl. - -"But, Peter, I didn't know--you never said--" - -Mr. Lambert checked her with a slight gesture; then adjusting his -glasses, leant forward to inspect the painting, while Paul, with his -hand on his hip, looked dreamily out of the window. Granny, who was -rather deaf, had been very little disturbed, and went on brazenly with -her knitting. Elise had hastened out to the kitchen to help her mother; -but Jane, intensely interested in the proceedings, stood her ground, -looking keenly from Paul's face to her father's. - -"You have been painting your aunt, I see," remarked Mr. Lambert, -presently. "It seems to me that an occupation more suitable to the -Sabbath could have been found." He looked at the picture closely. -Ignorant as he was of anything concerning the fine arts, he felt that -the painting was far from being merely a school-boyish production; and, -in fact, the very skill it revealed increased his determination to put -an end to his nephew's efforts once and for all. He did not overlook the -fact that in lieu of proper materials Paul had made a surprisingly -successful use of a piece of raw wood, and a few mediocre oil paints--a -rather bad sign, in Mr. Lambert's opinion, showing as it did, a -dangerous tendency to surmount difficulties. Moreover, it seemed to him -that the whole thing showed a stubborn, deliberate disobedience to his -orders. He was very angry, too angry to act with tact and good judgment. - -Straightening up, with a flush showing on his cheekbones, he said -abruptly, - -"I thought I had expressed myself clearly to you before; but evidently I -did not make myself understood. I cannot and I will not have you wasting -your time on this tom-foolery. While you are in my house, you must obey -my orders implicitly, do you understand?" - -"You only told me not to--" - -"Don't argue with me, sir! I will not tolerate your disrespect! Let it -be enough for you that I forbid--I _forbid_ your idling over this -useless and childish nonsense." - -Without a word, Paul began to gather together his few brushes and tubes -of paint, but when he started to leave the room with his picture, Mr. -Lambert stopped him peremptorily. - -"Leave those things just where they were, please." Paul did as he was -told. - -"You'll throw them out, uncle?" - -"Kindly learn to obey without asking questions!" - -All that day, Jane had seen her cousin gay, full of good spirits, -utterly unlike the moody, disagreeable boy that he had been for so long; -but now the old, hard, obdurate expression came into his face. - -"These things are mine, uncle," he said, quietly. - -"Indeed? The top of that flour barrel?" inquired Mr. Lambert, pointing -to the picture. Paul hesitated for a moment, and then with a slight -shrug, put it down again on the chair. - -"No, that is yours," he said, and walked out of the room. - -Mr. Lambert took the picture, looked at it for a moment or two, as if -uncertain whether it too, were guilty of some heinous crime against his -rule; then, he took it; but instead of breaking it in two, placed it -quite carefully behind his desk. - -Paul did not appear at supper; but Mr. Lambert preferred not to notice -his absence. Everyone was aware that civil war was brewing in the -household, and with varying degrees of curiosity or anxiety, made their -private conjectures as to what the future would develop in the way of -open hostilities or amicable compromise between uncle and nephew. - -It was at about half-past ten that night, that Jane, who was rarely in -bed at the prescribed time, happened to remember that Elise had left -"Ivanhoe" on the dining room mantel piece; she felt also, that an apple -or two was just what she wanted to subdue a certain mild emptiness. The -household was perfectly still, and so, taking off her slippers, she -stole down-stairs in her stocking feet, to get her book, and rummage in -the larder. - -There was still a faint glow of firelight in the dining room. - -Half-way to the kitchen door she stopped, arrested by a movement in the -room, and with her heart beating violently, peered about her. Then she -saw that someone was sitting in Granny's chair. For a moment, she could -not move a muscle, then, mustering up her courage, she quavered, - -"Who--who is that?" - -The figure in the chair gave a violent start, then with a little laugh -Paul's voice said, - -"Is that you, Jane?" - -"Oh, _Paul_!" Jane gave a great sigh of relief. - -"Did I frighten you?" Paul asked, getting up. - -"Well, you _startled_ me," said Jane, who had always maintained that she -was not afraid of ghosts or burglars--never having met a sample of -either. "What are you doing?" - -"Nothing," said Paul. "What are _you_ doing?" - -"I want some food," said Jane, succinctly. "Do you?" - -"I'm not very hungry. What are you going to get?" - -"Well, if there's enough wood there to fix up the fire a little, I could -make some cocoa. It's awfully cold in here." - -Paul picked up a stout log and flung it onto the smouldering ashes, and -in a few moments, a bright flame crackled up, sending its ruddy light -into every corner of the room. - -Everyone is familiar with the exquisite feeling of sympathy, which food, -produced at just the right moment, can excite between the most hostile -natures, and over their cups of cocoa, Jane and Paul, who had never been -really hostile, began to see each other in a new light. For the first -time they talked with unguarded friendliness, and gradually Paul became -more confiding, and Jane listened with her usual eager interest. - -At first he talked about his life with his father, his wanderings, and -strange adventures, without however, the least exaggeration or the -braggadocio with which he had teased and disgusted Carl. It was not -strange that Jane, who had never seen any part of the world save the few -square miles of earth, bounded by the hills of Frederickstown, listened -to his stories of foreign seas and foreign lands as if she were -bewitched. - -Never before had Paul talked to any of them about himself or his past -life; loquaciousness on any subject was not one of his characteristics -and concerning his own affairs he had been particularly reticent; but -now it was as if he could no longer smother down all that was pent up -within him. In the presence of his sympathetic listener, his words now -fairly tumbled over each other, and his face grew tight and weird with -earnestness and enthusiasm. - -At length Jane asked him, - -"You don't want to live here and take over the business after all, do -you?" - -"Ah, Janey, what kind of a baker would I make?" responded Paul, smiling -half-sadly. - -"You want to be an artist?" - -"Yes. Don't think that I expected to have everything just as I wanted -it. Naturally I knew that I would have to work here. I have no money. -You don't imagine that I expected Uncle to plant me comfortably in some -art school, and support me while I went through years of study? I -planned, do you see, to work at anything that I could make enough to -repay Uncle for boarding me, and to save a little so that in five or six -years even, I could manage to study. I hadn't any idea of looking for -help to anyone but myself, and as a matter of fact, I very nearly went -on to the city to look for work instead of plumping myself on uncle. But -I didn't.--I _did_ happen to be 'broke,' and the city was thirty miles -away, and then I hoped that uncle would advise me. I had no one else to -turn to, and it seemed natural to come to him. Then, when I got here, I -found that everything had been arranged for me. What I was to do was all -mapped out--for my whole life--and I hadn't a word to say about it. And -what was more, Uncle won't let me mention having plans of my own. And -to-day--well, you were here--he forbade my even playing with paints, 'As -long as I am in his house.' Don't think that I am criticizing him, -Janey. No doubt he is doing exactly what he thinks is best--but what am -I to do? Will you tell me that? I've been sitting here thinking and -thinking, and the only answer seems to be for me to get up and go." - -Jane was silent. - -"Oh, I _do_ understand uncle's point of view perfectly. I was awfully -angry to-day, but I've tried to look at it reasonably, and I can see why -it seems like rot to him. Thousands of boys of my age have crazy ideas -about what they think they want to do, and thousands of them think -differently as soon as they've got some sense. And Uncle thinks, I -guess, that I'll do the same. If I could only _show_ him how much it -means to me! If I could only show him that I've got something in me -besides a lot of high-falutin notions! I _have_ tried to learn how to -bake cakes. But I'll never learn in this world. Even Aunt Gertrude has -given up on me, and she knows that I haven't loafed on the job, either. -I've been pummelling dough every day at five in the morning for the last -six weeks, and still not a single roll has turned out decently. - -"But Uncle won't hear of my getting any other job, all because of this -idiotic tradition about the Winklers. I never heard of--" he broke off -and began to pace up and down the room, while Jane sat silently nibbling -her thumb-nail. - -"Well, what shall I do?" he demanded presently--"_You_ suggest something -Janey, you're a wise little worm." This sincere, if rather inelegant -tribute brought a pleased smile to Jane's face. "What would you do if -you were in my boots?" - -Jane meditated a moment; then she said, - -"Well, I wouldn't get up and go--yet. I'd wait and see." - -"Wait and see what?" Paul rapped out a little impatiently, and frowning -as if this piece of advice were not exactly to his taste. But Jane was -unmoved. - -"I'd wait and see--lots of things. First of all, you _might_ find that -you don't care as much about painting pictures as you think you do." -This observation surprised and angered Paul, and his face showed it. His -startled, resentful look said plainly, "I thought that _you_ understood -me!" But Jane neither retracted nor explained. "And then," she went on, -calmly, "Daddy _might_ change his mind a little, if you took good care -not to make him angry about unimportant things--especially about -squabbling with Carl. And last of all, it's just barely possible that -another Winkler _might_ turn up--you never _can_ tell." - -Paul stared at her for fully thirty seconds in absolute silence. Then he -honored these sage remarks with a contemptuous grunt. - -"Well, that helps a lot I must say," he said, sarcastically. "If I -waited for any one of those things to happen, I'd be pounding dough -until doomsday! Thanks!" and with that he turned away and resumed his -restless promenade around the room. Jane shrugged her shoulders. A -rather long and chilly pause followed. Paul was disappointed in her; but -his silent indignation seemed to trouble her very little, and after a -while, he threw a cold glance at her. But she was sitting with her back -toward him, and so he felt the need of rousing her attention in another -way. - -"You think, I may not care about painting as much as I think I do?" - -"Maybe, maybe not. I said, _I'd_ wait and see," returned Jane placidly. - -"Humph. And you think Uncle might change his mind?" - -"He might." - -"And what chance is there of another Winkler showing up, I'd like to -know? One in ten thousand!" - -"It _might_ be better than that." Paul sat down on the edge of the -table, and glowered at the back of her head. Then gradually a slow, -unwilling grin broke over his face. - -"You're a nice one to preach patience!" - -"Oh, I'm quite patient _sometimes_." - -"Well, look here--I'll wait and see, then. But I'll tell you one -thing--if things don't begin to get different pretty soon, I'm off!" - -"All right," said Jane, getting up. Paul stood up, too. Then suddenly he -held out his hand. - -"Listen, Janey--please don't mind me when I get rough and short. You've -got more sense than I have, and I need someone to talk to like the -dickens." - -"_I've_ got more sense than _you_ have, Paul!" repeated Jane, sincerely -amazed. "How can you say that? Why, you're the most--the most clever -person I ever knew in my life!" - -Nothing cements friendship like mutual admiration; but Jane felt -something warmer and better than mere admiration, as she put her hand -into Paul's big paw; she felt that rare, happy pleasure that is stirred -in a responsive young soul when it is first called upon to give sympathy -and help; and their firm handclasp sealed a friendship that was to last -to the end of their lives. - - - - -CHAPTER VII--GIRLS - - -Half a dozen feminine tongues babbled cheerfully. For once the Deacon's -chilly parlor, with its slippery, horse-hair furniture, its -stiff-featured portraits, and its big, black square piano, had lost a -little of its funereal aspect, and a great deal of its oppressive -neatness. Over the chairs, over the Brussels carpet, over the bow-legged -table were scattered pieces of bright sateen, blue, red, orange and -black, scraps of lace and gold tinsel, spangles and feathers. A coal -fire glowed amiably in the grate, adding a deeper color to six blooming -faces, and flashing on the bright needles that were so industriously -plied. Outside, the first heavy snow of the winter was falling, in big, -lazy flakes, which had already covered streets and roofs, and weighted -the twigs and branches of the trees. - -"Well, I've got every one of my Christmas presents ready," remarked one -young lady with a comfortable sigh of relief. "I start making them in -June, but somehow I never get done until the _last_ minute." - -"I just never try to make mine," said another, "I take a day, and buy -all of them in the city, when I go to visit Cousin Mary. It saves time -and trouble, and _I_ think it's really more economical." - -"Oh, but then they don't have the personal touch," said a third, a tall, -thin anaemic-looking girl, with large, soulful eyes, and a tiny mouth. -"And that is what counts. It's what makes Christmas presents mean -something. I always say that I never think of the gift, but of the -thought of the giver." - -"But you make such clever things, Amelia," said the one who bought her -Christmas presents, feeling ashamed of her lack of sentiment. - -"Very simple things, Dolly," said Amelia, rinsing off her watercolor -brush, and then dabbing it in a square of holly-red paint. "But I think -that just a little card, with a tasteful design, and an appropriate -verse is a very suitable way of expressing the spirit of Christmas." - -"And quite right, my dear," boomed in Mrs. Deacon, appearing in the -doorway. "But then you have such a charming gift of poesy. Not all of us -are blessed with _your_ magniloquence." She lifted one of Amelia's -cards, and inspected it, through a pair of lorgnettes, which she held -about six inches from her eyes, spreading out her little finger. "_How_ -charming! How effete with taste! Lily, my dear, you too should try to -emulate Amelia's Christmastide mementos. You are not entirely devoid of -poetic genius. Why, I have many little emblems of your youthful flights -of fancy--where is that album, my dear?" - -"Oh, mamma!" cried Lily, blushing crimson. "Those silly poems of mine!" - -"Indeed they are not silly," said Mrs. Deacon, rummaging in the drawer -of the table. "No, the album is not here. Lily, my dear, when will you -remember that everything has its proper place? Now, I did want to read -Amelia that delightful little Bandeau of yours on the Pine-Tree. She -would be interested, I'm sure. And the Album is not here. Perhaps -though, I put it away myself." - -"Oh, mamma, don't get it now," begged Lily, overcome with embarrassment, -adding, desperately, "Do look at the lovely thing Elise is making." - -Mrs. Deacon, huge and majestic in her rustling black silk, turned her -lorgnette on Elise's exquisite embroidery. - -"Charming. Absolutely charming. Do not rise, my dear. Well, I see that -you are all happily occupied. What are these gay colors?" she asked -presently, indicating the pieces of sateen. - -"Oh, I brought some things that I thought might do for costumes, Mrs. -Deacon," said Annie Lee Webster. "For our party you know, on New Year's -Eve." - -"Ah! A Masquerade? How charming." - -"What are you going as, Amelia?" asked the fourth girl, the lively, -apple-cheeked Dolly Webster. The poetess looked up dreamily. - -"As Sappho," she replied. Mrs. Deacon looked astonished, and interested. - -"Sappho, my dear? How will you do that? Sappho was a race-horse!" - -There was an irrepressible chuckle from the window embrasure, where, -concealed by the long, dark-red curtains, Jane was curled, with a book, -and a half-sucked orange. - -Mrs. Deacon turned swiftly, her lorgnette levelled on the younger Miss -Lambert like a microscope. - -"Ah, Jane!" she observed a little coldly. Jane stood up respectfully, -concealing her vulgar orange under her pinafore. "What are you laughing -at, my dear?" asked Mrs. Deacon suspiciously. - -"I thought it would be funny for Amelia to go as a race-horse," replied -Jane, simply, quite at her ease under Mrs. Deacon's prolonged stare. -Amelia, who took herself very seriously, and hated to appear in a -ridiculous light even for a moment, said rather indignantly, - -"A race-horse! Sappho was a poetess." - -"Ah, of course!" said Mrs. Deacon hastily, "that will be charming. And -_so_ well chosen. How will you signify yourself?" - -"I am going to wear a simple Grecian robe of white muslin, with laurel -leaves in my hair. And I shall carry a lyre," replied Amelia. "I thought -I would let my hair hang loose." - -"Ravishing! Simply ravishing!" cried Mrs. Deacon in perfect raptures. -"So simple. And after all, is there anything like simplicity?" - -"How will you get a lyre?" asked the practical Annie Lee. - -"I shall try to make one out of card-board and gold paper." - -"Or you could borrow old Mr. Poindexter's banjo," suggested Jane, -gravely. "That would really be better, because you _could_ twang on it." - -Amelia did not deign to reply to this remark. - -"What are you going to wear, Lily?" Elise put in hurriedly, throwing a -reproving look at Jane. - -Lily glanced at her mother. - -"I wish I could go as--as a Spanish dancer!" she said timidly. - -"A Spanish dancer, Lily!" cried Mrs. Deacon. "Indeed I could not permit -anything of the sort! No. But it seems to me that it would be very -delightful if you should affect a character very similar to Amelia's. -Why would it not be sweet for you to go together as the Two Muses, the -one fair, the other brunette, representing, as it were, the poetical -talent of Frederickstown? I would suggest, too, that each of you recite -some little poem of her own composition. Lily, I must find that album." -And with this, Mrs. Deacon hastened from the room. - -Lily looked distressed. She was terribly shy, and the thought of having -her poor little verses publicly read and appraised, dyed her smooth -face, with one of her frequent blushes. - -"I _would_ like to go as a Spanish Dancer, though," she said, presently, -biting off a thread with her little white teeth, "I don't know why, but -I do. I'd like to wear a comb in my hair, and a black fan, and _scarlet -heels_!" - -"You'd look lovely. I'm sure if you beg hard, your mother would let -you," wheedled Annie Lee. Lily shook her head. - -"I don't think so. And I'm afraid mamma thinks its awfully bold of me -even to think of such a thing." - -"There's nothing bold about a Spanish dancer. Just dashing," said Dolly. - -"But Lily isn't at all dashing," remarked Amelia. - -"I want to be, though," said Lily suddenly. "I'd like to be very, very -dashing just for once in my life. I want to know what it feels like. I'm -sick of being demure and lady-like. Yes, I am! And I want to wear a comb -in my hair and scarlet heels." The color rose in her cheeks, and her -blue eyes shone with a rebellious light. "I--I want to--to _flirt_!" - -"Lily!" cried Amelia, in pained astonishment, "why, whatever is the -matter with you? You want to _flirt_? Why, I never heard of such a -thing. You, of all people! Why, flirting is beneath you!" - -"Oh, no, it's not!" returned Lily, audaciously. "Do you think it's -beneath _you_?" - -"Of course it's beneath Amelia," interrupted Dolly, whose brown eyes -were twinkling, "Amelia's too intellectual to care about anything like -that, aren't you?" - -Amelia hesitated. - -"I think that flirting is very trivial," she said at length, in her -superior way, "and no flirt ever wins a man's solid respect. My -brother-in-law says that every man really cares more about good sense, -even though he may show a passing interest in frivolous people." - -"I don't care what your brother-in-law thinks," returned Lily, with a -spirit that astounded her friends. "_I_ feel like flirting. I'm tired of -being sensible. I want to be gay, and--and _dangerous_." - -"Amelia, you make me weary," said Dolly; "you pretend you aren't the -least bit interested in beaux, but I know that you pose as being -intellectual, just to--well, because you think it's one way of -attracting 'em! And why are you going as Sappho if it isn't to show off -your long hair?" - -A titter of mirth greeted this observation, which struck everyone but -Amelia as being remarkably astute. - -"Come on, Lily--let's just see how you _would_ look in a Spanish -costume," coaxed Annie Lee. "We can use this yellow stuff for a skirt. -Has anybody got a black lace scarf and a comb?" - -"I have," said Lily, herself. "I got them about four years ago and I've -had them hidden in my lowest bureau drawer ever since. I knew I never -could use them, but I couldn't resist them. I--I put them on sometimes -when I'm alone, just to see what I look like. Aren't I silly?" - -"Go and get them," commanded Annie Lee. But at that moment, Mrs. Deacon -reappeared. - -"Now here is the album," she announced. "I just want to read you these -few little things that I think perfectly dear, Amelia. You with your -veins of poesy will appreciate them." - -"Oh, mamma, _please_," implored the hapless Lily, turning red as fire. -"Don't! They are so _awful_!" - -"You are so modest, Lily. Now, here is a little thing that Lily wrote -when she was only fifteen, Amelia. It's called The Pinetree." And with a -preparatory "Ahem!" Mrs. Deacon proceeded to read amidst a profound -silence, - - "The Pinetree stood lonely and bare, In the ghastly--no, - ghostly, white light of the moon, And I wondered why it made me - Feel so very full of gloom. It made me think of all the friends, - Whom--Lily, dear what is this next word?" - -But Lily had fled. "That child is perfectly ridiculous," said Mrs. -Deacon, with annoyance. "Now, I think these little things are full of -poetic feeling. So melancholy, you know. Lily was quite a melancholy -child. Just look over some of these little things, Amelia, and tell me, -if you don't think they are sweet. Read the one beginning, - - "Alone, alone, why am I so alone?" - -Just as this point the clock struck four, followed by the low chimes -from the belfry of the nearby church, and Mrs. Deacon suddenly -remembered that she was due at a committee meeting at four-fifteen. - -Lily was persuaded to return, and the unfortunate subject of her "poesy" -was tactfully abandoned, and now that Mrs. Deacon's overwhelming -presence was withdrawn, the discussion of scarf and scarlet heels was -renewed. - -"We'll dress you up, anyway. And I'm sure that when she sees you Mrs. -Deacon will let you have your way," said Annie Lee. "Get all your -things, and _I'll_ direct." - -Jane, from the window embrasure, watched the proceedings with a critical -eye. Of all the older girls of the town--in fact of all the girls in -general,--the gentle Lily was her favorite. There was not an atom of -heroine-worship in her attitude; on the contrary, she felt almost older -than Lily in many ways, notwithstanding the four years difference in -their ages; and she felt rather sorry for Lily, without exactly knowing -why. Jane, so capable herself of getting what she wanted, had the -tendency of many vigorous natures, to feel a certain good-natured, -wondering contempt for weaker and timid characters; but there was -something about Lily's weakness and timidity that was so perfectly in -keeping with her delicately lovely face, with her daintiness and -maidenliness, that it was really one of her charms, a beauty in itself. - -With a sort of benevolent smile Jane observed Lily's face color with -naive pleasure, as she saw her ambition to appear "dashing and -dangerous" gradually being realized under Annie Lee's skillful -manipulation of the very simple materials at hand. - -In less than half an hour, the heavy, mahogany-framed mirror, reflected -the gayest vision that had ever peered into its mottled surface. Jane -clapped her hands delightedly. - -"_Now_ don't you like yourself!" she crowed. Annie Lee sat back on her -heels, thoroughly satisfied with her achievement. And well she might be. -The vivid yellow skirt, which looked almost exactly like real satin, had -been judiciously shortened to show the prettiest ankles in -Frederickstown, clad in a pair of black silk stockings with scarlet -clocks!--another of Lily's hidden treasures. The black lace scarf, -draped like a mantilla over the high tortoise-shell comb, fell over -Lily's slender white shoulders, and framing her face, made her skin seem -more transparent, her hair blacker, her eyes bluer, and her mouth redder -than before. Mrs. Deacon's spangled black fan had been boldly rifled -from her bureau drawer, and from the humble duty of stirring the -listless air in church on a summer morning, had been promoted to that of -fluttering coquettishly in Lily's hand. - -"If you must have scarlet heels," said Annie Lee, "you can tear the -satin off the heels of your black slippers and paint the wooden part -red." - -"You _do_ look perfectly scrumptious, Lily," said Dolly; "there isn't a -thing wrong, and you've simply got to wear that costume." - -Lily, with her closed fan laid against her lips, gazed into the mirror, -as if uncertain that the reflection that gazed back were really she, -herself. - -"I wish--" she began, and then broke off with a shame-faced, confused -little smile. - -Just then, Jane, who happened to glance out of the window to see how -deep the snow was getting, remarked, - -"There goes Mr. Sheridan. I wonder what on earth--" - -"Where?" cried a chorus of voices in great excitement, and instantly -every girl was at the window peering over each other's shoulders, and -fairly bursting with curiosity to see the eccentric young man, whose -habits had for several weeks been the subject of much speculation in -that busybody little town. Even Amelia forgot her dignity and scrambled -to see him. Lily, only, tried to appear indifferent, but without -complete success; for after a moment's hesitation, she too was peeping -out from behind the substantial Dolly. - -The object of this flattering interest was sauntering along with his -hands in his pockets, and his head bent; but presently, as if he felt -the magnetism of all this concentrated attention, he looked up to the -window. His expression of surprise,--even of indignation, as if he -resented this notice from the "feminine element"--was almost instantly -replaced by one of alertness. Jane beamed at him, and waved her hand, -and he smiled back at her and lifted his hat; but, in that brief -second--and Jane did not fail to note this--his eye travelled swiftly -over the cluster of pretty faces, and with remarkable keenness, singled -out Lily's, and again he lifted his hat, and bowed slightly. - -Jane turned quickly to see Lily blushing pink, and with an answering -smile just fading from her eyes. - -"Do _you_ know him too?" she demanded. Lily pretended not to hear. -Shrinking back, and pursing up her lips, she said primly, - -"Aren't you all ashamed of yourselves--rushing to stare at a stranger -like that, and letting him see you, too?" - -"I'd like to know why I shouldn't," said Annie Lee. "Anyone who is as -queer as he is, deserves to be stared at." - -"What's queer about him?" cried Lily, quite indignantly. - -"Well, he never goes anywhere, and never sees anyone, and lives all -alone in that big house. You may not call that queer, but _I_ do." -returned Annie Lee. - -"And he's _so_ handsome," murmured Dolly, sentimentally. "I'm sure he's -had some unhappy love-affair." - -"Pooh!" said Jane, who was not romantic, "he's no more heart-broken than -I am." - -"You know very little, as yet, concerning the secret sorrows that many -people hide," said Amelia. - -"When they hide them that's one thing," retorted Jane, "but he -advertises his like a breakfast food." Then once more she turned on -Lily, remorselessly, "Do _you_ know him, too, Miss Lily?" she repeated. - -"I? Why, n-no," said Lily, pretending to be studying her own dimpled -chin in the mirror. - -"He bowed to you," insisted Jane. - -"To me? Why, he didn't do anything of the sort!" - -"Lily Deacon!" cried Dolly, "you know very well he did! Any why are you -blushing?" - -"I'm not blushing. I don't know him. How could that be? I-I only--" - -"You only what?" - -"Why, nothing!" - -"Lily, you're concealing something!" cried Annie Lee. - -"Oh, I'm not. Don't be so silly. It isn't anything at all. Only last -Thursday, when I was coming home from Mrs. McTavish's I happened to take -a short cut through the field there, and that hateful dog that belongs -to Mr. Jenkins started to run after me, barking and growling the way he -always does. I got over the stile, but he crawled under the fence, and -followed me again. And I started to run, and he ran after me, and jumped -up at me and frightened me to death. And Mr. Sheridan happened to be -coming through the field. And he caught the dog, and told me I was a -silly to run. And that's all." - -"My _dear_!" breathed Dolly, "and is that all he said?" - -"Oh, he just asked me if I was afraid of dogs, and I said only of some. -And he said he liked them, they were so intelligent. And--and then I -said I hated cats, and he said he did too; and asked me if I liked -horses--" - -"How long did this keep up?" inquired Annie Lee. - -"There are lots of animals," said Jane. "Did you find out how he liked -cows and pigs and ducks and porcupines--" - -"I think you are all mean to laugh!" cried Lily indignantly. "It was -perfectly natural to say _something_. And he was very nice and polite." - -"And what was the dog doing meanwhile?" - -"The dog? What dog? Oh--I guess it must have gone home." - -"Well!" said Amelia, "I must say, Lily, that I think it would have been -quite enough if you had simply thanked him, and gone on your way. And -_I_ think that Mr. Sheridan should hardly have asked you if you liked -dogs when he had never been introduced to you." - -Lily, who was easily crushed, hung her head at this reproof, and did not -attempt to defend herself. Now that she thought of it in the light that -Amelia's words threw on it, it seemed nothing short of shocking that she -had spoken in such a familiar vein with a young man to whom she had -never been introduced. Why had she said anything about it? Now, it was -all spoiled, that innocent little episode, which had given her so much -pleasure just to think about. Jane, however, quickly came to her -defense. - -"How silly! I don't think anyone but a prig would be as proper as all -that." - -"Jane!" remonstrated Elise, "that isn't a very nice thing to say." - -"How do _you_ happen to know him Janey?" asked Annie Lee. - -"Oh, I called on him," replied Jane, nonchalantly. - -"_Called_ on him!" - -"Well, I thought someone ought to see what he was like. And he was very -nice. What I've been wondering is what he does with himself all the -time. He says he wants solitude, and that he doesn't want to have to see -any people, but I think that's all nonsense. _I_ think he's bored to -death with himself." - -"Do you know what?" said Annie Lee, "I'm going to ask mother to invite -him to our party. If he doesn't want to he doesn't have to come; but -everyone else in Frederickstown _is_ invited, and its all so informal -and everything, I don't see why we shouldn't ask him too. It would be -perfectly all right, because I think father knows him. I _know_ father -used to know Major Sheridan, because I've heard him talk about when they -were in the Spanish American war." - -This idea became popular immediately. Even Amelia had no objections to -make, and was in fact already making certain mental improvements on the -costume she had planned. - -But Lily was silent. Amelia's criticism of her behavior had wounded her -to the quick, and with a sober face she began quietly to take off her -finery, as if some of the fascination had evaporated from that dashing -Spanish comb, and even from the thought of scarlet heels. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII--JANE LENDS A HAND - - -Mr. Sheridan, like Achilles, had been sulking for a remarkably long -time. It is true that some men and women are able to nurse a grievance -for life; but Mr. Sheridan was too young, and too healthy not to find -himself, at the end of some eight weeks, thoroughly bored, restless and -dissatisfied with himself. He was not ready to admit this yet, however. -He believed that he had proved conclusively that it was in every way the -wisest thing to withdraw in lofty disgust from the arena of human -affairs, and while his present course of life had the charm of novelty, -he was unwilling to admit that he was possibly mistaken. For a time he -rather enjoyed the role of the misanthrope, and cynic. But it was not -his natural character, by any means, and notwithstanding the fact that -he _believed_ that he did not want to have anything to do with anyone, -he found his new role exceedingly tiresome to play day in and day out -without an audience. Peterson, who was as bored as he, and who could not -understand "what had gotten into Mr. Tim," was sour and unsympathetic; -and finding the need of someone as confidant, absolutely imperative, the -embittered recluse of five-and-twenty, resorted to writing long letters -to his one-time boon companion, Philip Blackstone, in which he poured -forth his uncomplimentary opinions of human nature, gave lengthy -descriptions of his states of mind, and accounts of his mode of living. -Phil, a hearty young man, who loved horses and dogs, who was quite -helpless without his friends, and hated writing letters, responded -tersely enough, inquiring what was the matter with him anyway. The -correspondence died out. Mr. Sheridan tried to devote himself to books, -but the long, unbroken hours of silence in the musty old library -depressed him terribly. He took long walks, and long rides for exercise, -but his own thoughts were dull company. He rode through the woods and -the idle, untilled fields of his own estate, and was struck by the -contrast between his own barren, unkempt lands with the thriving farms -of his neighbors. It occurred to him to go in for farming in the spring, -to plant corn and wheat, and to get cows and horses, to build barns and -paddocks, and to rent out part of his land to some of the thrifty, -shrewd young farmers, the newly married ones. The idea delighted him; he -wanted to talk about it, to get the opinions of some of the intelligent -land-owners of the neighborhood, and to air his own notions. But -gradually his enthusiasm waned again. He was getting lazy and listless. -Every effort seemed useless to him. He began to feel very much abused -because no one was interested in him. Miss Abbott had treated him very -badly, even Peterson was as cross with him as the old servant's good -manners would allow, Phil scolded him in his short dry letters, and -finally had stopped writing altogether, and that bright little -red-headed girl had never come to see him again. When he walked through -the town he felt abused because everyone seemed to be having a better -time than he. They all knew each other; the women stopped to chat on -their way to market, the men talked local politics and business in the -doorways of the warehouses; when he passed they touched their hats -respectfully, and stared after him curiously, as if he were something -that had dropped from another planet. He was in a chronically bad humor. -That the world in general had taken him at his word, and left him -entirely alone put him still more at odds with it, and the fact that he -knew he was living idly and uselessly put him at odds with himself. If -he had stopped to consider, he would have discovered very quickly that -he was not heart-broken as he imagined at all; he was simply angry. He -tried to excuse himself for his aimless existence by arguing that no one -cared what he did, and that it was impossible for a man to keep up his -enthusiasm about anything when there was no one to please but himself. -He told himself that everything was the fault of the heartless Miss -Abbott; but as a matter of fact if he thought a great deal about Miss -Abbott's unkind treatment, he thought surprisingly little about Miss -Abbott herself. He was quite shocked one day to discover how blurred her -very features had become in his memory. A lot of fair, curly hair--which -somehow changed to smooth black tresses when he tried to represent it in -his fancy--a rosy, coquettish face, and the arch, self-confident smile -of a girl who had begun to learn when she was less than sixteen that she -was beautiful and irresistible. But all the features of that pretty, -imperious face were indistinct, and when he tried to picture it very -clearly, he found to his dismay and amazement that he wasn't thinking of -_that_ face at all. Another one had replaced it, a shy, demure little -face, the features of which were very distinct indeed, so distinct that -he could not doubt for a moment to whom it belonged. This was rather an -alarming discovery to be made by a young man who had definitely decided -that all women were henceforth to be indignantly and strictly avoided. -And it was with dismay that he found himself repeatedly thinking about a -certain brief accidental conversation that he had had with the timid, -black-haired maiden in the field. - -"Dogs are so intelligent,"--and then they had spoken of the relative -intelligence of cats. Not a very brilliant conversation, certainly, and -it piqued him a little to think that he had not been able to say -something more interesting and original; yet the girl had listened as -intently as if every word he had uttered was a mine of wisdom. - -On the other hand, it was certainly quite possible that _all_ girls were -not as treacherous as the beautiful Miss Abbott. Here he pulled himself -up short, and displeased at his own weakness, firmly resolved not to -waste another thought on Lily. It was all the fault of that little -red-headed Jane, who had popped in on his solitude, and roused his -interest in Lily Deacon by flattering his vanity. - -One morning, early in Christmas week, Peterson brought him a note. Mrs. -Webster had couched her invitation in the ceremonious, courtly style of -her generation, reminding him of the friendship that had existed between -her husband and his uncle, and expressing her hope that he would give -them the pleasure of his company on New Year's Eve. - -After the gloomiest Christmas that he had ever spent in his life, Mr. -Sheridan's determination to avoid human society wavered feebly under -this hospitable attack; and after five or ten minutes reflection, this -hardened misanthropist sat down, and accepted Mrs. Webster's invitation -in a tone that fairly overflowed with gratitude. - -On New Year's Eve there was a full moon, a huge, silver-white disk that -flooded the whole sky with light, riding high above the happy, festive -little town. New fallen snow glistened on the roofs, lined the black -branches of the trees, and flew up in a sparkling mist from the swift -runners of the sleighs. - -All Frederickstown was bound for the Webster's big farm. The streets -were filled with the sounds of laughter, shouts, jovial singing, and the -jingling of sleigh-bells. One horse sleighs and two horse sleighs, old -ones with the straw coming through the worn felt covering of the seats, -and new ones shining with red paint and polished brass, all were crowded -with holiday-makers. All the younger people, and even many of the older -ones were in masquerade, under their burly overcoats and mufflers, and -vast entertainment was derived from trying to guess who was who, as one -sleigh passed another, the occupants waving and shouting. And it was -amusing to see that of the older people, it was usually the most serious -and sedate who wore the most comic disguises, and the most grotesque -masks; evidently bent upon showing for once in the year that they too -had not forgotten how to frolic. There was old Mr. Pyncheon, with green -pantaloons appearing from beneath his great bearskin coat, and a huge -red false nose hiding his own thin, impressive eagle's beak; there was -grave, bearded Professor Dodge with red Mephistophelean tights on his -lean nobby limbs, spryly tucking Miss Clementina into his little -single-seated sleigh. (Miss Clementina, aged fifty-two, was representing -"Spring," in pink tartalan with yards of green cotton vine leaves, and -bunches of pink cotton roses garlanding her spare, bony little figure, -though at present this delightfully symbolical costume was hidden under -piles of cosy-jackets, mufflers, veils and cloaks.) And lastly, there -was Mr. Lambert himself, representing a mediaeval astrologer, with a -black sateen robe ornamented with silver-paper stars and crescents, a -long white beard held in place with black tape, and a great pointed cap -nearly a yard high. The entire Lambert family, by no means excluding -either Granny or the twins was packed into the big three-seated sleigh. -Mr. Lambert mounted in front, with Aunt Gertrude beside him, and Minie -between them, snapped his whip in a positively dashing fashion, and off -lumbered the two fat old horses. Sledges flew out from the side lanes, -joining the lively procession, and of course there were races and near -accidents, and once indeed the Todd's sleigh overturned into a big drift -depositing most of its occupants head downwards into the snow. - -"There's Miss Lily, right in front of us!" cried Jane, "and I do believe -that she's wearing her Spanish costume after all!" - -The Deacons, mother and daughter, were in fact being driven along by old -Mr. Buchanan, who had gallantly placed its sleigh at the service of the -two ladies. At the same time, to judge from Mrs. Deacon's face, there -seemed to be some reason for uneasiness in the chesterfieldian old man's -very zeal. He was an ardent, if not an exactly comfortable driver; he -shouted to his horses and the two lean, shaggy animals alternately -stopped short, and leapt forward with terrific suddenness and speed; and -at each jolt, Mrs. Deacon groaned in suppressed alarm. She had begun to -suspect that her escort had already been celebrating the coming New -Year, and, indeed, it was not unlikely; for the poor old bachelor was as -noted for his convivial temperament as for his gallantry. - -"Pray, Mr. Buchanan, would it not be as well to drive less rapidly?" -suggested Mrs. Deacon, as casually as she could. But Mr. Buchanan would -not hear of this; he felt that she hinted at a veiled doubt as to his -ability for managing his fiery steeds. - -"Have no fears, ma'am. You may place entire confidence in me, ma'am. I -may seem reckless--and there's dash of the old Harry in my nature, I -won't deny--but there ain't a man in Frederickstown, I may say in the -whole _county_, ma'am, as understands this team of horses like me. Why I -was drivin' this here Jerry and Tom afore you was born, -Miss--er--ma'am;--it's the living truth. Why, they are like my own -children--they love me, and I l-o-ove them, like they was my own -brothers!" And the tenderness of his emotion so wrought upon Mr. -Buchanan's spirit, that large tears stood in his childish blue eyes. It -cannot be said that even these assurances calmed Mrs. Deacon's fears; -but if to her that five mile drive was a thing of sudden alarms and -constant terrors, to Lily it was an unmixed delight. It was not often -that Lily was able to take part in the various merry-makings of the -town; there always seemed to be so many other things for her to do, and -she was far oftener spending her hours in company with her mother's -serious-minded friends than with the lively boys and girls of her own -age. She attended innumerable meetings of the Ladies' Civic Uplift -Society, she made innumerable red flannel petticoats with -feather-stitched hems for little heathen girls, she prepared innumerable -sandwiches for various parish entertainments, she made innumerable calls -on fretful invalids; but she did not very often find a chance to have -simply a good time. - -Now, snuggling down into a corner of the rickety old sleigh, with the -musty moth-eaten old bearskin robe pulled up to her chin, she sat lost -in complete rapture. The fresh, cold air, stinging her cheeks, the -brilliant moon, the sweetly dissonant jingling of the sleigh-bells, and -the scraps of singing carrying back from the jolly groups ahead of her, -the wide, free stretches of snow-covered fields, glistening under -moonlight so bright that one could detect a rabbit track across their -smooth expanse--all filled her with unutterable delight. She was very -glad that she hadn't gone with any of the others; then she would have -had to talk, and she wasn't ready to talk yet. It was too nice just to -be able to sit still, and enjoy it all, and think. Her thoughts must -have been pleasant ones. Pleasant? That is not the word, but then there -is no word that can describe the timid, bold, incoherent, romantic and -beautifully absurd thoughts of an eighteen-year old girl. It is enough -to say that her shining eyes were filled with them, that the dimples -came, and that when she smiled to herself, she bent her head so that no -one would be able to see that smile, and perhaps read its meaning. - -Mrs. Deacon had been persuaded to permit the Spanish costume, and under -her scarfs and furs, Lily was very dashing indeed, with the high comb, -and the clocked stockings, the spangled fan, and the scarlet heels. And -she pictured herself naively as the belle of the ball; yes, all the -young men should besiege her--but she didn't care about that in itself. -What she longed for was to appear fascinating and irresistible, just so -that--well, just so that, _he_ could see. Dolly had told her that he -would be there. Would he recognize her? Would he dance with her? Well, -it might be this way; he would see her of course, but she would pretend -not to see him, and he would think that she had forgotten all about him. -Then perhaps he might ask someone to present him, but still she would -pretend to have forgotten all about that day in the field; then he would -ask her to dance with him; but already someone would have claimed that -dance. Then--what if he did not ask her again? Suppose he should just -bow, and go away. There was a possibility. - -"What a silly girl I am!" thought Lily, unconsciously shaking her head. -Just then she was flung violently to one side, her mother half tumbling -upon her. At breakneck speed, and with a great flourish of his whip, Mr. -Buchanan had just negotiated the abrupt and difficult turn into the gate -of the Webster's farm. - -Once past the gate, a long and rather narrow road descended gradually -between two snake-fences to the hollow where the big, rambling, -comfortable old homestead stood. The road leading from the house to the -barn was illuminated with colored lanterns, which threw weird tints over -the faces of the masqueraders as they sped past. - -Already a dozen sleighs had emptied on the wooden platform in front of -the big sliding doors; already the huge room, with its high ceiling -crossed by solid rafters, was half full of people. It was gaily -decorated. Ropes of cedar entwined the rafters, branches of holly were -tacked to the walls, colored lanterns, with sly sprays of mistletoe -hanging from them, dangled from the ceiling. A huge fire blazed in a -great brick fireplace, in front of which the older men had collected to -drink a toast with Mr. Webster. And up in the erstwhile hayloft, which -now did duty as a sort of musicians' gallery, a negro band was already -playing "Old Uncle Ned," with such irresistible liveliness that many -dancers had begun to spin about the floor without having paused to take -off their heavy wraps. - -For a New Year's party at the Websters to be anything but -jolly,--superlatively merry--was an unheard of thing. Indeed it could -not have been otherwise. Theirs was quite the merriest family in the -world. To see the four big boys, with their irresistible grins, and the -two rosy-cheeked bright-eyed girls, and Mrs. Webster, a -dignified-looking woman, with a pair of twinkling eyes, and a lively -tongue, and old Mr. Webster, rotund and ruddy, was sufficient to dispose -the most melancholy soul in the world to jocund mirth. - -Around the fire the old wags were cracking jokes and recounting their -favorite anecdotes. Then the darkies, grinning from ear to ear, and -showing rows of teeth like ears of corn, struck up a Virginia Reel. - -"Ah-ha!" cried Mr. Webster. "Choose your partners, gentlemen!" and -dashing across the room, he singled out Janey. - -"Here's my girl!" and executing the most wonderful bow imaginable, he -led "his girl" out onto the floor. The Virginia reel went on at a lively -pace, and Mr. Webster, leading with the laughing and muddled Jane, -introduced the most remarkable figures, turning the dance into a sort of -pot-pourri of all the steps he had learned in his youth, including a -cake-walk and a sailor's horn-pipe. Everyone seemed to want to dance and -no one seemed to have any difficulty in finding a partner; but the two -undisputed belles of the evening were Lily Deacon and--Miss Clementina! -Yes, Miss Clementina, little and wizened and brown as a walnut proved -beyond argument her right to boast of having been once the queen of -hearts in Frederickstown; and although thirty years and more had passed -since her cheeks were rosy, and her sharp little elbows had had dimples -in them, she still had her faithful admirers, grey-haired, portly -gentlemen, a trifle stiff, and a trifle gouty, who still saw in the -wiry, black-eyed little old maid, the charmer of auld lang syne. And how -outrageously she coquetted, and how everyone applauded when she and the -professor danced a schottische together--most gracefully; the professor -spinning about, on his red legs, pointing his toes, skipping and sliding -in the lively dance with all the sprightliness of a stripling of twenty; -and Miss Clementina pirouetting and skipping along beside him, her pink -tartalan skirts swirling around her tiny little feet, and her black eyes -sparkling in her brown little face, as if saying, "Who says that _my_ -day is over!" - -But Lily held sway over the youth of the gathering. Every moment she was -dancing, light and tireless, as if there were wings on her scarlet -heels. But now and then she lost the thread of what her partner was -saying, and her blue eyes strayed shyly toward the door. Then suddenly, -the bright red color flushed up into her cheeks. - -In front of the fire, with a glass of cider in his hand, and talking to -Mr. Webster (who was at last forced to confess himself "a bit winded") -stood Mr. Sheridan. - -He seemed quite content to stand there listening to his host's -reminiscences of his uncle and the times they had had together; and to -talk about the various features of country life as compared to life in -the city; and to laugh at the droll yarns of the other old gentlemen; -and to watch the multi-colored swarm of dancers spinning about to the -lively rhythms of the negro music. But as a matter of fact, Mr. Sheridan -had, in a remarkably short time singled out one slim figure, and -followed it through the kaleidoscopic motion of the crowd. - -"Well, sir, I hope you have decided to settle down here for good," said -Mr. Webster, heartily. - -"I--I haven't exactly decided. But I shall probably be here for some -time." - -"You have a fine old place there. You don't happen to be thinking of -getting rid of any of that land of yours?" - -"It all depends," replied Mr. Sheridan vaguely. - -"Bless me!" exclaimed Mr. Webster suddenly bethinking himself of his -duties. "I'm nearly forgetting that you're not an old fellow like -myself." - -And the hospitable old soul took his guest by the arm and dragged him -off to be presented to the young ladies. - -First, Mr. Sheridan danced a lively two-step with the plump but agile -Dolly. He enjoyed it, and he enjoyed talking to Dolly, and he enjoyed -the music. - -Then Dolly, with a wicked twinkle in her eye, said, - -"I want to introduce you to one of my dearest friends." A hopeful, eager -expression came into Mr. Sheridan's face, until Dolly, greatly enjoying -his disappointment (which he hastily concealed under a pleasant smile) -betrayed him into the hands of a pallid young lady, wearing a -wilted-looking Grecian robe, and a wreath of laurel leaves in her long, -scanty, mouse-coloured hair. It was Amelia, the poetess. - -These proceedings aroused great interest in a quarter to which none of -the guests had given a thought: namely, in the hayloft, or musicians' -gallery. Here since the early part of the evening, Paul had ensconced -himself, his long legs dangling over the edge, his chin between his -hands, brooding above the jolly turmoil of the dance floor like a large, -thoughtful crow; and here several of the younger folk had joined him, -disdaining the flighty amusements of their elders, and greatly -preferring to spend their time in the more solid enjoyment of devouring -nuts and raisins and oranges. - -Jane was the latest addition to this noble company. Having ascended the -wooden ladder, she slid along the edge of the loft to Paul's side. - -"Hullo," she said. - -"Hullo," responded Paul, "been having a good time?" - -"Yes. What are you doing?" - -"Watching." - -"It's nice up here. It's near the music. You know, I'd like to learn how -to play the bassoon," said Jane. - -"Then you probably will. How would the trombone suit you? That seems -more your style." - -Jane turned up her nose at him, and then without replying focussed her -attention on the dancers below. - -Suddenly, half laughing and half annoyed she exclaimed, - -"Oh, that _is_ too mean of Dolly!" - -"What's too mean?" - -"Why--oh, she is a wicked-hearted girl!--she _knows_, just as well as I -do that the main reason Mr. Sheridan came was so that he might meet Lily -Deacon. And she's gone and tied him up with Mealy Amelia!" - -"Huh?" said Paul. - -"He'll be with Amelia until the dance is _over_!" - -"Is that your friend, Sheridan, down there? He's sort of a nice-looking -fellow," remarked Paul, condescendingly. "I thought he was about ninety. -Seems a bit glum, doesn't he?" - -"Well, you'd be, too, if you had Amelia talking about the infinite with -you for a whole evening. I saw Dolly introduce him to her at least half -an hour ago, and he hasn't been rescued yet. Dolly did that on -purpose--just to tease me!" - -"To tease you? Humph, you seem to think yourself a pretty important -person, don't you?" observed Paul with a grin. - -"Well, I asked Dolly myself please to introduce him to Miss Lily as soon -as she could. I _told_ her he was very sad, and needed cheering up--and -just see what she's done!" - -"I must say you aren't very easy on Amelia. You usually seem to like -everyone. What's the matter with her?" - -"I _do_ like nearly everyone, but I _do not_ like Amelia. She's a--a -hypocrite," said Jane. "She's a _fake_. That's what I don't like about -her. I don't like people who write about the stars, and then turn around -and say mean, nasty, cattish little things just because they're jealous. -Oh, _poor_ Mr. Sheridan!" - -The object of Jane's ardent sympathy really deserved it. He was doing -his duty manfully and gallantly; but every now and then a haunted and -desperate expression came into his face, as he summoned up all his -faculties to respond to Amelia's discourse. - -She was trying, by various subtle, melancholy little observations to -make him feel that she understood that he was not a happy man, and that -he might confide in her. His only escape from this harassing -conversation was to dance with her (tripping at every second step on her -Grecian draperies) and--his only escape from the disasters of the dance -was to talk to her. - -"Paul!" said Jane in a tone of decision, "something must be done." - -"Eh?" - -"I'll tell you what. _You_ must go down, and ask Amelia to dance with -you!" - -"_What!_" - -"Yes. Now, do an unselfish act, and it shall be returned to you a -thousandfold," said Jane, unctuously. - -"Not interested in any such bargains," returned Paul. - -"Yes. Now, Paul, don't be stubborn. It'll only be for a minute. I'll ask -mother to get Daddy to go and rescue you--or Mr. Webster, or Mr. -Buchanan." - -"Can't. Thank heaven, I don't know how to dance anything but a highland -fling." - -"Well, teach Amelia how to do that. Come on, now, Paul--like a good, -delicious angel." And with that she began to tug at his arm. - -"Jane, you're going to be a horrible, horrible old woman. You're going -to be a matchmaker. You're going to make all your friends hide in ambush -when they see you coming, and you'll probably be assassinated." - -"I don't care. Come along, now--ni-ice little Paul, and teach Amelia how -to do the pretty highland fling!" And actually, so irresistible was her -determination, she coaxed the enraged Paul down the ladder, and standing -disinterestedly at a certain distance away, heard him say meekly, -according to her instructions, - -"Miss Hartshorn, may I have the pleasure of this waltz?" his voice -fading away to an anguished whisper. Mr. Sheridan, beaming with -satisfaction, professed abysmal regrets at being forced to lose his -charming partner; and then Paul, with the sweetly wan expression of an -early martyr, placed one arm around Amelia's waist, and began the -peculiar, grave capering which in his dazed condition, he believed to be -a waltz. - - - - -CHAPTER IX--"THE BEST LAID PLANS--" - - -Mr. Sheridan, turning about, suppressing a vast sigh, beheld Jane, -standing and smiling at him with her most benevolent expression. - -"Why--so there you are again! How glad I am to see you! Why haven't you -ever come to call on me? I've missed you," he said, taking her hand. His -pleasure was too sincere not to be extremely flattering. - -"I _would_ have come, only I've been pretty busy," she explained; then -her eyes twinkled. "That was Paul," she said. "You remember I told you -that he was coming. Isn't he a nice boy?" - -It was only the mischievous sparkle in her eyes that told Mr. Sheridan -that she had a double meaning. - -"A _charming_ boy!" he declared with fervor; and then he laughed -guiltily. - -"That was mean of Dolly," said Jane. - -"What was mean?" - -"To tie you up with Amelia Hartshorn." - -"Why, on the contrary, I--I thought Miss Hartshorn very agreeable," -replied Mr. Sheridan, fibbing like a gentleman. - -Jane shrugged her shoulders. - -"I was afraid that Dolly might have forgotten that you were a stranger, -and leave you with one partner for the rest of the dance. And then you'd -have been bored, and--and would have wanted solitude worse than ever." - -This remark brought first a puzzled expression and then a burst of -half-shamefaced amusement from Mr. Sheridan. - -"You evidently remember our conversation very clearly," he remarked. - -"Oh, yes, I do. I've thought about it quite often--that is, about some -of the things you said." - -"And I must add that you seem to take great interest in your friends." - -"I suppose," replied Jane with a sigh, "that _you_ think I'm an awful -busybody, too. Well, if I am I can't help it. I mean well." - -Mr. Sheridan chuckled again. He had never before met any youngster who -amused him quite as much as Jane did. - -"Was it because you brought some pressure to bear on--er--Paul that he -interrupted my dance with Miss Hartshorn?" - -"Yes," answered Jane absently. - -"You seem to find it easy to make people do what you want." - -"No, not really--not at all. I had an awful time with Paul." Then after -a short pause, she added, "I'm awfully glad you came to-night. It seems -to have cheered you up." - -"Why do you think I needed cheering up?" - -"Because you were so gloomy." - -With a smile Mr. Sheridan changed the topic by suggesting that he get -some refreshments, and to this proposition Jane assented -enthusiastically. - -"Do you remember that Miss Lily I told you about?" she inquired -casually, when she had finished her ice. "There she is." - -"The very pretty young lady in the Spanish costume?" - -"Yes. She's horribly pretty, isn't she? Would you like to dance with -her?" - -"Very much. Only I haven't had the pleasure----" - -"Oh, _I'll_ introduce you to her, if you like," interrupted Jane, -putting her plate on the window sill. - -Mr. Sheridan raised his head, and looked at Jane with a touch of -wariness. But her face was innocence itself, utterly disarming in its -childlike simplicity. - -Enormously amused, he gravely followed her across the room, to where -Lily was sitting, chatting gaily to the two Webster boys; and Jane -sedately performed the ceremony of introduction. Then, well-satisfied -with her accomplishment, and feeling that she could do no more at -present for these two, she retired to her eyrie in the hayloft, entirely -forgetful of the unhappy Paul. - -It is just possible that, as, out of the corner of her eyes she saw Mr. -Sheridan approaching, Lily pretended to be enjoying the conversation of -the Webster boys a little more than she really was. She felt the color -burning in her cheeks, and was angry with herself. - -"He'll think I'm just a--a silly village girl," she thought. Her natural -shyness was greatly increased by the presence of this young man with his -indescribable air of self-confidence; he was not at all like the two -simple hearty, countrified Webster boys. There was something about him -that marked him unmistakably as a product of city life, of ease, and -rather varied worldly experience, and for some reason this made her a -little bit afraid of him; or, perhaps afraid of herself. Usually the -least self-conscious person in the world, she now found herself filled -with misgivings about herself. She was afraid that there were numberless -shortcomings about her of which she was unaware, but which he would not -fail to notice; and this thought stung her pride. Furthermore, she was a -trifle piqued at his attentiveness to Amelia, though not for worlds -would she have admitted that any such silly vanity existed in her. Added -to all this, was the sting that Amelia had left in her sensitive mind. -Perhaps he had thought it undignified of her to have chatted with him so -informally that day in the field--and then he had seen her peeping at -him from the window. - -All these doubts excited in her a desire to snub him a little. He was -_not_ to think her just a "silly village girl." Perhaps her gay, dashing -costume made her feel unlike herself, and gave her some of the -self-confidence that she lacked by nature. Indeed, the pretty senorita -was altogether quite a different person, from the simple, artless girl -that Timothy Sheridan remembered so vividly. He was himself a thoroughly -simple young man, and he was puzzled by the change in her. - -Fluttering her fan nervously, she chatted with him, asked him questions, -laughed,--all with a little air of frivolity, and carelessness. She felt -a sort of resentment toward him, and this lead her once or twice to make -a remark designed "to take him down off the high horse" that she -imagined (on no grounds whatever) that he had mounted. His expression of -bewilderment and polite surprise gave her a satisfaction that was not -unmixed with regret and displeasure at herself. At length, when the -music started up again, he asked her to dance. By this time, his manner -had grown a little cold and formal, and Lily was piqued. So, with a -little shake of her head, she told him that she had promised this one to -Mr. Webster. There was something in her slight hesitation before she -answered that made him feel that this was not quite true; and, hurt and -puzzled, he bowed, expressed his regret, and the hope that he might have -the pleasure later, and withdrew. On the whole, Jane's diplomacy had -been anything but successful. - -Mr. Sheridan slipped out to smoke a cigar in the fresh, cold air, and to -meditate on the irritating vagaries of the feminine gender. Lily's -reception had hurt him more than he liked to admit even to himself. - -"What was the matter with her? She wasn't a bit like that before--she -seemed so gentle and unspoiled and kind. Hang it, there's no way of -understanding what a girl really is like, anyhow. I've just been an -idiot." - -After a moment or two, he told himself fiercely, - -"Well, if she doesn't want to dance with me, I certainly shan't bother -her." - -A little later, he threw away his cigar, and went in again. But he did -not dance. He sat and talked pleasantly to Mrs. Webster for twenty -minutes or so, and then joined his host by the fire, with whom he -discussed agriculture and politics for the rest of the evening. - -In the meantime, Paul, deserted by Jane, had managed to extricate -himself from the toils of the fair Amelia, and possessed by a deep sense -of injury, had climbed up again to the hayloft, with the double purpose -of expressing his indignant feelings to Jane, and getting well out of -the reach of his recent partner. - -"Well, I must say--if that's the way you keep a bargain--" he began. -Jane looked around at him with an abstracted expression, and then unable -to control herself at the sight of his aggrieved face, burst into the -most unsympathetic laughter. - -"Oh, you poor creature! I _am_ sorry! I forgot all about you!" - -"Do you think you're giving me fresh information?" inquired Paul, in -tones of bitterest sarcasm. - -"How _did_ you get away?" - -"Much you care!" - -"There, don't be angry. Tell me how you _did_ get away?" - -"If you must know--I just bolted." - -"Paul!" - -"Couldn't help it. Just had to. Sorry if it was uncouth and all -that--but there are limits to human endurance!" - -"Now who's hard on Amelia?" - -Paul grinned unwillingly. - -"I guess you were about right. The whole time I was with her, she was -picking on things about people--all the other girls who were the least -bit pretty. Not plain, straight-forward out-and-out wallops, mind you, -but all sorts of sweet and sly--" - -"Oh, I know her way. And did you just up and leave her?" - -"No. We pranced around a while, and then she sat down, and made me fan -her. And then we pranced around some more--until I thought I was going -to die, and she kept talking--first about what she thought about girls -nowadays, and then about poetry--you can imagine about how much I had to -say to that sort of stuff. And then we pranced around some more, and by -that time I'd concluded that I had only myself to rely on"--this with -renewed bitterness, "so I told the woman that I had a--a weak heart, and -guessed I'd better get a little air--" - -"Paul, you didn't!" cried Jane, horrified. - -"Yes, I did," said Paul, grimly. "I'd gotten to the point where I'd have -flopped down, and played dead if necessary. She seemed to swallow the -story, bait, line and hook, and was quite sympathetic--and here I am, -and the next time you try to get me into a fix like that--" - -"I say," interrupted Jane, "Mr. Sheridan hasn't danced with Lily at all! -He's gone and plopped himself down with all those old fogies around the -fire!" - -At this Paul took his turn to chuckle. - -"Serves you right! _Now_ will you keep your fingers out of other -people's pies? I told you you were too young to be meddling with such -things. But I guess you're just like all women--jump at conclusions, and -then start trying to run things--" - -"You think you're awfully clever, don't you?" retorted Jane acidly. - -"Not clever--just humanly intelligent. Intuition may be all right for -women, but plain horse-sense is good enough for me." - -"What's intuition?" demanded Jane. - -"The thing that makes girls think they know more than men do," replied -Paul, scornfully. "Your friend Amelia says she's got a lot of it. Ask -her what it is." Then he turned to her with an exasperating grin; he was -getting immeasurable satisfaction out of her discomfiture. "Practice -what you preach, old lady. I guess it's about time that _you_ left a -thing or two to Providence." - -Jane felt that it was time to change the subject. - -"People are queer," she remarked. - -"I've heard that before," said Paul, rubbing his nose, "I've observed -it, and I know it." - -"I think you're sort of detestable to-night." - -"It's your fault, then. I think you've ruined my disposition for life. -The next thing you'll be trying to make me be sweet to that fat old -dowager with the moustaches!" - -"_Hush_, Paul! That's Mrs. Deacon." - -"Nobody could hear me in all this noise. She seems in an awful stew -about something, doesn't she?" - -Jane did not answer. Paul stared at her. - -"What's the matter with you? You look as if you were going to have a -fit." Still Jane did not answer. There was indeed a frozen look on her -face. - -"Well," said Paul, eyeing her, "what have you been up to now?" - -"N-nothing," said Jane. - -"That won't go with me, old salt. What have you done to that poor, -defenseless old widow?" - -"I--I'm afraid I've made rather a mess," Jane confessed, faintly. - -"Oh, I'm quite sure of that. And you won't catch me coming to the rescue -again. Here I am and here I stay until I go home under Uncle Peter's -sheltering wing. Well, what have you done?" - -"I--I didn't mean--" - -"Of course not. Your kind never do. They'll have a revolution in this -town, if they keep you here until you've grown up--which I doubt very -much." Then, seeing that she was really distressed, he patted her hand, -and said, consolingly, "There, tell your Aunt Rebecca what you've -done--I'll help you out, if I must." - -"No one can help me," said Jane, darkly. - -"Is it murder this time? Well, tell me anyhow. I'm always prepared for -the worst with you." - -"Don't tease, Paul. I sent her sleigh away," said Jane, with the calm of -deep trouble. - -"You--_what_?" - -"I said--I sent Mrs. Deacon's sleigh away." - -There was a pause, during which Paul made every effort to guess what -earthly designs Jane had had in perpetrating such a peculiar deed. Then -he gave up. - -"You have something against Mrs. Deacon?" he suggested, delicately. "You -don't like her moustaches, perhaps? Or perhaps you think that a five -mile walk would be good for her health?" - -Jane was not listening. - -"I--you see, I thought it would be nice if Mr. Sheridan took Lily home. -And a little while ago I was talking to Mr. Buchanan who brought the -Deacons here. He was sitting outside, and he seemed awfully tired and -sleepy, and kept saying that late hours were bad for young and old; and -then I said that--that the Deacons weren't going back with him. And he -didn't wait a minute. He just got into his sleigh, and went off like -Santa Claus. And now, it looks as if Mr. Sheridan and Lily were mad at -each other--and if Mrs. Deacon finds out that I told Mr. Buchanan to -go--I don't know _what_ to do!" - -"Well!" said Paul, "I suppose you're about the _coolest_--rascal I ever -met in my life. I don't think I've ever even heard of anyone like you." - -"What shall I do?" - -"Do? Why, to be perfectly consistent with your kind, after having gotten -everything into a sweet kettle-of-fish, just wash your hands of it. -Leave it to Providence--and hike for the tall timber." Then he began to -chuckle, hugging himself, and shaking up and down, in a rapture of -mirth. - -"Oh, don't bother about it. They'll get home all right--" - -"I'm not bothering about that. I'm thinking about what'll happen if Mrs. -Deacon finds out that I sent Mr. Buchanan away." - -"Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. She hasn't found out yet." - -"I wonder why Mr. Sheridan and Lily are mad at each other." Then she -jumped up. - -"What are you going to do now?" demanded Paul. - -"I'm going down." - -"Take my advice and stay where you are." But Jane was already on her way -down the ladder. - -The party was beginning to break up. The wild tooting of horns, the -shrill notes of whistles, and showers of confetti announced the New -Year. Jane made her way through the tangles of colored streamers, and -the knots of merry-makers toward the huge chimney-place where a group of -older people were standing, watching the picturesque scene. - -"Ah-ha, here's my girl again!" cried Mr. Webster. "Come here and watch -the fun with your old god-father." - -With his big hands on her shoulders, Jane leant against him, and looked -on as placidly as if there were not a care in the world troubling her -peace of mind. When the noise had subsided a little, she looked round -and up at Mr. Webster's face, and raising her voice a little so that it -was impossible for Mr. Sheridan not to hear what she said, remarked, - -"Mr. Buchanan has gone home, and left the Deacons here." - -"What? What is that?" said Mr. Webster hastily. Jane repeated her -remark, glancing furtively at Mr. Sheridan, whose face had suddenly -grown rather red. But he stared straight ahead and pretended not to have -heard her. - -"Ah, well, Sam can hitch up our sleigh in a moment," said Mr. Webster. -"I daresay he'll be only too glad to take Lily home." And he chuckled -slyly. - -For some reason, Mr. Sheridan was able to hear _this_ remark quite -distinctly. He looked around, and after a momentary hesitation said, - -"There is no reason for that. Mrs. Deacon and her daughter are near -neighbors of mine, and I--I'd be delighted to take them home." And -without giving his host a chance to argue the point, strode off hastily -in the direction of the majestic dowager. - -By this time the old lady, undergoing the process of being wrapped up in -a dense cocoon of furs and mantles, while the two Webster boys clamored -for the pleasure of putting on her carriage boots, was quite besieged by -young men begging to be allowed to drive her home. Lily stood behind her -chair, smiling, but a little tired-looking. - -Mr. Sheridan worked his way deftly and determinedly through the group. - -"Will you let me drive you home, Mrs. Deacon?" He did not look at Lily, -and Lily dropped her eyes. - -"I am taking Miss--Mrs. Deacon home," said Sam Webster firmly, -unconsciously grasping that dignified lady's plump foot more tightly, as -if he intended to hold her by it, should she attempt to evade him. - -Now Mr. Sheridan _did_ look, at Lily. Would she or would she not prefer -to go with him? - -"Why, if Mr. Sheridan has--has room for us, we needn't trouble Sam, -mamma," said Lily, demurely. "That is--" - -"It's no trouble," interrupted Sam,--which was quite true--"and I've got -the sleigh already hitched up"--which was not true. He sent an almost -belligerent glance at Mr. Sheridan, who ignored it. - -Mr. Sheridan felt extraordinarily jubilant. Nothing should prevent his -taking Lily home--not if he had to slaughter this mob of impertinent -young men in cold blood. - -Then Mrs. Deacon, extricating her foot from Sam's convulsive grip, rose -up. There was a warm light in her eye, the peculiar, benevolent beam -which enlivens the glance of the far-sighted mamma as it rests upon an -eligible young man. - -"Mr. Sheridan, I thank you. I accept your pusillanimous offer," she -said, in the full, bell-like tone of a public official. "Samuel, we -shall not emburden you." - -In vain did Sam assure her that he would be only too happy, that there -was nothing he would like to do more; meanwhile sending at Lily -reproachful looks fit to melt a heart of stone. Lily simply did not see -them. In cool triumph, Mr. Sheridan escorted the two ladies to his -sleigh. - -An hour later,--it was after one o'clock--he entered his library, where -Peterson had kept the fire burning, threw off his coat, and sat down to -try to work out the puzzle of Lily's conduct. On the way home, they had -exchanged hardly six words. But if Lily had been silent, the same could -not be said for her mamma. Even now he seemed to hear the incessant, -rich tones of Mrs. Deacon's voice ringing in his ear, as they say the -booming of the sea echoes in certain shells. He could not remember -whether he had ever answered her or not. But Lily? It seemed evident to -him that she had not wanted to talk with him or to dance with him during -the party. It seemed equally evident that she _had_ wanted to drive home -in his sleigh. Now what was the meaning of behavior like that? - -By two o'clock he had come to the conclusion that she was a coquette, -that he was a donkey, and that the best thing he could do was to tell -Peterson to pack up and be ready to pull up their stakes the day after -to-morrow. He had been acting like an awful fool anyway. He was -twenty-five years old; too old to be acting like a schoolboy. How in the -world had Mary Abbott been able to-- - -By three o'clock he had come to another conclusion. He wasn't going to -go away at all. He'd be hanged if he'd be chased around the earth by -_women_. He was going to stay where he was. He was going to go in for -farming. He liked the quaint old town, he liked the solid, intelligent, -industrious, practical people. He liked Mr. Webster for instance, and -Mrs. Webster, and Dolly, and old Mr. Pyncheon, and he quite loved that -little Janey Lambert, and he liked--well, already the list had grown to -a fairly respectable length for a confirmed misanthrope. - -At half past six, Peterson coming into the library to see that -everything was in order, discovered his master sleeping placidly in the -huge armchair, surrounded by, almost buried under books, pamphlets and -almanacs which had never been taken down from their shelves since the -late Major had been a young and hopeful devotee of farming. He picked -one up, and holding it at arm's length read the title, "Fertilizers and -Fertilization." The old man drew a deep, long-suffering sigh. - -"Lord, it was bad enough before," he thought despondently, looking down -at Mr. Tim, and shaking his head slowly. "It can't be that he's goin' in -to be a useful citizen. Whatever would the Major say to that?" - -Then he suddenly remembered the old Major's invariable reply to such -propositions. Quite undisturbed, and in the most astounding French, he -used to say, "Searchez le Femme." - - - - -CHAPTER X--PAUL AND CARL - - -Paul, in his heavy canvas apron, his sleeves rolled up, flour in his -hair, on his eyelashes, and on the end of his nose, sat on a -three-legged stool in front of the door of the big oven. There was an -expression of such dogged concentration on his face, such fierce -intensity in the grim frown between his eyebrows, that one might have -thought he was expecting to draw forth a new universe, remodelled nearer -to his heart's desire, from the roasting bakeoven. The event he was -anticipating was indeed of great moment not only to him but to at least -four other members of the household who had gathered in the -kitchen--Aunt Gertrude, Jane, Elise, and ruddy little Anna, the bouncing -little assistant cook and shop-keeper, who never could watch Paul's -culinary struggles without going into a fit of giggling. - -"It's been in twenty minutes," announced Jane, glancing at the clock. -Paul raised his head and glowered at her. - -"Can you or can you not hold your tongue?" - -"I can not," answered Jane, frankly. - -"Who's making this cake?" - -"Come, Janey, leave Paul alone and don't bother him," said Elise. "Come -over here and let me try this sleeve to see if it fits." Elise was -engaged in making over one of her mother's gowns into a school-dress for -Jane. Jane obediently stood through the process of a fitting, but -craning around to keep her eye on Paul. - -Suddenly, taking hold of the hot handle of the oven-door with his apron, -he flung it open; and reaching in, pulled forth the huge cake pan. - -"There! Now, Aunt Gertrude, come and look at this fellow! How's _that_ -for a blooming success?" His face simply beamed with pride as a chorus -of "Oh's" and "Ah's" greeted his first real triumph. Five big disks of -cake, delicately, perfectly browned, light as a feather, he turned out -onto the wooden board. - -"Beautiful!" cried Aunt Gertrude. "I've never made a better one myself, -have I Elise? No, not even your grandfather could make that cake more -perfectly." - -Paul swelled out his broad chest. - -"Now I am a Baker!" he announced. "_I'm_ the boss around here, and I -think I'll begin by firing--Jane!" - -Jane, delighted and quite as triumphant as he, made a spring for him, -and flinging both arms around his waist hugged him ecstatically, -shouting, - -"I knew you could do it! _I_ said you could!" - -Paul tweaked her nose. - -"I suppose you'll be saying _you_ made that cake, next. You couldn't -learn to bake an article like that in a life time. Unhand me, woman, -I've got to fix the frosting." - -His satisfaction sprang from a deeper source than that of the mere -success. Some people might think it quite a trivial matter to make a -good cake, but Paul, during weeks of abject failure, had come to -consider that it required superhuman powers. It must be remembered of -course, that Winkler's cakes were not like any others, and that into the -mixing and baking of those delectable goodies there had to go a skill -and care that not many people could give. Repeated failure had made Paul -moody; he had even begun to think that his lack of success was -attributable to some deep-rooted weakness in himself. He had, in fact, -begun to give it quite an important significance; and, in his -earnestness, had even gone to the length of making a curious pact with -himself. He had determined not to touch a pencil, not even to open the -precious box of paints that Jane had given him, until he had learned to -make cakes and bread that should be an honor to the venerable traditions -of his family. Moreover, considerable reflection had convinced him that -Jane had been right in advising him to try to win his uncle's good will; -and he had not liked to have Mr. Lambert believe that he was -deliberately trying _not_ to make good. - -Jane understood very well the real cause of his satisfaction; and she -was as pleased as if he had accomplished a Herculean task. - -That night Mr. Lambert expressed his satisfaction in Paul's final -success. He was a very just man, and he did not fail to commend his -nephew for his patience. - -"I am glad to see, my boy, that you have taken a reasonable view of your -situation; and have so fully realized your peculiar responsibilities." - -Thereafter he began to treat Paul with a marked difference of manner; he -consulted him quite as often as he consulted Carl, discussed domestic -and public business with him, entrusted important errands to him, and, -in a word, no longer treated him as if he were an eccentric and willful -child. - -Within the three months that had passed since Paul had come to live with -his relatives his position had changed astonishingly. At the beginning -of February he found himself looked up to by the "women-folk" as if he -were a prime minister. He suggested, and was allowed to carry into -effect several important changes in the simple business system of the -Bakery; and customers with special requests were now referred to the big -boy, who handled their concerns and their temperaments with perfect tact -and good sense. - -But if Paul seemed at last to have given in to his uncle's wishes, he -was in truth no more reconciled to the lot which destiny had flung in -his way than before. He simply kept his own counsel. - -On the other hand two things had contributed to teach patience to the -impetuous boy, who never in his life before had known anything like -restraint. At first he had consoled himself for his repeated defeats in -the simple matter of cake-baking by the thought that he was designed for -more impressive things. But the impressive things were not ready to be -done yet, and he was being measured by his failure in that which _was_ -at hand. And so it came about that he put all his will to the simple, -woman's task, until he had mastered it. In the process, he had come, -also, to take a more personal interest in the family affairs; and no -longer to think of himself as an outsider, to whom the interests of his -kindly relatives were matters of total indifference. He was proud, too, -to bear the name of one of the first inhabitants of Frederickstown. It -made him feel that he had some share in the little community; he was no -longer a boy "without a country," as he had told his farmer -acquaintance. He knew everyone; and he was more or less interested in -their various affairs. Once, after he had been listening to some of the -older men discussing, in his uncle's warehouse, a question which had -arisen concerning the matter of running the state highway through the -town, or turning it off from one of the outlying roads, he had said -laughingly to Jane that he was getting a mild attack of "civic -interest"; and then after a moment's thought, he had added more -seriously, "But it's true. I've gotten pretty fond of this place. I -almost feel as if I belong to it, and it belongs to me. I'd like to make -it proud of me some day. It's all very nice and fine to say that you're -an independent citizen, and don't hail from anywhere in particular, but -you _do_ feel lonely and left-out, and there are lots of things you -never can understand. Lots of things," he repeated, with more emphasis. -"I've seen dozens of fellows knocking around the world, coming from -nowhere in particular, and going nowhere in particular. Some of 'em were -pretty clever, I guess--I'd hear 'em talking, sometimes on board ship, -sometimes around the tables in the taverns. I used to listen to -them--they talked as if they knew a lot, and were usually worked up over -something,--Americans, and Italians and down-and-out Englishmen. Lord, -how they used to shout and argue and pound their fists. But, now that I -think of it, all they said was nothing much but a lot of noise. They -were like sea-weed floating around without its roots sticking anywhere. -They sounded awfully fiery and patriotic, but I don't think they -honestly cared much about any place under the sun, or about any _thing_. -And that's a bad way to be. It would be better, I think, to spend all -your days in one place and to love that place, even if you got kind of -narrowed down--than to belong nowhere." These grave views surprised -Jane, and perhaps she did not wholly understand Paul's meaning. He was -older than she, and was beginning to think like a man, and sometimes she -could not quite follow his thoughts. But she hoped that he meant that he -would find it possible to work out his own ambitions without going away. -Sometimes she wondered--he spoke so little now about his plans--whether -he had given them up altogether; and this she did not like to believe. -But Jane, inquisitive as she was, could hold her peace very patiently -when she felt that it was better so. - -In the second place, Paul had become very conscious of his almost total -lack of education. He could read, and write, and figure well enough to -cast up the accounts with accuracy; but beyond these elements he knew -nothing save what he had gleaned from his rough contact with the world. -His ignorance of many things which even the twins had learned, sometimes -startled even Jane; and Carl had never left off making sly fun of him -for counting on his fingers like a kindergarten child when he had to -calculate a simple problem in multiplication. - -At first he had pretended to scorn his cousin's book-learning, but -little by little he found himself envying Carl's extensive knowledge, -which that youth was rather overfond of airing. Every generation of -Winklers had seen to it that the young ones acquired a sound, simple, -thorough education; and among them poor Uncle Franz had stood out as the -"dunce." - -There was something quite pathetic in the sight of the big boy sitting -on those winter evenings, listening to the twins lisp out their next -day's lessons to Elise, and storing away as well as he could the simple -things he heard; and many times, he sat up until after midnight, over -the ashes of the fire, poring over an old "Elementary History of the -United States," humbly beginning where Janey had long since finished; -and stumbling over words that even Lottie could spell easily. - -In the midst of these occupation, Paul spent little time in dwelling -upon plans for departure. He seemed content to bide his time, if -necessary, for an indefinite period; and had settled into a state of -peace and amity toward all the world, with one and only one exception. - -That exception was Carl. Just where the rub came between the two boys it -would be hard to say; but hard as he tried to hold his temper in check, -Paul found it impossible either to hit it off with Carl, or to discover -the root of his cousin's grudge against him; and it often seemed to him -that Carl deliberately tried to rouse the old Adam in him. Every day -Carl's disposition became more acid, and as the spring progressed he -became positively intolerable. Paul had put up with his ill-humors as -well as he could, partly because, during the latter part of the winter, -Carl, who was the least sturdy of his cousins had not been very well. He -suffered frequently from severe headaches, and his constant studying, -which he doubled as the spring examinations approached, certainly did -not improve either his health or his disposition. Aunt Gertrude was -worried about him, and tried to coax him to spend more of his time out -of doors, for by the end of March the snow had melted away from the -hills, the sun was growing warmer, and the trees already turning green -with buds opening in the genial warmth of an early southern spring. He -resisted these gentle efforts, however, and even when the long Easter -holiday came, settled down to a process of cramming, utterly indifferent -to the delicious weather. Even his father had one or two slight -difficulties with him, so uncertain was his temper, and the other -members of his family treated him with kid gloves, but with Paul he -squabbled almost continually. Now Paul had mislaid some of his papers; -now he had left the stopper off the inkwell, now he had put his shoes -where he couldn't find them. More than once it occurred to Paul that -Carl was actually trying to goad him into leaving. "But what on earth -have I ever done to the idiot?" he wondered. That Carl was jealous of -him never dawned on his mind; and yet it was the case. Carl was jealous -of the position his cousin had taken in the household; he was jealous of -his physical strength; he was even jealous of the self-control with -which Paul curbed his anything but mild temper, under his continual -nagging. - -One day, flying into a rage over some trivial matter, Carl informed him -that the trouble with him was "his confounded swell-head." By this time, -Paul had reached the end of his tether; he retaliated, with a sudden -thrust that went home to Carl's most vulnerable spot. - -"What's the matter with you, anyway?" he demanded whirling upon his -cousin. There was a black frown on his face; and suddenly losing his -temper altogether, he seized Carl's shoulder fiercely. "I'm sick of your -eternal whining, and snarling. You snap at me at every chance you -get,--but nothing on earth would make you fight like a--a man! Would it? -Hey?" - -Carl wrenched himself out of his grip, and backed toward the door, -trembling with fury. - -"You've a swell-head," he repeated, stubbornly, his eyes flashing, "and -you're a--don't you dare to touch me! I hate you! You're a bully--that's -what you are!" - -"A bully! It's you that's the bully. You know darn well that _you're_ -safe in nagging the life out of me--you're pretty sure that I wouldn't -hurt a little fellow like you. You're a little coward, Carl Lambert, but -I tell you now that if you don't stop your eternal whining, -I'll--I'll--" - -"You'll what?" sneered Carl. - -"I'll thrash you until you can't stand up. Do you understand me?" And -once more Paul's big hand clamped down on his shoulder. Carl's face went -white, and a look of such utter terror superseded the one of rage, that -Paul was astonished. - -"What on earth is the matter with you?" he repeated, in a milder tone. -"Will you tell me what I've ever done to you?" - -"I hate you! I've hated you ever since you came here! Thrash me if you -want to! Nothing will ever make me hate you any worse than I do now!" - -Paul frowning more in bewilderment than anger stared into his cousin's -pale, distorted face. Then suddenly he asked, - -"If you hate me so much, why didn't _you_ tell Uncle Peter about my -playing billiards--for money--with Jeff Roberts?" - -Carl did not answer. - -"I can't make you out," went on Paul, as if he were talking to himself. -"You bother the life out of me, you squabble and row from morning to -night, and you never say _what_ you're down on me for. I honestly -believe that until recently you had a lot to do with Uncle Peter's bad -opinion of me, and yet--somehow, I _don't_ believe you hate me as much -as you think you do. If _you_ had told Uncle Peter about that business -with Jeff Roberts he would certainly--not certainly, perhaps, but very -likely--have sent me packing, and you would have been rid of me, and yet -you didn't do it. And it wasn't as if you weren't a tell-tale, because -you are. And what under the sun makes you say I've got a swell-head?" - -"It's the truth," repeated Carl, doggedly, and not another word would he -say. There was nothing to do but to leave him alone; but the strain of -putting up with his sullen silence--which he maintained for a full -week--wore on Paul's patience, until more than once he was on the point -of declaring his definite intention to put up with it no longer. It was -at the end of that week--the last in a warm, summery April--that matters -changed suddenly, bringing the first trouble that Paul had yet had to -share with his kinsfolk. - -One warm Saturday afternoon, when it was May in everything but name, -Jane revelling in the last days of the spring vacation proposed a long -walk into the country. The twins, Paul, and Elise approved heartily. - -"And try to coax Carl out, too, Lisa," said Aunt Gertrude, who wanted to -stay at home to do some mending while she took charge of the shop. "He -doesn't take any exercise at all these days." - -At first Carl growled, and said he wished they'd leave him alone, but -just as Elise had given up trying to persuade him, he suddenly changed -his mind; though still grumbling as if they were making him do something -against his will, joined the jolly little party. But it cannot be said -that he was a particularly lively member of it. He looked pale and -sulky, walked by himself, and with a moody expression kept his eyes on -Jane and Paul as if their high spirits, their perfect camaraderie -angered him. And in fact, not the least of his grievances against Paul -was Jane's affection for him; for cold and selfish as Carl might be, he -loved Jane in his own way, and in addition, he hated not to be the chief -object of interest. Besides, he was feeling half ill again. - -"Shall we ask Lily to come with us?" suggested Elise, as they reached -the top of Sheridan Lane. - -"Let's ask everyone we meet," said Jane, "everybody! Nobody ought to -stay cooped up indoors to-day. Poor Lily--she's practising again." - -And in fact Lily's voice, a little listless and monotonous to-day came -sweetly through the quiet air; there did not seem to be much joy in -Schubert's beautiful little spring song as she sang it--"And winking -Mary-buds begin, to ope their golden eyes--" she broke off in the middle -of the second part. - -"Lily!" - -A moment later she appeared at the window. - -"Come along! You've got to come along with us!" - -"Where are you going?" - -"A-maying." - -"But it isn't May," said Lily trying to sound merry. Nevertheless, in -another minute she was with them, swinging her straw hat on her arm. On -down the lane they went, under the light shade of the budding trees, -past the old iron fountain. - -"Whoa. Where are you off to?" shouted the voice of some invisible being; -there was a scrambling, scraping sound in the branches of a tree that, -growing inside of the wall around the Sheridan place, extended its -patriarchal boughs across the road; and presently the lord of the manor, -hot, and red, with a three foot saw in his hand swung gracefully into -view. - -"Are you going to have a party without _me_?" he asked in an injured -tone. "Can't I come, too?" - -"There!" said Jane in a low tone, giving Paul a surreptitious pinch, -"what did I tell you?" - -"Are you going to begin meddling with that again?" demanded Paul, also -in a low tone, remembering bitterly the unhappy part he had been called -upon to play at the Webster's party. "Because if so, I'm going home." - -"I'll meddle if I think it's necessary," returned Jane, calmly, "but I -don't believe it will be." - -And, indeed, from the first it seemed quite plain that her valuable -services were not required. With the air of one who feels that her small -tasks have been well done, she watched Lily and Mr. Sheridan who -wandered on ahead, leading the way across the old wooden bridge, and up -the hill. - -Jane said frankly to Paul that she would "sort of like to hear what they -were talking about," but Paul was pained, and undertook to lecture her -on the spot for her deplorable habits. - -On each side of the road lay the broad fields, where, in the furrows of -dark earth, freshly ploughed, young corn was already thrusting upwards -its vivid green blades. - -"How do you like my scare-crow?" Mr. Sheridan called back, waving gaily -toward the grotesque figure which bore an absurd resemblance to -Peterson. "I made Peterson dress him up in his winter suit. Isn't he a -fine, impressive fellow, though. How do you think he'd strike you if you -were a crow?" Then without waiting for an answer, he went on talking to -Lily, describing all his late activities in the line of agriculture, his -plans for new buildings on his land, and airing, boyishly all his newly -acquired--and perhaps not entirely assimilated--knowledge of farming. -Jane might have found this talk distinctly disappointing, but to Lily -everything that he said seemed remarkable. - -"And then, perhaps, you are going to live here--a good deal of the -time?" she asked timidly. "I very glad that you have found so much to -interest you." - -Mr. Sheridan turned to help her over a stile. For some reason, her -words, so simply said, and without the slightest tinge of coquetry, -seemed to disconcert him. - -"I--yes. I--have grown very much attached to Frederickstown--and farming -is interesting because--because--" But for the life of him he could not -think of any reason _why_. - -The little party trailed across the field, all walking together now, -laughing and talking. Only Carl hung behind. To begin with, he was not -yet on speaking terms with Paul, and he was piqued at Jane, and the -sunlight made his over-strained eyes ache, and he was thoroughly tired -out already. Lily was walking arm in arm with Elise, and both were -talking to Mr. Sheridan, the twins were running ahead, trying to catch -the yellow butterflies that they frightened away from the early -field-flowers; and Paul and Jane strolled along side by side sometimes -joining in the talk of the others, sometimes discussing their own -affairs. But at last Jane turned around, and noticing for the first time -how Carl was lagging, called to him. - -"Why don't you come and walk with us, Carl?" - -"I'm all right as I am, amn't I?" he returned. Jane shrugged her -shoulders. - -"What's the matter with him?" she asked Paul. "Have you had another -quarrel?" - -"Not since Monday,--haven't had a chance. He won't speak to me. I don't -know what's the matter with him," Paul shook his head. "I _have_ tried -to get along with him, but I can't seem to work it. He says he hates me, -and that he's always hated me--and maybe its true, though I don't see -why. I mean that I've never given him any cause that I know of. I've -been thinking about it a lot lately. I seem to make him downright -unhappy--he acts as if I had slipped into his shoes, and I've never -taken anything he wanted, have I?" and after a short pause, he added, -"And I'm sure that I don't want anything he has. It seems to get worse -with him all the time. Perhaps, Janey, his feelings may be hurt because -you and I get along so well. Maybe I'd feel the same way if I were your -brother, and he were a 'swell-head' cousin from nowhere. After a bit, -why don't you drop back with him?" - -"Why should he hate you?" wondered Jane. "I could understand if you were -really--" - -"What?" - -"If you were like what you _seemed_ to be like the first night you were -here," she said frankly. "I didn't like you then either. I didn't like -you for quite a long time. I didn't like you until you said that you -were going away." - -"Maybe Carl would like me better if I told him that," said Paul, -laughing, but with a rather sad expression in his eyes. "And I've been -thinking lately--" - -"What?" asked Jane, quickly, looking up into his face. - -"I've been thinking that I--perhaps I ought to, Janey." - -"No, no, no, _no_! Not yet, Paul! You said, just the other day--and what -a silly little thing to make so much of. Lots of _brothers_ squabble and -call each other names--" - -"But it doesn't make a particularly happy household, does it? I don't -want to go, Janey--not yet. J don't want to go until--it's a hard thing -to explain exactly, but this is the way it is. When I first came, I was -thinking only of one thing--father was gone, and I didn't care for -anyone in the world, and I didn't want to. I wanted to work by myself -and for myself, in the way that seemed most to my liking--and when I -found that Uncle had other plans for me, and intended to force me into -them, it made me furious--and what was worse was the thought that I had -to do either as Uncle wanted or--well, _starve_, if I was out of luck. -And I was afraid of starving, being an ordinary human being. I started -to run away the first night I was here--Carl knows that--and I didn't -because I was afraid to. He knows that, too. And so I stayed on, -planning to make a break as soon as I could. And I hated everything--I -was perfectly miserable--until that night, do you remember, when we had -that talk by the fire. After that, I began to look at things -differently. It seemed to me that I'd been acting like a donkey, and so -I decided to do as you said--make the best of things as I found them, -and see what would happen. And now--I don't know how it is--but you've -all been so good to me, and it makes a difference not to be all alone. -Now, when I think of the fine things I may do some day, I think of how -you all may be proud of me, and how--perhaps--maybe Frederickstown would -be proud of--all that seems silly, doesn't it--but anyway that's the -reason why I'd hate to go away now--why I'd hate to go away with any -hard feeling behind me. That is, unless it simply _had_ to be. Men -_have_ lived alone, and worked and done great things with no one to care -whether they lived or died--and I could do it, too. But, over and above -cake-baking--" he laughed, as if a little ashamed of his own -seriousness, "I've learned that--I've learned that it is a better thing -not to be all alone." - -Jane made no reply, and presently Paul went on, - -"I daresay I made myself pretty disagreeable at first, and I don't -wonder that Carl hated me then--but I _have_ tried to be decent to him, -and to make him like me. If he doesn't, it certainly isn't his fault--it -can't be helped. Only, I haven't any right--I mean, if he's going to be -miserable while I'm around, if I get on his nerves every minute--it -isn't as if we were little kids, we'll soon be men, and two men -quarrelling with each other in one family can make an awful mess of -things. You were all happy together before I came." As he said this he -looked down gravely into the round, sober little face beside him. "Don't -you see, Janey?" - -Janey did not answer; but a little later as they all turned into the -cool shade of the woods, she dropped back until she was walking near -Carl. She had too much instinctive wisdom to seem to do so deliberately, -and she did not talk to him until the twins started to hunt for violets -and jacks-in-the-pulpit, when she began to remind him of the places they -had explored the summer before, and the grotto they had found the summer -before that until he began to feel as if he were receiving the attention -which was his brotherly due. - -The beautiful afternoon wore on happily. For a long time they all sat -talking and laughing under the trees, sorting the white and purple -violets that they had picked. Once or twice Tim Sheridan thought of what -Phil Blackstone and Johnny Everett and Mary and all the rest of them -would say to his bucolic pleasures, and grinned at the thought of the -expressions they would wear; and he wondered himself at his own -enjoyment in the company of these simple young people--but he was having -a better time than he had ever had in his life, and even Peterson was -beginning to show some interest in his eccentric master's latest -occupations. - -And for a time, Carl, too, joined in the chatter, as poor little Janey, -inwardly saddened by what Paul had told her so simply, tried to coax him -out of his sullen humor. - -When, at length they all started homeward, he even linked his arm -through hers. Now, she thought, was the time to ask him what was the -root of his ill-feeling against Paul, now was the time to tell him what -Paul had said--she hated so for people to be unhappy for no reason, or -for silly reasons. - -"Carl, listen," she began, "I want to--" but he suddenly interrupted -her. - -"Look here, Jane--I don't know what's the matter with me. But I--I feel -like the dickens." - -She did not quite understand him. - -"What about?" she asked. - -"What about? About nothing--my head aches like all get-out, and every -now and then everything gets to jiggling in front of my eyes." She -looked at him in alarm, and saw that his face was terribly pale. - -"Carl! You mean you're ill? Let me--oh, what's the matter?" - -"For heaven's sake, don't kick up a fuss now. No, don't tell Elise," he -said, impatiently. "I'll get home all right. And don't scare mother to -death when we get there. I guess it's the sun or something. And--don't -walk so fast." - -Jane, more frightened by the look of his face, than by his words, -obediently slackened her pace. The others were eight or ten yards ahead -of them. - -"Hurry up, Janey--we'll be late for supper," called Elise, glancing back -at them. Jane looked pleadingly at Carl. - -"I _have_ to tell Elise. Please, Carl, dear, don't be foolish." - -"No, you must _not_. I tell you I won't have them all fussing over me, -and talking, and asking questions!" he exclaimed, with a sudden flash of -temper. "Let 'em go ahead if they want to." - -They dropped farther and farther behind, until the others were already -crossing the bridge as they were just gaining the road. But Paul, -strolling along with his hands in his pockets whistling an accompaniment -to his own thoughts was midway between the two divisions of the party. - -Suddenly Carl declared that he had to rest until his head stopped -throbbing a bit. Just then Paul happened to glance back. - -"Hey! Are you going to spend the summer back there?" he shouted, -cheerfully, but the next moment he seemed to guess that something was -wrong, for after a little hesitation, he turned and started to walk -toward them. - -"We're coming," said Jane, "only Carl has a little headache, and he -wanted to rest a minute." - -Paul looked critically at his cousin's white face. He did not waste any -time in asking the well-meant questions that Carl found so -objectionable, but said simply, - -"I guess you'd better let me help you, Carl." - -To Jane's surprise there was no hostility in her brother's eyes. - -"I won't have _them_ make a fuss over me, do you hear," he said in a -dull voice. Paul glanced at Jane. - -"You cut along with the others, Janey. There's a short cut through this -field. Carl and I'll go this way." - -"Good idea," muttered Carl. "Guess we'll--try that, Jane." And with an -effort, he got to his feet. - -"Take my arm," said Paul. - -Jane watched them as they started across the field, and then obediently -ran at full speed to catch up with the laughing, chattering group ahead. - -As for the two sworn enemies, they made their way slowly along the -little, meandering footpath, that cut through the field, Carl leaning -more and more heavily on Paul's sturdy arm, frankly, if silently -grateful for its solid support. They said nothing, and Paul, who -realized more than Jane had that Carl was seriously ill, wore a grave -expression. He was thinking, not of the many bitter words that Carl had -showered on him, but of the angry threat he himself had uttered, and the -memory of it made him wince. - -"We've only a little way to go, now, cousin," he said gently. "Would you -like me to give you a lift?" - -Carl, quite exhausted by now only looked at his cousin incredulously. - -"_You_ couldn't carry me," he said, thickly, and then drawing a long -breath, he added, "but I wish to goodness you could!" - -Paul smiled. - -"I guess you aren't much heavier than a keg of olives," and with that, -he lifted Carl quite easily in his arms, and set off at a quicker stride -across the field. - -An hour later poor Carl was far past caring whether "they" made a fuss -over him or not. But indeed the worst part of it was that there was very -little fuss made at all. His room was so quiet that the chirping of the -birds in the budding trees outside his window, the sound of voices in -the street below could all be heard distinctly, and yet Aunt Gertrude -and Mr. Lambert sat beside his bed, and Janey was there, clinging to her -father's hand, and Paul sat half hidden in the little window embrasure, -staring out soberly at the fading sky. The shock and suddenness of it -all had stunned the little family. - -It was only Mr. Lambert's face that Paul could see clearly in the dusk -of the room, and the transformation it had undergone since the old man -realized the danger of his only son, left an indelible memory on the -boy's mind. All its pompousness had fled--it looked old and helpless and -humble. And apart as he was, Paul, looking upon their fear and sorrow, -felt that he was being welded to his own people. All his own desires -seemed at that moment, small and selfish, and with a thrill of pity, he -vowed silently that if the need came, he was ready to lay aside his own -hopes forever, without regret, and be their son. - - - - -CHAPTER XI--CARL SQUARES HIS DEBT - - -It was not until the nineteenth of May that the burly, grey-haired -little doctor could say definitely that Carl would get well. And even -then he could not entirely dissolve the cloud that hung over the family. -Carl's eyes which had always been weak and near-sighted had been gravely -injured by incessant overstraining, and the doctor said frankly enough -that unless he took the greatest care of them there was a strong -possibility of his losing his sight. - -"No books, Mrs. Lambert. Nothing but rest," he said, firmly. "Later, he -must be out of doors. Plenty of exercise, plenty of sleep, and no study -for at least a year." - -This program, so entirely opposed to all Carl's tastes was not imparted -to him until he was well on the road to recovery. He listened to it -stoically, propped up among Aunt Gertrude's downiest feather pillows, in -the dark bedroom, a green shade almost bandaging his eyes, and hiding -half of his thin white face. - -"Does the old boy think there's a likelihood of my being blind anyway?" -he inquired, using the blunt word without a tremor. No one answered him. -His face turned a shade paler as he turned helplessly from one side to -the other trying to guess where his mother and father were standing. Mr. -Lambert attempted to say something, but all he could do was to take his -son's groping hand in his. - -"Well--that's all right, father. I guess I'll go to sleep now," said -Carl, after a short pause. "There's no good kicking up a fuss about that -yet." And drawing his hand away he lay down quietly, turning his face to -the wall. He was quite still, until, thinking that he was asleep, his -father and mother left the room noiselessly, Mr. Lambert with his arm -around his wife's shoulders. - -Then, wide-awake, Carl almost savagely worked himself up on his pillows, -and sat alone, thinking. - -He wondered what time it was. He did not know whether it was morning or -afternoon. That it was day and not night he could guess from the busy -rumbling of wagons on the street, and the soft chattering of the twins' -voices in the little garden below. Then he heard the solemn, monotonous -tones of the old church clock. - -"Just noon-day," he thought. "The twins have been home all morning, so -school must have closed. And it must be fair, or they wouldn't be -playing in the garden." - -At that moment he heard careful, tiptoeing footsteps outside his door. -He had already become quick at recognizing the tread of different -members of the family, and without the least uncertainty he called out, - -"Paul!" - -Then he heard the door open. - -"I thought you were asleep," said Paul's voice. - -"Well, I'm not." Then in a jocose tone, Carl said, "It's a beautiful -day, isn't it?" - -"Why, yes," answered Paul, in some surprise. "Look here--have you been -taking off that bandage?" - -"No. But it _is_ a beautiful day isn't it? I just wanted to be sure I -guessed right." - -Paul said nothing. To him there was something indescribably terrible and -touching in Carl's cheerfulness, and in the sight of that half-hidden -face turned nearly but not exactly in his direction. - -"_You_ heard what the doctor said," said Carl abruptly, "there's a -chance that I may be blind, isn't there? Come on, and tell me. You -certainly can't keep me from knowing sooner or later. _Did_ he say -that?" - -"Yes. He did," Paul replied briefly. Carl seemed to think this over -quite calmly for a moment or two; then with a dignity that he had never -shown before, he said slowly, - -"You once said I was a coward, cousin. And you were right. I _am_ a -coward in the way you big fellows think of it. But maybe I'm not a -coward in _every_ way. Maybe I'm not. I don't know. Maybe I am." Paul -said nothing, but stood helplessly with his hands on the back of the -chair. - -"Sit down--that is, if you want to," Carl suggested rather awkwardly. -"It isn't time for your lunch yet, is it? Where's Janey?" - -"She's helping Elise." Paul sat down, crossed his legs and looked at his -cousin, not knowing exactly what else to say. He looked odd enough -sitting there, in his apron, his sleeves rolled up and his shirt open at -the neck, sunburnt and strong in contrast to the bony, pallid boy in the -bed. - -Carl fingered his eyeshade wistfully. - -"Lord, I wish I could take this confounded thing off for just a minute," -he muttered moving his head restlessly. "Do _you_ believe what the -doctor says?" - -"I believe you'll be all right in six months," said Paul. Carl sat bolt -upright. - -"_Do_ you think so? Do you really. You aren't saying that just to cheer -me up? No, _you_ wouldn't do that, would you?" - -"No," said Paul, "I wouldn't." - -"Do you think I'll be able to go back to school next year?" - -"No," said Paul, "I don't." - -"You don't?" Then Carl laughed. "Well, I'm glad you say what you think." - -"It's very likely, though, that you'll be able to study a little, and a -fellow as clever as you are won't be behind long," went on Paul, -gravely. Carl was vastly pleased at the compliment. - -"What makes you think I'm--clever?" he asked presently. - -"Why, you _are_," answered Paul in a surprised tone, and then with a -rather sad little laugh, he added, "I wish I knew one tenth--one -_hundredth_ as much as you do. I'm a dunce, I don't know as much as -Lottie does--not nearly." - -In the face of this humble remark, Carl remembered rather uncomfortably -the innumerable jibes he had directed at his cousin's ignorance. - -"Well, you can teach yourself a lot," he said a little patronizingly. -Paul laughed. - -"I try to. But I--I can't even read decently, and it takes the dickens -of a long time." - -"Can't _read_!" cried Carl. - -"Well, not enough to boast of. I never went to school in my life. A long -time ago my mother or somebody must have taught me something, and then I -picked up what I could here and there. There was an old fellow I knew -years ago,--he was a passenger on a little coast trading vessel--we were -going from Marseilles down to the south of Italy, and on the voyage, -which was pretty slow,--because we sometimes stayed for two or three -days at different ports,--he taught me a few things. And then I learned -to read French pretty well, and a little Italian, and a young -Englishman--a college fellow, who'd given up studying for the ministry -and run away to sea--even taught me some Latin, though what under Heaven -he thought I'd do with it I don't know. He was a funny one," said Paul, -chuckling reminiscently, "a thin little chap, with a long nose. He used -to say that every gentleman should have a knowledge of the classics, and -you'd see him washing the deck, with copy of some old Latin fellow's -poetry sticking out of his back pocket." - -"What did he go to sea for?" inquired Carl; for the first time he had -deigned to listen to some of Paul's adventures, and he found himself -getting very much interested. - -"I don't know. His uncle was a lord or something--at least he told me -so, and I daresay it was true. He said he was a younger son, though what -that had to do with it I don't know. Anyway it seemed to be an awfully -important thing for me to remember. He wanted to make something of -himself, he said. I told him he'd do better as--well, anything but a -cabin boy, or deck hand or whatever he was. But he said he loved the -sea--though he was just about the worst sailor I ever saw." - -"What happened to him?" - -"I don't remember. Oh, yes, I do. The poor little cuss died--got typhus -or something and off he went. Bill Tyler told me about it. They buried -him at sea." - -"Who was Bill Tyler?" - -"Bill was--everything! He was an old bird--older than father. He'd done -everything, seen everything--you never knew such a man! He couldn't -write his own name, but he was the canniest, drollest--and talk about -strength! Next to father, I guess I liked him better than anyone on -earth!" Paul's face glowed, and he launched forth into an animated -account of his friend's virtues and exploits, urged on eagerly by Carl, -who made him go on every time he stopped. There were no absurd -exaggerations, a la Munchausen, in his tales that day. He was thinking -only of amusing the sick, feeble boy, and making him forget his own -dreary thoughts. Nor did he once reflect that it was this same boy who -had told him so passionately that he "hated him, and always would." - -Elise appearing at the door with Carl's tray stopped short at the sound -of his laugh--the first spontaneous laugh she had heard from him in many -a day. - -"How much better you seem, dear," she said, setting the tray on his -knees, and shaking up his pillows. "Paul, your lunch is waiting for -you." She sent him a grateful glance. - -"If you haven't anything special to do, come on up when you've fed," -suggested Carl elegantly. Elise nodded eagerly, and following Paul to -the door, said in a low voice, - -"I wish you would, cousin. There isn't much to be done to-day--I can -take care of it, and it seems to have done him so much good." - -So Paul spent the afternoon, a long, sunny afternoon, in that dark room, -talking to his cousin, telling him about people he had seen--and what a -heterogeneous collection they were!--places he had visited, adventures -he and his father had had together. A whole new world he opened to the -young bookworm, who listened with his hands folded, and a keen but -detached interest, to all these tales of action and happy-go-lucky -wanderings. - -"All that's great to hear about," remarked Carl, "but I don't think I'd -like to live that way. Too much hopping about, and too--uncomfortable." - -"I suppose it was uncomfortable--but I never knew what it was to _be_ -comfortable--that is, to be sure of a good bed to sleep in, and plenty -to eat, and all that--so I never minded." - -"It must bore you to be cooped up here--baking cakes! Ha-ha!" Carl -laughed outright. "I never thought before of how funny that was!" - -"I have," remarked Paul, drily. - -"What do you suppose that Bill Tyler would say?" - -"I can't imagine," replied Paul, smiling glumly. "He'd probably say it -was a good job, and that I ought to thank Heaven for it. He was a -practical old egg, or he pretended to be. He was forever preaching what -he called 'hard sense'--and getting himself into more tight squeezes--he -was worse than father. He had more common sense and used it less than -any man I ever saw." - -"Do you really want to be a painter?" asked Carl suddenly. "That's such -a queer thing to want to be." - -"Oh, well," said Paul, evidently not anxious to pursue the subject. - -"And so--_useless_." - -"That's what Bill Tyler used to say. And yet _he_ was the one who took -me to a picture gallery for the first time in my life--I was only eleven -or twelve years old. And it was there that I met old Peguignot--so it -was partly Bill's fault that I began to think about painting at all. The -old duffer! He'd spend an entire afternoon rambling around some gallery, -going into raptures over this picture and that, pointing out what he -liked and what he didn't like--and then when we'd come out, he'd say, -'but that's all nonsense, and waste of time.'" - -"Who was Peguignot?" - -"Why, he was a little artist--a funny, shabby, excitable little guy, -with a perfectly enormous moustache that looked as if it were made out -of a lot of black hairpins; and his eyebrows were just like it. When he -talked and got enthusiastic about something, they'd all work up and -down. Bill and I came upon him one day in some gallery or other. He was -sitting up on a high stool making a copy of a big religious painting. -Bill began to talk to him, and, I suppose, just to tease him, started on -his favorite line about what nonsense it all was. I thought Peguignot -would blow up. He shook a whole handful of wet paint-brushes in Bill's -face, called him every name he could think of--I began to laugh and then -he turned on me, and told me I was a miserable boy, and please both of -us to go far away from him. But I said I agreed with him altogether, and -then we both started in on Bill. Well, anyhow it wound up by all of us -getting to be the best of friends; and after that Bill and I used to go -around and see him quite often. And he taught me all I ever learned -about painting. He wasn't very good himself, and he certainly wasn't -successful, but he knew a lot, and when he wasn't exploding about -something, he could tell what he knew very clearly. Poor little beggar, -he had a hard time of it--he was as poverty-stricken as Job most of the -time." And then Paul began to laugh. "I remember one day his landlady -came up to get his rent. He heard her coming, and got into a perfect -panic, and was actually trying to crawl under his bed when she knocked -at the door. Then he got very calm and dignified, and told me to let her -in. So in she came, and then an argument began, and finally both of them -started to weep and wring their hands--you never heard such a rumpus. -Finally he said to her, 'Madam, put me out. Put me out on the -streets--it is what I deserve,' and he began to hunt for his bedroom -slippers which were the things that were most precious to him I suppose. -And then she threw her apron over her head and wailed, and said she -couldn't do that because he was so 'leetle.' Well, at last he took a -picture that I had painted down from his easel, and said to her, 'Madam, -I give you this. Sell it, and keep the money.' Well, she stood there -glowering as if she simply couldn't think of anything strong enough to -say; until she suddenly roared out, 'Ah-h-h! You leetle _moustache_! Why -don't you sell it _yourself_! Then I should have my money.' And she took -the picture with both hands, and banged him over the head with it. But -at last she said she'd wait another month, and then she would have him -imprisoned--and off she went with my picture." - -Carl laughed. - -"And did he pay her the next month?" - -"I don't know. In any case, he certainly wasn't imprisoned. But don't -think he took his debts lightly. He was ashamed of them and he was -ashamed of himself; and he worked for money in the only way he could, -and never tried to shirk his responsibilities. People knew that, and -they were lenient with him, because he was honest and good and they -loved him." - -There was a pause, then Carl asked curiously, but with some hesitation, - -"If I--if my eyes _don't_ get all right, what will you do?" - -"What do you mean?" - -"I mean--will you stay on in the business?" - -"In any case, it's my job, isn't it?" returned Paul evasively. Then -suddenly, he dropped his face in his hands. For so many nights, in the -little room to which he had been relegated since Carl's illness, he had -been wrestling with that problem. A hundred times he had decided that -there would be only one course open to him in the event that Carl should -not get well; he would stay with his family and help them. His uncle was -getting old, and the silent, tragic appeal in the poor man's eyes, and -his dreadful anxiety about his son had touched Paul even more than Aunt -Gertrude's sorrow. - -"Ah, well, what's the use of trying to settle the whole course of your -life," he said aloud, but more as if he were speaking to himself. "You -get worked up, and start pitying yourself before there's anything -definite to pity yourself for." Then suddenly, he said, "Tell me, -cousin, I have wanted to ask you--why is it that you hated me? If you -don't want to answer never mind. We seem to be friends now--or I may be -mistaken." - -Carl was silent for several moments, then he said rather gruffly, - -"I--there was no reason perhaps. Let that be. You were right--when you -said that I didn't hate you as much as I thought I did." - -That was the last reference that was made to their former enmity. They -were too different, perhaps, ever to be really intimate, but the hatchet -was buried between them. - -During Carl's convalescence Paul was with him a great deal. His stock of -stories seemed inexhaustible, and in lieu of books Carl found them the -only source of novel entertainment to be had; and for the time being -Paul was exempted from his duties in the Bakery to amuse his cousin. It -was not any too amusing for _him_; but he willingly passed hour after -hour at Carl's bedside. It was the sight of the bandaged eyes that kept -his sympathy keen and made him gentle and patient even when Carl was -fretful and hard to please. - -One day Carl said to him, - -"Why don't you read aloud to me? The doctor says it'll be all right now. -I've a mountain of stuff to make up for school, and we'll both gain -something." - -Paul blushed. He was not particularly keen on displaying his -shortcomings outright to Carl, even if he did confess them. But oh -second thoughts, he got the book that his cousin asked for, and opening -it, plunged in bravely. It was a humiliating experience for him, to have -to stop before a long word, and pronounce it syllable by syllable, and -although Carl did not laugh at him, he corrected him with an air of -grave superiority that was even more trying. But the very fact that he -did not shine in this particular province, increased Carl's good will -toward him. - -"You are getting on very well," he said in a patronizing tone. "Keep it -up." - -The books that they read frequently led to arguments--friendly debates, -and these were Carl's special delight. He liked to pretend that he was -addressing a jury, and would launch forth into a flood of eloquence, to -which Paul listened very respectfully, usually taking care not to -contradict his cousin or to wound his vanity by remaining unconvinced by -his oratory. But sometimes he would get carried away himself, and a -vigorous battle would follow, in which Paul had only his clear, simple -reasoning to pit against Carl's confusing knowledge. But both of them -enjoyed it; Carl loved to dispute any point at all, and Paul "liked the -exercise." - -But in the long run, Paul found Carl's favorite occupations very little -to his taste. He grew weary of his cousin's books, with their -long-winded dissertations, he positively hated the dim room; and the -innumerable games of checkers that they played, when Carl's eyes finally -began to improve, gradually developed in him a profound detestation of -that pastime. His only satisfaction came to him from his aunt's and -uncle's gratitude. - -By the end of the month Carl was well enough to sit up in a chair by the -window for three or four hours a clay, and even to take off his eyeshade -for a little while in the evening when the light was softer. The family -happiness over this improvement was boundless, and in the late -afternoons everyone gathered in Carl's room. These were gay occasions, -and even Mr. Lambert, who always sat beside his son, and never took his -eyes from his face, cracked jokes, and laughed and was in the best humor -imaginable. - -One Sunday afternoon they were thus collected--all of them, including -Granny, who sat rocking serenely back and forth, smiling benignly and a -little absent-mindedly upon them all, winding a skein of deep magenta -wool, which Lottie held for her. The whole room was in pleasant -disorder, books and games lay scattered around, for Mr. Lambert had -relaxed his usual strict Sabbath rules while Carl was ill, and permitted -all sorts of uncustomary amusements. Minie was cutting new paper dolls -out of the Sunday paper, and painting them in glorious hues. Everyone -was gossiping and chattering--everyone, that is except Jane and Paul, -who sat on the little bench that made a seat in the embrasure of the -casement window. - -Jane, who had missed her cousin severely during the last weeks, was -content to have him with her again, and sat beside him, looking through -the section of the newspaper that Minie had graciously spared. Paul, a -trifle out of spirits, was staring out of the window. It was open, -admitting a gentle evening breeze, which rustled through the full-blown -foliage of Jane's beloved nut-tree. Below, on the other side of the -street some children were playing hop-scotch. And from somewhere came -the sound of boyish voices singing in "close harmony"--"I was seeing -Nelly ho-ome, I was seeing Nelly home, It was from Aunt Dinah's quilting -party, I was seeing Nel-ly home." - -Suddenly Jane laid her hand on Paul's to attract his attention. "Look! -Look at this, Paul," she said in a low voice, putting the paper on his -knee, and pointing to a paragraph. - -He glanced down and read, - -"C----. June 1st. The Academy of Arts announces that it will offer a -series of prizes for painting and sculpture, to be competed for -according to the following rules." Then followed a list of regulations, -after which the notice went on to say that, "All work must be submitted -on or before September 1st. Three prizes will be awarded in each -department. No work will be considered unless etc., etc." - -"Well, what of it?" said Paul, shortly. - -"Can't you--why don't you--" - -"You know I can't. Look at that kid down there, will you--" - -"Paul, why not?" - -"Because I can't, I tell you," he repeated, irritably. - -"But why don't you try," persisted Jane, undaunted. "If you don't win -anything, there's no harm done, and if you _should_, Paul--if you -_should_--" - -"When and where would I be able to do any work, will you tell me?" He -spoke almost angrily, but he took the paper from her hand and looked at -it again. - -"What are you two whispering about?" inquired Carl. He still felt a -twinge of jealousy when he saw Jane and Paul talking without taking him -into their confidence. - -"Nothing," said Paul. "Just something Jane saw in the paper." And -picking up Minie's rubber ball he began to bounce and catch it -monotonously. - -"What is it?" - -With a shrug of his shoulders, Paul handed the paper over to Carl, -pointing out the paragraph. Carl gave it to Mr. Lambert. - -"Read it, father." So Mr. Lambert put on his spectacles, while Jane -looked uneasily at Paul. - -Mr. Lambert read it aloud, and then without making any comment, laid the -paper aside. He looked displeased. - -"Why don't you compete, Paul?" said Carl suddenly. "There'd be no harm -in trying." - -Then Aunt Gertrude, glancing timidly at her husband, found courage to -put in a word. - -There was a silence, during which everyone waited for Mr. Lambert to say -something; but no remark from him was forthcoming. That he was annoyed -could be seen plainly, but because the suggestion had come from Carl he -maintained his silence. - -"Do you think you'd stand any chance of winning, Paul?" Carl asked -secure in his peculiar privileges of free speech. - -"I don't know. How should I?" - -Jane was simply on tenter-hooks. If only Carl would take up the case! - -"Would you like to try it?" - -"Yes. I would." - -"Well, why don't you? You could find some place--" - -"That isn't the point," interrupted Paul, looking directly at his uncle, -"it's up to you, Uncle Peter. You told me that I wasn't to touch a -paint-brush while I was in your house. And I haven't. But I--" - -"Well, you'll let him, won't you, father? He might as well have a go at -it." - -"My boy, I think it is hardly--" - -"But it's only a little matter, father. I'd like to see how he'd make -out. We'd feel pretty fine if he _should_ win anything, and if he -doesn't, there's nothing lost." - -Mr. Lambert bit his lip. But at that time he could no more have refused -his son's slightest wish than he could have struck him. - -"Well, well--go ahead if you want, Paul. I am sure I wish you every -success." It was stiffly and unwillingly said, but it was a victory -nonetheless, and Paul did not know whether to be more amazed at his -uncle's concession or at Carl's intercession. Jane, her face beaming -with delight, started to clap her hands, and then realizing that any -evidences of unseemly joy might have unpleasant results, quickly folded -them in her lap. - -And so it came about, through the play of circumstances, that the one -member of the Lambert family who had been so bitterly inimical to Paul -for eight months assumed the role of benefactor, and gallantly squared -his debt by a few right words spoken at exactly the right moment. - - - - -CHAPTER XII--JEFF ROBERTS - - -"Do you think I'll be able to put it across?" Paul asked, despondently, -stepping back from the half finished picture and eyeing it with his head -on one side and a frown on his brow. - -Jane, perched on an old barrel, her chin on her fists, studied the -embryo masterpiece with a grave, judicial air. - -"I think it is going to be _very_ good," she observed at length. - -"Do you, honestly?" Paul knew of course that Jane was about as capable -of judging as Anna, but he had reached the point where encouragement -from any source was sweet. "Lord, I hope I get it done in time." - -"You will," said Jane. Paul grinned at her. - -"You're about the most optimistic character I ever knew. I suppose you -think I'm certain to win a first prize." - -"Don't _you_ think so?" - -"No, my child. I don't think there's a chance in the world." - -"Oh, Paul! But you'll win something." - -"No, my jovial Jane, I won't. But that's neither here nor there. Whew! -Let's get out of here. I'm melting. How about you?" - -"It _is_ pretty hot," Jane admitted. It most certainly was. An attic, -even on coolish days seems able to store up heat as no other place can, -and on a sizzling August afternoon a bakeoven is Iceland in comparison. -The only thing to be said in favor of the Lambert's attic was that it -had a northern light if not a northern temperature, and here Paul had -set to work. - -"Want to take a walk?" he suggested, dropping his paintbrushes into a -can of turpentine. - -"Can't. I promised Elise I'd help her with some of the mending." - -"Well, I think I'll browse around for a while. Tell Aunt Gertrude I'll -be back for supper. She said there wasn't a thing for me to do." - -"Where are you going?" - -"Nowhere in particular. I feel like doing something rash and reckless, -but there's no danger of anything like _that_--here. Where's Carl?" - -"Out in the garden with Elise and the twins." - -"Well--good-bye. I'll be back in half an hour or so." - -Paul selected for his solitary ramble a certain rough, dusty, shady lane -that led down past the ruins of an old mill. Here on those breathless -afternoons a crowd of little urchins were wont to gather to splash and -paddle in the gurgling stream that tossed over its stony bed on to the -water-fall above the mill. On the opposite side of the road rose a -wooded hill, where the tree-tops were gilded with ruddy sunlight, and -the deep fern scented recesses were always cool and dim. - -The shade and freshness of the woods on that hot day were not to be -resisted, and Paul turned into them, following a soft, weed-grown road -that lead along a little tributary of the mill-stream. But he was -feeling restless and even a little rebellious. The calm, uneventful -course of his life during the past nine months had gotten on his nerves, -and he found himself longing for some kind of change or excitement. What -wouldn't he give to see old Bill Tyler coming toward him at that moment! - -He stopped, and leaning against an old wooden railing, stared down at -the stream that flowed by at the foot of the steep bank. For more than a -month he had been working as hard as he could at his picture, taking -good care not to let it interfere with his other duties, lest his uncle -should recall his permission; Aunt Gertrude tried to help him, and he -had progressed; but there wasn't a chance in a million of his winning -anything, and he was not sure but that he had made a mistake in -undertaking the task at all. He started on again, walking slowly, with -his hands buried in his pockets, forgetful of the passage of time, and -of his uncle's dislike of having anyone late for a meal. Suddenly he -stopped. It seemed to him that someone had called his name. - -Looking back over his shoulder he saw a small man running easily along -the road toward him. - -"Hello! Where are you off to?" inquired the newcomer, as he came up, -smiling in a friendly way. "I saw you back there, and thought I -recognized you. How are you?" - -It was no other than the notorious Jefferson Roberts, his face beaming -with a friendly, winning smile, and his hand outstretched. Paul shook -the hand, and said that he was off to nowhere--that he was just walking. - -"Communing with Nature?" said Jeff, cocking his head on one side, while -his bright brown eyes twinkled merrily. "May I commune with you? I'm -going in your direction." - -"Come ahead. That is, unless you're in a hurry. I _won't_ walk fast." - -"Oh, I'm never in a hurry. What have you been doing since I saw you -last?" - -Paul answered the question briefly without going into any details. - -"What an industrious life!" exclaimed Jeff gaily. "How is your good -little cousin, Carl Lambert? Do you remember that day in Allenboro? He -was horrified at you--he thinks I'm the most wicked creature alive. But -then, most of those good souls _do_. And why? simply because I like to -enjoy myself--and succeed at it." And as he said this he laughed so -spontaneously, his face was so full of arch, easy-going good nature that -Paul joined in his laugh, feeling convinced that the tales about Jeff -were mostly absurd exaggerations. In fifteen minutes or so he began to -believe, also, that there was a great deal of good in Jeff that had been -most uncharitably overlooked. There was nothing "smarty" about him; he -seemed frank and boyish, overflowing-with high spirits, impulsive, -enthusiastic, and happy-go-lucky all at once. He was even rather a -confiding soul, and strolling along beside Paul, whose arm he had taken, -chattered naively about himself and his affairs with child-like -frankness. - -Presently his mood changed; he began to blame himself for his idleness, -and to talk about his mother. He told Paul that he had decided to get a -good job in the fall, and work hard. - -"I'm a lot more serious than anyone thinks, let me tell you," he -remarked gravely. "I like fun, but I'm not like the rest of those chumps -you saw up at Allenboro. _They_ think they know me--but they don't. They -only see one side--so does everyone else. But I'll show 'em. One of -these days I'll be a nice, respectable--Mayor, with three chins, and a -gold watch-chain." This fancy sent him off into a fit of amusement. His -humors changed so rapidly from melancholy to gaiety that there was no -way of being sure that he was not joking when he seemed grave, and -serious when he was laughing; but he was a delightful companion, and the -two boys sauntered along talking as if they had been intimates from -their childhood. - -Suddenly, Paul realized that much time must have flown since Jeff -interrupted his meditations. - -"Gee! It must be pretty late," he exclaimed looking up through the -trees, trying to guess the time by the sun. "Have you got a watch?" - -Jeff laughed, and pulling his watch-chain from his pocket, displayed a -bunch of keys, which he twirled jauntily. - -"My watch, I'm sorry to say, is on a short vacation. But you don't have -to bother about the time. Come on with me--I'm going to scare up some of -the fellows, and see what we can find to do." - -Paul hesitated. He was decidedly in the mood for falling in with Jeff's -harmless suggestion; besides, he would certainly be late for supper, -and, was consequently, slated for his uncle's reproof anyhow. - -"All right. What are you going to do?" - -"Oh, sit around and talk most likely. Probably ramble off to get -something to eat, and then we might go up to see Tom Babcock--he's a -nice fellow. You'd like him." - -This seemed a mild and agreeable program, and was very much to Paul's -taste. If his uncle should ask him where he'd been--well, hang it, did -he have to give an account of everything he did, as if he were a child -of ten? And all this fuss about Jeff Roberts was such utter nonsense -anyhow. - -Accordingly, he accepted Jeff's friendly invitation, and they went off -together following the road on through the woods which led by a short -cut to the neighboring town, of Goldsboro. - -Goldsboro was a progressive young community where, unquestionably you -could find more to do than at Frederickstown. The streets were brightly -lighted at night, every Wednesday and Saturday evening during the summer -a band played for two hours in the Square, and the shops stayed open -until ten o'clock, and there was even a theatre where such old classics -as "Uncle Tom's Cabin," "The Old Homestead," and "Billy, the Kid," were -enacted by an ambitious stock company. - -Jeff seemed to know everyone, and it was not long before he had -collected a jolly party of five or six boys. He also knew where you -could get a capital sea-food supper, and insisted that Paul should be -his guest. In fact, Paul found the attentions bestowed upon him by this -rather famous youth, decidedly flattering though he was at a loss to -know just why Jeff should suddenly have begun to treat him as if he were -his best friend. The truth was that Jeff was inclined to sudden -friendships, which were often as speedily broken as made. - -Supper over, it was suggested that they drop around and see what Tom -Babcock was doing. - -Tom was a young man older even than Jeff--two-and-twenty, perhaps, or -twenty-three. He lived magnificently alone in a small room over a corner -drugstore, where they found him smoking his pipe and hanging half way -out of his window to watch the crowd in the Square, and to hear the -strains of the brass-band which at that moment was playing "Kathleen -Mavourneen" with deep pathos. - -Upon the arrival of his guests, Tom lighted his gas, and after a little -conversation they all sat down to a game of cards. - -Paul enjoyed himself immensely. He liked Jeff, he liked Tom, he liked -Jim, and Jack and Harry. They were "nice fellows," all of them. Why they -should be considered such a dangerous crew was more than he could -understand. - -And meantime the night wore on. - -In the Lambert household mild wonder at Paul's absence gave way to -anxiety. - -"Well, I suppose the boy knows how to take care of himself," remarked -Mr. Lambert, drily. - -"Perhaps, Peter, you had better put the latch-key under the doormat," -suggested Aunt Gertrude, but Mr. Lambert would not agree to this. - -"No, my dear. He knows quite well that everything is locked at ten -o'clock. If he prefers to be roaming around the country at that time, he -must be prepared to take the consequences. I hope you do not expect me -to alter all the rules of the household for the boy." - -So at ten o'clock, Paul not yet having made his appearance, the front -door was locked, and the family went to bed. - -But Jane was not able to take his absence so calmly. Suppose he had got -lost? Suppose he had hurt himself? He might even have been kidnapped. -These fears made it impossible for her to sleep, and so she sat down at -her window, determined to wait up for him all night if necessary. With -the house locked, how could he get in--where could he go? - -The time that she waited seemed endless. The tones of the church clock, -striking eleven, boomed solemnly through the stillness that lay over the -town. All the houses were darkened; the street was quiet. Now and then, -solitary footsteps rang out on the bricks, and Jane sat up eagerly only -to hear them die away in a neighboring block. - -Where _could_ he be? She was almost in tears when after an eternity of -waiting she heard the sound of whistling far up the street. - -"That _must_ be Paul. It _must_ be!" She leaned far out of the window, -trying to get a glimpse of the wanderer, who was in fact coming nearer -to the house. At last he came into the light of the street lamp, and she -recognized him with a great sigh of relief. In another moment she had -flown noiselessly down the stairs, and unbolted the door with as little -squeaking and rattling as possible. - -"Hello," said Paul as calmly as if he had just run up to the corner to -mail a letter. - -"Oh, _where_ have you been?" - -"Where have I been?" Paul was instantly on the defensive. "Why--what's -the matter? What's everything locked up for?" - -"Sh! Everyone's asleep but me. Oh, I thought you were _dead_!" - -"Good Heaven's--_why_? It isn't late." - -"It's nearly twelve. Everyone's been in bed for ages. We couldn't -imagine what had become of you--" - -"Well, I must say I don't see why there's so much fuss. I just walked -over to Goldsboro to see what was going on, and fooled around there for -a while. It was later than I thought when I went out, and when I found -out I'd miss supper, I thought I might as well take a good walk, and get -something to eat over there." - -"Oh,--well we couldn't imagine--you'd better walk softly, Paul." - -For some reason, Paul suddenly chose to think that Jane was reproving -him. - -"I don't see why I can't be a little late without everyone's getting so -worked up over it. Do you mean to say that I mustn't leave the house -without telling everyone exactly what time I'll be back?" he grumbled. -"Gee whiz! Life isn't worth living if you have to be worrying every -minute--" - -"_Sh-sh_, Paul! You'll wake everybody up," whispered Jane. He subsided a -little, but was still muttering indignantly when he parted from her and -tiptoed cautiously up to his room. - -The next morning at breakfast, Mr. Lambert asked him casually what had -delayed him, and appeared quite satisfied at his off-hand answer. - -"And how did you get in? Everything is always locked at ten, as you -know." - -"I heard him whistling, Daddy, and I let him in," spoke up Jane. Mr. -Lambert merely said, - -"Ah! Well, don't let it happen again my boy. It made me very uneasy." - -No further reference was made to the matter. - -"There was no harm in it," thought Paul. "They have the impression that -Jeff is a black sheep, and it would be a silly thing to go out of my way -to tell 'em that I saw him again. Uncle would have a fit, and it's such -a little thing to deliberately get up a row about." - -And so being satisfied that his mild escapade would have no -uncomfortable results he thought no more about it. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII--DISASTER - - -Poor Janey was feeling very blue indeed. During the last week it seemed -to her that Paul had somehow grown so different--rather inclined to be -cross and uncommunicative, and even to avoid her company. That very -afternoon he had told her please not to bother him while he was -painting, or he never would get his picture done, and twice when she had -offered to take a walk with him, he had refused her company with no very -gracious excuse. - -Thus ignored and rebuffed, she had sadly devoted herself to deeds of -charity, and on that sultry afternoon sat with Carl reading aloud to him -from a fat dull book about the ancient Britons. They were sitting in the -little garden, where the shadow of the house offered some protection -from the sun; Carl reposing like a Sultan in his easy chair, gazing up -at the motionless weathervane on the gable of the attic, and -occasionally begging Jane "_not_ to mumble her words." The attic was on -the third floor just above Granny's room, in a part of the house that -formed an ell, bounding the garden on the south side with its -ivy-covered wall. - -"I say, Jane, do you suppose that Paul is _smoking_?" said Carl -suddenly, interrupting the monotonous flow of Jane's reading. - -"What?" - -"Well, that's smoke, isn't it? coming out of the attic window--and cigar -smoke, too, or I'll eat my hat!" - -Jane looked up. It was an undeniable fact that a blue spiral issued from -the attic, and, caught by the faint breeze, was wafted gracefully -upwards, and dissolved. A very faint scent drifted down to the garden, -and that scent--if such it could be called--was of tobacco. Paul, -happily ignorant of the dismayed interest he had roused in the garden -below, was sampling a cigar that Jeff had lavishly bestowed on him. - -"Well, all I've got to say is that if he knows what is good for him, -he'll cut _that_ out," observed Carl drily. - -"I guess--I guess he's just doing it for fun," said Jane. - -"He won't think it fun if father catches him. But it's none of _my_ -business, I suppose. Go on." - -Jane went on reading, furtively glancing aloft every now and then to see -if the tell-tale puffs of smoke were still issuing from the open window. -To her intense relief they had stopped after a few minutes, and -presently she heard Paul talking to her mother in the kitchen. - -"Do you really like this book?" she asked at last, looking at her -brother pathetically. - -"Very much. But you needn't read any more if you're tired. Here's Elise, -now, anyway." - -Elise had just entered by the garden gate. - -"Carl! Jane! What do you think! The most exciting thing--" - -"Lily Deacon is engaged to Mr. Sheridan," said Jane promptly. Elise -stared at her, her round blue eyes wide with amazement. - -"How did you know?" - -"I put two and two together. Aren't I clever?" - -"No, how _did_ you guess, Janey? Lily hasn't told anyone but me." - -"Well, I knew it _was_ going to happen, and I knew that you'd been up to -see Lily this afternoon, and I guessed the rest. Isn't it _nice_, -though!" cried Jane, clapping her hands. "And you know _I'm_ really -responsible for it." - -"_You_!" hooted Carl derisively. - -"Yes, me. When did it happen, Elise, and when are they going to be -married? I do so love a wedding, and there hasn't been one here for -ages. Do you suppose she'll wear a veil?" - -Elise, who under her placid exterior had the most romantic of souls, sat -down to recount all the details that she had gleaned from her best -friend. - -"And she's going to live in that lovely house, and she'll travel, and -she--goodness, do you suppose Paul has burned up _another_ batch of -cakes?" she broke off short in her rhapsody over Lily's prospects to -sniff the air. - -"Don't you smell smoke? I do hope he hasn't had another disaster--he's -been getting along so well. Well, anyway--where was I?" - -"You said she was going to travel. What _I_ want to know is when the -wedding is going to be," said Jane. - -"Oh, that isn't decided yet--in the spring, I think. You know, that -doesn't smell like cake burning. It smells like rags. I suppose -somebody's burning trash." - -Carl laughed and looked at Jane; but the burning smell did not resemble -tobacco at all, and besides, Paul was still in the kitchen with Aunt -Gertrude. - -"Go on and tell some more, Elise," said Jane. - -"I've told you all I know. I must get you your milk, Carl." - -A minute later Elise reappeared at the dining room door, bearing a tray -well stocked with milk and cookies, and followed by Paul and Aunt -Gertrude. - -"Dear me, who _can_ be burning rubbish?" exclaimed Mrs. Lambert. "Don't -you smell smoke, children?" - -"_I_ do, I can tell you," said Carl. "By Jove, Paul, what's going on up -in your den?" - -Everyone looked up in consternation to the attic window. Paul had closed -it before he came down, but smoke was coming slowly from under the pane. - -"Good heavens! It couldn't be on fire!" cried Elise. "Run, Paul! Run, -_quickly_!" - -But Paul had not waited to be urged. Up the stairs he was flying, as -fast as his long legs could carry him, followed by Jane, Elise and poor -Aunt Gertrude, whose only thought was for Granny, the twins having gone -out to play early in the afternoon. - -The smoke was already thick on the second floor. - -"Elise, you and Aunt Gertrude take Granny downstairs," ordered Paul. -"Jane, you'd better not come up." - -"I'll get a bucket of water. Oh, Paul! Your _picture_!" - -"Never mind my picture--get the water _quick_!" And Paul dashed on up -the stairs. - -With his heart in his boots, he made his way to the attic, trying to -hold his breath so that he would not swallow the smoke. - -It turned out that so far as danger was concerned there was no great -cause for excitement. Although the attic was dense with smoke, the cause -of it was only a small blaze in the heap of rags near the window, which -subsided under two bucketfuls of water. - -Jane, whom Paul had not allowed to come up, waited for news at the foot -of the stairs; but after he had informed her that the fire was out, she -heard nothing more from him. After a few moments she shouted, - -"Paul! Are you all right?" - -"Oh, _I'm_ all right," replied a muffled voice, in a tone of the utmost -despair. - -"Well, come on down, or you'll smother. What's happened?" - -"I'll be down in a second," and then through the fog Paul appeared -slowly, descending the stairs carrying a square of canvas. - -"Is it hurt?" asked Jane, fearfully. "Oh, Paul!" - -"I don't know. I can't see it properly yet." But his face showed that he -expected the worst Neither of them spoke a word until they reached the -garden again, where Aunt Gertrude pounced upon Jane. - -"Oh, _child_, how you frightened me! Paul, are you quite sure -everything's all right? Oh, how did it start--was there really a -_blaze_?" - -"Just a little one--it's all out--a few rags. I pitched 'em all out of -the window. I'm--sorry, Aunt Gertrude." - -"Oh, my poor boy--your picture!" - -"What's the matter? Is it ruined?" asked Carl. Jane said nothing, but -stood looking first at her cousin's face, and then at the smoke-begrimed -and blistered canvas on which there was hardly a semblance of the -picture that had been so nearly completed. - -"Yes," said Paul, with the calmness of despair, "it's ruined. It's -ruined all right." - -No one knew what to say, and a silence followed, until Elise asked -timidly if he didn't have time to do another. - -"In four days? This is the twenty-seventh. No, cousin, I couldn't--and -besides, even if I could, I haven't anything to do it with. So I guess -that's all there is to that." He tried to sound cheerful, and turning -the picture against the wall of the house, announced that he was going -back to the attic to see if everything was calm up there. - -"Well, that's pretty hard luck," remarked Carl. "I daresay he's more -broken up than he lets on." - -Jane had begun to cry, hiding her face in Granny's lap. Not even Paul -could have been as cruelly disappointed as she. - -"Oh, he _would_ have won something! I'm sure he would have!" she wept, -disconsolately. "He said he didn't think so, but he _did_, and I know he -did." - -"Well, one way or the other, it's his affair," said Carl, "and I -certainly don't see why _you_ should be in such a stew over it." - -"It is my affair, too," wailed Jane, and at this characteristic remark -no one could help smiling. - -"Come, Janey, darling, there's no use in taking it so to heart," said -Mrs. Lambert, laying her hand softly on the curly head. "We are all -dreadfully distressed about Paul, but he has taken his misfortune -bravely, and after all he will have many more chances. Elise, isn't that -the bell in the bakeshop? Dear me, what can people think coming in to -all that smoke. I wonder if it's clearing out at all. Come now, Janey, -cheer up." - -Janey lifted her face from Granny's knees, and wiped her wet cheeks with -the palms of her hands, leaving long smudges. - -"There now. We must all be thankful that there was no worse harm done," -said her mother, kissing her. "Come along, Elise. You come with me too, -Janey. We mustn't keep anyone waiting." - -But Paul was already in the bakeshop, and was calmly counting out change -to the customer when his aunt came in. He was rather pale, but -apparently quite cheerful. - -"I looked around in the attic again, Aunt Gertrude. It's all right up -there," he said calmly, when the customer had gone. "The floor is -charred a bit where the rags were--but that's all the damage. And the -smoke's clearing out. It didn't get into the rooms much, because all the -doors were closed." - -"We're all so distressed about your picture, my dear," said Aunt -Gertrude, laying her hands on his arm. "I know what disappointment you -must feel--and you are a very plucky boy." - -Paul looked down at her, started to say something, and then abruptly -left the shop. - -"But how in the world could it have started?" wondered Aunt Gertrude, -for the first time. "He surely couldn't have had the oil-stove lighted -in this weather, and it couldn't have started by itself." - -But Elise had no theory to offer, and Jane was in tears again, so Aunt -Gertrude carried her mystification out to the kitchen, to see whether -Anna had returned with the groceries. - -At six o'clock, Mr. Lambert returned to the bosom of a highly excited -family, and, at the supper table, listened with a peculiarly austere -expression to the incoherent accounts of the disaster. Presently, he -held up his hand. - -"Come, come! I cannot find the beginning or end of all this," he said, -and then bending his gaze on Paul, added, slowly and sternly, "there was -a fire to-day in the attic--where you, Paul, have been--er--working. So -much I understand. But what I do _not_ understand is--how this fire -started." - -There was a silence. Jane glanced at Carl, and Carl took a drink of -water. - -"We hear of such things as spontaneous combustion," pursued Mr. Lambert, -"but for anything of the sort to take place, there must be certain -conditions. I do not imagine that such conditions could exist--in a pile -of rags--under an open window. No," said Mr. Lambert, shaking his head, -"I must discard that theory." - -Again the unpleasant silence followed these remarks. Paul, who had eaten -nothing, drummed nervously on the table. - -"You were there, were you not? a short time before the fire started?" -inquired Mr. Lambert. "Did you notice any--er--odor of burning?" - -"Why, Paul was with me in the kitchen for quite a little while before -any of us noticed anything, Peter," Aunt Gertrude broke in innocently. - -"Well," said Mr. Lambert, shaking his head, but still keeping his eyes -fixed immovably on his nephew's face, "it is quite beyond my -comprehension. How anything of the sort--" - -At this point Paul suddenly interrupted. - -"There isn't anything so very queer about it, uncle," he said coolly -enough, at first, though once he had spoken his courage seemed to leave -him a little. "I--I was smoking up there, and I suppose I threw a -match--or maybe--" - -"Ah-h-h!" said Mr. Lambert slowly. Then he pressed his lips together, -and for a moment or two said nothing. At length he observed, - -"There are one or two matters I should like to take up with you after -supper, Paul. However, we won't go into them just now." And then he -changed the subject with an abruptness that so far from drawing the -thoughts of his family _away_ from speculations upon what was in store -for Paul, only made them more dismally foreboding. And when after supper -the family showed a desire to disperse before the coming storm, Mr. -Lambert solemnly asked them to remain while he asked Paul a few -questions. - -"Peter, don't scold the poor boy to-night," said Aunt Gertrude in a low -voice. "He has--he is very much distressed and disappointed." - -"It is true that he brought his own punishment upon himself," returned -Mr. Lambert, "and I should, perhaps, overlook the matter of his smoking -this time, although he knew quite as well as Carl that I have absolutely -forbidden that. It is a far more serious matter that I have to speak -of." - -And with this he turned to Paul, who had been trying to collect his -thoughts. He was not ignorant of what the serious matter might be, but -it seemed to him that his uncle was making a good deal more out of it -than it was worth, and he had begun to wonder whether he had been guilty -of some crime that so far he knew nothing of. - -"I have heard to-day--from a source that I fear is only too -reliable--certain reports concerning you, which in justice to you I must -ask you to deny or confirm," said Mr. Lambert. - -"What are they, uncle?" asked Paul. - -"I was told--and by one of my most respected fellow-citizens--that you -have been seen not once, but at least half a dozen time of late with a -young man of a most undesirable character and reputation--Jefferson -Roberts. Could my informant have been mistaken? Have you or have you not -seen this young man several times--recently?" - -Paul swallowed. The entire family was aghast, for it was very plain that -Mr. Lambert was deeply angered. - -"Well?" said the old merchant. "Is this true?" - -"Yes, uncle." - -"You knew what my feelings would be if I learned that this _was_ true?" - -"Yes, uncle." - -"Yes," repeated Mr. Lambert, "I think you knew very well that you were -disobeying my strictest injunctions. Just before Christmas you were--or -could have been--seen with this notorious youth--a gambler, a rascal, a -shameless loafer. When I learned of this, I pardoned you, thinking that -you might not have known how deeply outraged I should feel at -discovering that any member of my household should wish to associate -with such a person. But now you have disobeyed me without such excuse. -What am I to think? You give me no choice but to believe that you find -pleasure in disobeying me, and mortifying me." - -After a pause, he went on, - -"Yes, mortifying me. You have treated me as I have not deserved to be -treated. I have given you a home, I have considered your welfare as -attentively as I have considered the welfare of my own children; I have -been lenient with you, though you would, perhaps, not be willing to -admit as much--and in return I find you willing to--perhaps you are not -aware that in associating with this Roberts and his crew you not only -injure your own standing in this town, but injure me also. For more than -a hundred years the family whose name you bear, and my own have stood -for every principle of good citizenship; and that honorable reputation -is to be marred through the willfulness of a youth who counts such a -thing so lightly that he will toss it away for a few hours' idle -amusement!" - -This grave, stern accusation was not what Paul had expected. He turned -white and then blushed crimson. His vocal chords felt stiff, but at last -he managed to speak. - -"I--I didn't think that Jeff Roberts was judged fairly, sir," he -stammered. - -"Ah!" - -"And what have I done that's so terrible?" cried Paul, "I only--" - -"You knew that you were disobeying me?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"Perhaps you think that at eighteen years of age you are a better judge -of character than grey headed men and women? Perhaps you think that you -are old enough to be your own master?" Mr. Lambert got up. "I cannot -allow willful disobedience in my house. You have been guilty of it too -often. I feel now that it would be best for all concerned--for you -especially--to--let you _be_ your own master. You are free now to go -where you like, make friends with whom you will, direct your own life as -you please." He stopped. There was not a sound in the room--indeed no -one quite realized that Mr. Lambert's words actually constituted a -dismissal. - -"Your father," continued the old man immovably, "left with me a small -amount of money, which I shall turn over to you at once. It should be -sufficient to maintain you until you are able to support yourself, and I -am willing to add to it if necessary. I think--I believe that in the -course of time experience will show you that I have been just with you, -and if you show yourself worthy I shall always be ready to help you to -the best of my ability." - -Aunt Gertrude looked pleadingly at her husband, but he did not see her. -No one else had courage to say anything, and indeed to do so would have -been worse than useless; for whether Mr. Lambert had judged his nephew -too harshly or not, it was certain that he could not be made to look at -the facts of the case in a different light. To him two things were of -paramount importance,--obedience to his wishes, and respect for public -opinion, and Paul had offended against both of these fundamental -statutes. The old merchant had not exaggerated when he said that his -nephew's conduct had mortified him. - -Paul made no attempt to defend himself; he was too much dazed by all -that the day had brought forth to find a word to say. - -Well, he was free. He should have been glad--and only a few months -before he would have been. But looking helplessly around the table, from -one face to the other he realized suddenly that he was _not_ glad. Why, -he had grown to love them all--he had even a certain fondness for Carl. -Who was there now to care whether he got into scrapes or out of them, -whether he won prizes or burnt his pictures to cinders, whether he was -defeated or triumphant. But his face showed nothing of what was passing -in his mind. Somewhere in the distance Mr. Lambert was saying, - -"I wished for all of you to hear what I had to say to my nephew, so that -you would understand that I judged him by nothing but what he himself -admitted. And I believe, Gertrude, that when you have considered the -matter as carefully as I have you will feel that I am doing only what is -just, and, I hope, wise. Paul is not a child, but a young man, quite -able to think for himself. It is plain that our ways and customs are -disagreeable to him, and I have come to believe that it is only fair to -him to let him go his own way as he thinks best. And--er--that is all." - -One by one the others rose from the table, and left the room. Only Paul -and his uncle remained. - -"Have I made myself quite clear?" asked Mr. Lambert, sitting down at his -desk, and putting up the roll-top. - -"Yes, uncle. I--when do you want me to--go?" - -"That I leave entirely to your convenience," returned Mr. Lambert. He -opened a drawer and took out an envelope with a rubber band around it, -which he gave to his nephew. "If you should find that this is not -sufficient for your needs you may let me know. I am very sorry that you -have forced this painful duty upon me--I had hoped that you--I still -hope that you will realize--" - -"My responsibilities," said Paul absently. "Oh, I have--but never mind. -I'm sorry, uncle. I didn't understand--" - -"Quite so. I want you to know that I am not acting with any thought of -punishing you. I am doing only what I believe to be best." - -"Yes, sir." - -Mr. Lambert looked curiously at his nephew's face, and saw that the -contrition in it was sincere. He did not for a moment waver in his -decision, but after a moment he held out his hand. - -"I hope you do not harbor any hard feelings against me?" - -Paul slowly and wonderingly took the proffered hand. His uncle's cold, -immovable justice was something that he had never been able to -understand. Not for a moment did he dream of asking for pardon, but he -could not "harbor any hard feelings" against the austere old man, who -judged everything according to an inflexible standard of right and -wrong--who saw all conduct as either black or white, and to whom the -crime of disobedience was equally unpardonable whether it affected the -routine of a little household or the affairs of a nation. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV--THE CROSSROADS - - -Along the dusty road, Paul trudged alone, his head bent. He did not look -up until the little town lay behind him. There was very little feeling -of exultation in his heart as he made his way along the shady road, -under the apple trees, from which the yellow fruit was already falling. -For the first time in his life, this young citizen of the world knew -what homesickness was--and he could not bring himself to look back to -the town to which he had come so unwillingly ten months before. Well, he -was free--he was his own master. That was what his uncle had said. The -whole world lay before him--but where should he go? There was no one out -there who knew that he was coming, or who cared whether he came or -stayed. There was the city--"lots of people, lots of streets, lots of -houses." But what was Paul Winkler to the city? And even if at some time -in that future to which he looked forward with dogged hope, he should -make fame and fortune, would the city care any more about Paul Winkler? -Would he not have been wiser--and happier--to have fitted himself to the -ways of his own people, to have gone on growing up among them, learning -to know them, to honor them for their simple virtues, and to forgive -them their weaknesses? He shook his head impatiently; it was too late to -think about the might-have-beens. - -He had just reached a bend in the road, when he heard a voice calling -him. - -"Paul! Oh, Paul, wait a minute!" - -He stopped, and looked around slowly. Janey was running toward him, -stumbling over the stones in the road, panting, her round little face -puckered with distress. - -"Janey!" He dropped his bundle in the dust, and held out both hands to -her. But she ignored his hands, and flinging both arms around him, clung -to him tightly. - -"What is it, Janey darling?" - -"N-nothing," she sobbed, "only I--oh, _Paul_ don't go!" - -He patted her red head tenderly; for a moment or two he found it -difficult to say anything. - -"There, Janey--don't. I--and you'd better run on back, dear," he said at -last, stooping to pick up his bundle. - -"No, mother said I could come--she said I could walk to the crossroads -with you. And she said I was to give you another kiss for her--and tell -you that she loved you--and Granny's crying." - -"Is she?" said Paul. "Oh, Janey-- Well, come along, kidlet." He took her -hand, and they went on slowly between the sweet-smelling fields that lay -turning to gold under the August sun. - -With his hand in hers, Janey seemed to feel comforted, but with every -step Paul's heart grew heavier. - -"Do you think, Paul, it would have been different if your picture hadn't -burned up?" - -"Why, Janey?" - -"If you had won a prize?" - -"I don't think it would have won any prize. And--it _did_ burn up, so -there you are. Besides, it wasn't as good as that old thing I did of -Aunt Gertrude. Do you remember? That thing on the top of the flour -barrel? That was much better--though I don't know why." - -Jane stopped short, looked at him for a moment or two, her face -brightening, then, without saying anything, walked on again. - -"What is it? What were you thinking about?" asked Paul. - -"Nothing." - -In a little while they reached the top of the hill from which Paul, in -the farmer's wagon, had had his first glimpse of Frederickstown. Now he -paused to take his last. - -There it lay, a pretty town, in the shade of its old trees. There was -the spire of the very church which old Johann Winkler had attended -regularly in his snuff colored Sunday suit, his wife beside him, and his -children marching decorously in front of him. There were the gables of -the Bakery, and there the very window from which Paul had so often gazed -out longingly toward the open road. There was the slate roof of his -uncle's warehouse where, no doubt the old man was calmly engaged in his -day's work, going over his books, talking and haggling with the farmers -that sold him their goods;--a stern character, narrow, perhaps, and -obstinate, but upright and self-respecting in all his dealings, a good -father, a loyal citizen and an honest man; justly proud of his standing -among his fellow townsmen. It was thus for the first time, that Paul -understood the uncompromising old man, who had judged his ne'er-do-well, -lawless father so harshly, and with whom he himself had been in constant -friction since he had come there. To Peter Lambert, respect for family -traditions, regard for the feelings and even the prejudices of his -fellow citizens, and submission to domestic and civil laws, written and -unwritten, were the first principles of living and he could not pardon -anyone who took them lightly. - -In the few short moments that he stood there looking back, Paul felt his -heart swell with affection for all that he was leaving behind him; for -Granny, his father's mother, who cried over him, for Aunt Gertrude who -had always loved him, for gentle, industrious Elise, for the twins, with -their pranks and their coaxing little ways, and--yes, for Carl, who had -shown himself a good fellow, with all his fussy habits, and irritating -superciliousness. - -"I'll miss you the most, Paul," said Janey, as if she guessed his -thoughts. - -He looked down at her. - -"I know you will--and I'll miss you the most." - -That was all they said until at length they reached the crossroads. - -"Which way are you going, Paul?" asked Jane, struggling to keep back her -tears. - -Paul looked up at the weather-beaten sign-post. - -"To the City," he said firmly. "That's the road I'm taking now, Janey." - -"Oh, Paul! Where will you be? Where will you be?" - -"I don't know, Janey. I can't tell you. I don't know anything now. But I -shall be all right--don't worry about me." - -"Oh, will you ever, ever come back again?" Poor Janey's tears streamed -down her rosy cheeks. Paul looked at her seriously. - -"Yes, I will, Janey. I promise you that. I don't know when or how, but -I'll be back some day. Now give me the kiss Aunt Gertrude sent, and one -from you." - -She dried her eyes on her apron, and then standing on tip-toe, put both -her arms around his neck and kissed him on each cheek. - -"Good-bye, Paul." - -"Good-bye, Janey." - -She stood there under the sign-post, watching him as he walked briskly -down the country road. Once, when to her he was only a miniature figure -in the distance, he looked back and saw her, standing motionlessly, with -the summer wind blowing her bright blue dress, and the summer sun -shining on her red head. She had been, and was, and always would be, his -faithful friend, and he knew in his heart he would never find anyone -like her in the whole wide world that lay before him. - -When he had disappeared under the shadows of the trees far down the -road, Janey turned and retraced her way homeward. She had been a little -comforted by his promise to come back again, and was already imagining -how one day he would walk into the bakeshop, suddenly, when no one was -expecting him, and say that he was going to live with them all for ever -and ever. And so he would live there, and everyone would love him, and -he would paint wonderful pictures and become famous; but he would never -go away again--the world would come to him! Never for a minute had Jane -doubted that Paul was a rare and extraordinary being, and in his wildest -moments of self-confidence he did not believe in himself as completely -as she did. - -Then everything dropped from her thoughts, except the one idea that had -come to her a little while before. - -To-day was the twenty-eighth. There was plenty of time. - -Aunt Gertrude, was in the Bakery setting the trays of freshly baked -cakes under the glass counters, with a sad face. She missed her nephew, -and in her heart believed that her husband had been harsh with the boy -whose efforts to master himself had not escaped her, and whom she loved -as much as her own son. But she knew quite well how useless it would -have been for her to have tried to intercede for him--and after all, -what had happened might be for the best. Aunt Gertrude was always -inclined to believe that anything that happened was always "for the -best" in the long run--and that, no doubt, was why, in spite of a life -that had not escaped many sorrows and difficulties, she was still young -and fresh in spite of her forty-odd years. - -But she had expected her Janey to return inconsolable for the loss of -her beloved cousin, and was surprised and puzzled when her daughter ran -into the shop in almost her usual state of high spirits. - -Without stopping Jane ran through the shop, and up the stairs to the -little room that Paul had occupied since Carl's illness--a small room, -with one window, and rather scantily furnished. Under the window was a -table, with one drawer, in which Jane promptly began to rummage. Its -contents were hardly valuable--two or three thumb tacks, a bed castor, a -scrap or two of lead pencil, a shabby copy of "A Short History of -Greece"--the pathetic testimony of Paul's efforts at "getting to know -something"--and a portfolio stuffed with papers. And then from this -clutter of what seemed to be school exercises of one sort or another, -Jane finally extracted what she was looking for--the newspaper clipping -that she had cut out for Paul three months before, with the address to -which he was to have sent his ill-fated picture. - -Jane did not lose a minute. She was now in quest of the old picture he -had painted on the top of the flour barrel! _He_ had said that it -"wasn't so bad"--and she had once heard him say that some great painter -had painted a celebrated Madonna on the top of a wine cask. - -She remembered now that she had seen it lying on the dinner table, one -day when Elise was dusting the dining room, and Elise had put it behind -Mr. Lambert's desk, where it had reposed since the day he had -confiscated it. It must still be there. - -And there, indeed, she found it. A fine coat of dust had collected over -its surface, but when she had brushed it off with her apron, she found -it quite as fresh as ever. - -And now, how was it to be wrapped so that it could withstand the rough -treatment of a long journey? She glanced at the clock. It was not yet -noon-day. - -Holding it face inwards under her arm, she started forth to look for -counsel in this important matter. Mr. Wheelock, at the post-office, was -one of her particular friends; he would be able to tell her exactly what -was to be done. - -She found that gentleman sitting on the steps of the post-office, -smoking a calabash pipe, and sunning himself placidly while he waited -for the noon mail. - -"What have you got there?" he called out. - -"I want you to tell me something, Mr. Wheelock." - -"How many calves' tails it takes to reach the moon?" said the old man, -facetiously. "No? What is it to-day, then?" - -"I can't tell you here. Come inside." - -He knocked his pipe out on the step, rose, and followed her as she -skipped back to his little office. - -"Now, tell me how to send this away." - -Mr. Wheelock took a pair of steel-rimmed spectacles out of the pocket of -his grey alpaca coat, and put them on. Then he picked up the barrel top -and looked at it in an astonishment that gave way presently to something -like profound admiration. - -"Well, I declare! If it ain't Mrs. Lambert! And its a mighty fine thing, -too. How did you come by this?" - -"_Do_ you think it's good, Mr. Wheelock?" cried Jane, eagerly, her face -glowing. - -"It's fine," said Mr. Wheelock, in a tone that indicated that he -considered his opinion quite final. "And on the top of an old flour -barrel, too!" he went on, turning the picture over. "Ain't that quaint? -Well, now, where did you want it sent?" - -Jane sat down and copied out the address for him. - -"And you'll wrap it up _carefully_, Mr. Wheelock?" - -"Sure thing. And send it by express, too." - -"And you won't tell a living soul?" - -"Nary a breath. Here, hadn't you better write your address on the back -of this here pitcher--or somewheres, case it might get lost." - -Jane had nearly forgotten this item. She took a post card, and wrote on -it boldly, "Paul Winkler, Frederickstown, N. C." - -"There, Mr. Wheelock, will you paste that on the back?" - -Mr. Wheelock was inspecting the card. - -"Paul Winkler! That young feller I seen around here a lot with you -folks? Did he make this pitcher?" - -"Yes," said Jane proudly. - -"I declare! Now I call that right smart. If it ain't Mrs. Lambert to the -life I'll eat my hat." And he set it up on his desk again, leaning -against the wall. Jane looked at it intently. If only she knew just -_how_ good it was. She did not feel that Mr. Wheelock was exactly an -authoritative critic--then she remembered again that Paul had said it -wasn't "so bad," and that settled her doubts. - -It was, in fact, in spite of the crudities of which Paul had been very -well aware, a piece of work that might have done credit to many a more -experienced painter; and there were things in it that neither Jane nor -Mr. Wheelock saw, vigor and harmony and beauty, over and above the -superficial likeness to Mrs. Lambert that Mr. Wheelock found so amazing. - -"You'll send it off right away, Mr. Wheelock? And--and let me know how -much it costs. I can't pay before Saturday." - -He laughed. - -"I'll try to get along 'til then. Don't you bother your head, child." - -Satisfied, though full of hope and fear, Jane went home. - -The family gathered for its noonday meal, Mr. Lambert taking his seat at -the head of the table, grave and pompous as always in his well-brushed -black coat. The difference of one place seemed to make the table -unnaturally small, and yet no one seemed to notice it. Mr. Lambert -talked about some man that had been in to see him, about the prospects -of the new courthouse being finished, about the harvests. His family -docilely listened to him, interpolating the proper question or remark -here and there. Paul's name was not mentioned, it being tacitly -understood that such were the wishes of the master of the house. - - - - -CHAPTER XV--AN UNSUSPECTED HERO - - -Paul's departure left the old problem still unsolved. Well, there was no -help for it; if the family tradition was to be destroyed at last, so it -must be. The time was coming when the ancient name of Winkler should be -erased from the glass window of the Bakeshop, and a stranger's name put -in its place. Even Granny, usually so little troubled from her serenity -by the vicissitudes of earthly things, seemed to brood over the prospect -with melancholy. But the subject was not discussed so frequently as of -yore, partly because there was little to be gained from such discussion, -and partly because it reminded Mr. Lambert of his nephew's delinquency -and put him in a bad humor. - -As September was always a hot month in that part of the country, school -never began until early in October. - -Jane felt utterly lost. Usually so resourceful, so capable of finding -something to amuse her or interest her every minute of the day, she now -went about her tasks indolently, and spent the rest of her time -wandering around listlessly. Several times, she went down to call on Mr. -Sheridan, who trotted her down to see his new Leghorn hens and his six -Jersey cows. He had gone in for farming with his whole soul. He also -discussed the changes he was making in the old house. Yes, he had -decided to live in Frederickstown for good, as his grandfather had done -before him, and his uncle, the Major, had done for many years. No, he -didn't think so much of solitude as he once had--but then there were -reasons. Yes, he might travel now and then, but that didn't count. No, -he had not planned to settle permanently in Frederickstown, when he had -first come, but things had happened since then that had changed his -mind. Of course Janey had heard the news. Yes, he was the happiest man -in the world. No, he had never been _really_ in love before. No, he -didn't think Peterson would ever get married. Jane listened to him with -the half-disdainful interest that one, who has been hardly dealt with by -fate, pays to the cheerful talk of the fortunate. Their positions were -reversed. - -Jane was almost sorry that everything had gone so smoothly with Lily and -Mr. Sheridan--she would have liked to have some complications to work -on. It also seemed to her hardly dignified in Mr. Sheridan to have -abandoned his pessimism so readily--whatever the cause of it might have -been. And now that he was so cheerful and full of plans, he seemed to -her less interesting than he had been before. - -She was on pins and needles waiting for news of what had befallen Paul's -picture. She had allowed no one to share this secret which was -absolutely her own, and her restless eagerness to hear was increased by -not having anyone with whom to speculate on the chances of its success -or failure. - -No word had come from Paul. Where he was, what he was doing, how he was -living were unknown to the family. - -One fine, sunny day Aunt Gertrude declared that she was going to shut up -shop and take a holiday. - -"Come, we'll take Dinah and the old wagon, and go out to the country. -Elise, you and Jane can make up sandwiches. Granny doesn't want to go, -but Anna will be here to take care of her. Father is going over to -Allenboro, so there doesn't have to be any lunch cooked here, and Anna -can get Granny's." - -The prospect of this unexpected spree put everyone, including Jane into -high spirits. Aunt Gertrude roasted two chickens, to be eaten cold, -baked a chocolate cake with marshmallow filling, and boiled eggs, while -Elise and Jane cut and spread enough sandwiches to stay the appetite of -a small army. - -At noonday they set out in the old wagon that had made the trip to -Allenboro, Carl driving, with Aunt Gertrude and the twins beside him, -Jane and Elise in the back with the luncheon hamper, books, embroidery -and games. - -And away they rumbled. Aunt Gertrude who actually had not been into the -open country lying around Frederickstown in years, had set her heart on -picnicking in one particular spot. - -"I remember it from the time when I was a girl," she said, blushing as -she did so easily. "Long ago we had a picnic there--it's about a mile -below the Webster's farm, Carl--I'll show you--Nellie Webster, and Sam -(she was referring to Dolly's father and mother) and poor Nannie Muller -and Ben McAllister--just think, they're all old folk like me, now! And -it was there that I met your father! Think of that now!" - -Jane, finding this interesting, moved so that she could kneel behind the -seat, with her elbows on the back. - -"Is that really true, Mummy? And did you like him right away? Was he -handsome?" - -"Certainly he was handsome--and your father is still a _remarkably_ -handsome man, my dear!" said Mrs. Lambert, rather aggressively; and -indeed she firmly believed that her husband was a perfect model of -masculine good looks. - -"Yes. Well, go on, Mummy. What did you wear?" - -"What did I wear? Well, it's very queer but I _do_ remember that quite -plainly. I wore a green muslin dress--that very dress, Lisa, that you -found in my old trunk the other day--and a white leghorn hat, with -little pink roses. Lisa, have you any idea what ever became of that hat? -No--I remember now, I trimmed it up again and gave it to you when you -were a little girl--and how sweet you looked in it!" - -"I want a hat with pink rothes," murmured Lottie. - -"Don't interrupt, Lottie. Go on, Mummy. What was Daddy like?" - -"Your father," said Mrs. Lambert complacently, "was a _great_ catch. He -was older than the rest of us, and so dignified. At that time, I -remember, he wore a big moustache--and such a lovely brown. I was quite -afraid of him, and I was sure that he thought me a very frivolous girl, -as I certainly was. But--he didn't seem to mind. And that night, there -was a lovely big moon, and the hay had just been cut--and he took me -home." - -That seemed to be the end of the story; Mrs. Lambert stopped, and a -thoroughly sentimental smile spread over her youthful face. Lisa sighed. -She was, if possible, even more sentimental than her mother, and in the -hours that her flaxen head was bent over her incessant handiwork, it was -filled with imaginings of romantic scenes, and dashing young gentlemen -like Walter Scott's heroes. She liked the portion of her mother's -artlessly told romance that touched on the moon and the new-mown hay, -but for herself she would have preferred a smooth-shaven hero to one -with the dragoon's moustache that her mother so greatly admired. - -"Now, Carl, you drive along this road to the left," said Mrs. Lambert. -"It's all changed very little. I remember that rock, _perfectly!_ And we -can lead Dinah off from the road and hitch her to a tree. And here we -all get out." - -So out they got, and Carl tied Dinah to a tree, while his sisters took -the impedimenta out of the wagon. Mrs. Lambert holding a twin with each -hand, lead the way along a shady path that skirted the bank of a -meandering stream. The shadow of a grove of trees lay over the long -grass; on each side of the stream stretched meadows colored with patches -of golden-rod, and red pepper-grass; in the apple-trees the fruit was -already bright red among the green leaves; the sun was warm, and the -wind caressing. - -"This is the very place--these are the very trees," said Mrs. Lambert. -"And now we shall all have lunch,"--this in a brisk, practical voice, -for notwithstanding her romantic memories, Mrs. Lambert was hungry. - -Elise spread a white cloth out on the grass, weighting it at the corners -with three large stones and "The Vicar of Wakefield." Carl went to put -the bottles of loganberry juice in the stream to cool, and the others -unloaded the hamper. Then they all sat down to eat. And when they had -eaten all they wanted--that is, until there was nothing left to -want--Aunt Gertrude took a book, pretending that she was going to read, -and went to sleep, Elise took her sewing--pretending that she was going -to be industrious, when she was really going to sit and dream--the -twins, took off their shoes and stockings, and made for the shallow -stream like a pair of ducks; Carl, who had recently acquired some -enthusiasm for natural history, began to look around for specimens of -the local flora and fauna--in the shape of mulberry leaves, and spiders, -and Jane rambled off to see what she could see. - -With her hands clasped behind her, she wandered through the trees, -sometimes stopping to smell the ferns that grew in the moist rocks. At -length she reached the edge of the little wood, where the stream, as if -it had been playing a game with her, chuckled pleasantly at having -appeared where she had not expected to find it. Again, on the opposite -bank was the meadow, where now a few brown cows were to be seen in the -distance, placidly munching the grass. - -But it was not the cows that interested Jane at that moment; her -curiosity was piqued immediately by a certain peculiar figure under an -oak-tree on the far side of the stream. - -This figure was seated on a little camp stool, beneath a green -umbrella--as if the oak tree did _not_ come up to the mark in furnishing -the amount of shade required. - -"What _can_ he be doing?" wondered Jane. The odd character had his back -to her so that she could not make out exactly what his occupation was, -and therefore left her no alternative but that of picking her way across -the stream on the stones, and ascertaining his business for herself. - -As she approached him her wonder grew. He wore a suit of black and white -checks, an emerald-hued necktie of such proportions that the loops of -the bow were visible even from Jane's inconvenient angle of sight. But -most remarkable of all, was his hat. It was such a hat as, once seen, -would leave an indelible impression, and yet defied all description. It -can only be said that it was large--extremely large--that it was of -straw, and that it was ornamented with a scarf of a rich and vivid -green. But the jaunty freedom of its lines, the expression of its broad -and supple brim--these were the individualities that distinguished it -from all the other hats ever made by the hand of man. - -After a moment or two Jane made out what he was doing. He was painting a -picture. In front of him was a small easel, and on the easel was a small -canvas, and on the canvas was a bewildering blur of colors. On his thumb -he supported a huge palette. - -It occurred to Jane that this fellow craftsman of Paul might have heard -of her cousin, and in any event his occupation interested her. She drew -nearer, until she was close enough to watch the airy strokes of his -brushes which he selected from time to time from a large bunch, much as -a golfer selects his clubs. - -Presently, evidently hearing some motion on the grass behind him, the -artist looked around and saw her. At once he sprang up, doffing his -wonderful hat. - -"Ah! How do you do?" - -Jane stared at him, and then said, with dignity, - -"How do you do? Am I disturbing you?" - -"Not at all! _Not_ at all." - -"Can I watch you?" - -"I shall be delighted; though I fear that your interest will be ill -repaid," he said modestly. "I am, as you see, endeavoring to render my -impressions of the beauty and tranquillity of this charming scene. Ah, -Nature! Nature! there is nothing like Nature, my dear young lady,--you -may take my word for it. I am a great worshipper of Nature--I wear her -colors like a true knight!" And he pointed to the scarf around the crown -of his hat, which, as has been said, was of a green that was surely -never to be met with on land or sea. He resumed his seat on the little -camp stool, under the green umbrella--also, let it be observed, of -Nature's hue--and Jane, whose curiosity had been much piqued by this odd -little man, settled herself sociably on a hillock. He set to work again, -this time using certain self-conscious little mannerisms, throwing his -head on one side, thrusting out his underlip, pondering over his -palette, and then holding up one finger, saying briskly, "Ah-ha! Now -I've got it!" and impetuously dashing a blob of paint onto the meek -canvas, which seemed to have had already far more trouble than it -deserved. - -Jane looked at him intently. He was a little man, of twenty-six or -seven, with a rosy face, a pug nose, and bright blue eyes, like pieces -of Dutch china. His straw colored hair was combed down on his forehead, -curled slightly around his ears, and grew down the nape of his neck. He -wore a tiny moustache, which seemed to have no kinship with either his -hair or his eyebrows, for where these last were almost flaxen, the stiff -fringe on his upper lip was as red as rust. Yet he was a pleasant -looking young man; the simplicity and earnestness of his expression, -even his frank satisfaction with himself, made one like him in spite of -all his absurdities. - -"Now, you're putting in the cows, aren't you?" inquired Jane, -respectfully. - -"Yes, indeed. I am going to put in three cows--three is rather a -symbolic number, you know. Faith, Hope and Charity--Good, Better, Best, -so--so many things run in threes. I should like to suggest the number -Three to the spectator--in fact, that's really what I'm driving at." - -It seemed a quaint idea to Jane, but original. - -"Do you--do you live in Frederickstown?" she ventured, presently. - -"No. I regret to say that I am not a native of these delightful -environs," said he, "I am a bird of passage." He looked at her -thoughtfully as he repeated this definition of himself, evidently -wondering how she liked "birds of passage." - -"You mean you don't live anywhere?" - -"Just that. All Nature is my home--the trees, the rocks--" - -"You _live_ in trees and rocks?" gasped Jane, looking at his dapper -little suit, and wondering how it withstood the strain of such habits. - -"Figuratively speaking. I confess that at times I inhabit--hotels. -Deplorable as such necessity is, still it exists." - -"Yes," said Jane, who did not understand why such a necessity should be -particularly deplorable, "of course." - -The little man looked at her, and then in a confidential tone, remarked, - -"I am an enemy to Civilization, Look! Look about you! These noble trees, -this grassy meadow, that purling stream--all are doomed, my dear young -lady. Have you ever thought of that? Civilization will overtake this -natural Paradise--the factory will rise, the stony arms of the City will -crush out the fresh beauty of the flowering mead--even these cows are -slightly civilized already." And a look of discontent overshadowed his -cheerful, rosy face, as he gazed at the peaceful animals munching the -grass under some distant willow trees. - -Just at that moment a series of shrill cries rent the air. Jane sprang -up. There could be no doubt that they came from the spot where she had -left her family. She darted past the little artist, flew along the bank -of the stream, and finally reached the scene of the commotion; though -she was forced to view it from the opposite bank. - -This is what had happened: Mrs Lambert, as has been said, had gone to -sleep, and, while Elise had been sitting quietly, with a book in her -lap, a large, black cow had ambled up behind her, and in the friendliest -way in the world had thrust its head over her shoulder. Elise had -promptly screamed; Mrs. Lambert, waking suddenly and seeing the cow, had -screamed also, and then the twins, making mudpies down by the water's -edge, had added their shrieks to the general uproar. Elise, losing her -presence of mind, had started to run, whereupon, after a moment's -thought, the cow had followed her. - -"One moment! Allow me!" cried a voice behind Jane. "Ladies, be calm!" -And the dapper little figure of "Nature's Knight" sprang forward, hopped -nimbly across the stepping stones of the stream, clambered up the muddy -bank, and clutching the green umbrella, flew to Elise's rescue. - -He ran around in front of the cow, shouting loudly, recklessly drawing -all the attention of the astounded animal upon himself. By this time the -whole family had collected to watch the proceedings. Carl was chuckling. -Mrs. Lambert was half-weeping, half-laughing, and wringing her hands all -at once. Jane, open-mouthed, followed all the extraordinary actions of -the rescuer, who, making the strangest sounds in his throat, waving his -green umbrella, appeared to be trying to mesmerize the bewildered cow. - -But singular as his methods were, the stranger actually succeeded in -coaxing the animal away from Elise, and then began to shoo it across the -field, with such energy and determination that presently it began to -trot and then to gallop until it had vanished out of sight around the -edge of the woods. - -Elise, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, and looking rather foolish, -got down from the fence to which she was clinging in desperation, and -timidly thanked the young man, who had again removed his hat with -something of the flourish of an acrobat. - -"You aren't hurt?" cried Mrs. Lambert, rushing to her daughter. "Oh, my -dear, I really don't think there was any danger at all--I'm sure that -was quite a dear old cow--that is,--I don't mean that it wasn't -extremely kind of you, sir, and I'm sure we are all _very_ grateful to -you--" - -"Madam, I was fortunate to have this opportunity of serving you," said -the young gentleman, grandiloquently, and then turning to Elise, he -added, with deep concern, "I trust that _you_ feel no ill effects from -this unpleasant adventure--" - -"Oh, no--no, indeed, thank you." Elise, being very self-conscious, -blushed, and looked at her mother as if asking what she should say next. - -"Won't you rest for a moment, sir?" said Mrs. Lambert, "and have -something cooling to drink? Carl, my dear, aren't there one or two more -bottles of loganberry down in the stream?" And then turning again to the -stranger, who listened very willingly to her invitation to refreshment, -she asked him if she might know his name. - -"My name, Madam?" he looked around at them all as if to assure himself -that they were quite prepared for anything that might follow. "My name -is Montgomery,--P. Hyacinth Montgomery!" No one turned a hair. Mrs. -Lambert then told him her name, and that of each member of her family, -and then they all sat down, under the tree. - -Very soon all constraint between the Lambert's and Mr. Montgomery had -quite disappeared. He was an adaptable, sociable person, and with all -his eccentricities and absurdities, had a certain air of wistfulness -that touched Mrs. Lambert. He did not seem at all loath to talk about -himself, especially about his feelings; and the only thing he touched on -rather vaguely was the matter of his native section of the country. - -He was in "these environs" only temporarily, he said, and was lodging at -the Red Fox Hotel, between Frederickstown and Goldsboro. - -"Why, then," said Mrs. Lambert, "we can take you part way home, if you -are ready to start soon. We are going in the same direction." - -She could not tell what it was about Mr. Montgomery that seemed to her -pathetic, but whatever it was it inspired the kindly woman to be cordial -and friendly to the odd little man. He accepted her offer eagerly, and -Jane fancied that as he did so he looked timidly at Elise. - -While the others were packing up various odds and ends into the picnic -basket, he ran off to collect his own possessions which he had left -under the oak tree up the stream. - -"He's a queer duck," remarked Carl, carefully sorting out his specimens -of plant and animal life. - -"Can _I_ have a hat with a green thcarf?" demanded Lottie. - -"I'll borrow his suit to play chess on," added Carl. - -"Hush! Carl,--don't make fun of him," said Mrs. Lambert, smiling in -spite of herself. "He seems to be a very good-hearted young man. Here he -comes now." - -All flushed and panting, Hyacinth appeared with his numerous burdens; -but notwithstanding the fact that he was laden like a camel with his -box, and stool and easel and umbrella, he insisted upon carrying Elise's -books, and even offered to manage the basket _somehow_. - -Just why, each and every one of the Lamberts felt a distinct liking for -the ridiculous P. Hyacinth it would be hard to say, yet that they did -was evident. And on his part, he seemed upon half an hour's acquaintance -to feel as much at home with them all as if he had known them all his -life. - -As they rumbled and bounced back to town he chattered happily and -confidingly to them all, but for Elise he reserved some of his choicest -thoughts on the beauties of nature. - -"Yes," said Mrs. Lambert, when he had finally parted from them at the -road that led off in a short cut to Goldsboro, after assuring them that -he hoped for nothing more ardently than to renew his acquaintance with -them, "a very nice young man, indeed. Where a good heart is so plainly -beneath it one can forgive a small matter like a checker board -waistcoat." - -Elise meantime had been thinking over not the checker-board waistcoat -but the orange-colored moustache, - -"But it was certainly very brave of him to frighten that bull away," she -remarked, half as if to herself. Carl shouted. - -"A bull! You mean one poor old cow!" - -Elise undisturbed by this interruption, added again in a tone as if she -were arguing out his faults and virtues with herself, - -"And even if his moustache _was_ queer, he--he had a very nice -complexion." Then realizing that Jane had overheard this remark, she -blushed a vivid pink, pretended to be looking for her work bag, and then -asked, coldly, - -"What are you laughing at, Janey?" - -"I?" said Jane innocently; "_I_ wasn't laughing. Gracious! I wasn't -_laughing_." - - - - -CHAPTER XVI--A FAMILY MATTER - - -The appearances of Mr. P. Hyacinth Montgomery at the Bakery became very -frequent. His devotion to the family increased so rapidly that in a -little while, not a day passed without his calling to inquire -solicitously for the health of all, to talk to Aunt Gertrude, present a -bouquet of wild flowers to Granny (who always had to have them taken out -of her room because they made her sneeze), and play with the twins like -an affectionate uncle. - -One day, having noticed the sign on the Bakeshop window, evidently for -the first time, he inquired how the name there happened to be "Winkler," -when the family name was "Lambert." He showed so much interest in the -matter that Mrs. Lambert, flattered, gave him a short history of the -family, to which he listened thoughtfully, once murmuring something -about "coincidence." - -"A quaint history," he remarked. - -No member of the household was so blind as not to notice the preference -that Mr. Montgomery showed for the society of Miss Elise, nor her -tell-tale bashfulness when he plucked up sufficient courage to address -her. But Mr. Lambert so plainly disapproved of the young man that not -even his wife dared to open any discussion on the subject with him, for -fear that a violent explosion would result. The old merchant maintained -a stolid silence which all the pathetic efforts of Mr. Montgomery were -powerless to thaw; though now and then Mr. Lambert was inspired to break -it himself in order to utter sarcasms that reduced the poor young man to -the last stage of discomfort and despair, and frequently caused Elise to -weep bitterly in the solitude of her little bedroom. At the same time, -she found something rather agreeable to her romantic taste in this role -of unhappy love-lorn maiden. - -"You are enjoying a great deal of leisure, Mr. Montgomery," Mr. Lambert -remarked one evening, looking at the writhing youth over his spectacles. -"Is it a vacation--or a habit?" - -P. Hyacinth smiled uncertainly, with a beseeching expression in his -large blue eyes. - -"Neither a vacation--nor yet exactly a--a habit, sir. I--I have my own -philosophy of life, as you might say--" - -"Ah!--a rather expensive one, I _do_ say," interrupted Mr. Lambert. "You -are fortunate to be able to afford your philosophy. You expect to remain -for long in these parts?" - -"Not _very_ long--that is, I--my plans are not definite." - -"My wife has given me to understand that you are--an _artist_?" Mr. -Lambert observed in a tone that almost overcame the miserable Hyacinth. - -"Not really--that is--with me, sir, Art is an--an avocation, as you -might say--" - -"Ah! And what might your _vo_cation be?" - -Mr. Montgomery waved his hand. - -"That, sir, is inconstant, variable." - -"I am not surprised that it _is_," remarked Mr. Lambert, and after that, -he withdrew into his shell of icy silence, evidently waiting for further -developments before he expressed his opinion of P. Hyacinth still more -plainly. - -In Jane, Elise found a highly sympathetic confidante, but even Jane was -prompted to ask frankly, - -"But what does he do, Elise? Does he sell his pictures?" - -"He does," cried Elise. "He's sold _three_! He did a perfectly lovely -design once for a stationer's advertising calendar--it was a picture of -a girl, he said, with a lot of red roses in her arms. And he did a -picture of some wild animals for a sportsman's den." - -"And what was the other one?" - -"I--he didn't tell me. We started to talk of something else. Oh, Jane, -are you going to be horrid about him, too?" cried Elise, suddenly -bursting into tears. Then, having grown quite artful where any defense -of her suitor was necessary, she added, "Paul was an artist, and you -didn't laugh at _him_!" To Jane it seemed hardly worth while to point -out what appeared to her to be the many differences between Paul and Mr. -Montgomery. So she disregarded Elise's challenge, and putting both arms -around her sister, said half-laughing, - -"You know I'm not going to be horrid about him. I like him very much." - -"Do you really, Janey?" asked Elise, brightening. "Oh, Jane you can't -imagine how unselfish he is. He--he said he'd give up everything for me. -He said he'd break stones in a quarry--boo--hoo!" And here Elise again -dissolved into tears. - -"Well, he won't, dear," said Jane comfortingly, "I mean--that is--he -probably won't have to. There are so many other things that he could do, -you see. What else did he say?" - -"What else? Oh, well--not very much," answered Elise, blushing, and -beginning to dimple. "He said that--he--he'd have to have a talk with -father." - -"Good gracious! Then he--oh, Elise!" - -"Only he's _so_ afraid of Papa. Of course, Janey, you must understand -that Mr. Montgomery hasn't--you know--hasn't--that is, I know he likes -me, but he hasn't said so. He says he can't, until he's talked to Papa; -he says that wouldn't be honorable. And Papa won't give him a chance!" -And once more, Elise began to weep gently. - -"Don't cry, Elise darling--father _will_ give him a chance," said Jane; -but these words of comfort only elicited sobs from Elise. - -"That's what I'm afraid of!" she wailed disconsolately. - -This state of affairs seemed hopelessly complicated to Jane. It had no -points in common with the romance of Lily and Mr. Sheridan, and in this -fact Elise found a certain melancholy satisfaction. Elise of course kept -Lily well-posted on the details of her own affair of the heart, and -unconsciously assumed a certain superiority in recounting and describing -her difficulties that almost irritated the sweet tempered and -sympathetic Lily. - -"_I_ was very unhappy, too," said Lily; but Elise shook her head as if -to say, "What opposition did _you_ meet with?" - -Jane simply looked on, vastly interested in this new development of -domestic happenings, but exceedingly dubious as to the outcome. Mrs. -Lambert was, of course, deeply sympathetic with her daughter, and Mr. -Lambert feeling that there was a conspiracy among the feminine members -of the household to overcome his objections, became more than adamantine -in his silence. - -So matters stood one warm evening, when, notwithstanding the date the -summer still lingered on, perhaps from sheer curiosity to know how the -problem was going to be solved. - -Jane, with a book in her lap, was sitting at her window, not reading, -for the light was fading out of the sky, and she was unwilling to light -her lamp, so lovely were these last twilight moments of that mild autumn -day. - -Presently, hearing voices in the garden, she thrust her curly head out -of the window. - -Elise was sitting on the green bench against the wall; in front of her -stood Mr. Montgomery, who, judging from the open gate, had just made his -appearance. He held his hat in his hand, but Jane, accustomed to having -her attention caught by the green scarf upon it, now noticed with -surprise that the green scarf had been replaced by a black one. Now, -what might be the significance of that? Mr. Montgomery's tow-colored -hair was slightly disordered, giving yet another reason for one's -believing that he was in distress of some sort. - -"Poor little man, what _can_ be the matter?" wondered Jane, and she -leaned a little farther out so that she could hear some of the -conversation. - -"No, dear Miss Lambert--I feel that I must go," he was saying in -sincerely miserable accents. "You cannot--I must not flatter myself that -you _can_ feel what this parting means to me. Indeed, desiring your -happiness above all things, I earnestly hope that you are untouched by -_my_ wretchedness! I have come to-night to say farewell to you and your -charming family for whom I could not feel a deeper affection were it my -own." - -"Oh, Mr. Montgomery--surely you don't mean that you are going for good?" -cried Elise. - -He drew a heavy sigh. And then, letting his head droop pathetically, -said, - -"Miss Lambert, that must be for you to decide. And yet I cannot allow -you--even though my dearest hopes were to be realized thereby--to make -any decision. Miss Lambert, I think you may have guessed my feelings. -How deep and sincere they are I can only prove by my readiness to -disregard them. In short, dear Miss Lambert, I feel my unworthiness to -aspire to the happiness--" here he swallowed his words completely so -that Jane found it impossible to make out what he was saying. - -"But where are you going, Mr. Montgomery?" stammered Elise, evidently on -the point of tears again. Her concern and emotion affected P. Hyacinth -deeply and rapidly. Taking a step closer to her, he looked into her -eyes; - -"Are these tears, Miss Lambert--Elise? Is it possible that my departure -is not wholly indifferent to you?" he cried, casting his hat recklessly -on the ground and seizing both her hands. - -"Oh, Mr. Montgomery, you know--that it is not," murmured Elise, freeing -one hand in order to dry her eyes. - -"Then," declared Hyacinth heroically, "I shall--I shall seek an -interview with your parent to-night--" - -"You may have an interview immediately, if you want," announced a bass -voice from the dining-room doorway. - -"Jiminy!" gasped Jane, drawing herself back from the window. - -The two young people started as if a cannon had exploded beside them. -Mr. Montgomery, minus at least three shades of his rosy color, drew -himself up, and breathed a deep breath. His knees were quaking; yet it -was not without an air of real dignity that he prepared to brave the old -lion. - -"Wait here, Elise. I think I had better see your father a--alone." - -"Not at all," said Mr. Lambert again raising his terrifying tones, -"Elise, I wish you to step in here, too." - -Instinctively, Elise clung to Hyacinth's hand, and like the babes in the -wood, they slowly walked into the dining room. - -Mr. Lambert was seated at his desk; and the light coming in through the -window shone upon his glasses so that neither of the quailing young -people could quite see his eyes. There was a ferocious frown between his -bristling grey eyebrows. - -"Mr. Montgomery, I heard some of the remarks you were making to my -daughter. I also heard you say that you wanted to see me. I am willing -to listen to anything you have to say--provided that you come to the -point _quickly_!" He brought out the last word so sharply that poor -Hyacinth gasped as if he had been struck by a high wind. - -"Yes, sir," he managed to articulate, faintly; and after this effort -seemed unable to utter a sound. - -"Well?" said Mr. Lambert. "Proceed." - -Hyacinth squared his shoulder. - -"Mr. Lambert--sir--I--er--I--" - -"Do you wish to marry my daughter?" - -"Yes, sir. Exactly." - -"Then why don't you say so?" - -"I _do_ say so, sir." - -"And you wish to ask my permission?" - -"Yes, sir--just so. I _do_ ask your permission." - -"Well, sir," said Mr. Lambert, removing his spectacles, and polishing -them slowly on his handkerchief. "It is _not_ granted." - -Here Elise began to weep, but disregarding her distress, Mr. Lambert -continued, - -"And I should advise you, sir, to keep to that very excellent plan of -yours to depart, at once." - -Notwithstanding the grim look around Mr. Lambert's mouth, Hyacinth held -his ground heroically. - -"Sir, I love your daughter. I think I have a right to ask you why you -object to me as a son-in-law." - -Mr. Lambert turned upon him slowly in his swivel chair, eyed him gravely -from head to foot, and then said, - -"Yes. Quite so. You have such a right. Very well, then,--I object to -your clothes, to begin with." - -"Sir," said Hyacinth, turning a deep pink, "they can be--changed." - -"No doubt," said Mr. Lambert. "In the second place I object to your -profession,--if you are pleased to call it such." - -"You object to my being an interpreter of nature--an artist, sir?" -stammered Hyacinth. "Surely sir--however that too can be changed." And -he bowed his head submissively. "In fact, sir," he added with an -ingenuous expression, "I shall be quite willing to change it." - -"Ah," said Mr. Lambert. "Well, my dear sir," a slightly sarcastic smile -illumined his rugged features for a moment, and he rose as if he were -about to finish off the matter, with his final objection, "well, my dear -sir, lastly, I don't like your name. Perhaps, though" (_very_ -ironically), "you can change _that_!" - -Hyacinth hesitated a moment, and then said pathetically, - -"Don't you really like it, sir?" - -"I can hardly express my feelings about it!" cried Mr. Lambert, losing -patience. "Really, my dear sir--" - -"One moment, please," urged Hyacinth, "I--I _can_ change it--" - -"No doubt! No doubt! Perhaps you can change your skin--indeed I should -not be surprised--" - -"But really, sir. Allow me to explain. I--well, it is necessary for you -to know sir, that, very often, persons who embrace any line of artistic -activity may desire to assume a fictitious name--" - -"I can easily imagine that in many cases regard for their personal -safety would force them to it," observed Mr. Lambert, drily. - -"Precisely. And sir--I confess that heretofore you have known me under a -name that--that is not my own." - -"Not your own!" roared Mr. Lambert. "What the deuce do you mean sir? Not -your own! Then whose is it?" - -"No one's sir, believe me!" cried Hyacinth, backing away from the -indignant old man. "I invented it, sir--" - -"And you mean to tell me that you have had the audacity to enjoy my -hospitality under false pretences!--to say nothing of paying court to my -daughter--" - -"Pray, sir--one moment!" implored Hyacinth, wringing his hands. "Oh, -don't misunderstand me--" - -"And will you have the goodness to tell me, sir, at once, _what_ and -_who_ you are?" bellowed Mr. Lambert. "Come, I won't tolerate your -insolence." - -"Oh, my _dear_ Mr. Lambert, don't, _don't_ be hasty. I--I don't know -what I am. But I--" - -"What is your name, sir?" shouted Mr. Lambert. - -"My name, sir, is--Winkler. P. Hyacinth Winkler. The P. stands for -Pol--" - -"Winkler!" gasped Mr. Lambert, "_Winkler_!" - -"Winkler!" murmured Elise, faintly. - -"For Polybius," continued Hyacinth, not heeding their ejaculations. "I -will conceal nothing from you sir. The P. stands for Polybius. My -sponsors, not I, are to be blamed--" - -"Winkler!" repeated Mr. Lambert. - -"If you are afflicted with the same sensitiveness of the auditory nerve -that nature bestowed on me," went on Hyacinth, "you cannot doubt that -there is something in the combination of the word Winkler with the two -polysyllabic names preceding it, which is grating, imperfect--" - -"Winkler," Mr. Lambert was still repeating monotonously. - -"Yes, sir. I now perceive the cause of your astonishment. It is a name -with which you have some connection--" - -"Will you be good enough to tell me what part of the world you are -from?" demanded Mr. Lambert. - -"I was born in the state of Missouri, in the year 1895. My parents were -people of consequence in a humble way. My father had for many years been -the proprietor of a solid business in dyes and textiles--" - -"My dear sir, I don't want your biography," interrupted Mr. Lambert, but -in a remarkably softened voice. "Your father's name was--?" - -"Samuel Winkler." - -"Samuel? And his father's?" - -"John." - -"John--Johann! By Jove!" cried Mr. Lambert. And he began to rummage in -the drawer of his desk, bringing to light the large scroll on which was -traced the family tree of the Winklers. Just as he had unrolled it under -Paul's eyes, he now unrolled it again, and eagerly began to trace the -lines of twigs and branches. - -"Here!" he exclaimed, "Samuel Winkler--son of the first Johann--moves to -Missouri in 1817--two sons, Ferdinand and Johann. Ferdinand died 1824. -Johann married, 1850--Samuel, your father, born 1857. Is that right, -sir?" - -"Yes." - -"Do you realize," inquired Mr. Lambert, throwing himself back in his -chair, "that you are the fourth or fifth cousin of my wife? That you -are, in fact, the legal heir--or can be made so by her consent and -yours--to this famous establishment. That, in a word sir," cried Mr. -Lambert, growing almost too excited to speak distinctly, "if you show -aptitude, and willingness to fit yourself to carry on this business, I -shall withdraw all my objections to you--I will accept you as a -son-in-law--Embrace one another, my children! Bless you a thousand -times! Ah, Heavens! Gertrude!" And almost apoplectic with excitement, -Mr. Lambert sprang up, and actually cutting a caper, flew to the door to -call his wife. - -As a matter of fact, he had not far to look; for his roars and bellows -had brought his entire family down to the hall outside the dining-room -door, Jane having informed her mother of the probable nature of the -scene going on within, and a natural concern for the well-being of the -two victims having stirred their sympathy and anxiety. - -"Come in! Come in!" cried Mr. Lambert, throwing the door wide. -"Gertrude, my dear, embrace me!" and he promptly hugged his startled -wife. "Jane, kiss your dear sister. Gertrude, salute your son--" - -"But w-what--" - -"What? What? You ask what? He has been found!" Then suddenly, Mr. -Lambert remembering that actually Hyacinth had not consented to the -conditions of his acceptance at all, turned upon him abruptly. - -"I presume, sir, that I am right in believing that you are willing to -lay aside all other interests, and--" - -Then seeing Hyacinth and Elise standing by the window, evidently quite -oblivious to his oration, he smiled with positive benevolence. - -"I have found a _Winkler_, my dear wife," he said. "And this time, I -believe," with a playful glance in the direction of the two at the -window, "a Winkler who--" - -"Who will stay put," finished Jane. - -There was no need for much explanation, Mr. Lambert's tones during the -interview having been of such a quality that not only the entire -household might have heard him, but the neighbors into the bargain. - -And thus, as Jane had once prophesied to Paul, the incredible had -happened--the Other Winkler was found. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII--AN HONOR TO THE FAMILY - - -"And of course _I_ shall lend you my pearl pin," cried Lily, embracing -Elise for the sixth time. "Oh, I _am_ so delighted! And to think, you -sly girl, that you're going to be married four whole months before I -am!" - -"And I," announced Dolly Webster, taking her turn at embracing the -blushing and dimpling Elise, "_I've_ brought you a pair of blue garters. -Annie Lee made 'em, but I sewed on the little pink roses, so they're -from both of us. And mamma is going to give you the dearest set of tea -cups--though that's a secret. I _never_ was so surprised at anything in -my life!" - -"And your fiance is charming," added Amelia, "_so_ interesting. Now, do -let me look at all these pretty things you are making." - -"Well, I want to hear more about all this," said Annie Lee, sitting -down, and taking off her rain-soaked hat. "Here, my dear, give me some -of your sewing to do. You must be rushed to death." - -"I _am_ rushed--but everyone has been helping. The house is simply -upside down," said Elise. "Just look at this room! I don't know how -we're going to get everything straightened out for the wedding. Papa -insists that we must have a big party here afterwards, but where in the -world we'll find room to move I don't know." - -Indeed, since the events recorded in the last chapter, the gentle -routine of the Lambert's family life had been unhinged at its very -foundations. Everyone knows that the prospect of a wedding has a -thoroughly disturbing influence, and during the weeks of trousseau -making, and festivity-planning, Mr. Lambert's rules of law and order -were freely and boldly disregarded. - -The wedding date was set for early winter,--to this suggestion, Mr. -Lambert had given a ready consent, being anxious to have his son-in-law -firmly attached to the household and his duties as soon as possible, and -the domestic machinery moving once again with its customary smoothness. -At the same time the old merchant desired to have his daughter's -marriage do him credit. He discussed the preparations fussily; he made -decisions and redecisions on the household articles and heirlooms which -should go to his daughter on her marriage; he even had his opinions on -the bride's dress. One evening he called her down and presented her with -an ancient silver chain, set with curious, embossed medallions, which -had belonged to his own grandmother--"Now I have the 'something -old,'"--Elise said, as she showed it proudly to her friends--: another -time, on his return from a trip to Allenboro, he brought her a pair of -tiny blue silk slippers, so small that no woman of the modern generation -could possibly have pressed her feet into them. Altogether, his -satisfaction was so profound that at times he was positively kittenish, -and teased the young lovers with elephantine playfulness. He no longer -saw in his prospective son-in-law and distant relative those -eccentricities that had annoyed him so excessively. He called Hyacinth, -Polybius--a name, which in his opinion had classic dignity--and treated -him with a solemn regard that disconcerted the young man even more than -his former sarcasm. - -Everyone was pleased. Letters of a most friendly and cousinly nature had -been exchanged with the family of the bridegroom who did not hesitate to -express very frankly their surprise and delight in that young man's -unlooked for good sense in choosing the bride he had, and in preparing -to lay aside his artistic whimsies in favor of a solid and thriving -business. - -Hyacinth had been exhibited to all the Lamberts' neighbors; he had been -approved and congratulated. Frederickstown received him amiably into its -midst. He had bought a calm, dark blue suit, and was growing a small -beard to give some air of age and authority to his rosy, youthful face. -He spent much of his time at the warehouse with Mr. Lambert where he sat -and listened gravely to the talk of the other merchants, spoke rarely, -but always with a judicious, reflective manner, which was positively -impressive. - -"A fine young man, who'll be a credit to you, Mr. Lambert, and as good a -husband as any young lady could wish," was the general opinion of the -new Winkler. - -He had been admitted to the secrets of the Bakery, and here his talents -shone. Here he proved his claim to his descent, exhibiting a genius for -cake-making that might in time rival that of old Johann himself. He had -already invented three new recipes; and so great was his enthusiasm that -he actually sat up at night thinking out new mixtures. He had found the -natural outlet for his creative instinct, and his whole soul was -possessed with an ardor for increasing the name and fame of his house. - -But it was not without a slight shadow of resentment that Jane, although -she was sincerely fond of her future brother-in-law, saw him usurping -the place that had been Paul's. Now Paul seemed to be entirely -forgotten; his place was filled; in the flurry of preparations even Aunt -Gertrude did not have a thought to spare for him. It was as if he were -no longer a member of the family at all, as if his life and theirs had -no connection. How could they feel that way, Jane wondered indignantly. -And to cap all, she had heard no news of the fate of the picture. She -was bitterly disappointed, for even while she had tried to pretend that -she had no reason to hope for much, she had really been building all -sorts of delightful imaginings on her unshakable belief that it _would_ -win a prize. - -But Jane was too entirely feminine not to be diverted, and greatly -absorbed by the plans for the wedding; and on that rainy, windy -afternoon, she busily pricked her fingers trying to make tiny stitches -in the pretty, simple lingerie that she was helping Elise to make, and -listened eagerly to the chattering of the other girls who were all -talking and asking questions at once. - -The brisk, kindly Annie Lee promptly fitted a thimble on her finger and -took up the piece of muslin that Elise had been hemming. The two engaged -ladies exchanged open confidences for the benefit of all, while Dolly -sat by munching chocolates from the box of candies that she herself had -brought as an offering to the bride-to-be. - -"Now, do tell about the wedding," she said, giving a bounce of -anticipation. "Have you started on your dress?" - -"Oh, yes--and Granny has given me a lovely piece of lace. Wait, I'll -show you. Janey, dear, will you go and put the kettle on, and I'll make -some tea in a little--you dear girls have gotten soaked coming to see -me." - -Then the half-finished wedding dress was taken out of its box, and held -so high that its immaculate cream-colored flounces should not touch the -floor. - -"It was mother's," Elise explained. "And I'm just altering it a little, -so it will not look very old fashioned--but I can't bear to change it, -and I think it's lovely as it is." - -"It's _delicious_!" cried Lily. - -"I wouldn't _think_ of changing it," said Annie Lee. "Why that's just -the style that suits you. You'll look lovely!" - -"I suppose it was once white," said Amelia, "but still, that cream-color -is very nice--though a pure white would be more to my taste." - -"What are you talking about, Amelia--that old ivory shade is a -_thousand_ times nicer than dead white. Hold it up against you, Lisa." - -Aunt Gertrude's wedding dress was made of silk, with a tight little -bodice and a huge skirt, brave with flounces and gathers; and above its -mellow ivory-colored tones Elise's flaxen hair shone like gold. Lily, -Dolly and Annie Lee were loud in their raptures over her plump, blooming -prettiness, but Amelia looked on with a rather strained smile. - -"Now, put it back in the box, or you'll soil it," said Annie Lee. "And -_I_ shall help Janey with the tea; you can't do half a dozen things at -once." - -Over the tea-cups these feminine tongues rattled on still more -exuberantly. Amelia drew attention to the probable differences in the -futures of the two brides-to-be, and wondered which would be the -happier, then Annie Lee began to tease her about some imaginary suitor -whom she declared was languishing for Amelia. - -"What nonsense! What are you saying? Whoever heard of such a thing!" -cried Amelia, but she was immensely pleased, and put on a mysterious -expression meant to convey to them that there was more truth in their -pleasantries than they were aware of. - -"Tell me," she said, presently, with a lively air, "what has become of -that delightful cousin of yours?" - -"You mean Paul?" inquired Jane, looking up stolidly enough, but with a -grin twitching at the corners of her lips. - -"Yes. I met him out at your dance last winter, Dolly," said Amelia, "and -he was really charming to me. We had many dances together--such an -interesting boy!" - -Even Elise bent her head to conceal a smile at the mention of the "many -dances" Paul and Amelia had had together. She had heard Paul's account -of that pleasure. - -"Why, Amelia! did you set your cap at Paul? I'm surprised at you. And he -was only a child!" - -"Dear me--how can you say such things, Elise," cried Amelia coyly. "I--" - -"I wish I could tell him that you asked about him," added Elise, "I know -it would make him very happy." - -"Nonsense! I'm sure he wouldn't care in the least! But tell me what has -become of him." - -"He went away last month--or six weeks ago," said Elise, briefly, -glancing at Jane. "Isn't that Papa just coming in, Janey? It must be -after five." - -"After five!" cried Lily, "then I have to run, dear. Mamma didn't want -me to come at all in this rain--" - -"We've got to go too, so we'll take you home, Lily," said Annie Lee. -"Come along, Amelia. We may drop in to-morrow, Lisa, and Mama says that -if you want any extra sewing done that Roxie can do it easily." - -Mr. Lambert entered the dining room just after the four girls had gone. -There was a peculiar expression on his face--a mixture of annoyance, -pleasure and pride, and he seemed to take no notice of the disorder of -the room as he kissed his two daughters, and asked them to give him a -cup of tea. - -"And, Jane, call your mother. Where is Carl?" - -"I think he came in just a moment ago, father. He has been out walking." - -"Well, well. Well, I've got a piece of news--quite a piece of news, I -must say." Still, he seemed in no hurry to part with it, and Jane and -Elise were left to exchange inquiring glances behind his back, until -Mrs. Lambert and Carl had obeyed the summons of the master of the house. - -"And what is this piece of news, Peter?" asked his wife, at length. They -all looked up at him, as he stood in front of the fire, drinking his -tea. - -"Well, I must say I am very much surprised. And yet not so much -surprised either. I had an idea that there was something in the boy, and -that was one reason I wanted to let him have his own rope for a while--" - -"Daddy!" cried Jane, springing up, "is it about _Paul_?" - -Mrs. Lambert looked at her with a little frown and a shake of the head, -but Jane did not see these warning signs. - -"Why, yes," said Mr. Lambert, smoothing his beard. "The boy, it seems -won a third prize in that competition. I found the letter in the mail -that was left at my office--" - -"Daddy!" shrieked Jane. "Oh, let me see! It isn't--it can't be true--" - -"Don't yell like that, Jane!" admonished Carl. - -"I will--I _must_ yell! Oh, mother, darling, isn't it--" - -"Sh, Janey! Of course it is wonderful news--" - -"But Paul doesn't know anything about it. Oh, Daddy, where is he? Why -he--" "_I_ don't see how it could be--since his picture was burnt up," -observed Carl. This fact had so far not occurred to anyone. - -"That's true!" exclaimed Mr. Lambert. "Do you imagine that there is a -mistake after all?" And his face fell slightly. He was inordinately -proud of the honor that had redounded to the family from his discredited -nephew's achievement. - -"No, _no_! There's no mistake!" cried Jane. "It wasn't the burnt -picture--it was the other one--the one he did on top of the flour -barrel. Don't you remember, Mummy?" - -"How do _you_ know?" - -"Why, because I sent it off. After Paul had gone--and he doesn't know -_anything_!" - -"Well, well--the boy must learn of this, somehow," said Mr. Lambert. "It -was absurd of him to fly off in a temper as he did--but that's the way -of young people. Gertrude, my dear, I think it would be quite proper to -have a notice of this inserted in the _Frederickstown Star_. In fact, I -dropped by on my way home this evening, and told Jim Braintree about it, -and he's putting it in on the front page to-morrow. 'Well,' he said to -me, 'I certainly must congratulate you, Peter Lambert.' The prize by the -way was seventy-five dollars. Not bad for a youngster--by Jove! -Frederickstown will have reason to boast of this family for a good many -years to come, _I'm_ thinking!" And the worthy old man swelled almost -visibly with pride, as if in some way he was entirely responsible for -the new honor that had been bestowed upon his house. - -In fact, not even Jane herself was more delighted than her father who -less than a year before had angrily consigned the prize-winning picture -to dust and oblivion behind his desk. - -But it was all very well to say that Paul must learn of his success. -Where was he? For all that they knew, for all that anyone knew, he might -at that very moment have been once again on the ocean, or in New Zealand -or Timbuctoo. This sad possibility somewhat dampened Jane's boundless, -blissful rapture; and yet she declared stoutly that she had a feeling in -her bones that Paul was coming back-- - -"And if he does come back, Daddy," she asked timidly, "will you--will it -be all right?" - -"I haven't the slightest doubt that as soon as he gets over his little -fit of temper, he will return," replied Mr. Lambert. "He must be running -short of money now, indeed--" - -"_That_ won't bring him back!" interrupted Jane. - -"Well, well, I am sure that he will feel--I am sure that he will -realize--that he has acted very impetuously--and--and will do the -sensible thing," said Mr. Lambert a trifle impatiently. "And now, Jane, -will you bring me my slippers!" - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII--THE WANDERER COMES HOME - - -The weeks which seemed so long to Elise and Hyacinth, and so desperately -crowded to Aunt Gertrude (who was quite as excited and flustered as if -she were going to be married herself) _we_ can skip over at will. It is -enough to say that within them the old house underwent such a cleaning -and scrubbing and furbishing up as it had not known in five and twenty -years. Mr. Lambert talked of building a new wing for the newly married -couple. The floors were scrubbed and freshly oiled, the brass and pewter -was polished until the antique household wares fairly winked at you -through the glass doors of the cupboards. The woodwork was rubbed until -it shone like satin; fresh curtains went up at the windows, carpets were -beaten, the front door and the window frames received a fine new coat of -green paint, and Mr. Lambert himself put on a new latch to the door of -the Bakery. And when these wonders had been accomplished, Aunt Gertrude -entrusted the proprietorship of the Bakery to Hyacinth and Anna, and -solemnly shut herself up to make the wedding cake. It was to be such a -wedding cake as Frederickstown had never seen before--a mammoth -delicacy, destined to be long remembered, composed of spices and raisins -and citron and nuts, all buried under a snowy frosting, and artistic -decorations designed by the versatile Hyacinth, who was allowed to -contribute to this part of it, only. - -And then came the day when the Samuel Winklers arrived, and took up -their quarters at the Red Fox Inn, midway between Frederickstown and -Goldsboro. And after they had paid their respects to their cousins, and -presented their daughter-in-law-to-be with innumerable gifts, there was -a party in their honor, at which Granny presided with the greatest -dignity and Mr. Lambert proposed no less than eighteen toasts which were -enthusiastically drunk in blackberry wine. In fact, the wedding -festivities in honor of a union which restored the house of Winkler to -its former state of security threatened to completely disorganize the -delighted community. - -At last the sixth of December--the wedding-day--was come. - -In accordance with a time-honored custom, the ceremony was performed at -eight o'clock at night. And what a night it was! The first snow of the -winter had fallen, covering streets and house-tops with a thick, soft, -sparkling mantle. And like a Russian bride, Elise returned from the old -church with the sound of sleigh bells jingling in the clear, frosty air. - -A beautiful bride she was, too, rosy and golden-haired and blue-eyed; -and as for Hyacinth! with a flower in his button-hole, with his hair all -sleek and glossy, with such an expression of importance and -sedateness--it was no wonder that his parents gazed upon him with eyes -actually moist with pride, and Elise thought him a matchless paragon -amongst men. - -No one knows to this day how all the guests that came managed to crowd -themselves into the old house, but they did, and no less than thirty of -them sat down at the table with the bride and bridegroom. There was -scarcely one imprint of footsteps in the new-fallen snow that night that -did not point in the direction of the Bakery. - -A little after nine o'clock, the musicians arrived, Tom Drinkwater with -his fiddle, and Mr. Mellitz with his trombone in a huge green felt case, -and Frank Fisher with his harp and old Mr. Gilroy with his cello. They -settled themselves in a corner, tuned up a bit, and then the dancing -began. - -It was with immeasurable pride that on this occasion, Mr. Lambert -welcomed Mr. Sheridan amongst his guests--Mr. Timothy Sheridan, nephew -to the late Major, and of a family that had had its roots in -Frederickstown as long as the Winklers themselves, or nearly. Lily was a -bridesmaid, and it was with her that Mr. Lambert himself started the -dancing. Mrs. Deacon was there, gorgeous in purple and plumes, the -Websters in a solid phalanx--in fact there was not a face that was -familiar in Frederickstown that was not to be seen that night glowing -with satisfaction and good will and personal enjoyment under the roof of -the Lambert-Winkler dwelling. - -It was when the general merriment was at its height that Jane, laden -with a tray of refreshments approached the overheated musicians who were -scraping and blowing and thumping away in that corner of the dining room -from which Mr. Lambert's desk--as an article that harmonized too little -with the elegance of the occasion--had been temporarily banished. - -"In another four or five years or so, we'll be making music at _your_ -wedding no doubt--if we live, eh?" said old Elias Gilroy at last laying -aside his cello for a moment, to take a long draught of cider. When he -came out of the mug, wiping his grizzled moustaches delicately on a blue -polka dot handkerchief he winked merrily at Jane, who had sat down -beside him. - -"And why aren't you twirling round with the boys, my lassie?" he went on -affectionately, now helping himself to a gigantic slice of cake. - -"I came over to watch you--and besides, I'd rather look on," said Jane, -carefully smoothing out the skirt of her new blue silk dress. "Shall I -get you some more cider, Mr. Gilroy?" - -"Well--I'll not trouble you," said he, uncertainly, "though if there's -plenty to be had--" - -"There's lots. There's lots and lots of everything!" cried Jane. "I'll -bring a pitcher!" - -When the enthusiastic musicians had had "fresh heart put into 'em" as -Mr. Gilroy said, she stood by watching them tune up their instruments -for a new onslaught on the famous, lively measures of "Old Uncle Ned." - -"Oh, I _do_ wish I could make music out of that big thing!" she cried -pointing to the cello. - -"You have to be born to it," replied Mr. Gilroy solemnly, sawing away -with all his might. "It's an easier matter to blow a tune through -that--" he jerked his head in the direction of Mr. Mellitz's gleaming -trombone, whose huge tones fairly drowned out the voices of the other -instruments. Mr. Mellitz, though he might have taken offense at the -disparaging manner in which his colleague referred to his instrument, -seemed not to have heard Mr. Gilroy's remark. He sat behind the other -three, directly under the window, staring fixedly down the shining tube -of the trombone at his music;--a meager, melancholy looking man, little -given to sociable conversation, with a tallow-colored face which just -now was swollen out as he forced all the breath in his lean body into -the mouthpiece. - -"Why," wondered Jane, "did he choose to play the trombone?" - -With her hands folded in her lap, she sat watching him fixedly, as he -pushed his slide up and down. All around her people were dancing, -eating, drinking, talking, laughing. People were leaving, people were -coming--she was not thinking about them--she was not even thinking about -solemn Mr. Mellitz nor of how Mr. Gilroy coaxed his deep, sweet tones -out of the frayed strings of his old cello. - -She was wondering where Paul was. The very gaiety of the family reunion -made her feel the absence of the outcast all the more keenly. Her -cheerful hope of his return had waned steadily during the past weeks. -There was no news of him, although Mr. Lambert himself had tried to -trace him. No, he was gone. - -"Well, my lassie, if you watch us hard enough no doubt you'll learn a -thing or two about it," remarked Mr. Gilroy, when the music came to a -stop at the end of the dance, and the musicians mopped their perspiring -faces. "Here, take this bow, since you're so curious, and have a try at -it, while I breathe easy a moment or two." He put the neck of his cello -into her hand, and showed her how to press her fingers on the strings. - -"Now, just take the bow so--like this, see? That's better--and _bite_ -the string with it--" - -Jane laughingly tried to do as she was told, but the sound that the -instrument emitted under her touch showed only too plainly that sweetly -as it could sing under the fingers of Mr. Gilroy it had a very different -temper for rash amateurs. - -As she looked up, laughing, into the old man's face, she suddenly caught -her breath in a gasp. Through the window, just behind the long head of -Mr. Mellitz, it seemed to her that she had seen a face--though the next -moment it had disappeared. - -"What is it?" inquired Mr. Gilroy, noticing her frightened expression. -"Aren't seeing ghosts are ye?" he added jocosely. - -Jane shook her head, but she looked again, uneasily, at the window. -There was nothing there but the reflection of the interior of the -room--Anna taking plates of the table, two or three older men standing -by the fire, the silhouettes of the musicians' heads, her mother -hurrying in to see about something and then hurrying out again, people -moving past the door. - -Then, all of a sudden, there it was again! Fantastically white, it -seemed to Jane, and apparently without any body accompanying it, so that -it looked like a mask suspended outside the window. She sprang up in a -fright, not thinking for a moment that it might be no more than the face -of some inquisitive wayfarer, who had stolen into the garden to peer in -upon the festivities. - -All at once, hope, fear, doubt and joy broke over her. - -_"Paul!"_ - -The cello fell over onto the floor with an indignant "thrum-m!" as she -darted forward. The next moment, she had opened the door, and stood upon -the snowy step, looking eagerly about in the shadows of the garden. - -"Paul! Paul! Are you there?" - -A figure moved out of the darkness, into the shaft of light that -streamed through the open door. - -"Janey!" She heard the unmistakably familiar short laugh as she flung -herself into his bear-like hug. - -"You've come back! I knew it! I knew you would!" she cried, patting his -shoulders and the wet, rough sleeves of his shabby coat in a perfect -ecstasy of delight. "Oh, Paul--come in! come in quickly!" But he drew -back. - -"No, no Janey. I can't do that. But what's going on, anyway?" - -"Why, Paul--don't you know? It's Elise--Elise's wedding. And what do you -think? There's another Winkler after all--Oh, you've got to come in, -Paul--" - -"No; Janey--I can't," he repeated firmly. "I'll come back again some -day, as I promised--but not now. I can't do it now. I only stopped to -look in--I'm on my way down to Riverbury--there's a fellow down there -who says he has some work for me, if I want to come. I--I just stopped -to peek in, thinking that perhaps I'd see you all sitting around the -fire. A fine wedding guest I'd make," he added laughing. "I'd be a worse -mortification to Uncle Peter than ever I was. No, Janey, I can't. Walk -in there like this? The black sheep of the family coming in like a -vagabond at the wedding feast?" - -Indeed, he was shabby enough--and in his laugh was a tell-tale note of -something like shame. It stung his pride not a little to have even Janey -see the plain evidences of the rather unsuccessful struggle he had been -waging with circumstances. He wore the same old seaman's cap, the same -old short, thick jacket--but frayed edges, patches, and empty -buttonholes did not escape Janey's eyes, and he knew it, and tried to -draw out of the light. He was much thinner too, and even a trifle -taller, so that his garments, which had never fitted him kindly were now -still looser in the places where they had once been much too loose and -tighter where they had once been much too tight. He felt also that the -light showed only too plainly the traces that actual hunger had drawn in -his face, and of these he was more ashamed than of his clothes. - -"You mustn't stand out here, Janey--you're shivering in that thin dress. -And I must say good-bye--you've left the door open, and here come some -people." - -Janey glanced over her shoulder. Through the door from the hall, her -father was entering the dining room, with Elise, followed by Hyacinth -and Aunt Gertrude, and then the remaining guests. The ceremony of -solemnly drinking the bride's health was about to take place. Granny sat -at the head of the table. - -"How lovely Elise looks," said Paul, "and how nice it is to see them -all. There's Mrs. Deacon--and Lily and Mr. Sheridan--and there's my -friend, Amelia. Is that fellow with the beard the bridegroom?" - -"That's Hyacinth. And he's a Winkler--a real true Winkler, Paul. I found -him." - -"Did you?" said Paul, laughing, "I'm not surprised." - -"Only I didn't know he was a Winkler--so it doesn't count--" - -"Here comes Uncle Peter! He's seen you, Janey. Good-bye, dear." But she -held both his hands tightly. - -"I won't let you go! I won't, Paul! You don't understand. It's all -right--" - -Just then, Mr. Lambert pushed the half-open door wide. - -"Jane! What are you doing? Come in at once--you've chilled the whole -house!" - -Everyone had turned, and was staring in amazement, as Jane pulled Paul -to the threshold, under her father's very nose. - -"What's this?" cried Mr. Lambert, seizing his nephew by the arm. - -"It's--me, Uncle," said Paul. "I am going. I only--" - -"Going!" cried Mr. Lambert. "Going! Not at all! Come in! Come in!" - -The next thing that the bewildered Paul was conscious of was that he was -standing inside the room, facing the table full of guests, with his -uncle's arm jovially embracing his shoulders, Jane clinging to his hand, -and everyone exclaiming over the returned prodigal. - -"Ladies and gentlemen!" announced Mr. Lambert, but his speech was cut -short, as Aunt Gertrude rushed forward to kiss the utterly dazed, -uncomprehending, and horribly embarrassed boy. - -"Ladies and gentlemen!" Mr. Lambert began again, "you are aware, I -think, of the recent honor bestowed upon my nephew--an honor which is -shared not only by his family, but by this community of which he is a -part!" The remainder of the speech, no less than its resounding -introduction was pure Greek to Paul, who stood with his long arms -dangling, helplessly, and with open mouth, gazing from face to face, as -if trying to piece out the solution of the mystery. - -Then everyone began to clap their hands. His appearance had for the time -being absorbed all interest. Granny, almost hidden behind the towering -wedding cake, which had just been brought on to be cut, pulled him to -her, and kissed him. Carl, looking very clean and spruce in his new -suit, and snowy collar and polished shoes, shook hands with him. Elise -embraced him, regardless of her silk dress, and her flowers and her -veil; Hyacinth, looking abnormally solemn and important--the exuberant -nature lover and enemy of civilization had miraculously vanished to give -place to one of the most civilized and sedate of young men--Hyacinth -shook his hand, and said something very incoherent and flowery about the -pleasure and honor of meeting his distinguished cousin, and about their -being in some sense, kindred spirits. - -And then Paul, understanding nothing whatever, not at all sure that he -was not dreaming, but feeling as happy as he was puzzled, took his place -beside his uncle, to drink the health of the bride, and long life to the -name of Winkler. It was nice to be there, to see all the familiar faces, -to hear the familiar voices--above all it was good to have his part in -this celebration of family happiness, to feel that these were his kin -folk whose joys and sorrows must affect his life just as his affected -theirs. But why was it that the glances that he met shone with pride? -What had _he_ done? Why were they not ashamed of him as he stood there, -tattered and muddy--the very picture of the aimless, shiftless wanderer -that his father had been before him? He blushed for himself, feeling -vaguely that he ought not to be there, after all, that he should have -resisted Jane and Mr. Lambert and gone his way. He looked around the -familiar room,--above the chimneyplace hung the old, clumsily executed -portrait of Great-grandfather Johann, in his snuff-colored Sunday -suit--a severely pleasant-looking old man, with a constant expression of -honesty and self-respect--who now seemed to gaze down placidly and -commendingly upon the united gathering of his descendants. He had worked -for them, had old Johann Winkler; it was his industry, his self-respect, -his respect for the opinions of his fellow-citizens that had laid the -foundations of their comfort and prosperity and their good standing in -the community; from him had come the simple principles upon which they -lived and worked together. And Paul felt, as he looked up into the -painted blue eyes that old Johann would have dealt harshly with those -who disregarded family responsibilities, or brought any shadow of public -censure upon the name. And there, under those keen little blue eyes, he -stood, ragged and disreputable-looking, and the keen little blue eyes -seemed to ask him, "What does this mean, sir?" Yet, Uncle Peter had -bidden him to the feast, and was even now filling the glass in front of -him. - -And then the toasts were drunk, and the glasses clinked, and the wedding -cake was cut. And after that, Elise went up to her room to change her -dress, for the sleigh was at the door, and it was high time that the -bride and bridegroom should be on their way. Of peculiar interest, the -fact should be chronicled that when the ascending bride tossed her -bouquet over the bannisters into the midst of her maids, Dolly and -Amelia, and Lily, and Annie Lee, it was Amelia who caught the nosegay! - -And at last, the sleigh with its jingling bells had driven swiftly away -over the snowy road. The last handful of rice had been flung; the last -guest had gone, and Aunt Gertrude stood laughing and weeping over the -flight of the first of her little flock--though indeed Elise and her -Hyacinth were going no farther than Salisbury, and would be back in two -days! - -Paul and Jane stood side by side on the rice-strewn steps looking up the -moonlit street. - -"Mr. Daniels is building a porch on his house, isn't he?" remarked Paul, -quickly detecting the little alterations that had occurred on that -familiar street since his going. - -"Come in, children," said Aunt Gertrude, "come in, my dears, and let me -count you all to make sure that no more than one has run away from me!" - -And when they had all gathered around her in the old dining room in the -midst of the gay disorder of the wedding-feast, she made a pretense of -counting them, laughing and crying at the same time. - -"Here is my Jane and my Carl, and my two sleepy twinnies! That's -four--and here's my missing fifth!" And she gave Paul an extra kiss. - -Paul looked around him. Then turning to his uncle he said; - -"Uncle Peter, you've been very kind to me. I had no intention to come in -here to-night--I only stopped to look in at you all--and I'm afraid I -wasn't anything to be proud of at Elise's wedding--" - -"Come, my boy, no more of that!" said Mr. Lambert briskly; then he came -closer to Paul, and laying his hand on his shoulder looked keenly into -the lean, and somewhat haggard face. - -"You've not found life easy since you went away?" he asked kindly. - -"Not too easy, sir--and not so bad either," returned Paul, sturdily. -"I've been out of luck a bit lately, but I'm on my way now to Riverbury. -There's a man there that has good, honest work for me. With a little -time, sir, I hope--" - -"Why should you be on your way to Riverbury for work when there's work -enough in this town, and a comfortable home for you?" - -Paul looked uncertainly from face to face, and then at his uncle again. - -"It's here that your people have lived these many years," went on Mr. -Lambert. "It's here that those who are proud of you live now,--" - -"_Proud_ of me?" repeated Paul; then he hung his head as he said in a -low voice, "It is not long since that you showed me you had good reason -to be ashamed of me, sir. I was only hoping that in a little I might -do--I might be of some account, sir--as _he_ would expect," and he -jerked his head as he spoke toward the picture of old Johann. - -"My boy, I do not say but that I may have judged you over-harshly for -what to other men might seem a light enough indiscretion. I thought -you--a scatter-brained lad that thought too little of things that old -men know to be worth valuing. I had but little sympathy with your -notions, and was angered that you should prattle of pictures and -what-not when--ah, well, let all that be forgotten." - -"But Daddy!" cried Jane suddenly, "Paul doesn't know!" - -"Doesn't know what?" - -"Let _me_ tell him! Let me tell him! It's your picture, Paul--" - -"What picture?" asked Paul, with a puzzled frown, looking down at her -eager little face. - -"It won, Paul! Don't you understand--it won! And we're all so proud of -you--and it was in the papers--only we didn't know where you were, -and--" - -"What _are_ you talking about, Janey?" demanded Paul, cutting short this -rush of breathless words. "_My_ picture won? What picture? Won what?" - -"The other one--the one that wasn't burnt--oh, don't _anybody_ interrupt -me! I want to tell him every bit. And they said that 'in spite of many -something-or-other faults it showed'--I've forgotten what--they said it -was awfully, awfully good--oh, I don't know where to begin!" - -"Begin at the beginning, darling. No one will interrupt your story," -said Aunt Gertrude, drawing Jane to her. "And Paul's not going to run -away." - -So Janey took a deep breath and commenced afresh; while Paul listened, -first growing pale, and then blushing a deep red. He felt the glow -rushing all over him, and when she had finished, he could not say a -word. They were all looking at him with eyes full of that warm pride -that only a family can feel, and it seemed to him that his triumph had -brought more happiness to them even than to himself. He could not think -of anything to say to them all, and presently he got up, and walked over -to the window, where he stood looking out into the cold little garden. -But what he saw was only the reflection of the group around the -fire--that very group which he had so often pictured to himself with -such homesick longing during his months of exile. He thought of his -lonely father, and his aimless wanderings, and then he knew that he was -glad to have come home again. The world could teach him no more than he -could learn by working and growing and thinking among his own people, -and the world could not give him any praise half so sweet, or half so -inspiring as their simple pride. - -Suddenly he felt a warm little hand slip into his. It was Janey. - -She looked up at him timidly--his serious profile seemed quite stern to -her. - -"Paul, what are you thinking about now?" she asked plaintively. - -Then he laughed, and looked more like his old self. - -"I was thinking that I shall _not_ go away--if Uncle Peter means that I -needn't. And I was thinking how unpleasant things might be if you, -ma'am, attended strictly to your own affairs!" - -"And I," said Mr. Lambert, "am thinking that it is time we all went to -bed. Gertrude, my dear, I hope that Anna will be able to get everything -into order to-morrow. I shall want my desk to be in place especially. -And--er--Breakfast at seven, as usual." - - ---- - -And now the doors and windows were locked, and the lights were put out, -and the household was silent and slumbering. But the pale reflection of -the moonlit snow glimmered through the window upon the scene of the late -revelry, and a red glow still shone among the ashes of the fire, -throwing a faint red light through the shadows that deepened over the -painted face of Great-grandfather Johann. And a well-contented -expression that plump, ruddy old face wore--a comfortable, benevolent -patriarchal look, as if that excellent old lover of law and order were -saying, "And now I think everything is quite as it should be!" - - - THE END - - - - - - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JANE LENDS A HAND *** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/35593 - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one -owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and -you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission -and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the -General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and -distributing Project Gutenberg(tm) electronic works to protect the -Project Gutenberg(tm) concept and trademark. 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