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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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