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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7a987dc --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #60457 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/60457) diff --git a/old/60457-0.txt b/old/60457-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 15cdcce..0000000 --- a/old/60457-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9465 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of When I Was a Little Girl, by Zona Gale - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: When I Was a Little Girl - -Author: Zona Gale - -Illustrator: Agnes Pelton - -Release Date: October 8, 2019 [EBook #60457] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHEN I WAS A LITTLE GIRL *** - - - - -Produced by Tim Lindell and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - -WHEN I WAS A LITTLE GIRL - - - - - THE MACMILLAN COMPANY - NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO · DALLAS - ATLANTA · SAN FRANCISCO - - MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED - LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA - MELBOURNE - - THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD. - TORONTO - - - - -[Illustration: SOMEWHERE BEYOND SEALED DOORS] - - - - - WHEN I WAS A LITTLE - GIRL - - BY - ZONA GALE - - AUTHOR OF “THE LOVES OF PELLEAS AND ETARRE,” - “FRIENDSHIP VILLAGE,” ETC. - - WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY - AGNES PELTON - - New York - THE MACMILLAN COMPANY - 1913 - - _All rights reserved_ - - - - - Copyright, 1911, by The Curtis Publishing Company. - - COPYRIGHT, 1913, - BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. - - Set up and electrotyped. Published October, 1913. - - Norwood Press - J. B. Cushing Co.--Berwick & Smith Co. - Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. - - - - - To - - THE LITTLE GIRL ON CONANT STREET - AND TO THE - MEMORY OF HER GRANDMOTHER - HARRIET BEERS - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER PAGE - - I. IN THOSE DAYS 1 - - II. IN NO TIME 16 - - III. ONE FOR THE MONEY 35 - - IV. THE PICNIC 53 - - V. THE KING’S TRUMPETER 77 - - VI. MY LADY OF THE APPLE TREE 103 - - VII. THE PRINCESS ROMANCIA 118 - - VIII. TWO FOR THE SHOW 147 - - IX. NEXT DOOR 159 - - X. WHAT’S PROPER 173 - - XI. DOLLS 192 - - XII. BIT-BIT 211 - - XIII. WHY 228 - - XIV. KING 247 - - XV. KING (_continued_) 281 - - XVI. THE WALK 307 - - XVII. THE GREAT BLACK HUSH 315 - - XVIII. THE DECORATION OF INDEPENDENCE 329 - - XIX. EARTH-MOTHER 354 - - XX. THREE TO MAKE READY 375 - - - - -LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS - - - Somewhere beyond sealed doors _Frontispiece_ - - FACING PAGE - - Sat on a rock in the landscape and practised 32 - - Little by little she grew silent and refused to join in - the games 128 - - But the minute folk left the room--ah, then! 168 - - She settled everything in that way; she counted the - petals of fennel daisies and blew thistle from - dandelions 196 - - Then out of the valley a great deev arose 216 - - To see what running away is really like 316 - - - - -There used to be a little girl who does not come here any more. She is -not dead, for when certain things happen, she stirs slightly where she -is, perhaps deep within the air. When the sun falls in a particular -way, when graham griddle cakes are baking, when the sky laughs -sudden blue after a storm, or the town clock points in its clearest -you-will-be-late way at nine in the morning, when the moonlight is on -the midnight and nothing moves--then, somewhere beyond sealed doors, -the little girl says something, and it is plain that she is here all -the time. - -You little child who never have died, in these stories I am trying -to tell you that now I come near to understanding you. I see you -still, with your over-long hair and your over-much chattering, your -naughtiness and your dreams. I know the qualities that made you -disagreeable and those that made you dear, and I look on you somewhat -as spirit looks on spirit, understanding from within. I wish that -we could live it again, you and I--not all of it, by any means, and -not for a serious business; but now and then, for a joy and for an -idleness. And this book is a way of trying to do it over again, -together. - -Will you care to come from the quiet where you are, near to me and -yet remote? I think that you will come, for you were wont untiringly -to wonder about me. And now here I am, come true, so faintly like her -whom you dreamed, yet so like you yourself, your child, fruit of your -spirit, you little shadowy mother.... - - If only words were moments - And I knew where they fly, - I’d make a tale of time itself - To tell you by and bye. - - If only words were fathoms - That let us by for pearls, - I’d make a story ocean-strange - For little boys and girls. - - But words are only shadow things. - I summon all I may. - Oh, see--they try to spell out Life! - Let’s act it, like a play. - - - - -When I was a Little Girl - -I - -IN THOSE DAYS - - -In those days time always bothered us. It went fast or it went slow, -with no one interfering. It was impossible to hurry it or to hold it -back. - -“Only ten weeks more,” we invariably said glibly, when the Spring term -began. - -“Just think! We’ve--got--t-e-n--weeks!” we told one another at the -beginning of vacation, what time we came home with our books, chanting -it:-- - - “_No more Latin, - No more French, - No more sitting on a hard wood bench._” - ---both chorally and antiphonally chanting it. - -Yet, in spite of every encouragement, the Spring term lasted -immeasurably and the Summer vacation melted. It was the kindred -difference of experience respectively presented by a bowl of hot -ginger tea and an equal bulk of ice-cream. - -In other ways time was extraordinary. We used to play with it: “Now is -now. But now that other Now is gone and a Then is now. How did it do -it? How do all the Nows begin?” - -“When is the party?” we had sometimes inquired. - -“To-morrow,” we would be told. - -Next morning, “Now it’s to-morrow!” we would joyfully announce, only -to be informed that it was, on the contrary, to-day. But there was no -cause for alarm, for now the party, it seemed, had changed too, and -that would be to-day. It was frightfully confusing. - -“_When_ is to-morrow?” we demanded. - -“When to-day stops being,” they said. - -But never, never once did to-day stop that much. Gradually we -understood and humoured the pathetic delusion of the Grown-ups: _To-day -lasted always and yet the poor things kept right on forever waiting for -to-morrow._ - -As for me, I had been born without the time sense. If I was told that -we would go to drive in ten minutes, I always assumed that I could -finish dressing my doll, tidy my play-house, put her in it with all -her family disposed about her down to the penny black-rubber baby -dressed in yarn, wash my face and hands, smooth my hair (including -the protests that these were superfluous), make sure that the kitten -was shut in the woodshed ... long before most of which the family -was following me, haling me away, chiding me for keeping older folk -waiting, and the ten minutes were gone far by. Who would have thought -it? Ten minutes seem so much. - -And if I went somewhere with permission to stay an hour! Then the -hour stretched invitingly before me, a vista lined with crowding -possibilities. - -“How long can you stay?” we always promptly asked our guests, for there -was a feeling that the quality of the game to be entered on depended -on the time at our disposal. But when they asked me, it never was -conceivable that anything so real as a game should be dependent on -anything so hazy as time. - -“Oh, a whole hour!” I would say royally. “Let’s play City.” - -With this attitude Delia Dart, who lived across the street, had no -patience. Delia was definite. Her evenly braided hair, her square -finger tips, her blunt questions, her sense of what was due to -Delia--all these were definite. - -“City!” she would burst out. “You can’t play City unless you’ve got all -afternoon.” - -And Margaret Amelia and Betty Rodman, who were pretty definite too, -would back Delia up; but since they usually had permission to stay all -afternoon, they would acquiesce when I urged: “Oh, well, let’s start -in anyhow.” Then about the time the outside wall had been laid up in -the sand-pile and we had selected our building sites, the town clock -would strike my hour, which would be brought home to me only by Delia -saying:-- - -“Don’t you go. Will she care if you’re late?” - -On such occasions we never used the substantive, but merely “she.” -It is worth being a child to have a sense of values so simple and -unassailable as that. - -“I’m going to do just this much. I can run all the way home,” I would -answer; and I would begin on my house walls. But when these were -done, and the rooms defined by moist sand partitions, there was all -the fascination of its garden, with walks to be outlined with a -shingle and sprays of Old Man and cedar to be stuck in for trees, and -single stems of Fever-few and Sweet Alyssum or Flowering-currant and -Bleeding-heart for the beds, and Catnip for the borders, and a chick -from Old-Hen-and-Chickens for a tropical plant. We would be just begun -on the stones for the fountain when some alien consciousness, some -plucking at me, would recall the moment. And it would be half an hour -past my hour. - -“You were to come home at four o’clock,” Mother would say, when I -reached there panting. - -“_Why_ did I have to come home at four o’clock?” I would finally give -way to the sense of great and arbitrary wrong. - -She always told me. I think that never in my life was I bidden to -do a thing, or not to do it, “because I tell you to.” But never -once did a time-reason seem sufficient. What were company, a -nap-because-I-was-to-sit-up-late, or having-to-go-somewhere-else beside -the reality of that house which I would never occupy, that garden where -I would never walk? - -“You can make it the next time you go to Delia’s,” Mother would say. -But I knew that this was impossible. I might build another house, -adventure in another garden; this one was forever lost to me. - -“... only,” Mother would add, “you can not go to Delia’s for ...” she -would name a period that yawned to me as black as the abyss. “... -because you did not come home to-day when you were told.” And still -time seemed to me indefinite. For now it appeared that I should never -go to Delia’s again. - -I thought about it more and more. What was this time that was laid on -us so heavy? Why did I have to get up _because_ it was seven o’clock, -go to school _because_ it was nine, come home from Delia’s _because_ -the clock struck something else ... above all, why did I have to go to -bed _because_ it was eight o’clock? - -I laid it before my little council. - -“Why do we have to go to bed because it’s bed-time?” I asked them. -“Which started first--bed-time or us?” - -None of us could tell. Margaret Amelia Rodman, however, was of opinion -that bed-time started first. - -“Nearly everything was here before we were,” she said gloomily. “We -haven’t got anything in the house but the piano and the rabbits that -wasn’t first before us. Mother told father this morning that we’d had -our stair-carpet fifteen years.” - -We faced that. Fifteen years. Nearly twice as long as we had lived. If -a stair-carpet had lasted like that, what was the use of thinking that -we could find anything to control on the ground of our having been here -first? - -Delia Dart, however, was a free soul. “_I_ think we begun before -bed-time did,” she said decidedly. “Because when we were babies, -we didn’t have any bed-time. Look at babies now. They don’t have -bed-times. They sleep all the while.” - -It was true. Bed-time must have started after we did. Besides, we -remembered that it was movable. Once it had been half past seven. Now -it was eight. Delia often sat up, according to her own accounts, much -later even than this. - -“Grown-ups don’t have any bed-time either,” Betty took it up. “They’re -like babies.” - -This was a new thought. How strange that Grown-ups and babies should -share this immunity, and only we be bound. - -“Who _made_ bed-time?” I inquired irritably. - -“S-h-h!” said Delia. “God did.” - -“I don’t believe it,” I announced flatly. - -“Well,” said Delia, “anyway, he makes us sleepy.” - -This I also challenged. “Then why am I sleepier when I go to church -evenings than when I play Hide-and-go-seek in the Brice’s barn -evenings?” I submitted. - -This was getting into theology, and Delia used the ancient method. - -“We aren’t supposed to know all those things,” she said with -superiority, and the council broke up. - -That night I brought my revolt into the open. At eight o’clock I was -disposing the articles in my play-house so that they all touched, -in order that they might be able to talk during the night. It was -well-known to me that inanimate objects must touch if they would -carry on conversation. The little red chair and the table, the blue -paper-weight with a little trembling figure inside, the silver vase, -the mug with “Remember me” in blue letters, the china goat, all must be -safely settled so that they might while away the long night in talk. -The blue-glass paper weight with the horse and rider within, however, -was uncertain what he wanted to companion. I tried him with the china -horse and with the treeful of birds and with the duck in a boat, but -somehow he would not group. While he was still hesitating, it came:-- - -“Bed-time, dear,” they said. - -I faced them at last. I had often objected, but I had never reasoned it -out. - -“I’m not sleepy,” I announced serenely. - -“But it’s bed-time,” they pressed it mildly. - -“Bed-time is when you’re sleepy,” I explained. “I’m not sleepy. So it -can’t be bed-time.” - -“Bed-time is eight o’clock,” they said with a hint of firmness, and -picked me up strongly and carried me off; and to my expostulation that -the horse and his rider in the blue paper-weight would have nobody to -talk to all night, they said that he wouldn’t care about that; and when -I wept, they said I was cross, and that proved it was Bed-time. - -There seemed no escape. But once--once I came near to understanding. -Once the door into Unknown-about Things nearly opened for me, and just -for a moment I caught a glimpse. - -I had been told to tidy my top bureau drawer. I have always loathed -tidying my top bureau drawer. It is so unlike a real task. It is made -up of odds and ends of tasks that ought to have been despatched long -ago and gradually, by process of throwing away, folding, putting in -boxes, hanging up, and other utterly uninteresting operations. I can -create a thing, I can destroy a thing, I can keep a thing as it was; -but to face a top bureau drawer is none of these things. It is a motley -task, unclassified, without honour, a very tag-end and bobtail of a -task, fit for nobody. - -I was thinking things that meant this, and hanging out the window. It -was a gentle day, like a perfectly natural human being who wants to -make friends and will not pretend one iota in order to be your friend. -I remember that it was a still day, that I loved, not as I loved Uncle -Linas and Aunt Frances, who always played with me and gave me things, -but as I loved Mother and father when they took me somewhere with them, -on Sunday afternoons.... I had a row of daffodils coming up in the -garden. I began pretending that they were marching down the border, -down the border, down the border to the big rock by the cooking-apple -tree--why of course! I had never thought of it, but that rock was where -they got their gold.... - -A house-wren came out of a niche in the porch and flew down to the -platform in the boxalder, where father was accustomed to feed the -birds. The platform was spread with muffin crumbs. The little wren ate, -and flew to the clothes-line and poured forth his thankful exquisite -song. I had always felt regret that we had no clothes reel that -would whirl like a witch in the wind, but instead merely a system of -clothes-lines, duly put up on Mondays; but the little wren evidently -did not know the difference. - -“Abracadabra, make me sing like that....” I told him. But I hadn’t said -the right thing, and he flew away and left me not singing. I began -thinking what if he _had_ made me sing, and what if I had put back my -head and gone downstairs singing like a wren, and gone to arithmetic -class singing like a wren, and nobody could have stopped me, and nobody -would have wanted to stop me.... - -... I leaned over the sill, holding both arms down and feeling the -blood flow down and weight my fingers like a pulse. What if I should -fall out the window and instead of striking the ground hard, as folk do -when they fall out of windows, I should go softly through the earth, -and feel it pressing back from my head and closing together behind my -heels, and pretty soon I should come out, plump ... before the Root of -Everything and sit there for a long time and watch it grow.... - -... I looked up at the blue, glad that I was so near to it, and thought -how much pleasanter it would be to fly right away through the blue and -see what colour it was lined with. Pink, maybe--rose-pink, which showed -through at sunset when the sun leaped at last through the blue and it -closed behind him. Rose-pink, like my best sash and hair-ribbons.... - -That brought me back. My best sash and hair-ribbons were in my top -drawer. Moreover, there were foot-steps on the stairs and at the very -door. - -“Have you finished?” Mother asked. - -I had not even opened the drawer. - -“You have been up here one hour,” Mother said, and came and stood -beside me. “What have you been doing?” - -I began to tell her. I do not envy her her quandary. She knew that I -was not to be too heavily chided and yet--the top drawers of this world -must be tidied. - -“Think!” she said. “That Hour has gone out the window without its work -being done. And now this Hour, that was meant for play, has got to -work. But not you! You’ve lost your turn. Now it’s Mother’s turn.” - -She made me sit by the window while she tidied the drawer. I was not to -touch it--I had lost my turn. While she worked, she talked to me about -the things she knew I liked to talk about. But I could not listen. It -is the only time in my life that I have ever really frantically wanted -to tidy a top bureau drawer of anybody’s. - -“Now,” she said when she had done, “this last Hour will meet the -Hour-before-the-last, and each of them will look the way the other -ought to have looked, and they will be all mixed up. And all day I -think they will keep trying to come back to you to straighten them out. -But you can’t do it. And they’ll have to be each other forever and ever -and ever.” - -She went away again, and I was left face to face with the very heart of -this whole perplexing Time business: those two Hours that would always -be somewhere trying to be each other, forever and ever, and always -trying to come back for me to straighten them out. - -Were there Hours out in the world that were sick hours, sick because we -had treated them badly, and always trying to come back for folk to make -them well? - -And were there Hours that were busy and happy somewhere because they -had been well used and they didn’t have to try to come back for us to -patch them up? - -Were Hours like that? Was Time like that? - -When I told Delia of the incident, she at once characteristically -settled it. - -“Why, if they wasn’t any time,” she said, “we’d all just wait and wait -and wait. They couldn’t have that. So they set something going to get -us going to keep things going.” - -Sometimes, in later life, when I have seen folk lunch because it is one -o’clock, worship because it is the seventh day, go to Europe because it -is Summer, and marry because it is high time, I wonder whether Delia -was not right. Often and often I have been convinced that what Mother -told me about the Hours trying to come back to get one to straighten -them out is true with truth undying. And I wish, that morning by the -window, and at those grim, inevitable Bed-times, that I, as I am now, -might have told that Little Me this story about how, just possibly, -they first noticed time and about what, just possibly, it is. - - - - -II - -IN NO TIME - - -Before months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, and seconds were counted -and named, consider how peculiar it all must have seemed. For example, -when the Unknown-about Folk of those prehistoric times wished to know -_when_ a thing would happen, of course they can have had no word -_when_, and no answer. If a little Prehistoric Girl gave a party, she -cannot have known when to tell her guests to come, so she must have -had to wait until the supper was ready and then invite them; and if -they were not perfectly-bred little guests, they may have been offended -because they hadn’t been invited before--only they would not have known -how to say or to think “before,” so they cannot have been quite sure -what they were offended at; but they may have been offended anyway, as -happens now with that same kind of guest. And if a little Prehistoric -Boy asked his father to bring him a new eagle or a new leopard for a -pet, and his father came home night after night and didn’t bring it, -the Prehistoric Boy could not say, “_When_ will you bring it, sir?” -because there was no when, so he may have asked a great many other -questions, and been told to sit in the back of the cave until he could -do better. Nobody can have known how long to boil eggs or to bake -bread, and people must have had to come to breakfast and just sit and -wait and wait until things were done. Worst of all, nobody can have -known that time is a thing to use and not to waste. Since they could -not measure it, they could not of course tell how fast it was slipping -away, and they must have thought that time was theirs to do with what -they pleased, instead of turning it all into different things--this -piece into sleep, this piece into play, this piece into tasks and -exercise and fun. Just as, in those days, they probably thought that -food is to be eaten because it tastes good and not because it makes -the body grow, so they thought that time was a thing to be thrown away -and not to be used, every bit--which is, of course, a prehistoric way -to think. And nobody can have known about birthdays, and no story can -have started “Once upon a time,” and everything must have been quite -different. - -About then,--only of course they didn’t know it was then--a Prehistoric -Mother said one morning to her Prehistoric Little Daughter:-- - -“Now, Vertebrata, get your practising done and then you may go to -play.” (It wasn’t a piano and it wasn’t an organ, but it was a lovely, -reedy, blow-on-it thing, like a pastoral pipe, and little girls always -sat about on rocks in the landscape, as soon as they had had their -breakfasts, and practised.) - -So Vertebrata took her reed pipes and sat on a rock in the landscape -and practised--all of what we now know (but she did not know) would be -five minutes. Then she came in the cave, and tossed the pipes on her -bed of skins, and then remembered and hung them in their place above -the fireplace, and turned toward the doorway. But her mother, who was -roasting flesh at the fire, called her back. - -“Vertebrata,” she said, “did I not tell you to practise?” - -“I did practise,” said Vertebrata. - -“Then practise and practise,” said her mother, not knowing how else to -tell her to do her whole hour. Her mother didn’t know hours, but she -knew by the feel of her feelings when Vertebrata had done enough. - -So Vertebrata sat on a rock and did five minutes more, and came and -threw her pipes on her bed of skins, and remembered and hung them up, -and then turned toward the door of the cave. But her mother looked up -from the flesh-pot and called her back again. - -“Vertebrata,” she said, “do you want mother to have to speak to you -again?” - -“No, _indeed_, muvver,” said her little daughter. - -“Then practise and practise and practise,” said her mother. “If you -can’t play when you grow up, what will people think?” - -So Vertebrata went back to her landscape rock, and this thing was -repeated until Vertebrata had practised what we now know (but she did -not know) to have been a whole hour. And you can easily see that in -order to bring this about, what her mother must have said to her the -last time of all was this:-- - -“I want you to practise and practise and practise and practise and -practise and practise and practise and practise and practise and -practise and practise and practise--” _or_ something almost as long. - -Now of course it was very hard for her mother to say all this besides -roasting the flesh and tidying the cave, so she made up her mind that -when her Prehistoric Husband came home, he must be told about it. And -when the sun was at the top of the sky and cast no shadow, and the -flesh was roasted brown and fragrant, she dressed it with pungent -herbs, and raked the vegetables out of the ashes and hid the dessert in -the cool wall of the cave--_that_ was a surprise--and spread the flat -rock at the door of the cave and put vine-leaves in her hair and, with -Vertebrata, set herself to wait. - -There went by what we now know to have been noon, and another hour, and -more hours, and all afternoon, and all early twilight, and still her -Prehistoric Husband did not come home to dinner. Vertebrata was crying -with hunger, and the flesh and the vegetables were ice-cold, and the -Prehistoric Wife and Mother sat looking straight before her without -smiling. And then, just as the moon was rising red over the soft breast -of the distant wood, the Prehistoric Father appeared, not looking as if -he had done anything. - -“Is dinner ready?” he asked pleasantly. - -Now this was the last straw, and the Prehistoric Wife and Mother said -so, standing at the door of the cave, with Vertebrata crying in the -offing. - -“Troglodyte,” she said sadly (that was what she called him), “dinner -has been ready and ready and ready and ready and ready and ready and -ready ...” and she showed him the ice-cold roasted flesh and vegetables. - -“I’m _so_ sorry, dearest. I never knew,” said the Troglodyte, -contritely, and did everything in the world that he could do to show -her how sorry he was. He made haste to open his game-bag, and he drew -out what food he had killed, and showed her a soft, cock-of-the-rock -skin for a cap for her and a white ptarmigan breast to trim it with, -and at last she said--because nobody can stay offended when the -offender is sorry:-- - -“Well, dear, say no more about it. We’ll slice up the meat and it will -do very well cold, and I’ll warm up the potatoes with some brown butter -(or the like). But hurry and bathe or I’ll be ready first _again_.” - -So he hurried and bathed in the brook, and the cave smelled savoury -of the hot brown butter, and Vertebrata had a Grogan tail stuck in her -hair, and presently they sat down to supper. And it was nearly eight -o’clock, but they didn’t know anything about _that_. - -When the serious part of supper was done, and the dessert that was a -surprise had been brought and had surprised and gone, Vertebrata’s -mother sat up very straight and looked before her without smiling. And -she said:-- - -“Now, something must be done.” - -“About what, Leaf Butterfly?” her husband asked. - -“Vertebrata doesn’t practise enough and you don’t come home to dinner -enough,” she answered, “and something must be done.” - -“I did practise--wunst,” said Vertebrata. - -“But you should practise once and once and once and once and once and -once, and so on, and not have to be told each once,” said her mother. - -“I did come home to dinner,” said the Prehistoric Husband, waving his -hand at his empty platter. - -“But you should come first and first and first and first and first, and -so on, and not let the dinner get ice-cold,” said his wife. “Hear a -thing,” said she. - -She sprinkled some salt all thick on the table and took the stick on -which the flesh had been roasted, and in the salt she drew a circle. - -“This,” she said, “is the sky. And this place, at the top, is the top -of the sky. And when the sun is at the top of the sky and there is no -shadow, I will have ready the dinner, hot and sweet in the pot, and -dessert--for a surprise. And when the sun is at the top of the sky -and there is no shadow, do you come to eat it, _always_. That will be -dinner.” - -“That is well,” said the Troglodyte, like a true knight--for in those -first days even true knights were willing that women should cook and -cave-tidy for them all day long and do little else. But that was long -ago and we must forgive it. - -Then she made a mark in the salt at the edge of the circle a little way -around from the first mark. - -“When the sun is at the edge of the sky and all red, and the shadows -are long, and the dark is coming, I will have ready berries and nuts -and green stuffs and sweet syrups and other things that I shall think -of--for you. And when the sun is at the edge of the sky and all red, -and the shadows are long, and the dark is coming, do you hurry to us, -_always_. That will be supper.” - -“That is well,” said the Troglodyte, like a true knight. - -Then she drew the stick a long way round. - -“This is sleep,” she said. “This place here is waking, and breakfast. -And then next the sun will be at the top of the sky again. And we will -have dinner in the same fashion. And this is right for you. But what to -do with the child I don’t know, unless I keep her practising from the -time the sun is at the top of the sky until it is at the bottom. For if -she can’t play when she grows up, what will people think?” - -Now, while she said this, the Prehistoric Woman had been sitting with -the stick on which the flesh had been roasted held straight up in her -fingers, resting in the middle of the ring which she had made in the -salt. And by now the moon was high and white in the sky. And the Man -saw that the moon-shadow of the stick fell on the circle from its -centre to beyond its edge. And presently he stretched out his hand and -took the stick from her, and held it so and sat very still, thinking, -thinking, thinking.... - -“Faddie,” said Vertebrata--she called him that for loving--“Faddie, -will you make me a little bow and arrow and scrape ’em white?” - -But her father did not hear her, and instead of answering he sprang -up and began drawing on the soft earth before the cave a deep, deep -circle, and he ran for the long stick that had carried his game-bag -over his shoulder, and in the middle of the earth circle he set the -stick. - -“Watch a thing!” he cried. - -Vertebrata and her mother, understanding little but trusting much, sat -by his side. And together in the hot, white night the three watched the -shadow of the stick travel on the dial that they had made. Of course -there was no such thing as bed-time then, and Vertebrata usually sat -up until she fell over asleep, when her mother carried her off to her -little bed of skins; but this night she was so excited that she didn’t -fall over. For the stick-shadow moved like a finger; like, indeed, a -living thing that had been in the world all the time without their -knowing. And they watched it while it went a long way round the circle. -Then her mother said, “Nonsense, Vertebrata, you must be sleepy now -whether you know it or not,” and she put her to bed, Vertebrata saying -all the way that she was wide awake, just like in the daytime. And -when her mother went back outside the cave, the Man looked up at her -wonderfully. - -“Trachystomata,” said he (which is to say “siren”), “if the sun-shadow -will do the same thing as the moon-shadow, we have found a way to make -Vertebrata practise enough.” - -In the morning when Vertebrata came out of the cave--she woke alone and -dressed alone, just like being grown-up--she found her mother and her -father down on their hands and knees, studying the circle in the soft -earth and the long sun-shadow of the stick. And her mother called her -and she went running to her. And her mother said:-- - -“Now we will have breakfast, dear, and then you get your pipes and come -here and practise. And when you begin, we will lay a piece of bone -where the shadow stands, and when I feel the feeling of enough, I will -tell you, and you will stop practising, and we will lay another piece -of bone on that shadow. And after this you will always practise from -one bone to another, forever.” - -Vertebrata could hardly wait to have breakfast before she tried it, -and then she ran and brought her pipes and sat down beside the circle. -And her father did not go to his hunting, or her mother to her cooking -and cave-tidying, but they both sat there with Vertebrata, hearing her -pipe and watching the shadow finger move, and waiting till her mother -should feel the feeling of enough. - -_Now!_ Since the world began, the Hours, Minutes, and Seconds had been -hanging over it, waiting patiently until people should understand -about them. But nobody before had ever, ever thought about them, and -Vertebrata and her mother and her father were the very first ones who -had even begun to understand. - -So it chanced that in the second that Vertebrata began to pipe and the -bone was laid on the circle, _that_ Second (deep in the air and yet -as near as time is to us) knew that it was being marked off at last -on the soft circle of the earth, and so did the next Second, and the -next, and the next, and the next, until sixty of them knew--and there -was the first Minute, measured in the circle before the cave. And other -Minutes knew what was happening, and they all came hurrying likewise, -and they filled the air with exquisite, invisible presences--all to -the soft sound of little Vertebrata’s piping. And she piped, and piped, -on the lovely, reedy, blow-on-it instrument, and she made sweet music. -And for the first time in her little life, her practising became to her -not merely practising, but music-making--there, while she watched the -strange Time-shadow move. - -“J--o--y!” cried the Seconds, talking among themselves. “People are -beginning to know about us. It is _time_ that they should.” - -“Ah!” they cried again. “We can go faster than anything.” - -“Think of all of our poor brothers and sisters that have gone, without -anybody knowing they were here,” they mourned. - -“Pipe, pipe, pipe,” went Vertebrata, and the little Seconds danced by -almost as if she were making them with her piping. - -The Minutes, too, said things to one another--who knows if Time is so -silent as we imagine? May not all sorts of delicate conversations go on -in the heart of time about which we never know anything--Second talking -with Second, and Minute answering to Minute; and the grave Hours, -listening to everything we say and seeing everything we do, confiding -things to the Day about us and about Eternity from which they have -come. I cannot tell you what they say about you--you will know that, if -you try to think, and especially if you stand close to a great clock -or hear it boom out in the night. And I cannot tell you what they say -about Eternity. But I think that this may be one of the songs that they -sing:-- - -SONG OF THE MINUTES - - We are a garland for men, - We are flung from the first gate of Time, - From the touch that opened the minds of men - Down to the breath of this rhyme. - - We are the measure of things, - The rule of their sweep and stir, - But whenever a little girl pipes and sings, - We will keep time for her. - - We are a touching of hands - From those in the murk of the earth, - Through all who have garnered life in their hands - And wrought it from death unto birth. - - We are the measure of things, - The rule of their stir and sweep, - And wherever a little child weeps or sings - It is his soul we keep. - -At last, when sixty Minutes had danced and chorussed past, there was, -of course, the first rosy Hour ever to have her coming and passing -marked since earth began. And when the Hour was gone, Vertebrata’s -mother felt the feeling of enough, and she said to Vertebrata:-- - -“That will do, dear. Now you may go and play.” - -That was the first exact hour’s practising that ever any little girl -did by any sort of clock. - -“Ribbon-fish mine,” said the Prehistoric Man to his wife, when -Vertebrata had finished, “I have been thinking additional thoughts. Why -could we not use the circle in other ways?” - -“What ways, besides for your coming home and for Vertebrata’s -practising?” asked the Prehistoric Woman; but we must forgive her for -knowing about only those two things, for she was a very Prehistoric -Woman indeed. - -“Little bones might be laid between the big bones,” said the Man--and -by that of course he meant measuring off minutes. “By certain of them -you could roast flesh and not kneel continually beside the fire. By -certain of them you could boil eggs, make meet the cakes, and not be in -peril of burning the beans. Also....” - -He was silent for a moment, looking away over the soft breast of the -wood where the sun was shining its utmost, because it has so many -reasons. - -“When I look at that moving finger on the circle thing,” he said -slowly, “it feels as if whoever made the sun were saying things to me, -but with no words. For his sun moves, and the finger on the circle -thing moves with it--as if it were telling us how long to do this -thing, and how long to do that thing--you and me and Vertebrata. And -we must use every space between the bones--and whoever made the sun is -telling us this, but with no words.” - -The Prehistoric Woman looked up at her husband wonderfully. - -“You are a great man, Troglodyte!” she told him. - -At which he went away to hunt, feeling for the first time in his -prehistoric life as if there were a big reason, somewhere out in the -air, why he should get as much done as he could. And the Prehistoric -Woman went at her baking and cave-tidying, but always she ran to the -door of the cave to look at the circle thing, as if it bore a great -message for her to make haste, a message with no words. - -As for Vertebrata, she had taken her pipes and danced away where, -on rocks in the landscape, the other little Prehistorics sat about, -getting their practising done. She tried to tell them all about the -circle thing, waving her pipes and jumping up and down to make them -understand, and drawing circles and trying to play to them about it on -her pipes; and at last they understood a little, like understanding a -new game, and they joined her and piped on their rocks all over the -green, green place. And the Seconds and Minutes and Hours, being fairly -started to be measured, all came trooping on, to the sound of the -children’s piping. - -When the sun was at the top of the sky, Vertebrata remembered, and she -stuck a stick in the ground and saw that there was almost no shadow. -So she left the other children and ran very hard toward her own cave. -And when she had nearly reached it, somebody overtook her, also running -very hard. - -[Illustration: SAT ON A ROCK IN THE LANDSCAPE AND PRACTISED.] - -“Faddie!” she called, as she called when she meant loving--and he swung -her up on his shoulder and ran on with her. And they burst into the -open space before the cave just as the shadow-stick pointed straight to -the top of the circle thing. - -There, before the door of the cave, was the flat rock, all set with -hot baked meat and toothsome piles of roast vegetables and beans that -were not burned. And the Prehistoric Woman, with vine-leaves in her -hair, was looking straight before her and smiling. And that was the -first dinner of the world that was ever served on time, and since that -day, to be late for dinner is one of the things which nobody may do; -and perhaps in memory of the Prehistoric Woman, when this occurs, the -politest ladies may always look straight before them _without smiling_. - -“Is dinner ready, Sea Anemone?” asked the Man. - -“On the bone,” replied his wife, pleasantly. - -“What’s for ’sert?” asked Vertebrata. - -“It’s a surprise,” said her mother--which is always the proper answer -to that question. - -And while they sat there, the Days and Weeks and Months and Years -were coming toward them, faster than anything, to be marked off on the -circle thing before the door, _and to be used_. And they are coming -yet, like a message--but with no words. - - - - -III - -ONE FOR THE MONEY - - -We were burying snow. Calista Waters had told us about it, when, late -in April, snow was found under a pile of wood in our yard. We wondered -why we had never thought of it before when snow was plentiful. We had -two long tins which had once contained ginger wafers. These were to be -packed with snow, fastened tight as to covers, and laid deep in the -earth at a distance which, by means of spoons and hot water, we were -now fast approaching. - -It was Spring-in-earnest. The sun was warm, robins were running on the -grass, already faintly greened where the snow had but just melted; -a clear little stream flowed down the garden path and out under the -cross-walk. The Wells’s barn-doors stood open, somebody was beating -a carpet, there was a hint of bonfire smoke in the air, there were -little stirrings and sounds that belonged to Spring as the gasoline -wood-cutter belonged to Fall. - -Calista was talking. - -“And then,” she said, “some hot Summer day, when they’re all sitting -out on the lawn in the shade, with thin dresses and palm-leaf fans, -we’ll come and dig it up, and carry ’em big plates of feathery white -snow, with a spoon stuck in.” - -We were silent, picturing their delight. - -“Miss Messmore says,” I ventured, not without hesitation, “that snow is -all bugs.” - -In fact all of us had been warned without ceasing not to eat snow--but -there were certain spots where it was beyond human power to resist -it: Mr. Britt’s fence, for instance, on whose pickets little squares -of snow rested, which, eaten off by direct application of the lips, -produced a slight illusion of partaking of caramels. - -Delia stopped digging. “Maybe they won’t eat it when we bring it to -them in Summer?” she suggested. - -“Then we will,” said Calista, promptly. Of course they would not have -the heart to forbid us to eat it in, say, June. - -About a foot down in the ground we set the two tins side by side in an -aperture lined and packed with snow and filled in with earth. Over it -we made a mound of all the snow we could find in the garden. Then we -adjourned to the woodshed and sat on the sill and the sawbuck and the -work-bench. - -“What makes us give it away?” said Delia Dart, abruptly. “Why don’t we -sell it? We’d ought to get fifteen cents a dish for it by June.” - -We began a calculation, as rapid as might be. Each tin would hold at -least six dishes. - -“Why didn’t we bury more?” said Calista, raptly. “Why didn’t we bury a -tubful?” - -“It’d be an awful job to dig the hole,” I objected. “Besides, they’d -miss the tub.” - -The latter objection was insurmountable, so we went off to the garden -to hunt pig-nuts. A tree of these delicacies grew in the midst of the -potato patch, and some of the nuts were sure to have lain winter-long -in the earth and to be seasoned and edible. - -“Let’s all ask to go to the Rodmans’ this afternoon and tell Margaret -Amelia and Betty about the snow,” Calista suggested. - -“I can’t,” I said. “I’ve got to go calling.” - -They regarded me pityingly. - -“Can’t you come over there afterwards?” they suggested. - -This, I knew, was useless. We should not start calling till late. -Besides, I should be hopelessly dressed up. - -“Well,” said Delia, soothingly, “_we’ll_ go anyhow. Are you going to -call where there’s children?” - -“I don’t think so,” I said, darkly. “We never do.” - -That afternoon was one whose warm air was almost thickened by sun. The -maple buds were just widening into little curly leaves; shadows were -beginning to show; and everywhere was that faint ripple of running -water in which Spring speaks. But then there was I, in my best dress, -my best coat, my best shoes, my new hat, and gloves, faring forth to -make calls. - -This meant merely that there were houses where dwelt certain Grown-ups -who expected me to be brought periodically to see them, an expectation -persevered in, I believe, solely as a courtesy to my family. Twice a -year, therefore, we set out; and the days selected were, as this one, -invariably the crown and glory of all days: Days meet for cleaning -out the play-house, for occupying homes scraped with a shingle in the -softened soil, for assisting at bonfires, to say nothing of all that -was to be done in damming up the streams of the curbs and turning aside -the courses of rivers. - -The first call was on Aunt Hoyt--no true aunt, of course, but “aunt” -by mutual compliment. She lived in a tiny house on Conant Street, set -close to the sidewalk and shaded by an enormous mulberry tree. I sought -out my usual seat, a little hardwood stool to whose top was neatly -tacked a square of Brussels carpeting and whose cover, on being lifted, -revealed a boot-jack, a shoe-brush, and a round box of blacking. The -legs were deeply notched, and I amused myself by fitting my feet in the -notches and occasionally coming inadvertently back to the floor with an -echoing bump. - -Now and then Aunt Hoyt, who was little and wrinkled, and whose glasses -had double lenses in the middle so that I could not keep my eyes from -them when she spoke, would turn to address an observation at me. - -“How long her hair is! Do you think it is quite healthy for her to have -such long hair? I’ll warrant you don’t like to have it combed, do you, -dear?” - -If Aunt Hoyt had only known the depth of the boredom with which I had -this inane question put to me! It was one of the wonders of my days: -the utterly absurd questions that grown-up people could ask. - -For example: “How do you do to-day?” What had any reasonable child -to answer to that? Of course one was well. If one wasn’t, one would -be kept at home. If one wasn’t, one wasn’t going to tell anyway. Or, -“What’s she been doing lately?” Well! Was one likely to reply: “Burying -snow. Hunting pig-nuts. Digging up pebbles from under the eaves. Making -a secret play-house in the currant bushes that nobody knows about?” And -unless one did thus tell one’s inmost secrets, what was there left to -say? And if one kept a dignified silence, one was sulky! - -“She’s a good little girl, I’m sure. Is she much help to you?” Aunt -Hoyt asked that day, and patted my hair as we took leave. Dear Aunt -Hoyt, I know now that she was lonesome and longed for children and, -like many another, had no idea how to treat them, save by making little -conversational dabs at them. - -Then there was Aunt Arthur, who lived in a square brick house that -always smelled cool. At her house I invariably sat on a Brussels -“kick-about” in the bay window and looked at a big leather “Wonders -of Earth and Sea,” with illustrations. Sometimes she let me examine a -basket of shells that she herself had gathered at the beach--I used -to look at her hands and at her big, flat cameo ring and marvel that -they had been so near to the ocean. Once or twice, when I wriggled too -outrageously, she would let me go into the large, dim parlour, with -its ostrich egg hanging from the chandelier and the stuffed blackbird -under an oval glass case before the high mirror, and the coral piled -under the centre-table and the huge, gilt-framed landscape which she -herself had painted. But this day, between the lace curtains hanging -from their cornices, I caught sight of Calista and Delia racing up the -hill to the Rodmans, and the entire parlour was, so to say, poisoned. -In desperation I went back and asked for a drink of water--my ancient -recourse when things got too bad. - -Aunt Barker’s was better--there was a baby there. But that day ill-luck -went before me, for he was asleep and they refused to let me look at -him, because they said that woke him up. I disbelieved this, because I -saw no reason in it, and nobody gave me a reason. I resolved to try it -out the first time I was alone with a sleeping baby. I begged boldly to -go outdoors, and Mother would have consented, but Aunt Barker said that -a man was painting the lattice and that I would in every probability -lean against the lattice, or brush the paint pots, or try to get a -drink at the pump, which, I gathered, splashed everybody for miles -around. So I sat in a patent rocker, and the only rift in a world of -black cloud was that, by rocking far enough, the patent rocker could be -made to give forth a wholly delectable squeak. Of course fate swiftly -descended; I was bidden discontinue the squeak, and nothing remained to -me. - -Then we went to Grandma Bard’s. I did not in the least know why, but -the little rag-carpeted sitting-room, the singing kettle on the back of -the coal stove, the scarlet geraniums on the window, the fascinating -picture on the clock door, all entertained me at once. Grandma Bard -wore a black lace cap, and she bade me sit by her and instantly gave -me a peppermint drop from the pocket of her black sateen apron. She -asked me no questions, but while she talked with Mother, she laid -together two rose-coloured--rose-coloured!--bits of her patchwork and -quietly handed them to me to baste--none of your close stitches, only -basting! Then she folded a newspaper and asked me to cut it and scallop -it for her cupboard shelf. Then she found a handful of hickory nuts and -brought me the tack-hammer and a flat-iron.... - -“Oh, Mother, let’s _not_ go yet,” I heard myself saying. - -Going home--a delicate business, because stepping on any crack meant -being poisoned forthwith--I tried to think it out: What was it that -Mother and Grandma Bard knew that the rest didn’t know? I gave it up. -All I could think of was that they seemed to know me. - -“Isn’t Grandma Bard just grand?” I observed fervently. - -“I’m afraid,” Mother said thoughtfully, “that sometimes she has rather -a hard time to get on.” - -I was still turning this in my mind as we passed the wood yard. The -wood yard was a series of vacant lots where some mysterious person -piled cords and cords of wood, which smelled sweet and green and gave -out cool breaths. Sometimes the gasoline wood-cutter worked in there, -and we would watch till it had gone, and then steal in and bring away a -baking-powder can full of sawdust. We never knew quite what to do with -this sawdust. It was not desirable for mud-pies, and there was nothing -that we knew of to be stuffed with it. Yet when we could, we always -saved it. Perhaps it gave us an excuse to go into the wood yard, at -which we always peeped as we went by. This day, I lagged a few steps -behind and looked in, expectant of the same vague thing that we always -expected, and never defined--a bonfire, a robber, an open cave, some -changed aspect, I did not know what. And over by the sawdust pile, I -saw, stepping about, a little girl in a reddish dress--a little girl -whom I had never seen before. She looked up and saw me stand staring at -her; and her gaze was so clear and direct that I felt obliged to say -something in defence of my intrusion. - -“Hello,” I said. - -Her face suddenly brightened. “Hello,” she replied, and after a moment -she added: “I thought you was going to say ‘how de do.’” - -A faint spark of understanding leapt between us. Dressed-up little -girls usually did say “how de do.” It was only in a kind of -unconscious deference to her own appearance that I had not done so. She -was unkempt and ragged--her sleeve was torn from cuff to elbow. - -“What you doing here?” I inquired, not averse to breaking the business -of calling by a bit of gossip. - -At this she did for the third time what I had been vaguely conscious -of her having done: She glanced over her shoulder toward a corner of -the yard which the piled wood concealed from me. I stepped forward and -looked there. - -On an end of wood-pile which we children had pulled down so as to -make a slope to ascend its heights, a man was sitting. His head and -shoulders were drooping, his legs were relaxed, and his hands were -hanging loose, as if they were heavy. His eyes were closed and his lips -were parted, yet about the face, with its fair hair and beard, there -was something singularly attractive and gentle. He looked like a man -who would tell you a story. - -“Who’s he?” I asked, and involuntarily I whispered. - -The girl began backing a little away from me, her eyes on my face, her -finger on her lips. - -“It’s my father,” she said. “He’s--resting.” - -I had never heard of a man resting in the daytime. Save, perhaps, on -Sunday afternoons, this was no true function of men. I longed to look -at the man and understand better, but something in the little girl’s -manner forbade me. I looked perplexedly after her. Then I peered round -the fence post and saw my Mother standing under a tree, waiting for -me. She beckoned. I took one more look inside the fence, and I saw the -little girl sit down beside the sleeping man and fold her hands. The -afternoon sun smote across the long wood yard, with its mysterious -rooms made by the piling of the cords. It seemed impossible that this -strange, still place, with its thick carpet of sawdust and its moist -odours, should belong at all to the commonplace little street. And the -two strange occupants gave the last touch to its enchantment. - -I ran to overtake Mother, and I tried to tell her something of what I -had seen. But some way my words gave nothing of the air of the place -and of the two who waited there for something that I could not guess. -Already I knew this about words--that they were all very well for -_saying_ a thing, but seldom for letting anybody _taste_ what you were -talking about. - -I did not give up trying to tell it until we passed the Rodmans’. -From the direction of their high-board fence I heard voices. Margaret -Amelia and Betty and Delia and Calista were engaged in writing on the -weathered boards of the fence with willows dipped in the clear-flowing -gutter stream. - -“Got it done?” I called mysteriously. - -They turned, shaking their heads. - -“It was all melted,” they replied. “We couldn’t find another bit.” - -“Oh, well,” I cried, “you come on over after supper. I’ve got something -to tell you.” - -“Something to tell you” would, of course, bring anybody anywhere. -After supper they all came “over.” It was that hour which only village -children know--that last bright daylight of slanting sun and driven -cows tinkling homeward; of front-doors standing open and neighbours -calling to one another across the streets, and the sky warm in the -quiet surface of some little water from whose bridge lads are tossing -stones or hanging bare-footed from the timbers. We withdrew past the -family, sitting on the side-porch, to the garden, where the sun was -still golden on the tops of the maples. - -“Mother says,” I began importantly, “that she thinks Grandma Bard has -a hard time to get along. Well, you know our snow? Well, you know you -said you couldn’t find any more to bury? Well, why don’t we dig up -ours, right now, and sell it and give the money to Grandma Bard?” - -I must have touched some answering chord. Looking back, I cannot -believe that this was wholly Grandma Bard. Could it be that the others -had wanted to dig it up, independent of my suggestion? For there was -not one dissenting voice. - -The occasion seemed to warrant the best dishes. I brought out six china -plates and six spoons. These would be used for serving my own family, -while the others took the two cans and ran home with them to their -families. - -We dug rapidly now, the earth being still soft. To our surprise, the -tops of the tins were located much nearer to the surface than we had -supposed after our efforts of the morning to reach a great depth. The -snow in which we had packed the cans had disappeared, but we made -nothing of that. We drew out the cans, had off their tops, and gazed -distressfully down into clear water. - -“It went and melted!” said Calista, resentfully. - -In a way, she regarded it as her personal failure, since the ceremony -had been her suggestion in the first place. - -“Never mind, Calista,” we said, “you didn’t know.” - -Calista freely summed up her impressions. - -“How _mean_!” she said. - -We gravely gathered up the china plates and turned toward the -house--and now I was possessed of a really accountable desire to get -the plates back in their places as quickly as possible. - -On the way a thought struck us simultaneously. Poor Grandma Bard! - -“Let’s all go to see her to-morrow anyhow,” I suggested--largely, I am -afraid, because the memory of my entertainment there was still fresh in -my mind. - -When, after a little while, we came round the house where the older -ones were sitting, and heard them discussing uninteresting affairs, -we regarded them with real sympathy. They had so narrowly missed -something so vastly, absorbingly interesting. - -From Delia’s room a voice came calling as, at intervals, other voices -were heard calling other names throughout the neighbourhood--they were -at one with the tinkle of the bells and the far-off yodel of the boys. - -“Delia!” - -“Good night,” said Delia, briefly, and vanished without warning, as at -the sound of any other taps. Soon after, the others also disappeared; -and I crept up on the porch and lay down in the hammock. - -“What’s she been doing _now_?” somebody instantly asked me. - -For a moment I thought of telling; but not seriously. - -Evidently they had not expected an answer, for they went on talking. - -“... yes, I had looked forward to it for a long while. Of course we had -all counted on it. It was a great disappointment.” - -Somewhere in me the words echoed a familiar and recent emotion. So! -They too had their disappointments ... even as we. Of course whatever -this was could have been nothing like losing a fortune in melted snow. -Still, I felt a new sympathy. - -Mother turned to me. - -“We are going to ask Grandma Bard to come to live with us,” she said. -“Will you like that?” - -I sat up in the hammock. “All the time?” I joyfully inquired. - -“For the rest of the time,” Mother said soberly. “It seems as if one -ought to take a child,” she added to the others, “when one takes -anybody....” - -“Still,” said father, “till we get in our heads something of what the -state owes to old folks, there’s nobody but us to do its work....” - -I hardly heard them. To make this come true at one stroke! Even to be -able to adopt a child! How easily they could do things, these grown-up -ones; and how magnificently they acted as if it were nothing at all ... -like the giants planting city-seed and watching cities grow to the size -and shape of giants’ flower beds.... - -They went on talking. Some of the things that they said we might have -said ourselves. In some ways they were not so very different from us. -Yet think what they could accomplish. - -Watching them and listening, there in the April twilight, I began to -understand. It was not only that they could have their own way. But for -the sake of things that we had never yet so much as guessed or dreamed, -it was desirable to be grown up. - - - - -IV - -THE PICNIC - - -It was Delia Dart who had suggested our Arbour Day picnic. “Let’s have -some fun Arbour Day,” she said. - -We had never thought of Arbour Day in that light. Exercises, though -they presented the open advantage of escape from the school grind, were -no special fun. Fun was something much more intimate and intangible, -definite and mysterious, casual and thrilling--and other anomalies. - -“Doing what?” we demanded. - -“Oh,” said Delia, restlessly, “go off somewheres. And eat things. And -do something to tell about and make their eyes stick out.” - -We were not old enough really to have observed this formula for -adventure. Hitherto we had always gone merely because we went. Yet -all three motives appealed to us. And events fostered our faint -intention. At the opening of school that morning, Miss Messmore made -an announcement.... I remember her grave way of smiling and silent -waiting, so that we hung on what she was going to say. - -“To-morrow,” she said, “is Arbour Day. All who wish will assemble here -at the usual hour in the afternoon. We are to plant trees and shrubs -and vines about the schoolhouse. There will be something for each one -to plant. But this is not required. Any who do not wish to be present -may remain away, and these will not be marked absent. Only those may -plant trees who wish to plant trees. I hope that all children will take -advantage of their opportunity. Classes will now pass to their places.” - -Delia telegraphed triumphantly in several directions. We could hardly -wait to confer. At recess we met immediately in the closet under the -stairs, a closet intended primarily for chalk, erasers, brooms, and -maps, but by virtue of its window and its privacy put to sub-uses of -secret committee meetings. - -“I told you,” said Delia. And such was Delia’s magnetism that we felt -that she had told us. “Let’s take our lunch and start as soon as we get -out.” - -“Couldn’t we go after the exercises?” Calista Waters submitted -waveringly. - -“_After!_” said Delia, scornfully. “It’ll be three o’clock. _That’s_ no -fun. We want to start by twelve, prompt, and stay till six.” - -Margaret Amelia Rodman bore out Delia’s contention. She and Betty had -a dozen eggs saved up from their pullets. They would boil them and -bring them. “The pullets?” Calista demanded aghast and was laughed -into subjection, and found herself agreeing and planning in order to -get back into favour. Delia and the Rodmans were, I now perceive, born -leaders of mediæval living. - -“Why don’t you wait till Saturday?” I finally said, from out a silence -that had tried to produce this earlier. “That’s only two days.” - -“Saturday!” said Delia. “Anybody can have a picnic Saturday. This is -most as good as running away.” - -And of course it was. But.... - -“Who wants to plant a tree?” Delia continued. “They’ll plant all -they’ve got whether we’re here or not, won’t they?” - -That was true. They would do so. It was clearly a selfish wish to -participate that was agitating Calista and me. In the end we were -outvoted, and we went. Our families, it seemed, all took the same -attitude: We need not plant trees if we did not wish to plant trees. -Save in the case of Harold Rodman. He was ruled to be too small to walk -to Prospect Hill, and he preferred going back to school to staying at -home alone. - -“I won’t plant no tree, though,” he announced resentfully, as we left -him. “I’m goin’ dig ’em all up!” he shouted after us. “Every one in the -world!” - -It was when I was running round the house to get my lunch that I came -for the second time face to face with Mary Elizabeth. - -Mary Elizabeth was sitting flat on the ground, cleaning knives which -I recognized as our kitchen knives. This she was doing by a simple -process, not unknown to me and consisting of driving the knife into the -ground up to its black handle and shoving it rapidly up and down. It -struck me as very strange that she should be there, in _our_ back yard, -cleaning _our_ knives, and I somewhat resented it. For it is curious -how much of a savage a little girl in a white apron can really be. But -then I did not at once recognize her as the girl whom I had seen in -the wood yard. - -I remember her sometimes as I saw her that day. She had straight brown -hair the colour of my own, and her thick pig-tail, which had fallen -over her shoulder as she worked, was tied with red yarn. Her face was a -lovely, even cream colour, with no freckles such as diversified my own -nose, and with no other colour in her cheek. Her hands were thin and -veined, with long, agile fingers. The right sleeve of her reddish plaid -dress was by now slit almost to the shoulder, and her bare arm showed, -and it was nearly all wrist. She had on a boy’s heavy shoes, and these -were nearly without buttons. - -“What you doing?” I inquired, coming to a standstill. - -She lifted her face and smiled, not a flash of a smile, but a slow -smile of understanding me. - -“This,” she replied, and went on with her task. - -“What’s your name?” I demanded. - -“Mary Elizabeth,” she answered, and did not ask me my name. This -was her pathetic way of deference to me because my clothing and my -“station” were other than hers. - -I went on to the house, but I went, looking back. - -“Mother,” I said, “who is she? The little girl out there.” - -While she put up my lunch in the Indian basket, Mother told me how Mary -Elizabeth had come that morning asking for something to do. She had set -her to work, and meanwhile she was finding out who she was. “I gave -her something to eat,” Mother said. “And I have never seen even you so -hungry.” Hungry and having no food. I had never heard of such a thing -at first hand--not nearer than in books and in Sunday school. But ... -hungry that way, and in our yard! - -It was chiefly this that accounted for my invitation to her--this, -and the fact that, as she came to the door to tell my Mother good-bye -and to take what she had earned, she gave me again that slow, -understanding-me smile. Anyway, as we walked toward the gate, I -overtook her with my Indian basket. - -“Don’t you want to come to the picnic with us?” I said. - -She stared at me. “What do you do?” she asked. - -“Why,” I said, “a picnic? Eat in the woods and--and get things, and sit -on the grass. Don’t you think they’re fun?” - -“I never was to one,” she answered, but I saw how she was watching me -almost breathlessly. - -“Come on, then,” I insisted carelessly. - -“Honest?” she said. “Me?” - -When she understood, I remember how she walked beside me, looking at me -as if she might at any moment find out her mistake. - -Delia, waiting impatiently at our gate with her own basket,--somehow I -never waited at the gates of others, but it was always they who waited -at mine,--bade me hurry, stared at Mary Elizabeth, and serenely turned -her back on her. - -“This,” I said, “is Mary Elizabeth. I asked her to go to our picnic. -She’s going. I’ve got enough lunch. This is Delia.” - -I suppose that they looked at each other furtively--so much of the -stupidity of being a knight with one’s visor lowered yet hangs upon -us--and then Delia plucked me, visibly, by the sleeve and addressed me, -audibly, in the ear. - -“What’d you go and do that for?” said she. And I who, at an early age, -resented being plucked by the sleeve as a bird resents being patted -on the head, or the wall of any personality trembles away when it is -tapped, took Mary Elizabeth by the hand and marched on to meet the -Rodmans and Calista. - -Calista was a vague little soul, with no sense of facts. She was always -promising to walk with two girls at recess, which was equivalent to -asking two to be her partners in a quadrille. It simply could not be -done. So Calista was forever having to promise to run errands with -someone after school to make amends for not having walked with her at -recess. She seldom had a grievance of her own, but she easily fell in -with the grievances of others. When I presented Mary Elizabeth to her, -Calista received her serenely as a part of the course of human events; -and so I think she would have continued to regard her, without great -attention and certainly with no criticism, had she not received the -somewhat powerful suggestion of Delia and Margaret Amelia and Betty -Rodman. The three fell behind Mary Elizabeth and me as we trotted down -the long street on which the April sun smote with Summer heat. - -“--over across the railroad tracks and picks up tin cans and old -rubbers and sells ’em and drinks just awful and got ten children and -got arrested,” I heard Delia recounting. - -“The idea. To our picnic,” said Margaret Amelia’s thin-edged voice. - -“Without asking us,” Betty whispered, anxious to think of something of -account to say. - -Mary Elizabeth heard. I have seen that look of dumb, unresentful -suffering in many a human face--in the faces of those who, by the Laws -of sport or society or of jurisprudence, find no escape. She had no -anger, and what she felt must have been long familiar. “I’d better go -home,” she said to me briefly. - -I still had her by the hand. And it was, I am bound to confess, as no -errant but chiefly as antagonist to the others that I pulled her along. -“You got to come,” I reminded her. “You said you would.” - -It was cruel treatment, by way of kindness. The others, quickly -adapting themselves, fell into the talk of expeditions, which is never -quite the same as any other talk; and the only further notice that they -took of Mary Elizabeth was painstakingly to leave her out. They never -said anything to her, and when she ventured some faint word, they -never answered or noticed or seemed to hear. In later years I have had -occasion to observe, among the undeveloped, these same traces of tribal -antagonisms. - -As we went, I had time to digest the hints which I had overheard -concerning Mary Elizabeth’s estate. I knew that a family having many -children had lately come to live “across the tracks,” and that, because -of our anxiety to classify, the father was said to be a drunkard. I -looked stealthily at Mary Elizabeth, with a certain respect born of her -having experience so transcending my own. Telling how many drunken men -and how many dead persons, if any, we had seen was one of our modes -of recreation when we foregathered. Technically Mary Elizabeth was, I -perceived, one of the vague “poor children” for whom we had long packed -baskets and whom we used to take for granted as barbarously as they -used to take for granted the plague. Yet now that I knew one such, -face to face, she seemed so much less a poor child than a little girl. -And though she said so little, she had a priceless manner of knowing -what I was driving at, which not even Margaret Amelia and Betty Rodman -had, and they were the daughters of an assemblyman, and had a furnace -in their house, and had had gold watches for Christmas. It was very -perplexing. - -“First one finds a May-flower’s going to be a princess!” Delia shouted. -Delia was singularly unimaginative; the idea of royalty was her -single entrance to fields of fancy. The stories that I made up always -began “Once there was a fairy”; Margaret and Betty started at gnomes -and dwarfs; Calista usually selected a poor little match girl or a -boot-black asleep in a piano box; but Delia invariably chose a royal -family, with many sons. - -We ran, shouting, across the stretch of scrub-oak which stretched -where the town blocks of houses and streets gave it up and reverted to -the open country. To reach this unprepossessing green place, usually -occupied by a decrepit wagon and a pile of cord-wood, was like passing -through a doorway into the open. We expressed our freedom by shouting -and scrambling to be princesses--all, that is, save Mary Elizabeth. She -went soberly about, a little apart, and I wished with all my heart that -she might find the first May-flower; but she did not do so. - -We hunted for wind-flowers. It was on Prospect Hill that these first -flowers--wind-flowers, pasque flowers, May-flowers, however one has -learned to say them--were found in Spring--the _anemone patens_ which, -next to pussy-willows themselves, meant to us Spring. A week before -Nellie Pitmouth had brought to school the first that we had seen. -Nellie had our pity because she drove the cows to pasture before -she came to school, but she had her reward, for it was always she -who found the first spoils. I remember those mornings when I would -reach school to find a little group about Nellie in whose hands would -be pussy-willows, or the first violets, or our rarely found white -violets. For a little while, in the light of real events like these, -Nellie enjoyed distinction. Then she relapsed into her usual social -obscurity and the stigma of her gingham apron which she wore even on -half holidays. This day we pressed hard for her laurels, scrambling in -the deep mould and dead leaves in search of the star faces on silvery, -silken, furry stems. We hoped untiringly that we might some day find -arbutus, which grew in abundance only eighteen miles away, on the -hills. In Summer we patiently looked for wintergreen, which they were -always finding farther up the river. And from the undoubted dearth -of both we escaped with a pretence to the effect that we were under a -spell, and that some day, the witch having died, we should walk on our -hill and find the wintergreen come and the arbutus under the leaves. - -By five o’clock we had been hungry for two hours, and we spread our -lunch on the crest. Prospect Hill was the place to which we took our -guests when we had them. It was the wide west gateway of the town, -where through few ventured, for it opened out on the bend of the little -river, navigable only to rowboats and launches, and flowing toward us -from the west. You stood at the top of a sharp declivity, and it was -like seeing a river face to face to find it flowing straight toward -you, out of the sky, bearing little green islands and wet yellow -sandbars. It almost seemed as if these must come floating toward us -and bringing us everything.... For these were the little days, when we -still believed that everything was necessary. - -We quickly despatched the process of “trading off,” a sandwich for an -apple, a cooky for a cake, and so on, occasionally trading back before -the bargain had been tasted. Mary Elizabeth sat at one side; even after -I had divided my lunch and given her my basket for a plate, she sat a -very little away from us--or it may be my remembrance of her aloofness -that makes this seem so. Each of the others gave her something from -her basket--but it was the kind of giving which makes one know what -a sad word is the word “bestow.” They “bestowed” these things. Since -that time, when I have seen folk administering charity, I have always -thought of the manner, ill-bred as is all condescension, in which we -must have shared our picnic food with Mary Elizabeth. - -I believe that this is the first conversation that ever I can remember. -Up to this time, I had talked as naturally as the night secretes -dreams, with no sense of responsibility for either to mean anything. -But that day I became uncomfortably conscious of the trend of the talk. - -“I have to have my new dress tried on before supper,” Delia announced, -her back to the river and her mouth filled with a jam sandwich. “It’s -blue plaid, with blue buttons and blue tassels on,” she volunteered. - -“My new dress Aunt Harriet brought me from the City isn’t going to be -made up till last day of school,” Margaret Amelia informed us. “It’s -got pink flowers in and it cost sixty cents a yard.” - -“Margaret and I are going to have white shoes before we go visiting,” -Betty remembered. - -“I got two new dresses that ain’t made up yet. Mamma says I got so many -I don’t need them,” observed Calista, with an indifferent manner and a -soft, triumphant glance. Whereat we all sat silent. - -I struggled with the moment, but it was too much for me. - -“I got a white silk lining to my new dress,” I let it be known. -“It’s made, but I haven’t had it on yet. China silk,” I added -conscientiously. Then, moved perhaps by a common discomfort, we all -looked toward Mary Elizabeth. I think I loved her from that moment. - -“None of you’s got the new style sleeves,” she said serenely, and held -aloft the arm whose sleeve was slit from wrist to shoulder. - -We all laughed together, but Delia pounced upon the arm. She caught and -held it. - -“What’s that on your arm?” she cried, and we all looked. From the elbow -up the skin was mottled a dull, ugly purple, as if rough hands had -been there. - -Mary Elizabeth flushed. “Ain’t you ever had any bruises on you?” she -inquired in a tone so finely modulated that Delia actually hastened to -defend herself from the impeachment of inexperience. - -“Sure,” she said heartily. “I counted ’em last night. I got seven.” - -“I got five and a great long skin,” Betty competed hotly. - -“Pooh,” said Calista, “I’ve got a scratch longer than my hand is. -Teacher said maybe I’d get an infect,” she added importantly. - -Then we kept on neutral ground, such as blank-books and Fourth of July -and planning to go bare-foot some day, until Calista attacked a pickled -peach which she had brought. - -“Our whole cellar’s full of pickled peaches,” I incautiously observed. -“I could have brought some if I’d thought.” - -“We got more than that,” said Delia, instantly. “We got a thousand -glasses of jelly left over from last year.” - -“A thousand!” repeated Margaret Amelia, in derision. “A hundred, you -mean.” - -“Well,” Delia said, “it’s a lot. And jars and jars and jars of -preserves. And cans and cans and _cans_....” - -The others took it up. Why we should have boasted of the quantity of -fruit in our parents’ cellars, I have no notion, save that it was -for the unidentified reason which impels all boasting. When I am in -a very new bit of country, where generalizations and multiplications -follow every fact, I am sometimes reminded of the fashion of our talk -whose statements tried to exceed themselves, in a kind of pyrotechnic -pattern bursting at last into nothing and the night. We might have been -praising climate or crops or real estate. - -Mary Elizabeth spoke with something like eagerness. - -“We got a bottle of blackberry cordial my grandmother made before she -died,” she said. “We keep it in the top bureau drawer.” - -“What a funny place to keep it....” Delia began, and stopped of her own -accord. - -I remember that everybody was willing enough to let Mary Elizabeth help -pick up the dishes. Then she took a tree for Pussy-wants-a-corner, -which always follows the picnic part of a picnic. But hardly anyone -would change trees with her, and by the design which masks as chance, -everyone ran to another tree. At last she casually climbed her tree, -agile as a cat, a feat which Delia alone was shabby enough to pretend -not to see. - -We started homeward when the red was flaming up in the west and falling -deep in the heart of the river. By then Mary Elizabeth was almost at -ease with us, but rather, I think, because of the soft evening, and -perhaps in spite of our presence. - -“Oh!” she cried. “Somebody grabbed the sun and pulled it down. I saw it -go!” - -Delia looked shocked. “You oughtn’t to tell such things,” she reproved -her. - -Mary Elizabeth flung up the arm with the torn sleeve and ran beside us, -laughing with abandon. We were all running down the slope in the red -light. - -“We’re Indians, looking for roots for the medicine-man,” Delia called; -“Yellow Thunder is sick. So is Red Bird. We’re hunting roots.” - -She was ahead and we were following. We caught at the dead mullein -stalks and milkweed pods and threw them away, and leaped up and pulled -at the low branches with their tender buds. We were filled with the -flow of the Spring and seeking to express it, as in the old barbaric -days, by means of destruction.... At the foot of the slope a little -maple tree was growing, tentative as a sunbeam and scarcely thicker, -left by the Spring that had last been that way. When she reached it, -Delia laid hold on it, and had it out by its slight root, and tossed it -on the moss. - -“W-h-e-e-e!” cried Delia, “I wish it was Arbour Day to-morrow too!” - -Mary Elizabeth stopped laughing. “I turn here,” she said. “It’s the -short cut. Good-bye--I had a grand time. The best time I ever had.” - -Delia pretended not to hear. She said nothing. The others called casual -good-byes over shoulder. Going home, they rebuked me soundly for having -invited Mary Elizabeth. Delia rehearsed the array of reasons. If she -came to school, we would have to _know_ her, she wound up. I remember -feeling baffled and without argument. All that they said was true, and -yet-- - -“I’m going to see her,” I announced stoutly, more, I dare say, because -I was tired and a little cross than from real loyalty. - -“You’ll catch some disease,” said Delia. “I know a girl that went to -see some poor children and she caught the spinal appendicitis and died -before she got back home.” - -We went round by the schoolhouse, drawn there by a curiosity that -had in it inevitable elements of regret. There they were, little -dead-looking trees, standing in places of wet earth, and most of them -set somewhat slanting. Everyone was gone, and in the late light the -grounds looked solemn and different. - -“Just think,” said Delia, “when we grow up and the trees grow up, we -can tell our children how we planted ’em.” - -“Why, we never--” Calista began. - -“Our school did, didn’t it?” Delia contended. “And our school’s we, -isn’t it?” - -But we overruled her. No, to the end of time, the trees that stood in -those grounds would have been planted by other hands than ours. We -were probably the only ones in the school who hadn’t planted a tree. -“I don’t care, do you?” we demanded of one another, and reiterated our -denial. - -“I planted a-a-a---Never-green!” Harold Rodman shouted, running to meet -us. - -“So did we!” we told him merrily, and separated, laughing. It had, it -seemed, been a great day, in spite of Mary Elizabeth. - -I went into the house, and hovered about the supper table. I perceived -that I had missed hot waffles and honey, and these now held no charm. -Grandmother Beers was talking. - -“When I was eight years old,” she said, “I planted it by the well. And -when Thomas went back to England fifty years after, he couldn’t reach -both arms round the trunk. And there was a seat there--for travellers.” - -I looked at her, and thought of that giant tree. Would those -dead-looking little sticks, then, grow like that? - -“If fifty thousand school children each planted a tree to-day,” said my -mother, “that would be a forest. And planting a forest is next best to -building a city.” - -“Better,” said my father, “better. What kind of tree did you plant, -daughter?” he inquired. - -I hung my head. “I--we--there was a picnic,” I said. “We didn’t _have_ -to plant ’em. So we had a picnic.” - -My father looked at me in the way that I remember. - -“That’s it,” he said. “For everyone who plants a tree, there are half -a dozen that have a picnic. And two dozen that cut them down. At last -we’ve got one in the family who belongs to the majority!” - -When I could, I slipped out in the garden. It was darkening; the frogs -in the Slough were chorussing, and down on the river-bank a cat-bird -sang at intervals, was silent long enough to make you think that he -had ceased, and then burst forth again. The town clock struck eight, -as if eight were an ancient thing, full of dignity. Our kitchen clock -answered briskly, as if eight were a proud and novel experience of its -own. The ’bus rattled past for the Eight-twenty. And away down in the -garden, I heard a step. Someone had come in the back gate and clicked -the pail of stones that weighted its chain. - -I thought that it would be one of the girls, who not infrequently chose -this inobvious method of entrance. I ran toward her, and was amazed to -find Mary Elizabeth kneeling quietly on the ground, as she had been -when I came upon her at noon. - -“What you doing?” I demanded, before I could see what she was doing. - -“This,” she said. - -I stooped. And she had a little maple tree, for which she was hollowing -a home with a rusty fire-shovel that she had brought with her. - -“It’s the one Delia Dart pulled out,” she said. “I thought it’d be kind -of nice to put it here. In your yard. You could bring the water, if you -want.” - -I brought the water. Together we bent in the dusk, and we set out the -little tree, near the back gate, close to my play-house. - -“We’d ought to say a verse or something,” I said vaguely. - -“I can’t think of any,” Mary Elizabeth objected. - -Neither could I, but you had to say something when you planted a tree. -And a line was as good as a verse. - -“‘God is love’ ’s good enough,” said Mary Elizabeth, stamping down the -earth. Then we dismissed the event, and hung briefly above the back -gate. Somehow, I was feeling a great and welcome sense of relief. - -“It was kind o’ nice to do that,” I observed, with some embarrassment. - -“No, it wasn’t either,” rejoined Mary Elizabeth, modestly. - -We stood kicking at the gravel for a moment. Then she went away. - -I faced about to the quiet garden. And suddenly, for no reason that I -knew, I found myself skipping on the path, in the dark, just as if the -day were only beginning. - - - - -V - -THE KING’S TRUMPETER - - -And so it is for that night long ago when Mary Elizabeth and I stood by -the tree and tried to think of something to say, that after all these -years I have made the story of Peter. - - * * * * * - -Long years ago, when the world was just beginning to be, there was a -kingdom which was not yet finished. Of course when a world has just -stopped being nothing and is beginning to be something, it takes a -great while to set all the kingdoms going. And this one wasn’t done. - -For example, in the palace garden where little Peter used to play, -the strangest things were to be met. For the mineral kingdom was just -beginning to be vegetable, and the vegetable was just beginning to -be animal, and the animal was just beginning to be man,--and man was -just, just beginning to know about his living spirit. Do you see what -_that_ means? While you looked at a mound of earth it became a bush--or -a very little time afterward, as time in these things is reckoned. -While you looked at a beast-shaped bush--all bushes at night are shaped -like beasts--it became a living animal--or, again, a _very_ little -afterward. And men had by no means got over being apes, tigers, swine, -and dogs, and sometimes you hardly knew which a man was, a real man or -one of these animals. And spirits were growing in men as fast as this -might be. Everything, you see, lay in savage angles and wild lines. - -Little Peter was playing one morning in the palace garden, and such -playing as it was! He would be moulding little balls of loam and -fashioning them with seeds, when suddenly they would break into life as -buds and then as flowers, almost as one now sees twigs of wood break -into life, or as quiet cocoons become living butterflies--for the world -is not so different. Or Peter would be playing with a spongy-looking -mass on a rock in the brook, when it would break from its rock and go -gayly swimming about, and be a fish-thing. Or he would push at a bit of -ooze with a cat-tail, and a little flying life would mount abruptly -and wing away. It was exciting playing in those days, and some of the -things you can do in these days. Only then it was all new, so Peter -could see just how wonderful it was. - -Now, that morning the king was walking in his palace garden. And he was -troubled, for everywhere that he looked there were loose ends and rough -edges, and shapeless things waiting to be fashioned, and it was so all -over his kingdom. There was such a great lot to do that he could not -possibly do it all alone--no king, however industrious, could have done -it all. And he longed for the help of all his subjects. So when the -king came on little Peter, busily making living things where none had -been before, he was mightily pleased, and he sat down with the little -lad on a grassy platform in the midst of the garden. - -“Lo, now, little lad,” said the king, “what do you play?” - -Instead of playing at keeping store or keeping house or at acting or -hunting or exploring, little Peter was playing another game. - -“I’m playing it’s creation, your majesty,” he answered, “and I’m -playing help the king.” - -“Lo, now,” said the king, “I would that all my subjects would play as -well as you.” - -The king thought for a moment, looking out on all the savage angles and -wild lines, while little Peter watched a bit of leaf mould becoming a -green plant. - -“Summon me my hundred heralds!” the king suddenly bade his servants. - -So the servants summoned the hundred heralds, who hurried into their -blue velvet and silver buckles and came marching, twenty abreast, -across the grassy plateau, where the morning sun made patterns like -wings, and among the wings they bowed themselves and asked the king his -will. - -“Hundred heralds,” said the king, “be it only that you do this -willingly, I would that you go out into my kingdom, into its highways -and even to its loneliest outposts, and take my people my message. Cry -to them, until each one hears with his heart as well as his head: ‘The -world is beginning. You must go and help the king.’” - -Now, little Peter, when he heard the message, rose and stood beside the -king, and in his breast something thrilled and trembled like a smitten -chord. But as for the hundred heralds, they were troubled as one -man--though he not yet wholly a man. - -“O king,” they said, twenty at a time, “blue velvet and silver buckles -are meet for the streets of cities and to call men to feasting -and to honour the king. But as for the highways and the loneliest -outposts--that is another matter.” - -“But what of the message?” the king asked sadly, and this none of the -heralds knew how to answer; and presently the king sent them away, for -he would never have unwilling service in his palace or in his kingdom. -And as they went, little Peter looked after them, and he saw, and -the king saw, that for all their blue velvet and silver buckles, the -hundred heralds, marching away twenty abreast, were not yet all men, -but partly they were apes in manner and swine at heart. And little -Peter wondered if he fashioned them as he did his bits of mould, -whether they would burst from a sheath, _all_ men, as burst his little -plants. - -“Summon me my thousand trumpeters!” the king bade his servants next. - -The thousand trumpeters hurried into their purple velvet and their lace -collars and seized their silver trumpets, and came marching fifty -abreast across the grassy plateau, where the noon sun made a blinding -light, like the light of another sun; and they bowed themselves in the -brightness and asked the king his will. - -But when the king had told them his will and had repeated the message -and asked them if they could go willingly, the thousand trumpeters were -troubled as one man--and he not yet wholly a man. - -“O king,” said they, in fifties and one hundreds, “lo, now, these -silver trumpets. These are meet to sound up and down the streets of -cities and to call men to feasting and to honour the king, and never -are they meet to sound in the lonely outposts. Pray thee, O king, keep -us near thee.” - -“But what of the message?” the king asked, and none of his trumpeters -could help him there, and he would have no unwilling service in his -palace or in his kingdom, so he sent them all away. And as they went, -little Peter looked after them, and he saw, and the king saw, that for -all their purple velvet and lace collars, the thousand trumpeters, -marching away fifty abreast, were not all men, but they were apes in -manner and swine and hounds at heart. And little Peter almost wished -that he could fashion them as he did his bits of mould and see if they -would not change into something better. - -So then the king called a meeting of his High Council, and his -councillors hurried into their robes of state and appeared on the -grassy plateau when the evening was lighting the place to be a glory. - -“Lo, now,” said the king, “I needs must send a message to all my -people. Let us devise or dream some way to take it.” - -When they heard the message, the councillors nodded, with their hands -over their mouths, looking at the ground. - -Then the king said--there, in the beginning of the world:-- - -“I have a thought about a wire which shall reach round the earth and -oversea and undersea, on which a man may send a message. And a thought -I have about a wire which shall stretch across the land, and upon that -wire a voice may travel alone. And a thought about messages that shall -pierce the air with no wire and no voice. But none of these things is -now.” - -(“Nay,” said the council, murmuring among themselves, “or ever shall -be.”) - -“--and if they were,” said the king, “I would have one serve me even -better than these, to reach the head and the heart of my people. How -shall I do this thing? For I must have help in finishing my kingdom.” - -The council, stepping about in the slanting light, disputed the matter, -group by group, but there lay nowhere, it seemed, a conclusion. - -“You yourselves,” the king cried at last, “who know well that the -kingdom must be completed, you yourselves gather the people in -multitudes together and tell them the message.” - -But at this the High Council twitched their robes of state and would -have none of it. - -“Who would sit in the high places if we did _that_?” said they. - -So the king sent them all away, and little Peter, standing beside the -king, looked after them. And he saw, and the king saw, how, under their -robes of state, the High Council had not entirely stopped being ape -and swine and hound and tiger and, early in the world as it was, still -there seemed no great excuse for that. - -“Oh, sire,” said little Peter, “I wish I could play with them as I play -with my bits of mould and loam and could turn them into something -better and alive.” - -“Well said, little Peter,” replied the king, smiling sadly. - -And now the west, which had been like a vast, stained-glass window, -streaming with warm light, fell into gray opaqueness, and the grassy -plateau became a place of shadows in which night things were born -gently. And the king looked away to the beast-shaped bushes and to all -the striving land. - -“Oh, my kingdom, my kingdom!” he cried, grieving. “Now, would that this -little Peter here could help you in the making.” - -And then little Peter stood upright in the faint light. - -“May it please the king,” he said softly, “I will take the message to -his people.” - -The king stared down at him. - -“You?” he said. “_You_, little man? And how, pray, would you take my -message?” - -“May it please the king,” said little Peter, “I would tell everyone in -the kingdom till all should have been told.” - -“Little man,” said the king, “you are no bigger than a trumpet.” - -“Ay,” said the little lad, “I think that is what I am. I would that I -be not Peter, but Trumpeter. So send me forth.” - -At this the king laughed, and for the laughter his heart was the -lighter. He touched the boy’s brow. - -“See, then, I touch your brow, little Trumpeter,” he said. “Go -forth--and do you know my message?” - -“You had first touched my heart, your majesty,” said the little boy, -“and the message is there.” - -You would think, perhaps, that Peter would have waited till the -morning, but he would not wait an hour. He made a little packet -of linen and of food, and just as the folk within the palace were -beginning their evening revelry, he stepped out on the highway and -fared forth under the moon. - -But fancy walking on such a highway as that! At first glance it looked -like any other night road, stretching between mysterious green. But not -anything there could be depended upon to stay as it was. A hillock, -lying a little way ahead, became, as he reached it, a plumy shrub, -trembling with amazement at its transformation from dead earth to -living green. At a turn in the road, a low bush suddenly walked away -into the wood, a four-footed animal. Everything changed as he looked at -it, as if nothing were meant to be merely what it was. The world was -beginning! - -At the foot of a hill, where the shadows were thick, Peter met the -first one to whom he could give his message. The man was twisted and -ragged and a beggar, and he peered down in Peter’s face horribly. - -“Sir,” said Peter, courteously, “the world is beginning. You must go -and help the king.” - -“Help the king!” cried the beggar, and his voice was uneven, like a -bark or a whine that was turning into words. “I can’t help the king -without my supper.” - -“Supper is only supper,” said little Peter, who had never in his life -been hungry. “One must help the king--that is more.” - -The beggar struck the ground with his staff. - -“I’m hungry,” he said like a bark. “I want some supper and some dinner -and all the way back to breakfast before I help the king, world or no -world!” - -And suddenly little Peter understood what it is to be hungry, and -that, if folk were hungry, they must first find means of feeding -themselves before they could listen. So he gave the beggar all that he -had of food in his packet, which was the least that he could do, and -sent him on his way, charging him with the message. - -At the top of the hill, Peter came on another man, sitting under a -sycamore tree. The man was a youth, and very beautiful, and he was -making a little song, which went like this:-- - - “_Open, world, your trembling petals slowly, - Here one, there one, natal to its hour, - Toward the time when, holden in a vessel holy, - You shall be a flower._” - -Though Peter did not know what the song might mean, yet it fell sweetly -upon the night, and he liked to listen. And when it was done, he went -and stood before the youth. - -“Sir,” he said, “the world is beginning. You must go and help the king.” - -“I know, I know, little lad,” said the youth, and his voice was clear, -like bird-notes that were turning into words. “I, too, tell the -message, making it in a song.” - -And these words made Peter glad, so that his strength was new, and he -ran on with the poet’s gentle music in his ears. - -I cannot tell you how far Peter went, but he went very far, and to -many a lonely outpost, and away and away on a drear frontier. It was -long to go and hard to do, but that is the way the world is made; and -little Peter went on, now weary, now frightened, now blithe, now in -good company, now alone and in the dark. I cannot tell you all the -adventures he had and all the things he did--perhaps you will know -these in some other way, sometime. And there were those to whom he -told the message who listened, or set out in haste for the king’s -palace; and some promised that they would go another day, and a few ran -to tell others. But many and many were like the hundred heralds and -the thousand trumpeters and the king’s High Council, and found many -a reason why they might not set out. And some there were who mocked -Peter, saying that the world indeed was doing very well without their -help and would work itself out if only one would wait; and others would -not even listen to the little lad. - -At last, one morning when the whole world seemed glad that it was -beginning and seemed to long to tell about it, little Peter entered a -city, decorated for a festival. Everywhere were garlands of vines and -of roses, bright rugs and fluttering pennons and gilded things, as if -the world had been long enough begun so that already there were time -to take holidays. The people were flooding the streets and crowding -the windows, and through their holiday dress Peter could see how some -minced and mocked a little like apes, and others peered about like -giraffes, and others ravened for food and joy, like the beggar or the -bear or the tiger, and others kept the best, like swine, or skulked -like curs, or plodded like horses, or prattled like parrots. Animals -ran about, dumb like the vegetables they had eaten. Vegetables were -heaped in the stalls, mysterious as the earth which they had lately -been. The buildings were piled up to resemble the hills from whose -substance they had been created, and their pillars were fashioned like -trees. Everywhere were the savage angles and wild lines of one thing -turning into another. And Peter longed to help to fashion them all, as -he fashioned his little balls of mould and loam. - -“There is so much yet to do,” thought little Peter, “I wonder that -they take so much time for holidays.” - -So he ran quickly to a high, white place in the midst of the town, -where they were making ready to erect the throne of the king of the -carnival, and on that he stood and cried:-- - -“Hear me--hear me! The world is beginning. You must go and help the -king.” - -Now, if those about the carnival throne had only said: “What is that to -us? Go away!” Peter would have been warned. But they only nodded, and -they said kindly: “Yes, so it is--and we mean to help presently. Come -and help us first!” And one of the revellers, seeing Peter, how little -he was, picked him up and held him at arm’s length and cried:-- - -“Lo, now, this little lad. He is no bigger than a trumpet....” - -(That was what the king had said, and it pleased Peter to hear it said -again.) - -“... Let us take him,” the revellers went on, “and _have_ him for a -trumpet. And take him with us in our great procession. What think ye?” - -“And may I cry out what message I please?” little Peter asked eagerly. - -“Surely,” answered all the revellers, gayly. “What is that to us, so -that you come with us?” - -They picked him up and tossed him on their shoulders--for he was of -about a brazen trumpet’s weight, no more;--and Peter clapped his hands -for joy, for he was a boy and he loved to think that he would be a part -of that gorgeous procession. And they took him away to the great tent -on the city green where everyone was dressing for the carnival. - -Peter never had seen anything so strange and wonderful as what was -within that tent. In it everything and everybody had just been or was -just going to be something or somebody else. Not only had the gay -garments piled on the floor just been sheep’s and silkworm’s coats, -not only had the colours laid upon them just been roots and stems and -herb-leaves, not only had the staves been tree’s boughs and elephant’s -tusks, but the very coal burning in the braziers and the oil in the -torches had once been sunshine, and the very flames had been air, and -before that water, and so on. But, most of all, the people showed what -they had been, for in any merry-making the kinds of animals in folk -can_not_ be covered up; and it was a regular menagerie. - -They took little Peter and dressed him like a trumpet. They thrust both -his legs into one long cloth-of-gold stocking, and he held his arms -tightly at his sides while they wound his little body in ruffles of -gold-coloured silk, growing broader and broader into a full-gathered -ruff from which his laughing face peeped out. And he was so slender and -graceful that you could hardly have told him from a real, true, golden -trumpet. - -Then the procession was ready to start, all lined up in the great -tent. And the heralds and the music all burst out at once as the green -curtain of the tent was drawn aside, and the long, glittering line -began to move. Little heralds, darting about for all the world like -squirrels and chipmunks; a great elephant of a master of ceremonies, -bellowing out the order of the day as if he had been presiding over -the jungle; a group of men high in the town’s confidence, whose spots -proclaimed them once to have been leopards, and other things; long, -lithe harlequins descended from serpents; little, fat clowns still -showing the magpie; prominent citizens, unable as yet to conceal the -fox and the wolf in their faces; the mayor of the town, revealing the -chameleon in his blood; little donkey men; and a fine old gentleman or -two made like eagles--all of them getting done into men as quickly as -possible. In the midst rode the king of the carnival, who had evidently -not long since been a lion, and that no doubt was why they picked him -out. He rode on a golden car from which sprays of green sprang out to -reach from side to side of the broad street. And at his lips, held like -a trumpet, he carried little Peter, one hand on Peter’s feet set to the -kingly lips, and the other stretched out to Peter’s breast. - -Then Peter lifted up his shrill little voice and shouted loud his -message:-- - -“_The world is beginning! The world is beginning! The world is -beginning! You must go and help the king. You must go-o-o and help the -king!_” - -But just as he cried that, the carnival band struck into a merry march, -and all the heralds were calling, and the people were shouting, and -Peter’s little voice did not reach very far. - -“Shout again!” bade the king of the carnival, who did not care in the -least what Peter said, so long only as he acted like a trumpet. - -So Peter shouted again--shouted his very best. He shouted as loudly -as he did at play, as loudly as when he swam and raced in the water, -as loudly as any boy could shout. But it seemed to him that his voice -carried hardly farther than the little chipmunk-and-squirrel heralds -before him, and that nobody heard him. - -Still, it was all such fun! The glitter of the procession, the -eagerness of the people, the lilt and rhythm of the music. And fun -over all was it to be carried by the carnival king himself, high above -everyone and dressed like a golden trumpet. Surely, surely no boy -ever had more fun than that! Surely, surely it was no great marvel -that after a little time, so loud was the clamour and so fast the -excitement, that Peter stopped crying his message, and merely watched -and laughed and delighted with the rest. - -Up and down through the thronged streets they went, that great, -glittering procession, winding its mile or more of spangles and gilding -and gay dress and animals richly caparisoned. Everywhere the crowded -walks and windows and balconies sent cheers into the air, everywhere -flowers were thrown and messages tossed and melody flooded. And -wherever that long line passed, everyone noted the king’s trumpet and -pointed it out and clapped hands and tried to throw upon it garlands. -And there was so much to see, and so much excitement there was in the -hour, that at last little Peter did not even think of his message, and -only jested and made merry. For it was the most wonderful game that -ever he had played. - -“How now, my little trumpeter?” the king of the carnival would say -sometimes, when he rested his arms and held Peter at his side. - -“Oh, _well_, your majesty!” Peter would cry, laughing up at him. - -“This is all a fine game and nothing more,” the king of the carnival -would tell him. “Is this not so?” - -Then he would toss the boy on high again, away above the golden car, -and Peter would cry out with the delight of it. And though there were -no wings and no great brightness in the air, yet the hour was golden -and joy was abroad like a person. - -Presently, a band of mountebanks, dressed like ploughmen and -harvesters, came tumbling and racing by the procession, and calling to -everyone to come to a corn husking on the city green. - -“Husks! Husks! A corn husking on the city green. Husks--husks--husks!” -they cried. - -But there was such a tumult that no one could well hear what they said, -and presently they appealed to the carnival king to tell the people. - -“Nay, O king, they hear us not for the noise of thy passing,” said -they. “Prithee tell the people what we would say.” - -“Tell the people, my little trumpeter!” cried the king, and lifted -Peter to his lips. - -And Peter shouted out with all his might. - -“Husks! Husks! A corn husking on the city green. Husks--husks--husks!” - -“Bravely done!” called the mountebanks, in delight, and ran alongside -the car, leaping and tumbling and grotesquely showing their delight. -“Bravely done! Tell the people--bid the people come!” - -So Peter called again, and yet again, at the full strength of his -little voice. And it seemed to him that the people surely listened, -and it was a delight and a flattery to be the one voice in the great -procession, save only the music’s voice. - -At last, for one moment it chanced that the bands ceased altogether -their playing, so that there was an instant of almost silence. - -“_Husks, husks, husks!_” he cried, with all his might. - -And as he did that, thin and clear through the silence, vexed somewhat -by the voices of the people,--now barks, now whines, now bellows, now -words,--Peter caught a little wandering melody, as though a bird’s -singing were turning into words:-- - - “_Open, world, your trembling petals slowly, - Here one, there one, natal to its hour_....” - -and in the midst of that motley throng, Peter, looking down, saw the -poet whom he had left on the hill-top, now wandering alone and singing -his message to his lute. - -“Oh, the king! Oh, _my_ king!” cried little Peter, as if he had had a -great wound. - -“What now, my little trumpeter?” asked the carnival king. - -“Not you--_not_ you!” cried Peter. “Oh, set me down,--set me down. Oh, -what have I done?” - -“How _now_, little Trumpet?” cried the carnival king. But Peter, -instead of stretching out his little body, slim and trumpet-graceful, -turned and fell at the king’s feet in the car and slipped from his -grasp and scrambled through the branching green and reached the street. - -There, in the wonder and then the mockery of the people, he began -struggling to free himself from the ruffles of cloth-of-gold about his -body. Some laughed, some ran from him as if he were mad, and some, -wishing for themselves the golden ruffles, helped him to pull them off -and to strip down the clinging golden stocking that bound his limbs. -And then, being close to the city gates, little Peter ran, all naked as -he was, without the gates and on to the empty road. And he ran sobbing -out his heart:-- - -“Oh, my king! I would have told them that the world is beginning--but, -instead I have told them only to get them husks!” - -Now the poet, who had seen it all--and who understood--ceased his song -and made his way as quickly as might be for the press of the people, -and ran after Peter, and fared along the road beside him, trying to -comfort him. But the little lad might not be comforted, and he only -cried out again:-- - -“The king--the king! I would have given them his message--and I bade -them only to get them husks!” - -So the poet--who understood--said no word at all, but he shielded Peter -with his mantle; and then he took his lute and walked beside the little -lad, singing. - -They had gone but a short distance when they reached the top of a hill, -where the sun shone with exceeding brightness, and the poet noted -that the light fell almost like little wings. Peter saw none of this, -for his hands were still covering his face. But he heard the poet’s -singing interrupted by a voice. The voice was uneven--like a bark or -a whine that is turning into words--but yet its words were clear and -unmistakable. And they were:-- - -“_Sirs, the world is beginning. You must go and help the king._” - -Peter looked up and he saw the man who had spoken, a man twisted and -ragged, but who smiled down into the little boy’s face so gently that, -for a moment, Peter did not know him; and then he recognized that -beggar to whom, on that night long ago, he had given food and the -message. - -“Ay, friend!” the poet was answering him ringingly, “and we go!” - -The beggar hurried on, and the poet touched Peter’s hand. - -“Nay, now, little Peter,” he said, “grieve not your heart too much. -For you it was who told the beggar the message--from the top of the -hill I heard--and I saw you give him food. Can you tell any man without -some good coming true of the tidings? Then it may well be that there -are those in the town to whom you told the king’s message who will -remember, too. Go we forth together to try again!” - -Peter looked down the long highway, stretching between the mysterious -green, where shrubs changed to animals in so little a space; and -then he looked away to the king’s kingdom and saw how it was not -finished--because the world had just stopped being nothing and was -beginning to be something--and he looked back towards the city where, -as at the court, men had not yet done being animals. Everything -was changing, as if nothing were meant to be merely what it is. -And everything was in savage angles and wild lines. The world was -beginning. The people _must_ be told to go and help the king. - -“Go we forth together to try again,” the poet repeated. - -He touched his lute, and its melody slipped into the sunshine. - - “_Toward the time when, holden in a vessel holy, - You shall be a flower._” - -Then Peter stretched out his arms, and his whole slender little body -became like one trumpet voice, and that voice strong and clear to reach -round the world itself. - -“I try once again!” he answered. “The world is beginning. _I must go -and help the king._” - - - - -VI - -MY LADY OF THE APPLE TREE - - -Our lawn was nine apple trees large. There were none in front, where -only Evergreens grew, and two silver Lombardy poplars, heaven-tall. The -apple trees began with the Cooking-apple tree by the side porch. This -was, of course, no true tree except in apple-blossom time, and at other -times hardly counted. The length of twenty jumping ropes--they call -them skipping ropes now, but we never called them so--laid one after -another along the path would have brought one to the second tree, the -Eating-apple tree, whose fruit was red without and pink-white within. -To this day I do not know what kind of apples those were, whether -Duchess, Gilliflower, Russet, Sweet, or Snow. But after all, these only -name the body of the apple, as Jasper or Edith names the body of you. -The soul of you, like the real sense of Apple, lives nameless all its -days. Sometime we must play the game of giving us a secret name--the -Pathfinder, the Lamplighter, the Starseeker, and so on. But colours and -flavours are harder to name and must wait longer than we. - -... Under this Nameless tree, then, the swing hung, and to sit in the -swing and have one’s head touch apple-blossoms, and mind, not touch -them with one’s foot, was precisely like having one’s swing knotted to -the sky, so that one might rise in rhythm, head and toe, up among the -living stars. I can think of no difference worth the mentioning, so -high it seemed. And if one does not know what rhythm is, one has only -to say it over: Spring, Summer, apple-blossom, apple; new moon, old -moon, running river, echo--and then one will know. - -“I would pick some,” said Mother, looking up at the apple-blossoms, “if -I only knew which ones will never be apples.” - -So some of the blossoms would never be apples! Which ones? _And why?_ - -“Why will some be apples and some others never be apples?” I inquired. - -But Mother was singing and swinging me, and she did not tell. - -“Why will you be apples and you not be apples, and me not know which, -and you not know which?” I said to the apple-blossoms when next my head -touched them. Of course, you never really speak to things with your -throat voice, but you think it at them with your head voice. Perhaps -that is the way they answer, and that is why one does not always hear -what they say.... - -The apple-blossoms did not say anything that I could hear. The -stillness of things never ceased to surprise me. It would have been far -less wonderful to me if the apple-blossoms and the Lombardy poplars and -my new shoes had answered me sometimes than that they always kept their -unfriendly silence. One’s new shoes _look_ so friendly, with their -winking button eyes and their placid noses! And yet they act as cross -about answering as do some little boys who move into the neighbourhood. - -... Indeed, if one comes to think of it, one’s shoes are rather like -the sturdy little boys among one’s clothes. One’s slippers are more -like little girls, all straps and bows and tiptoes. Then one’s aprons -must be the babies, long and white and dainty. And one’s frocks and -suits--that is to say, one’s _new_ frocks and suits--are the ladies -and gentlemen, important and elegant; and one’s everyday things are -the men and women, neither important nor elegant, but best of all; and -one’s oldest garments are the witches, shapeless and sad and haunted. -This leaves ribbons and sashes and beads to be fairies--both good and -bad. - -The silence of the Nameless tree was to lift a little that very day. -When Mother had gone in the house,--something seemed always to be -pulling at Mother to be back in the house as, in the house, something -always pulled at me to be back out-of-doors,--I remember that I was -twisting the rope and then lying back over the board, head down, -for the untwisting. And while my head was whirling and my feet were -guiding, I looked up at the tree and saw it as I had never seen it -before: soft falling skirts of white with lacy edges and flowery -patterns, drooping and billowing all about a pedestal, which was the -tree trunk, and up-tapering at the top like a waist--why, the tree was -a lady! Leaning in the air there above the branches, surely I could -see her beautiful shoulders and her white arms, her calm face and her -bright hair against the blue. She had risen out of the trunk at the -tree’s blossoming and was waiting for someone to greet her. - -I struggled out of the swing and scrambled, breathless, back from the -tree and looked where she should be. Already I knew her. Nearly, I knew -the things that she would say to me--sometimes now I know the things -that she would have said if we had not been interrupted. - -The interruption came from four girls who lived, as I thought, outside -my world,--for those were the little days when I did not yet know -that this cannot be. They were the Eversley sisters, in full-skirted, -figured calico, and they all had large, chapped hands and wide teeth -and stout shoes. For a year they had been wont to pass our house on the -way to the public school, but they had spoken to me no more than if -I had been invisible--until the day when I had first entered school. -After that, it was as if I had been born into their air, or thrown in -the same cage, or had somehow become one of them. And I was in terror -of them. - -“Come ’ere once!” they commanded, their voices falling like sharp -pebbles about the Apple-blossom lady and me. - -Obediently I ran to the front fence, though my throat felt sick when -I saw them coming. “Have an apple core? Give us some of them flowers. -Shut your eyes so’s you’ll look just like you was dead.” These were -the things that they always said. Something kept telling me that I -ought not to tell them about my lady, but I was always wanting to win -their approval and to let them know that I was really more one of them -than they thought. So I disobeyed, and I told them. Mysteriously, -breathlessly I led them back to the tree; and feeling all the time that -I was not keeping faith, I pointed her out to them. I showed them just -where to look, beginning with the skirts, which surely anybody could -see.... I used often to dream that a crowd of apish, impish little folk -was making fun of me, and that afternoon I lived it, standing out alone -against those four who fell to instant jeering. If they had stooped and -put their hands on their knees and hopped about making faces, it would -have been no more horrible to me than their laughter. It held for me -all the sense of bad dreams, and then of waking alone, in the middle of -the night. The worst was that I could find no words to make them know. -I could only keep saying, “She is there, she is there, she is there.” -By some means I managed not to cry, not even when they each broke a -great branch of blossoms from the Eating-apple tree and ran away, -flat-footed, down the path; not indeed until the gate had slammed and I -turned back to the tree and saw that my lady had gone. - -There was no doubt about it. Here were no longer soft skirts, but only -flowery branches where the sunlight thickened and the bees drowsed. -My lady was gone. Try as I might, I could not bring her back. So she -had been mocking me too! Otherwise, why had she let me see her so that -I should be laughed at, and then herself vanished? Yet, even then, I -remember that I did not doubt her, or for a moment cease to believe -that she was really there; only I felt a kind of shame that I could -see her, and that the others could not see her. I had felt the same -kind of shame before, never when I was alone, but always when I was -with people. We played together well enough,--Pom, pom, pullaway, -Minny-minny motion, Crack-the-whip, London Bridge, and the rest, save -that I could not run as fast as nearly everybody. But the minute we -stopped playing and _talked_, then I was always saying something so -that the same kind of shame came over me. - -I saw Delia crossing the street. In one hand she held two cookies which -she was biting down sandwich-wise, and in the other hand two cookies, -as yet unbitten. The latter she shook at me. - -“I knew I’d see you,” she called resentfully. “I says I’d give ’em to -you if I saw you, and if I didn’t see you--” - -She left it unfinished at a point which gave no doubt as to whose -cookies they might have been had I not been offensively about. But -the cookies were fresh, and I felt no false delicacy. However, after -deliberation, I ate my own, one at a time, rejecting the sandwich -method. - -“It lasts them longest,” I explained. - -“The other way they bite thicker,” Delia contended. - -“Your teeth don’t taste,” I objected scientifically. - -Delia opened her eyes. “Why, they do too!” she cried. - -I considered. I had always had great respect for the strange chorus -of my teeth, and I was perfectly ready to regard them as having -independent powers. - -“Oh, not when you eat tipsy-toes like that,” said Delia, scornfully. -“Lemme show you....” She leaned for my cooky, her own being gone. I ran -shamelessly down the path toward the swing, and by the time the swing -was reached I had frankly abandoned serial bites. - -I sat on the grass, giving Delia the swing as a peace-offering. She -took it, as a matter of course, and did not scruple to press her -advantage. - -“Don’t you want to swing me?” she said. - -I particularly disliked being asked in that way to do things. Grown-ups -were always doing it, and what could be more absurd: “Don’t you want -to pick up your things now?” “Don’t you want to let auntie have that -chair?” “Don’t you want to take this over to Mrs. Rodman?” The form of -the query always struck me as quite shameless. I truthfully shook my -head. - -“I’m company,” Delia intimated. - -“When you’re over to my house, I have to let you swing because you’re -company,” I said speculatively, “and when I’m over to your house, I -have to let you swing because it’s your swing.” - -“I don’t care about being company,” said Delia, loftily, and started -home. - -“I’ll swing you. I was only fooling!” I said, scrambling up. - -It worked--as Delia knew it would and always did work. All the same, -as I pushed Delia, with my eyes on the blue-check gingham strap -buttoned across the back of her apron, I reflected on the truth and -its parallels: How, when Delia came to see me, I had to “pick up” the -playthings and set in order store or ship or den or cave or county fair -or whatnot because Delia had to go home early; and when I was over to -Delia’s, I had to help put things away because they were hers and she -had got them out. - -Low-swing, high-swing, now-I’m-going-to-run-under-swing--I gave them -all to Delia and sank on the grass to watch the old cat die. As it -died, Delia suddenly twisted the rope and then dropped back and lay -across the board and loosed her hands. I never dared “let go,” as we -said, but Delia did and lay whirling, her hair falling out like a sun’s -rays, and her eyes shut. - -I watched her, fascinated. If she opened her eyes, I knew how the -picket fence would swim for her, no longer a line but a circle. Then -I remembered what I had seen in the tree when I was twisting, and I -looked back.... - -There she was! Quite as I had fleetingly seen her, with lacy skirts -and vague, sweeping sleeves and bending line of shoulder, my Lady of -the Tree was there again. I looked at her breathlessly, unsurprised at -the gracious movement of her, so skilfully concealed by the disguises -of the wind. Oh, was she there all the time, or only in apple-blossom -time? Would she be there not only in white Spring but in green Summer -and yellow Fall--why, perhaps all those times came only because she -changed her gown. Perhaps night came only because she put on something -dusky, made of veils. Maybe the stars that I had thought looked to be -caught in the branches were the jewels in her hair. And the wind might -be her voice! I listened with all my might. What if she should tell me -her name ... and know my name!... - -“Seventeen un-twists,” announced Delia. “Did you ever get that many out -of such a little stingy swing as you gave me?” - -I did not question the desirability of telling Delia. The four Eversley -girls had been barbarians (so I thought). Delia I had known always. To -be sure, she had sometimes failed me, but these times were not real. My -eyes were on the tree, and Delia came curiously toward me. - -“Bird?” she whispered. - -I shook my head and beckoned her. Still looking at my lady, I drew -Delia down beside me, brought her head close to mine. - -“Look,” I said, “her skirt is all branches--and her face is turned the -other way. See her?” - -Delia looked faithfully. She scanned the tree long and impartially. - -“See her? See her?” I insisted, under the impression that I was -defining her. “It’s a lady,” I breathed it finally. - -“Oh,” said Delia, “you mean that side of the tree is the shape of one. -Yes, it is--kind of. I’m going home. We got chocolate layer cake for -supper. Good-bye. Last tag.” - -I turned to Delia for a second. When she went, I looked back for my -lady--but she had gone. Only--now I did not try to bring her back. -Neither did I doubt her, even then. But there came back a certain -loneliness that I had felt before, only never so much as now. Why was -it that the others could not see? - -I lay face downward in the grass under the tree. There were other -things like this lady that I had been conscious of, which nobody else -seemed to care about. Sometimes I had tried to tell. More often I had -instinctively kept still. Now slowly I thought that I understood: I was -different. Different from the whole world. Did I not remember how, when -I walked on the street, groups of children would sometimes whisper: -“There she is--there she is!” Or, “Here she comes!” I had thought, poor -child, that this would be because my hair was long, like little Eva’s -in the only play that most of us had seen. But now I thought I knew -what they had known and I had not known: That I was different. - -I dropped my face in the crook of my arm and cried--silently, because -to cry aloud seemed always to have about it a kind of nakedness; but I -cried sorely, pantingly, with aching throat, and tried to think it out. - -What was this difference? I had heard them say in the house that my -head was large, my hair too long to let me be healthy; and the four -Eversleys always wanted me to shut my eyes so that I should look dead. -But it was something other than these. Maybe--I shall never forget the -grip of that fear--maybe I was not human. Maybe I was Adopted. I had no -clear idea what Adopted meant, but my impression was that it meant not -to have been born at all. That was it. I was like the apple-blossoms -that would never be apples. I was just a Pretend little girl, a kind of -secret one, somebody who could never, never be the same as the rest. - -I turned from that deep afternoon and ran for the wood-pile where I had -a hiding-place. Down the path I met Mother and clung to her. - -“Mother, Mother!” I sobbed. “Am I adopted?” - -“No, dear,” she said seriously. “You are mine. What is it?” - -“Promise me I’m not!” I begged. - -“I promise,” she said. “Who has been talking to you? You little lamb, -come in the house,” she added. “You’re tired out, playing.” - -I went with her. But the moment had entered me. I was not like the -rest. I said it over, and every time it hurt. There is no more -passionate believer in democracy than a child. - -Across the street Delia was sitting on the gate-post, ostentatiously -eating chocolate layer cake, and with her free hand twisting into -a curl the end of her short braid. Between us there seemed to have -revealed itself a gulf, life-wide. Had Delia always known about me? Did -the Rodman girls know? And Calista? The four Eversleys must know--this -was why they laughed so.... But I remember how, most of all, I hoped -that Mary Elizabeth did not know--yet. - -From that day I faced the truth: I was different. I was somehow not -really-truly. And it seemed to me that nothing could ever be done about -it. - - - - -VII - -THE PRINCESS ROMANCIA - - -That night I could not go to sleep with the knowledge. If only I, as I -am now, might have sat on the edge of the bed and told a story to me -as I was then! I am always wishing that we two might have known each -other--I as I am now and I as I was then. We should have been so much -more interested in each other than anybody else could ever be. I can -picture us looking curiously at each other through the dark, and each -would have wished to be the other--how hard we would have wished that. -But neither of us would have got it, as sometimes happens with wishes. - -Looking back on that night, and knowing how much I wanted to be like -the rest, I think this would be the story that I, as I am now, would -have told that Little Me. - - * * * * * - -Once upon a time to the fairy king and queen there was born a little -daughter. And the king, being a modern fairy, determined to invite to -the christening of his daughter twelve mortals--a thing never before -countenanced in fairy ceremony. And of course all unreal people are -always very particular about their ceremonies being _just_ so. - -It was a delicate and difficult task to make out that mortal invitation -list, for it was very hard to find in the world twelve human beings -who, at a fairy party, would exactly fit in. After long thought and -consultation with all his ministers and councillors, the king made out -the following list:-- - -A child; a poet; a scientist; a carpenter; a prophet; an artist; an -artisan; a gardener; a philosopher; a woman who was also a mother; a -man who was also a father; and a day labourer. - -“Do you think that will do _at all_?” the fairy king asked the fairy -queen, tossing over the list. - -“Well, dear,” she replied, “it’s probably the best you can do. You know -what people are.” She hesitated a mere breath--a fairy’s breath--and -added: “I do wonder a little, though, just _why_ the day labourer.” - -“My dear,” said the king, “some day you will understand that, and many -other things as well.” - -The christening room was a Vasty Hall, whose deep blue ceiling was as -high as the sky and as strange as night. Lamps, dim as the stars, hung -very high, and there was one silver central chandelier, globed like the -moon, and there were frescoes like clouds. The furnishings of the Vasty -Hall were most magnificent. There were pillars like trees spreading out -into capitals of intricate and leafy design. Lengths of fair carpet ran -here and there, as soft and shining as little streams; there were thick -rugs as deep as moss, seats of native carved stone, and tapestries as -splendid as vistas curtaining the distance. And the music was like the -music of All-night, all done at once. - -To honour the occasion the fairy guests had all come dressed as -something else--for by now, of course, the fairies are copying many -human fashions. One was disguised as a Butterfly with her own wings -prettily painted. One represented a Rose, and she could hardly be -distinguished from an American Beauty. One was made up as a Light, -whom nobody could recognize. One was a White Moth and one was a -Thistle-down, and there were several fantastic toilettes, such as a -great Tulle Bow, a Paper Doll, and an Hour-glass. As for the Human -Beings present, they all came masked as themselves, as usual; and their -names I cannot give you, though sometimes I see someone with dreaming -eyes whom I think may possibly have been one of those twelve--for of -course it must have made a difference in their looks ever afterward. -It was a very brilliant assemblage indeed, and everyone was most -intangible and elusive, which are fairy terms for well-behaved. - -While the guests were waiting for the fairy baby princess to be brought -in, they idled about, with that delightful going-to-be-ice-cream -feeling which you have at any party in some form or another, only -you must _never_ say so, and they exchanged the usual pleasant -nothing-at-alls. It is curious how very like human nothings fairy -nothings are. - -For example:-- - -“There is a great deal of night about,” said the Butterfly Fairy with a -little shiver. “If I were a truly butterfly, I should never be able to -find my way home.” - -“And there is such a fad for thunder-and-lightning this season,” added -the Paper Doll Fairy, agreeably. - -“Do you remember,” asked the White Moth Fairy, “the night that we all -dressed as white moths and went to meet the moon? We flew until we were -all in the moonlight, and then we knew that we had met her. I wonder -why more people do not meet the moon-rise?” - -“That reminds me,” said the Thistle-down Fairy, “of the day we all made -up as snowflakes and went to find the Spring. Don’t you know how she -surprised us, in the hollow of the lowland? And what a good talk we -had? I wonder why more people do not go to meet the Spring?” - -“A charming idea!” cried the Rose Fairy to the Light Fairy, and the -Light Fairy shone softly upon her, precisely like an answer. - -Then somebody observed that the wind that night was a pure soprano, and -the guests amused themselves comparing wind-notes; how on some nights -the wind is deep bass, like a man’s voice, raging through the world; -and sometimes it is tenor, sweet, and singing only serenades; and -sometimes it is all contralto and like a lullaby; and sometimes, but -not often, it is like harp music played on the trees. - -Suddenly the whole dark lifted, like a garment; and moonlight flooded -the Vasty Hall. And as if they had filtered down the air with the -light, the fairy christening party entered--not as we enter a room, by -thresholds and steps, but the way that a thought comes in your head and -you don’t know how it got there. - -The christening party wore robes of colours that lie deep between -the colours and may hardly be named. And, in a secret ceremony, such -as attends the blooming of flowers, the fairy baby was christened -Romancia. Then the fairies brought her many offerings; and these having -been received and admired, a great hush fell on the whole assembly, -for now the twelve Human Beings came forward with their gifts. And -everyone, except, indeed, the princess herself, was wild with curiosity -to see what they had brought. - -No one left a card with any gift, but when the fairy king came to look -them over afterward, he felt certain who had brought each one. The -gifts were these: A little embroidered gown which should make everyone -love the princess while she wore it; a gazing crystal which would -enable the princess to see one hundred times as much as anybody else -saw; certain sea secrets and sea spells; a lyre which played itself; -a flask containing a draught which should keep the princess young; a -vial of colours which hardly anyone ever sees; flowers and grasses and -leaves which could be used almost like a dictionary to spell out other -things; an assortment of wonderful happy fancies of every variety; a -new rainbow; a box of picture cards of the world, every one of which -should come true if one only went far enough; and a tapestry of the -universe, wrapped around a brand-new idea in a box. - -When these things had been graciously accepted by the king, there was -a stir in the company, and sweeping into its midst came another Human -Being, one who thought that she had every right to be invited to the -christening, but who had not been invited. All the fairies shrank back, -for it was an extraordinary-looking Human Being. She was tall and lithe -and wore a sparkling gown, and her face had the look of many cities, -and now it was like the painted cover of an empty box, and all the time -it had the meaning only of those who never look at the stars, or walk -in gardens, or think about others rather than themselves, or listen to -hear what it is right for them to do. This kind of Human Being is one -who not often has any good gift to give to anyone, and this the fairies -knew. - -The Vasty Hall became very quiet to see what she had brought, for no -one understood what she could possibly have to bestow upon a baby. And -without asking leave of the king or the queen, she bent over the child -and clasped on her wrist the tiniest bracelet that was ever made in the -world, and she snapped its lock as fast as the lock on a fetter, and -held up the tiniest key that ever was wrought. - -“The princess,” she cried, “shall seem _different from everyone else_. -She shall seem like nobody who is or ever has been. As long as she -wears her bracelet, this shall be true; and that she may never lose it, -I shall hold her bracelet’s key. Hail to this little princess child, -who shall seem like nobody in the world!” - -Now, no one present was quite certain what this might mean, but the -lady’s robe was so beautifully embroidered and sparkling, and her voice -was such a thing of loops and curves, that nearly everyone accepted the -gift as something fine after all, and the queen gave her her hand to -kiss. But the king, who was a very wise fairy, said nothing at all, and -merely bowed and eyed the bracelet, in deep thought. - -His meditation was interrupted by a most awkward incident. In the -excitement of the bestowal of gifts by the Human Beings, and in the -confusion of the entrance of the thirteenth and uninvited Human Being, -one of them all had been forgotten and had got himself shuffled well -at the back of everyone. And now he came pressing forward in great -embarrassment, to bring his gift. It was the day labourer, and several -of the Human Beings drew hastily back as he approached the dais. But -everyone fell still farther back in consternation when it was seen -what he had brought. For on the delicate cobweb coverlet of the little -princess’s bed, he cast a spadeful of earth. - -“It’s all I’ve got,” the man said, “or I’d brought a better.” - -The earth all but covered the little bed of the princess, and it was -necessary to lift her from it, which the fairy queen did with her own -hands, flashing a reproachful glance at her husband, the king. But -when the party had trooped away for the dancing,--with the orchestra -playing the way a Summer night would sound if it were to steep itself -in music, so that it could only be heard and not seen,--then the king -came quietly back to the christening chamber and ordered the spadeful -of earth to be gathered up and put in a certain part of the palace -garden. - -And so (the Human Beings having gone home at once and forgotten that -they had been present), when the music lessened to silence and the -fairies stole from note to note and at last drifted away as invisibly -as the hours leave a dial, they passed, in the palace garden, a great -corner of the rich black earth which the day labourer had brought to -the princess. And it was ready for seed sowing. - -The Princess Romancia grew with the days and the years, and from the -first it was easily to be seen that certainly she seemed different -from everyone in the world. As a baby she began talking in her cradle -without having been taught--not very plainly, to be sure, or so that -anybody in particular excepting the fairy queen understood her--but -still she talked. As a little girl she seemed always to be listening -to things as if she understood them as well as she did people, or -better. When she grew older, nobody knew quite how she differed, but -everybody agreed that she seemed different. And this the princess knew -better than anybody, and most of the time it made her hurt all over. - -When the fairies played at thistle-down ball, the princess often played -too, but she never felt really like one of them all. She felt that they -were obliged to have her play with them because she was the princess, -and not because they wanted her. When they played at hide-and-go-seek -in a flower bed, somehow the others always hid together in the big -flowers, and the princess hid alone in a tulip or a poppy. And whenever -they whispered among themselves, she always fancied that they were -whispering of her. She imagined herself often looked at with a smile or -a shrug; she began to believe that she was not wanted but only endured -because she was the princess, and she was certain that no one liked -her for herself alone, because she was somehow so different. Little by -little she grew silent, and refused to join in the games, and sat apart -alone. Presently she began to give blunt answers and to take exception -and even to disagree. And, of course, little by little the court began -secretly to dislike her, and to cease to try to understand her, and -they told one another that she was hopelessly different and that that -was all that there was to be said about her. - -[Illustration: LITTLE BY LITTLE SHE GREW SILENT AND REFUSED TO JOIN -IN THE GAMES.] - -But in spite of all this, the Princess Romancia was very beautiful, and -the fame of her beauty went over the whole of fairyland. When enough -years had gone by, fairy princes from this and that dominion began to -come to the king’s palace to see her. But though they all admired the -princess’s great beauty, many were of course repelled by her sharp -answers and her constant suspicions. - -But at last the news of the princess’s beauty and strangeness reached -the farthest border of fairyland and came to the ears of the young -Prince Hesperus. Now Prince Hesperus, who was the darling of his -father’s court and beloved of everybody, was tired of everybody. “Every -fairy is like every other fairy,” he was often heard saying wearily. -“I do wish I could find somebody with a few new ways. One would think -fairies were all cut from one pattern!” Therefore, when word came to -him of the strange and beautiful Princess Romancia, who was believed -to be different from everyone else in the world, you can imagine with -what haste he made ready and set out for her father’s place. - -Prince Hesperus arrived at the palace at twilight, when the king’s -garden was wrapped in that shadow light which no one can step through, -_if he looks_, without feeling somewhat like a fairy himself and -glad to be one. He sent his servants on ahead, folded his wings, and -proceeded on foot through the silent gardens. And in a little arbour -made of fallen petals, renewed each day, he came on the Princess -Romancia, asleep. He, of course, did not recognize her, but never, -since for him the world began, had the prince seen anyone so beautiful. - -His step roused her and she sprang to her feet. And as soon as he -looked at her, Prince Hesperus found himself wanting to tell her of -what he had just been thinking, and before he knew it he was doing so. - -“I have just been thinking,” he said, “what a delightful pet a -leaf-shadow would make, if one could catch it and tame it. I wonder if -one could do it? Think how it would dance for one, all day long.” - -The Princess Romancia stared a little. - -“But when the sun went down,” she was surprised into saying, “the -shadow would be dead.” - -“Not at all,” the prince replied, “it would only be asleep. And it -would never have to be fed, and it could live in one’s palace.” - -“I would like such a pet,” said the princess, thoughtfully. - -“If I may walk with you,” said the prince, “we will talk more about it.” - -They walked together toward the palace and talked more about it, so -that the Princess Romancia quite forgot to be more different than she -was, and the prince forgot all about everything save his companion. -And he saw about her all the gifts of tenderness and vision and magic, -of sea secrets and sea spells, of music and colours and knowledge and -charming notions which the Human Beings had brought her at her birth, -though these hardly ever were visible _because_ the princess seemed -so different from everybody else. And when, as they drew near the -palace, their servants came hastening to escort them, the two looked at -each other in the greatest surprise to find that they were prince and -princess. For all other things had seemed so much more important. - -Their formal meeting took place that evening in the Vasty Hall, where, -years before, the princess had been christened. Prince Hesperus was -filled with the most joyous anticipation and awaited his presentation -to the princess with the feeling that fairyland was just beginning. But -the princess, on the other hand, was no sooner back in the palace among -her ladies than the curse of her terrible christening present descended -upon her as she had never felt it before. How, the poor princess -thought, could the prince possibly like her, who was so different from -everybody in the world? While she was being dressed, every time that -her ladies spoke in a low tone, she imagined that they were speaking of -her; every time that one smiled and shook her head, the princess was -certain that it was in pity of her. She fancied that they knew that -her walk was awkward, her voice harsh, her robe in bad taste, and an -old fear came upon her that the palace mirrors had all been changed -to conceal from her that she was really very ugly. In short, by the -time that she was expected to descend, poor Princess Romancia had made -herself utterly miserable. - -Therefore, when, in her gown of fresh cobweb, the princess entered the -hall and the prince hastened eagerly forward, she hardly looked at him. -And when, at the banquet that followed, he sat beside her and tried to -continue their talk of the arbour and the walk, she barely replied at -all. - -“How beautiful you are,” he murmured. - -“So is the night,” said the princess, “and you do not tell the night -that it is beautiful.” - -“Your eyes are like stars,” the prince said. - -“There are real stars above,” said the princess. - -“You are like no one else!” cried the prince. - -“At least you need not charge me with that,” said the poor princess. - -Nor would she dance with him or with anyone else. For she imagined that -they did not wish to dance with her, and that her dancing was worse -than anyone’s. And as soon as she was able, and long before cock-crow, -she slipped away from them all and went to sleep in a handy crocus cup. - -Now at all this the king and queen were nearly as distressed as the -prince, and they were obliged to tell Prince Hesperus the whole story -of the christening. When he heard about the uninvited Human Being who -had given the baby princess this dreadful present and had kept the key -to the bracelet which was its bond, he sprang up and grasped his tiny -sword. - -“I will go out in the world and find this Human Being,” he cried, “and -I will bring back the bracelet key.” - -Without again seeing the princess, Prince Hesperus left the palace and -fared forth on his quest. And when she found that he was gone, she was -more wretched than ever before. For in her life no one had ever talked -to her as he had talked, speaking his inmost fancies, and when she had -lost him, she wanted more than ever to talk with him. But the king, who -was a very wise fairy, did not tell her where the prince had gone. - -And now the Princess Romancia did not know what to do with herself. The -court was unbearable; all her trivial occupations bored her; and the -whole world seemed to have been made different from all other worlds. -Worst to endure was the presence of her companions, who all seemed to -love and to understand one another, while she only was alone and out of -their sympathy. - -“Oh,” she cried, “if only I had a game or a task to do with somebody or -something that didn’t know I am different--that wouldn’t know who I am!” - -And she thought longingly of the prince’s fancy about the leaf-shadow -for a pet which should dance with one all day long. - -“A leaf-shadow would not know that I am not like everybody else!” the -poor princess thought. - -One night, when a fairy ring had been formed in an open grassy space -among old oaks, the princess could bear it all no longer. When the -music was at its merriest and a band of strolling goblin musicians were -playing their maddest, she slipped away and returned to the palace by -an unfrequented path and entered a long-disused part of the garden. -And there, in a corner where she had never before walked, she came on -a great place of rich, black earth, which, in the sweet Spring air, -lay ready for the sowing. It was the spadeful of earth which the day -labourer had brought to her christening; and there, for all these -years, the king had caused it to remain untouched, its own rank weed -growth enriching its richness, until but a touch would now turn it -to fruitage. And seeing it so, and being filled with her wish for -something which should take her thought away from herself and from her -difference from all the world, the Princess Romancia was instantly -minded to make a garden. - -Night being the work time and play time of the fairies, the princess -went at once to the palace granaries and selected seeds of many kinds, -flower and vegetable and fern seeds, and she brought them to this -corner of rich earth, and there she planted them, under the moon. She -would call no servants to help her, fearing lest they would smile among -themselves at her strange doing. All night she worked at the planting, -and when morning came, she fell asleep in a mandrake blossom, and woke -hungry for a breakfast of honeydew and thinking of nothing save getting -back to her new gardening. - -The Wind helped her, and as the days passed, the Sun and the Rain -helped her, and she used certain magic which she knew, so that -presently her garden was a glory. Poppies and corn, beans and berries, -green peas and sweet peas, pinks and potatoes, celery and white phlox, -melons and cardinal flowers--all these grew wonderfully together, as -it were, hand in hand, as they will grow for fairy folk, and in such -great luxuriance that the princess wrought early and late to keep them -ordered and watered. She would have no servants to help her, for she -grew more and more to love her task. For here at last in her garden -she had found those whom she could not imagine to be smiling among -themselves at anything that she said or did; but all the green things -responded to her hands like friends answering to a hand clasp, and when -the flowers nodded to one another, this meant only that a company of -little leaf-shadows were set dancing on the earth, almost as if they -had been tamed to be her pets, according to the prince’s fancy. - -Up at the palace the queen and the ladies-in-waiting to the queen and -the princess regarded all this as but another sign of poor Romancia’s -strangeness. From her tower window the queen peered anxiously down at -her daughter toiling away at sunrise. - -“Now she is raising carrots and beets,” cried the queen, wringing her -hands. “She grows more different from us every moment of her life!” - -“She seems to do so,” admitted the king; but he was very wise; and, -“Let her be,” he commanded everybody. “We may see what this all means, -and a great many other things as well.” - -Meanwhile Prince Hesperus, journeying from land to land and from height -to valley, was seeking in vain for the one person who, as he thought, -could remove from the princess the curse of her difference from all the -rest of the world. And it was very strange how love had changed him; -for now, instead of his silly complaint that every fairy is like every -other fairy, and his silly longing for a different pattern in fairies, -he sought only for the charm which should make his beloved princess -like everybody else. Where should he find this terrible Human Being, -this uninvited one who held the key to the princess’s bracelet that was -so like a fetter? - -He went first to the town nearest to fairyland. The people of the town, -having no idea how near to fairyland they really were, were going -prosaically about their occupations, and though they could have looked -up into the magic garden itself, they remained serenely indifferent. -There he found the very mother who had been at the christening of the -princess; and alighting close to a great task that she was doing -for the whole world, he tried to ask her who it was who makes folk -different from all the rest. But she could not hear his tiny, tiny -voice which came to her merely as a thought about something which could -not possibly be true. In a pleasant valley he came on that one who, -at the christening, had brought the lyre which played of itself, but -when the prince asked him his question, he fancied it to be merely -the wandering of his own melody, with a note about something new to -his thought. The poet by the stream singing of the brotherhood of -man, the prophet on a mountain foreseeing the brotherhood as in a -gazing crystal, the scientist weaving the brotherhood in a tapestry -of the universe--none of these knew anyone who can possibly make folk -different from everybody else, nor did any of the others on whom Prince -Hesperus chanced. - -When one day he thought that he had found her, because he met one whose -face had the look of many cities and was like the painted cover of an -empty box, straightway he saw another and another and still others, men -and women both, who were like her, with only the meaning of those who -never look at the stars, or walk in gardens, or think about others -rather than themselves, or listen to hear what is right for them to do. -And then he saw that these are many and many, who believe themselves to -be different from everybody else and who try to make others so, and he -saw that it would be useless to look further among them for that one -who had the key for which he sought. - -So at last Prince Hesperus turned sadly back toward the palace of the -princess. - -“Alas,” said the prince, “it is for her own happiness that I seek to -have her like other people. For myself I would love her anyway. But -yet, what am I to do--for she seems so different that she will never -believe that I love her!” - -It was already late at night when the prince found himself in the -neighbourhood of the palace, and being tired and travel-worn, he -resolved to take shelter in the cup of some flower and wait until the -palace revelries were done. Accordingly he entered the garden of an -humble cottage and crept within the petals of a wild lily growing in -the long, untended grass. - -He had hardly settled himself to sleep when he heard from the cottage -the sound of bitter crying. Now this is a sound which no fairy will -ever pass by or ever so much as hear about without trying to comfort, -and at once Prince Hesperus rose and flew to the sill of an open -lattice. - -He looked in on a poor room, with the meanest furnishings. On a -comfortless bed lay the father of the house, ill and helpless. His wife -sat by his side, and the children clung about her, crying with hunger -and mingling their tears with her own. The man turned and looked at -her, making a motion to speak, and Prince Hesperus flew into the room -and alighted on the handle of a great spade, covered with earth, which -stood in a corner. - -“Wife,” the man said, “I’ve brought you little but sorrow and hunger. -I would have brought you more if I had had better. And now I see you -starve.” - -“I am not _too_ hungry,” the wife said--but the children sobbed. - -Prince Hesperus waited not a moment. He flew into the night and away -toward the palace, and missing the fairy ring where among old oaks the -fairies were dancing, he reached the palace by an unfrequented path and -entered a disused part of the palace garden. And there, in a corner -which he had never visited, Prince Hesperus saw a marvellous mass of -bloom and fruit--poppies and corn, beans and berries, green peas and -sweet peas, pinks and potatoes, celery and white phlox, melons and -cardinal flowers--all growing wonderfully together, as it were, hand in -hand. And above them, in a moon-flower clinging to the wall, sat the -Princess Romancia, rocking in the wind and brooding upon her garden. - -“Come!” cried Prince Hesperus. “There is a thing to do!” - -The princess looked at him a little fearfully, but he paid almost no -attention to her, so absorbed he was in what he wished to have done. - -“Hard by is a family,” said the prince, “dying of hunger. Here is food. -Hale in these idlers dancing in the light of the moon, and let us carry -the family the means to stay alive.” - -Without a word the princess went with him, and they appeared together -in the fairy ring and haled away the dancers. And when these understood -the need, they all joined together, fairies, goblin musicians and all, -and hurried away to the garden of the princess. - -They wove a litter of sweet stems and into this they piled all the food -of the princess’s tending. And when the queen would have had them send -to the palace kitchen for supplies, the king, who was a wise fairy, -would not permit it and commanded that all should be done as the prince -wished. So when the garden was ravaged of its sweets, they all bore -them away, and trooped to the cottage, and cast them on the threshold. -And then they perched about the room, or hovered in the path of the -moonlight to hear what should be said. And Prince Hesperus and Princess -Romancia listened together upon the handle of the poor man’s spade. - -At sight of the gifts the wife sprang up joyfully and cried out to her -husband, and the children wakened with happy shouts. - -“Here is food--food!” they cried. “Oh, it must be from the fairies.” - -The sick man looked and smiled. - -“Ay,” he said, “the Little Folk have remembered us. They have brought -us rich store in return for my poor spadeful of earth.” - -Then the prince and princess and all the court understood that this -poor man whom they had helped was that very day labourer who had -come to the christening of the princess. And swift as a moonbeam--and -not unlike one--Prince Hesperus darted from beside the princess and -alighted on the man’s pillow. - -“Ah,” he cried, “can you not, then, tell me who it is who has the power -to make one different from everybody else in the world?” - -In half delirium the day labourer heard the voice of the prince and -caught the question. But he did not know that it was the voice of the -prince, and he fancied it to be the voice of the whole world, as it -were throbbing with the prince’s question. And he cried out loudly in -answer:-- - -“No one has that power! No one is different! Those who seem different -hold no truth. We are all alike, all of us that live!” - -Swiftly the prince turned to the king and the queen and the court. - -“The uninvited Human Being,” he cried, “did she say that the princess -should _be_ different from all the world, or that she should merely -_seem_ different?” - -The queen and the court could not remember, but the king, who was a -wise fairy, instantly remembered. - -“She said that she should _seem_ different,” he said. - -Then the prince laughed out joyfully. - -“Ay,” he cried, “seem different, indeed! There are many and many who -may do that. But this man speaks truth and out of his spadeful of earth -we have learned it, _We are all alike, all of us who live!_” - -With that he grasped his tiny sword and flew to the side of the -princess and lifted her hand in his. And with a swift, deft stroke he -cut from her wrist the bracelet that was like a fetter, and he took her -in his arms. - -“Ah, my princess,” he cried. “You have seemed different from us all -only because you would have it so!” - -The Princess Romancia looked round on the court, and suddenly she saw -only the friendliness which had always been there if she could have -believed. She looked on her father and mother, the king and the queen, -and she saw only tenderness. She looked on the day labourer and his -family and understood that, fairy and princess though she was, she was -like them and they were like her. Last, she looked in the face of the -prince--and she did not look away. - -Invisibly, as the hours leave a dial, the fairies drifted from the -little room and back to the fairy ring among the old oaks to dance -for very joyousness. The labourer and his family, hearing them go, -were conscious of a faint lifting of the dark, as if morning were -coming, bringing a new day. And to the Princess Romancia, beside Prince -Hesperus, the world itself was a new world, where she did not walk -alone as she had thought, but where all folk who will have it so walk -together. - - - - -VIII - -TWO FOR THE SHOW - - -First of all there was Every Day, with breakfast, lunch, outdoors, -dinner, and evenings. - -Then there were Sundays, which were quite another kind of time, -as different as layer cake from sponge cake: With breakfast late, -and mustn’t-jump-rope, and the living-room somehow different, the -Out-of-doors moved farther off, our play-house not waiting for us -but acting busy at something else in which we had no part; the swing -hanging useless as it did when we were away from home and thought about -it in the night; bells ringing as if it were _their_ day; until we were -almost homesick to hear the grocer’s cart rattle behind the white horse. - -There were school half holidays when the sun shone as it never shone -before, and we could not decide how to spend the time, and to look -ahead seemed a glorious year before dark. - -There were the real holidays--Christmas and the Fourth and Birthdays, -which didn’t seem like days of time at all, but were like fairies of -time, not living in any clock. - -And Company-time, when we were not to go in certain rooms, or sing in -the hall, and when all downstairs seemed unable to romp with us. - -And Vacation-time, when 9 o’clock and 1 o’clock and 4 o’clock meant -nothing, and the face of the clock never warned or threatened and the -hands never dragged, and Saturday no longer stood out but sank into -insignificance, and the days ran like sands. - -All these times there were when life grew different and either let us -in farther than ever before or else left us out altogether. But almost -the strangest and best of these was house-cleaning time. - -Screens out, so that the windows looked like faces and not like masks! -The couch under the Cooking-apple tree! We used to lie on the couch and -look up in the boughs and wish that they would leave it there forever. -What was the rule that made them take it in? Mattresses in the backyard -to jump on and lie on and stare up from, so differently, into the blue. -Rugs like rooms, opening out into an adjoining pansy bed. Chairs set -about on the grass, as if at last people had come to understand, as we -had always understood, that the Outdoors is a real place to be in, and -not just a place to pass through to get somewhere else. If only, if -only some day they had brought the piano out on the lawn! To have done -one’s practising out there, just as if a piano were born, not made! -But they never did that, and we were thankful enough for the things -that they did do. When Saturday came, I found with relief that they had -still the parlour and one bedroom left to do. I had been afraid that by -then these would be restored to the usual dry and dustless order. - -In the open window of the empty sitting-room I was sitting negligently -that morning, when I saw Mr. Britt going by. He was as old as anyone I -knew in the world--Mr. Britt must have been fifty. I never thought of -him as _folks_ at all. There were the other neighbours, all dark-haired -and quick and busy at the usual human errands; and then there was Mr. -Britt, leaving his fruit trees and his rose bushes to go down to his -office in the Court House. He had white hair, a long square white -beard, and he carried a stick with a crook in the handle. I watched -him pityingly. His life was all done, as tidy as a sewed seam, as -sure as a learned lesson. All lived out, a piece at a time, just as -I planned mine. How immeasurably long it had taken him; what a slow -business it must have seemed to him; how very old he was! - -At our gate he stopped. Mr. Britt’s face was pink, and there were -pleasant wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, and when he talked, he -seemed to think about you. - -“Moving?” he inquired. - -“House-cleaning,” I explained with importance. - -“Fine day of it,” he commented and went on. He always sighed a little -when he spoke, not in sorrow; but in a certain weariness. - -_In forty-two years I should be as old as that._ Forty-two years--more -than five life-times, as I knew them. - -I was still looking after him, trying to think it through--a number as -vast as the sky of stars was vast--when round the corner, across the -street, the Rodman girls appeared. (“Margaret and Betty Rodman?” my -mother used to inquire pointedly when I said “the Rodman girls.”) In -their wake was their little brother, Harold. I hailed them joyously. - -“Come on over! It’s house-cleaning.” - -“We were,” admitted Betty, as they ran. “We saw the things out in the -yard, and we asked right off. We can stay a whole hour.” - -“Can’t we get Mary Gilbraith to tell us when it’s an hour?” Margaret -Amelia suggested as they came in at the gate. “Then we won’t have to -remember.” - -Mary Gilbraith stood beating a curtain, and we called to her. She -nodded her head, wound in a brown veil. - -“Sure,” she said. “And don’t you children track up them clean floors -inside there.” - -I glanced over my shoulder into the empty room. - -“Shall I get down,” I inquired of my guests, “or will you get up?” - -They would get up, and they did so. We three just fitted the sill, with -Harold looking wistfully upward. - -“Go find a nice stick,” Margaret Amelia advised him maternally. - -“What’ll we play?” I was pursuing politely. “Pretend?” I intimated. -Because of course there is nothing that is quite so much fun as -pretend. “Or real?” I conceded the alternative its second place. - -“Pretend what?” Betty wanted to know. - -“Well, what difference does that make?” I inquired scornfully. “We can -decide that after.” - -However, we duly weighed the respective merits of Lost-in-the-Woods, -Cave-in-the Middle-of-the-World, and Invisible, a selection always -involving ceremony. - -“Harold can’t play any of them,” Margaret Amelia remembered -regretfully. “He don’t stay lost nor invisible--he wriggles. And Cave -scares him.” - -We considered what to do with Harold, and at last mine was the -inspiration--no doubt because I was on the home field. In a fence -corner I had a play-house, roofed level with the fence top. From my -sand-pile (sand boxes came later--mine was a corner of the garden -sacred to me) we brought tin pails of earth which we emptied about the -little boy, gradually covering his fat legs and nicely packing his -plaid skirt. Then we got him a baking-powder can cover for a cutter and -a handleless spoon, and we went away. He was infinitely content. - -“Makin’ a meat pie,” he confided, as we left him. - -Free, we were drawn irresistibly back to the out-of-doors furniture. We -jumped in the middle of the mattresses lying in the grass, we hung the -comforters and quilts in long overlapping rows on the clothes line and -ran from one end to the other within that tent-like enclosure. Margaret -Amelia arranged herself languidly on the Brussels couch that ordinarily -stood in the upstairs hall piled with leather-bound reports, but now, -scales falling from our eyes, we saw to be the bank of a stream whereon -Maid Marian reclined; but while Betty and I were trying to decide which -should be Robin Hood and which Alan-a-dale (alas, for our chivalry ... -we were both holding out to be Robin) Maid Marian settled it by dancing -down the stair carpet which made a hallway half across the lawn. We -followed her. The terminus brought us back to the parlour window. We -stepped on the coping and stared inside. This was our parlour! Yet -it looked no more like the formal room which we seldom entered than -a fairy looks like a mortal. Many and many a time an empty room is -so much more a suggestive, haunted, beckoning place than ever it -becomes after its furniture gets it into bondage. Rooms are often free, -beautiful creatures before they are saddled and bridled with alien -lives and with upholstery, and hitched for lumbering, permanent uses. I -felt this vaguely even then. - -“It’s like the cloth in the store,” I observed, balancing on my stomach -on the sill. “It’s heaps prettier before it’s made up into clothes.” - -“How funny,” said Margaret Amelia. “I like the trimming on, and the -pretty buttons.” - -“Let’s play,” I said hurriedly; for I had seen in her eyes that look -which always comes into eyes whose owners have just called an idea -“funny.” - -“Very well. But,” said Betty, frankly, “I’m awful sick of playing -Pretend. You always want to play that. We played that last time anyhow. -Let’s play Store. Let’s play,” she said, with sudden zest, “Furniture -Store, outdoors.” - -The whole lawn became the ground floor for our shop. Forthwith we -arranged the aisles of chairs, stopping to sit in this one and that “to -taste the difference.” To sit in the patent upholstered rocker, close -to the flowering currant bush fragrant with spicy, yellow buds was like -being somewhere else. - -“This looks like the pictures of greenhouses,” said Margaret Amelia, -dragging a willow chair to the Bridal Wreath at the fork in the brick -walk. She idled there for a moment. - -“Emily Broom says that when they moved she rode right through town on -their velvet lounge on the dray,” she volunteered. - -We pictured it mutely. Something like that had been a dream of mine. -Now and then, I had walked backward on the street to watch a furniture -wagon delivering a new chair that rocked idle and unoccupied in the -box. I always marvelled at the unimaginativeness of the driver which -kept him on the wagon seat. - -“We’ve never moved,” I confessed regretfully. - -“We did,” said Betty, “but they piled everything up so good there -wasn’t anything left to sit on. I rode with the driver--but his seat -wasn’t very high,” she added, less in the interest of truth than with a -lingering resentment. - -“Stitchy Branchett told me,” contributed Margaret Amelia, “once he set -on the top step of the step ladder on one of their dray loads.” - -“I don’t believe it,” I announced flatly. “It’d tip and pitch him off.” - -“He _said_ he did,” Margaret Amelia held. “Betty heard him. Didn’t he, -Betty? Who I don’t believe is Joe Richmond. He says he went to sleep on -a mattress on the dray when they moved. He couldn’t of.” - -“Course he couldn’t of,” we all affirmed. - -“Delia says they’ve moved six times that she can remember of and she’s -rode on every load,” I repeated. - -We all looked enviously across at Delia’s house. Then, moved by -a common impulse, we scrambled back to make the most of our own -advantages, such as they were. - -At last the ground floor of the furniture store was all arranged, and -the two show windows set with the choicest pieces to face the street. -And when we were ready to open the place to the general public, we sat -on the edge of the well curb and surveyed our results. - -“Now let’s start,” said Margaret Amelia. - -At that instant--the precision with which these things happen is almost -conscious--Mary Gilbraith briefly put her head out the kitchen window. - -“It’s just edgin’ on ’leven,” she announced. “You children keep your -feet off them mattresses.” - -We stared at one another. This was incredible. Margaret Amelia and -Betty had just come. We had hardly tasted what the morning might have -held. Our place of business was only at this moment ready for us. We -had just meant to begin. - -There was no appeal. We went down the garden path for Harold. He sat -where we had left him, somewhat drowsy in the warm sun, patting an -enormous mound of moist earth. Busy with our own wrongs, we picked him -up and stood him on his feet without warning him. An indignant roar -broke from him. - -“Just goin’ frost my meat pie!” he wailed. “Wiv chocolate on!” - -Some stirring of pity for our common plight may have animated us--I do -not remember. But he was hurried off. I went with them to the fence, -gave them last tag as became an hostess, stood on the gate as it swung -shut, experienced the fine jar and bang of its closing, and then hung -wistfully across it, looking for the unknown. - -The elm and maple shadows moved pleasantly on the cream-coloured brick -walk whose depths of tone were more uneven than the shadows. An oriole -was calling, hanging back downward from a little bough. Somebody’s dog -came by, looked up at me, wagged his tail, and hurried on about his -business. Looking after him, I saw Mr. Britt coming slowly home with -his mail. At our gate he stopped. - -“Playing something?” he inquired. - -Welcoming any sympathy, I told him how we had just got ready to play -when it was time to stop. He nodded with some unexpected understanding, -closing his eyes briefly. - -“That’s it,” he said. “We all just get ready when it’s time to stop. -Fine day of it,” he added, and sighed and went on. - -I stared after him. Could it be possible that his life had not seemed -long to him? That he felt as if he had hardly begun? I dismissed this -as utterly improbable. Fifty years! - - - - -IX - -NEXT DOOR - - -The house next door had been vacant for two months when the New Family -moved in. We had looked forward with excitement, not unmodified by -unconscious aversion, to the arrival of the New Family. - -“Have they any girls?” we had inquired when the To Rent sign had come -down. - -They had, it appeared, one girl. We saw her, with wavy hair worn “let -down” in the morning, though we ourselves wore let-down hair only for -occasions, pig-tails denoting mornings. She had on new soles--we saw -them showing clean as she was setting her feet daintily; and when we, -who were walking the fence between the two houses, crossed glances with -her, we all looked instantly away, and though it was with regret that -we saw her put into the ’bus next day to go, we afterward learned, to -spend the Spring with her grandmother in a dry climate, we still felt -a certain satisfaction that our social habits were not to be disquieted. - -Nothing at all had been suspected of a New Boy. Into that experience I -came without warning. - -I was sitting on the flat roof of my play-house in the fence corner, -laboriously writing on the weathered boards with a bit of a picket, -which, as everybody knows, will make very clear brown letters, when the -woodshed door of the house next door opened, and the New Boy came out. -He came straight up to the fence and looked up at me, the sun shining -in his eyes beneath the rimless plush cap which he was still wearing. -He was younger than I, so I was not too afraid of him. - -“What you got?” he inquired. - -I showed him my writing material. - -“I wrote on a window with a diamond ring a’ready,” he submitted. - -I had heard of this, but I had never wholly credited it and I said -so. Besides, it would wear the ring out and who wanted to wear out a -diamond ring to write on a window? - -“It don’t wear it out,” the New Boy said. “It can keep right on writing -forever and ever.” - -“Nothing can keep right on forever,” I contended. - -He cast about for an argument. - -“Trees does,” he produced it. - -I glanced up at them. They certainly seemed to bear him out. I decided -to abandon the controversy, and I switched with some abruptness to -a subject not unconnected with trees, and about which I had often -wondered. - -“If you was dirt,” I observed, “how could you decide to be into a -potato when you could be into an apple just as well?” - -The New Boy was plainly taken aback. Here he was, as I see now, doing -his best to be friendly and to make conversation personal, to say -nothing of his having condescended to parley with a girl at all, and I -was rewarding him with an abstraction. - -Said he: “Huh?” - -“If you was dirt--” I began a little doubtfully, but still sticking to -the text. - -“I ain’t dirt,” denied the New Boy, with some heat. - -“I says, if you _was_ dirt--” I tried to tell him, in haste and some -discomfort. - -He climbed down from the fence on which he had been socially -contriving to stick, though his was the “plain” side. - -“There ain’t any girl,” he observed with dignity, “going to call me -dirt, nor call me if-I-was-dirt, either,” and stalked back into the -woodshed. - -I looked after him in the utmost distress. I had been dealing in what I -had considered the amenities, and it had come to this. Already the New -Boy hated me. - -I slipped to the ground and waited, watching through the cracks in the -fence. Ages passed. At length I heard him call his dog and go whistling -down the street. I climbed on the fence and sat looking over in the -deserted garden. - -Round the corner of the house next door somebody came. I saw a long, -gray plaid shawl, with torn and flapping tassels, pinned about a small -figure, with long legs. As she put her hand on the latch, she flashed -me her smile, and it was Mary Elizabeth. She went immediately inside -the shed door, and left me staring. What was she doing there? What -unexpected places I was always seeing her. Why should she go in the -woodshed of the New Family whom we didn’t even know ourselves? - -After due thought, I dropped to the other side of the fence, and -proceeded to the woodshed door myself. It was unlatched, and as I -peered in, I caught the sweet, moist smell of green wood, like the -cool breath of the wood yard, where I had first seen her. When my -eyes became used to the dimness, I perceived Mary Elizabeth standing -at the end of a pile of wood, of the sort which we used to denominate -“chunks,” which are what folk now call fireplace logs, though they are -not properly fireplace logs at all--only “chunks” for sitting-room -stoves--and trying to look meet to new estates. They were evenly piled, -and they presented a wonderful presence, much more human than a wall. - -“See,” said Mary Elizabeth, absorbedly, “every end of one is pictures. -Here’s a wheel with a wing on, and here’s a griffin eating a lemon.” - -I stared over her shoulder, fascinated. There they were. And there were -grapes and a chandelier and a crooked street.... - -Some moments later we were aware that the kitchen door had opened, and -that somebody was standing there. It was the woman of the New Family, -with a black veil wound round her head and the ends dangling. She shook -a huge purple dust-cloth, and I do not seem to recall that there was -anything else to her, save her face and veil and the cloth. - -“Now then!” she said briskly, and in a tone of dreadful warning. “_Now_ -then!” - -Mary Elizabeth turned in the utmost eagerness and contrition. - -“Oh,” she said, “I come to see about the work.” - -The New Family Woman towered at us from the top of the three steps. - -“How much work,” she inquired with majesty, “do you think I’d get out -of you, young miss, at this rate?” - -Mary Elizabeth drew nearer to her and stood before her, down in the -chips, in the absurd shawl. - -“If you’ll leave me come,” she said earnestly, “I’ll promise not to see -pictures. Well,” she added conscientiously, “I’ll promise not to stop -to look at ’em.” - -How much weight this would have carried, I do not know; but at that -moment the woman chanced to touch with her foot a mouse-trap that -stood on the top step, and it “sprung” and shed its cheese. In an -instant Mary Elizabeth had deftly reset and restored it. This made an -impression on the arbiter. - -“You’re kind of a handy little thing, I see,” she said. “And of course -you’re _all_ lazy, for that matter. And I do need somebody. Well, I’ve -got a woman coming for to-day. You can begin in the morning. Dishes, -vegetables, and general cleaning, and anything else I think you can do. -Board and clothes only, mind you--and _them_ only as long as you suit.” - -“Yes’m. No’m. Yes’m.” Mary Elizabeth tried to agree right and left. - -Outside I skipped in the sun. - -“We’re going to be next-yard neighbours,” I cried, and that reminded -me of the New Boy. I told her about him as we went round by the gate, -there being no cross piece for a foothold on that side the fence. - -“Oh,” said Mary Elizabeth, “I know him. He’s drove me home by my -braids. He doesn’t mean anything.” - -“Well,” I said earnestly, “when you get a chance, you tell him that I -wasn’t calling him dirt. I says if he _was_ dirt, how could he tell to -be a potato or an apple.” - -Mary Elizabeth nodded. “Lots of boys pretend mad,” she said -philosophically, “to get you to run after them.” - -This was new to me. Could it be possible that you had to imagine -folks, and what they really meant, as well as tending to all the other -imagining? - -“Can’t you stay over?” I extended hospitality to Mary Elizabeth. - -She could “stay over,” it seemed, and without asking. This freedom of -hers used to fill me with longing. To “stay over” without asking, to go -down town, to eat unexpected offerings of food, to climb a new tree, -as Mary Elizabeth could do, and all without asking! It was almost like -being boys. - -Now that Mary Elizabeth was to be a neighbour, a new footing was -established. This I did not reason about, nor did I wonder why this -footing might not be everybody’s footing. We merely set to work on the -accepted basis. - -This comprised: Name, including middle name, if any, and for whom -named; age, and birthday, and particulars about the recent or -approaching birthday; brothers and sisters, together with their names, -ages, and birthdays; birthstones; grade; did we comb our own hair; -voluntary information concerning tastes in flowers, colours, and food; -and finally an examination and trying on of each other’s rings. The -stone had come out of Mary Elizabeth’s ring, and she had found a clear -pink pebble to insert in its place. She had, she said, grated the -pebble on a brick to make it fit and she herself thought that it looked -better than the one that she had lost, “but,” she added modestly, “I -s’pose it can’t be.” - -Then came the revelation. To finish comparing notes we sat down -together in my swing. And partly because, when I made a new friend, I -was nervously eager to give her the best I had and at once, and partly -because I was always wanting to see if somebody _would_ understand, -and chiefly because I never could learn wisdom, I looked up in the -apple tree, now forsaken of all its pink, and fallen in a great green -stillness, and I told her about my lady in the tree. I told her, -expecting now no more than I had received from Delia and the Eversley -girls. But Mary Elizabeth looked up and nodded. - -“I know,” she said. “I’ve seen lots of ’em. They’s a lady in the willow -out in our alley. I see her when I empty the ashes and I pour ’em so’s -they won’t blow on her.” - -I looked at her speechlessly. To this day I can remember how the little -curls were caught up above Mary Elizabeth’s ear that morning. Struck by -my silence she turned and regarded me. I think I must have blushed and -stammered like a boy. - -“Can _you_ see them too?” I asked. “In trees and places?” - -“Why, yes,” she said in surprise. “Can’t everybody?” - -Suddenly I was filled with a great sense of protection for Mary -Elizabeth. I felt incalculably older. She had not yet found out, and I -must never let her know, that everybody does not see all that there is -to be seen in the world! - -One at a time I brought out my treasures that morning and shared them -with her, as treasures; and she brought out hers as matters of course. -I remember that I told her about the Theys that lived in our house. -They were very friendly and wistful. They never presumed or frightened -one or came in the room when anyone was there. But the minute folk -left the room--ah, then! They slipped out from everywhere and did -their living. I was always trying to catch them. I would leave a room -innocently, and then whirl and fling it open in the hope of surprising -them. But always They were too quick for me. In the times when the -family was in the rooms and They were waiting for us to go, They used -to watch us, still friendly and wistful, but also a little critical. -Sometimes a whole task, or a mood, could be got through pleasantly -because They were looking on. - -[Illustration: “BUT THE MINUTE FOLK LEFT THE ROOM--AH THEN!”] - -Mary Elizabeth nodded. “They like our parlour best,” she said. “They -ain’t any furniture in there. They don’t come much in the kitchen.” - -It was the same at our house. They were always lurking in the curtained -parlour, but the cheery, busy kitchen seldom knew them--except when one -went out for a drink of water late at night. Then They barely escaped -one. - -How she understood! Delia I loved with all the loyalties, but I could -not help remembering a brief conversation that I had once held with her. - -“Do you have Theys at your house?” I had asked her, at the beginning of -our acquaintance. - -“Yes,” she admitted readily. “Company all this week. From Oregon. They -do their hairs on kids.” - -“I don’t mean them,” I explained. “I mean Theys, that live in between -your rooms.” - -“We don’t let mice get in _our_ house,” she replied loftily. “Only -sometimes one gets in the woodshed. Do you use Choke-’em traps, or -Catch-’em-alive traps and have the cat there?” - -“Catch-them-alive-and-let-them-out-in-the-alley traps,” I told her, and -gave up hope, I remember, and went on grating more sugar-stone for the -mud-pie icing. - -Mary Elizabeth and I made mud pies that morning too, but all the time -we made them we pretended. Not House-keep, or Store, or Bakery, or -Church-sale--none of these pale pretendings to which I had chiefly -been bound, save when I played alone. But now every pie and cake -that we finished we two carried carefully and laid here and there, -under raspberry bushes, in the crotch of the apple tree, on the -wood-chopper’s block. - -“For Them to get afterwards,” we said briefly. We did not explain--I -do not think that we could have explained. And we knew nothing of the -old nights in the motherland when from cottage supper tables scraps of -food were flung through open doors for One Waiting Without. But this -business made an even more excellent thing of mud-pie baking, always a -delectable pastime. - -When the noon whistle was blowing up at the brick yard, a shadow -darkened our pine board. It was the New Boy. One of his cheeks -protruded extravagantly. Silently he held out to me a vast pink -substance of rock-like hardness, impaled on a stick. Then, with an -obvious effort, more spiritual than physical, he extracted from his -pocket a third of the kind, for Mary Elizabeth, on whose presence he -had not counted. We accepted gratefully, I in the full spirit of the -offer. Three minutes later he and I were at our respective dinner -tables, trying, I suppose, to discuss this surreptitious first course -simultaneously with our soup; and Mary Elizabeth, on her way home, was -blissfully partaking of her _hors d’œuvre_, unviolated by any soup. - -“What are the new children like, I wonder?” said Somebody Grown. “I see -there are two. I don’t know a thing about the people, but we can’t -call till the woman at least gets her curtains up.” - -I pondered this. “Why?” I ventured at last. - -“Because she wouldn’t want to see us,” was the reply. - -Were curtains, then, so important that one might neither call nor be -called on without them? What other possible explanation could there be? -Perhaps Mary Elizabeth’s mother had no curtains and that was why our -mothers did not know her. - -“Mary Elizabeth is going to help do the work for the New Family, and -live there,” I said at last. “Won’t it be nice to have her to play -with?” - -“You must be very kind to her,” somebody said. - -“_Kind to her!_” It was my first horrified look into the depths of the -social condescensions. _Kind to her_--when I remembered what we shared! -I thought of saying hotly that she was my best friend. But I was -silent. There was, after all, no way to make anybody understand what -had opened to me that morning. - - - - -X - -WHAT’S PROPER - - -Delia and Calista and Margaret Amelia and Betty Rodman I loved with -devotion. And Mary Elizabeth I likewise loved with devotion. Therefore, -the fact that my four friends would not, in the language of the -wise and grown world, “receive” Mary Elizabeth was to me bitter and -unbelievable. - -This astounding situation, more than intimated on the day of the -picnic, had its confirmation a few days after the advent of Mary -Elizabeth in the New Family, when the six of us were seated on the -edge of the board walk before our house. It was the middle of a June -afternoon, a joyous, girlish day, with sun and wind in that feminine -mood which is the frequent inheritance of all created things. - -“I could ’most spread this day on my bread like honey, and eat it -up, and not know the difference,” said Mary Elizabeth, idly. “The -queen’s honey--the queen’s honey--the queen’s honey,” she repeated -luxuriously, looking up into the leaves. - -Delia leaned forward. It particularly annoyed her to have Mary -Elizabeth in this mood. - -“One, two, three, four, five of us,” Delia said, deliberately omitting -Mary Elizabeth as, for no reason, she counted us. - -Mary Elizabeth, released from tasks for an hour or two before time to -“help with the supper,” gave no sign that she understood, save that -delicate flush of hers which I knew. - -“Yes,” she assented lazily, “one, two, three, four, five of us--” and -she so contrived that five was her own number, and no one could tell -whom of us she had omitted. - -“Let’s play something,” I hurriedly intervened. “Let’s play Banquet.” - -Action might have proved the solvent, but I had made an ill-starred -choice. For having selected the rectangle of lawn where the feast was -to be spread, Mary Elizabeth promptly announced that she had never -heard of a banquet for five people, and that we must have more. - -“We’ve got six,” corrected Delia, unwarily. - -“Five,” Mary Elizabeth persisted tranquilly, “and it’s not enough. We -ought to have thirty.” - -“Where you going to get your thirty?” demanded the exasperated Delia. - -“Why,” said Mary Elizabeth, “_that’s_ always easy!” And told us. - -The king would sit at the head, with his prime minister and a -lord or two. At the foot would be the queen with her principal -ladies-in-waiting (at _this_ end, so as to leave room for their -trains). In between would be the fool, the discoverer of the new land, -the people from the other planets, us, and the animals. - -“‘The animals!’” burst out Delia. “Whoever heard of animals at the -table?” - -Oh, but it was the animals that the banquet was for. They were talking -animals, and everyone was scrambling to entertain them, and every place -in which they ate they changed their shapes and their skins. - -“I never heard of such a game,” said Delia, outright, already -sufficiently grown-up to regard this as a reason. - -“Let’s not play it,” said Margaret Amelia Rodman, languidly, and, -though Delia had the most emphasis among us, Margaret Amelia was our -leader, and we abandoned the game. I cannot recall why Margaret Amelia -was our leader, unless it was because she had so many hair-ribbons and, -when we had pin fairs, always came with a whole paper, whereas the rest -of us merely had some collected in a box, or else rows torn off. But I -suppose that we must have selected her for some potentiality; or else -it was that a talent for tyranny was hers, since this, like the habit -of creeping on all fours and other survivals of prehistoric man, will -often mark one of the early stages of individual growth. - -This time Calista was peace-maker. - -“Let’s go for a walk,” she said. “We can do that before supper.” - -“You’ll have to be back in time to help _get_ supper, won’t you?” Delia -asked Mary Elizabeth pointedly. - -Again Mary Elizabeth was unperturbed, save for that faint flush. - -“Yes,” she said, “I will. So let’s hurry.” - -We ran toward the school ground, by common consent the destination for -short walks, with supper imminent, as Prospect Hill was dedicated to -real walks, with nothing pressing upon us. - -“It says ‘Quick, quick, quick, quick,’” Mary Elizabeth cried, dragging -a stick on the pickets of, so to say, a passing fence. - -“Why, that’s nothing but the stick noise hitting on the fence noise,” -Delia explained loftily. - -“Which makes the loudest noise--the stick or the fence?” Mary Elizabeth -put it to her. - -“Why--” said Delia, and Mary Elizabeth and I both laughed, like little -demons, and made our sticks say, “Quick, quick, quick, quick” as far as -the big post, that was so like a man standing there to stop us. - -“See the poor tree. The walk’s stepping on its feet!” cried Mary -Elizabeth when we passed the Branchett’s great oak, that had forced -up the bricks of the walk. (They must already have been talking of -taking it down, that hundred-year oak, to preserve the dignity of the -side-walk, for they did so shortly after.) - -This time it was Margaret Amelia who revolted. - -“Trees can’t walk,” she said. “There aren’t any _feet_ there.” - -I took a hand. “You don’t know sure,” I reminded her. “When it’s dark, -maybe they do walk. I’ll ask it.” - -By the time I had done whispering to the bark, Delia said she was going -to tell her mother. “Such _lies_,” she put it bluntly. “You’ll never -write a book, I don’t care what you say. You got to tell the truth to -write books.” - -“Everybody that tells the truth don’t write a book,” I contended--but -sobered. I wanted passionately to write a book. What if this business -of pretending, which Delia called lies should be in the way of truthful -book-writing? But the habit was too strong for me. In that very moment -we came upon a huge new ant-hill. - -“Don’t step on that ant-hill. See all the ants--they say to step over -it!” I cried, and pushed Delia round it with some violence. - -“Well--what makes you always so--_religious_!” she burst out, at the -end of her patience. - -I was still hotly denying this implication when we entered the school -yard, and broke into running; for no reason, save that entrances and -beginnings always made us want to run and shout. - -The school yard, quite an ordinary place during school hours, became -at the end of school a place no longer to be shunned, but wholly -desirable. Next to the wood yard, it was the most mysterious place -that we knew. In the school yard were great cords of wood, suitable -for hiding; a basement door, occasionally left open, from which at any -moment the janitor might appear to drive us away; a band-stand, covered -with names and lacking enough boards so that one might climb up without -use of the steps; a high-board fence on which one always longed to -walk at recess; a high platform from which one had unavailingly pined -to jump; outside banisters down which, in school-time, no one might -slide, trees which no one might climb, corner brick-work affording -excellent steps, which, then, none might scale; broad outside window -ledges on which none might sit, loose bricks in the walks ripe for -the prying-up, but penalty attended; a pump on whose iron handle the -lightest of us might ride save that, in school-time, this was forbidden -too. In school-time this yard, so rich in possibilities, was compact -of restrictions. None of these things might be done. Once a boy had -been expelled for climbing on the schoolhouse roof; and thereupon his -father, a painter by trade, had taken the boy to work with him, and -when we saw him in overalls wheeling his father’s cart, we were told -that _that_ was what came of disobedience, although this boy might, -easily no doubt, otherwise have become President of the United States. - -But after school! Toward supper-time, or in vacation-time, we used to -love to linger about the yard and snatch at these forbidden pleasures. -That is, the girls loved it. The boys had long ago had them all, and -were off across the tracks on new adventures unguessed of us. - -If anybody found us here--we were promptly driven off. The principal -did this as a matter of course, but the janitor had the same power -and much more emphasis. If one of the board was seen passing, we hid -behind everything and, as we were never clear just who belonged to the -board, we hid when nearly all grown-folk passed. That the building and -grounds were ours, paid for by our father’s taxes, and that the school -officials and even the tyrannical janitor were town servants to help us -to make good use of our own, no more occurred to us than it occurred -to us to find a ring in the ground, lift it, and descend steps. Nor -as much, for we were always looking for a ring to lift. To be sure, -we might easily fall into serious mischief in this stolen use of our -property; but that it was the function of one of these grown-ups, whom -we were forever dodging, to be there with us, paid by the town to play -with us, was as wild an expectation as that fairies should arrive with -golden hoops and balls and wings. Wilder, for we were always expecting -the fairies and, secretly, the wings. - -That afternoon we did almost all these forbidden things--swings and -seesaws and rings would have done exactly as well, only these had -not been provided--and then we went to rest in the band-stand. Mary -Elizabeth and I were feeling somewhat subdued--neither of us shone much -in feats of skill, and here Delia and Margaret Amelia easily put us in -our proper places. Calista was not daring, but she was a swift runner, -and this entitled her to respect. Mary Elizabeth and I were usually -the first ones caught, and the others were not above explaining to us -frankly that this was why we preferred to play Pretend. - -“Let’s tell a story--you start it, Mary Elizabeth,” I proposed, anxious -for us two to return to standing, for in collaborations of this kind -Mary Elizabeth and I frankly shone--and the wish to shine, like the -wish to cry out, is among the primitive phases of individual growth. - -“Let Margaret Amelia start it,” Delia tried to say, but already the -story was started, Mary Elizabeth leaning far back, and beginning to -braid and unbraid her long hair--not right away to the top of the -braid, which was a serious matter and not to be lightly attempted with -heavy hair, but just near the curling end. - -“Once,” she said, “a big gold sun was going along up in the sky, -wondering what in the world--no, what in All-of-it to do with himself. -For he was all made and done, nice and bright and shiny, and he wanted -a place to be. So he knocked at all the worlds and said, ‘Don’t you -want to hire a sun to do your urrants, take care of your garden, and -behave like a fire and like a lamp?’ But all the worlds didn’t want -him, because they all had engaged a sun first and they could only -use one apiece, account of the climate. So one morning--he _knew_ it -was morning because he was shining, and when it was night he never -shone--one morning....” - -“Now leave somebody else,” Delia suggested restlessly. “Leave Margaret -Amelia tell.” - -So we turned to her. Margaret Amelia considered solemnly--perhaps it -was her faculty for gravity that made us always look up to her--and -took up the tale: - -“One morning he met a witch. And he said, ‘Witch, I wish you -would--would give me something to eat. I’m very hungry.’ So the witch -took him to her kitchen and gave him a bowl of porridge, and it was hot -and burned his mouth, and he asked for a drink of water, and--and--” - -“What was the use of having her a witch if _that_ was all he was going -to ask her?” demanded Mary Elizabeth. - -“They _always_ have witches in the best stories,” Margaret Amelia -contended, “and anyway, that’s all I’m going to tell.” - -Delia took up the tale uninvited. - -“And he got his drink of water, pumped up polite by the witch herself, -and she was going to put a portion in it. But while she was looking in -the top drawer for the portion, the sun went away. And--” - -This time it was I who intervened. - -“‘Portion!’” I said with superiority. “Who ever heard of anybody -drinking a _portion_? That word is _potient_.” - -Delia was plainly taken aback. - -“You’re thinking of long division,” she said feebly. - -“I’m thinking of ‘Romeo and Juliet,’” I responded with dignity. “They -had one, in the tomb, where Tybalt, all bloody--” - -“Don’t say that one--don’t say it!” cried Margaret Amelia. “I can see -that one awful after the light is out. Go on, somebody, quick.” - -To take up her share of the story, Betty Rodman refused, point-blank. I -think that her admission to our group must have been principally on the -credentials of sistership to one of us, a basis at once pathetic and -lovely. - -“I never can think of anything to have happen,” Betty complained, “and -if I make something happen, then it ends up the story.” - -Calista had a nail in her shoe, and was too much absorbed in pounding -it down with a stone to be approached; so, when we had all minutely -examined the damage which the nail had wrought, it was my turn to take -up the tale. And then the thing happened which was always happening -to me: I could think of nothing to have the story do. At night, and -when I was alone, I could dream out the most fascinating adventures, -but with expectant faces--or a clean pad--before me, I was dumb and -powerless. - -“I don’t feel like telling one just now,” said I, the proposer of the -game, and went on digging leaves out of a crevice in the rotting rail. -So Mary Elizabeth serenely took up the tale where she had left it. - -“One morning he looked over a high sky mountain--that’s what suns like -to do best because it is so becoming--and he shone in a room of the sky -where a little black star was sleeping. And he thought he would ask it -what to do. So he said to it, ‘Little Black Star, where shall I be, now -that I am all done and finished, nice and shiny?’ And the Little Black -Star said: ‘You’re not done. What made you think you were done? Hardly -anybody is ever done. I’ll tell you what to be. Be like a carriage -and take all us little dark stars in, and whirl and whirl for about a -million years, and make us all get bright too, and _then_ maybe you’ll -be a true sun--but not all done, even then.’ So that’s what he decided -to do, and he’s up there now, only you can’t see him, because he’s so -far, and our sun is so bright, and he’s whirling and whirling, and lots -more like him, getting to be made.” - -Delia followed Mary Elizabeth’s look into the blue. - -“I don’t believe it,” said she. “The sun is biggest and the moon is -next. How could there be any other sun? And it don’t whirl. It don’t -even rise and set. It stands still. Miss Messmore said so.” - -We looked at Mary Elizabeth, probably I alone having any impulse to -defend her. And we became aware that she was quite white and trembling. -In the same moment we understood that we were hearing something which -we had been hearing without knowing that we heard. It was a thin, -wavering strain of singing, in a man’s voice. We scrambled up, and -looked over the edge of the band-stand. Coming unevenly down the broken -brick walk that cut the schoolhouse grounds was Mary Elizabeth’s -father. His hat was gone. It was he who was singing. He looked as he -had looked that first day that I had seen him in the wood yard. We knew -what was the matter. And all of us unconsciously did the cruel thing of -turning and staring at Mary Elizabeth. - -In a moment she was over the side of the band-stand and running to -him. She took him by the hand, and we saw that she meant to lead him -home. Her little figure looked very tiny beside his gaunt frame, in its -loosely hanging coat. I remember how the sun was pouring over them, and -over the brilliant green beyond where blackbirds were walking. I have -no knowledge of what made me do it--perhaps it was merely an attitude, -created by the afternoon, of standing up for Mary Elizabeth no matter -what befell; or it may have been a child’s crude will to challenge -things; at any rate, without myself really deciding it, I suddenly took -the way that she had taken, and caught up with the two. - -“Mary Elizabeth,” I meant to say, “I’m going.” - -But in fact I said nothing, and only kept along beside her. She looked -at me mutely, and made a motion to me to turn back. When her father -took our hands and stumblingly ran with us, I heartily wished that I -had turned back. But nearly all the way he went peaceably enough. Long -before we reached their home across the tracks, however, I heard the -six o’clock whistles blow, and pictured the wrath of the mistress of -the New Family when Mary Elizabeth had not returned in time to “help -with the supper.” Very likely now they would not let her stay, and this -new companionship of ours would have to end. Mary Elizabeth’s home -was on the extreme edge of the town, and ordinarily I was not allowed -to cross the tracks. Mary Elizabeth might even move away--that had -happened to some of us, and the night had descended upon such as these -and we had never heard of them again: Hattie Schenck, whom I had loved -with unequalled devotion, where, for example, was she? Was it, then, to -be the same with Mary Elizabeth? - -Her mother saw us coming. She hurried down to the gateway--the gate -was detached and lying in the weeds within--and even then I was -struck by the way of maternity with which she led her husband to the -house. I remember her as large-featured, with the two bones of her -arms sharply defined by a hollow running from wrist to elbow, and she -constantly held her face as if the sun were shining in her eyes, but -there was no sun shining there. And somehow, at the gate she had a -way of receiving him, and of taking him with her. Hardly anything -was said. The worst of it was that no one had to explain anything. -Two of the little children ran away and hid. Someone dodged behind an -open door. The man’s wife led him to the broken couch, and he lay down -there like a little child. Standing in the doorway of that forlorn, -disordered, ill-smelling room, I first dimly understood what I never -have forgotten: That the man was not poor because he drank, as the -village thought, but that he drank because he was poor. Instead of the -horror at a drunken man which the village had laid it upon me to feel, -I suddenly saw Mary Elizabeth’s father as her mother saw him when she -folded her gingham apron and spread it across his shoulders and said: - -“Poor lad.” - -And when, in a few minutes, Mary Elizabeth and I were out on the street -again, running silently, I remember feeling a great blind rage against -the whole village and against the whole world that couldn’t seem to -think what to do any more than Mary Elizabeth and I could think. - -The man of the New Family was watering the lawn, which meant that -supper was done. We slipped in our back gate,--the New Family had -none,--climbed the fence by my play-house, dropped down into the New -Family’s garden, and entered their woodshed. In my own mind I had -settled that I was of small account if I could not give the New Lady -such a picture of what had happened that Mary Elizabeth should not lose -her place, and I should not lose her. - -The kitchen door was ajar. The dish-pan was in the sink, the kettle was -steaming on the stove. And from out the dining-room abruptly appeared -Calista and _Delia_, bearing plates. - -“Girls!” I cried, but Mary Elizabeth was dumb. - -Delia carefully set down her plate in the dish-pan and addressed me: - -“Well, you needn’t think you’re the only one that knows what’s proper, -miss,” she said. - -Calista was more simple. - -“We wanted to get ’em all done before you got back,” she owned. “We -would, if Margaret Amelia and Betty had of come. They wanted to, but -they wouldn’t let ’em.” - -Back of Delia and Calista appeared the mistress of the house. She had -on her afternoon dress, and her curl papers were out, and she actually -smiled at Mary Elizabeth and me. - -“_Now_ then!” she said to us. - - * * * * * - -If I could have made a dream for that night, I think it would have been -that ever and ever so many of us were sitting in rows, waiting to be -counted. And a big sun came by, whirling and growing, to take us, and -we thought we couldn’t all get in. But there was room, whether we had -been counted or not. - - - - -XI - -DOLLS - - -The advent of the New Boy changed the face of the neighbourhood. -Formerly I had been accustomed to peep through cracks in the fence -only to look into a field of corn that grew at the side; or, on the -other side, into raspberry bushes, where at any moment raspberries -might be gathered and dropped over the fence to me. Also, there was -one place in the deep green before those bushes where blue-eyed grass -grew, and I had to watch for that. Then there was a great spotted dog -that sometimes came, and when he had passed, I used to wait long by the -high boards lest he should return and leap at me to whom, so far, he -had never paid the slightest attention. As a child, my mother had once -jumped down into a manger where a great spotted dog was inadvertently -lying and, though from all accounts he was far more frightened than -she, yet I feared his kind more than any other.... The only real -excitement that we had been wont to know in the neighbourhood occurred -whenever there was a Loose Horse. Somebody would give the alarm, and -then we would all make sure that the gates were latched and we would -retire to watch him fearfully, where he was quietly cropping the -roadside grass. But sometimes, too, a Loose Horse would run--and then I -was terrified by the sound of his hoofs galloping on the sidewalk and -striking on the bricks and boards. I was always afraid that a Loose -Horse would see me, and nights, after one had disturbed our peace, I -would dream that he was trying to find me, and that he had come peering -between the dining-room blinds; and though I hid under the red cotton -spread that was used “between-meals,” it never came down far enough, -and he always stood there interminably waiting, and found me, through -the fringe. - -But all these excitements were become as nothing. A new occupation -presented itself. A dozen times a day now I had to watch through the -fence-cracks, or through the knot-hole, or boldly between the pickets -of the front fence, at the fascinating performances of the New Boy -and his troops of friends. At any moment both Mary Elizabeth and I -would abandon what we were doing to go to stare at the unaccountable -activities which were forever agitating them. They were always -producing something from their pockets and examining it, with their -heads together, or manufacturing something or burying something, or -disputing about something unguessed and alluring. Their whole world -was filled with doing, doing, doing, whereas ours was made wholly of -watching things get done. - -On an afternoon Mary Elizabeth and I were playing together in our side -yard. It was the day for Delia’s music lesson, and as she usually did -her whole week’s practising in the time immediately preceding that -event, the entire half day was virtually wasted. We could hear her -going drearily over and over the first and last movements of “At Home,” -which she had memorized and could play like lightning, while the entire -middle of the piece went with infinite deliberation. Calista was, we -understood (because of some matter pertaining to having filled the -bath-tub and waded in it and ruined the dining-room ceiling), spending -the day in her bed. And Margaret Amelia and Betty Rodman were being -kept at home because the family had company; and such was the prestige -of the Rodmans that the two contrived to make this circumstance seem -enviable, and the day before had pictured to us their embroidered white -dresses and blue ribbons, and blue stockings, and the Charlotte Russe -for supper, until we felt left out, and not in the least as if their -company were of a kind with events of the sort familiar to us. Since I -have grown up, I have observed this variety of genius in others. There -is one family which, when it appears in afternoon gowns on occasions -when I have worn a street dress, has power to make me wonder how I -can have failed to do honour to the day; but who, when they wear -street gowns and I am dressed for afternoon, invariably cause me to -feel inexcusably overdressed. It is a kind of genius for the fit, and -we must believe that it actually designates the atmosphere which an -occasion shall breathe. - -Mary Elizabeth and I were playing Dolls. We rarely did this on a -pleasant day in Summer, Dolls being an indoor game, matched with -carpets and furniture and sewing baskets rather than with blue sky and -with the soft brilliance of the grass. But that day we had brought -everything out in the side yard under the little catalpa tree, and my -eleven dolls (counting the one without any face, and Irene Helena, the -home-made one, and the two penny ones) were in a circle on chairs and -boxes and their backs, getting dressed for the tea-party. There was -always going to be a tea-party when you played Dolls--you of course had -to lead up to something, and what else was there to lead up to save -a tea-party? To be sure, there might be an occasional marriage, but -boy-dolls were never very practical; they were invariably smaller than -the bride-doll, and besides we had no mosquito-netting suitable for a -veil. Sometimes we had them go for a walk, and once or twice we had -tried playing that they were house-cleaning; but these operations were -not desirable, because in neither of them could the dolls dress up, and -the desirable part of playing dolls is, as everybody knows, to dress -them in their best. That is the game. That, and the tea-party. - -“Blue or rose-pink?” Mary Elizabeth inquired, indicating the two best -gowns of the doll she was dressing. - -It was a difficult question. We had never been able to decide which -of these two colours we preferred. There was the sky for precedent of -blue, but then rose-pink we loved so to say! - -[Illustration: SHE SETTLED EVERYTHING IN THAT WAY; SHE COUNTED THE -PETALS OF FENNEL DAISIES AND BLEW THISTLE FROM DANDELIONS.] - -“If they’s one cloud in the sky, we’ll put on the rose-pink one,” said -Mary Elizabeth. “And if there isn’t any, that’ll mean blue.” - -She settled everything that way--she counted the petals of fennel -daisies, blew the thistle from dandelions, did one thing if she could -find twelve acorns and another if they were lacking. Even then Mary -Elizabeth seemed always to be watching for a guiding hand, to be -listening for a voice to tell her what to do, and trying to find these -in things of Nature. - -We dressed the Eleven in their best frocks, weighing each choice long, -and seated them about a table made of a box covered with a towel. We -sliced a doughnut and with it filled two small baskets for each end of -the table, on which rested my toy castor and such of my dishes as had -survived the necessity which I had felt for going to bed with the full -set, on the night of the day, some years before, when I had acquired -them. We picked all the flowers suitable for doll decorations--clover, -sorrel, candytuft, sweet alyssum. We observed the unities by retiring -for a time sufficient to occupy the tea-party in disposing of the -feast; and then we came back and sat down and stared at them. Irene -Helena, I remember, had slipped under the table in a heap, a proceeding -which always irritated me, as nakedly uncovering the real depths of -our pretence--and I jerked her up and set her down, like some maternal -Nemesis. - -In that moment a wild, I may almost say _thick_, shriek sounded through -our block, and there came that stimulating thud-thud of feet on earth -that accompanies all the best diversions, and also there came the -cracking of things,--whips, or pistols, or even a punch, which rapidly -operated will do almost as well. And down the yards of the block and -over the fences and over the roof of my play-house came tumbling and -shrieking the New Boy, and in his wake were ten of his kind. - -Usually they raced by with a look in their eyes which we knew well, -though we never could distinguish whether it meant robbers or pirates -or dragons or the enemy. Usually they did not even see us. But that -day something in our elaborate preparation to receive somebody or to -welcome something, and our eternal moment of suspended animation at -which they found us, must have caught the fancy of the New Boy. - -“Halt!” he roared with the force and effect of a steam whistle, and in -a moment they were all stamping and breathing about Mary Elizabeth and -me. - -We sprang up in instant alarm and the vague, pathetic, immemorial -impulse to defence. We need not have feared. The game was still going -forward and we were merely pawns. - -“Who is the lord of this castle?” demanded the New Boy. - -“Bindyliggs,” replied Mary Elizabeth, without a moment’s hesitation, a -name which I believe neither of us to have heard before. - -“Where is this Lord of Bindyliggs?” the New Boy pressed it. - -Mary Elizabeth indicated the woodshed. “At meat,” she added gravely. - -“Forward!” the New Boy instantly commanded, and the whole troop -disappeared in our shed. We heard wood fall, and the clash of meeting -weapons, and the troop reappeared, two by way of the low window. - -“Enough!” cried the New Boy, grandly. “We have spared him, but there is -not a moment to lose. You must come with us _immediately_. What you -got to eat?” - -Raptly, we gave them, from under the wistful noses of Irene Helena and -the doll without the face and the rest, the entire sliced doughnut, and -two more doughnuts, dipped in sugar, which we had been saving so as to -have something to look forward to. - -“Come with us,” said the New Boy, graciously. “To horse! We may reach -the settlement by nightfall--_if_ we escape the Brigands in the Wood. -The Black Wood,” he added. - -Even then, I recall, I was smitten with wonder that he who had shown -so little imagination in that matter of dirt and apples and potatoes -should here be teeming with fancy on his own familiar ground. It was -years before I understood that there are almost as many varieties of -imaginative as of religious experience. - -Fascinated, we dropped everything and followed. The way led, it -appeared, to the Wells’s barn, a huge, red barn in the block, with -doors always invitingly open and chickens pecking about, and doves on a -little platform close to the pointed roof. - -“Aw, say, you ain’t goin’ to take ’em along, are you?” demanded one -knight, below his voice. “They’ll spoil everythin’.” - -“You’re _rescuin’_ ’em, you geezer,” the New Boy explained. “You got to -have ’em along till you get ’em rescued, ain’t you? Arrest that man!” -he added. “Put him in double irons with chains and balls on. And gag -him, to make sure.” - -And it was done, with hardly a moment’s loss of time. - -We went round by the walk--a course to which the arrested one had time -to refer in further support of his claim as to our undesirability. -But he was drowned in the important topics that were afoot: the new -cave to be explored where the Branchetts were putting a cellar under -the dining-room, mysterious boxes suspected to contain dynamite being -unloaded into the Wells’s cellar, and the Court of the Seven Kings, to -which, it seemed, we were being conveyed in the red barn. - -“Shall we give ’em the password?” the New Boy asked, _sotto voce_, as -we approached the rendezvous. And Mary Elizabeth and I trembled as we -realized that he was thinking of sharing the password with us. - -“_Naw!_” cried the Arrested One violently. “It’ll be all over town.” - -The New Boy drew himself up--he must have been good to look at, for I -recall his compact little figure and his pink cheeks. - -“Can’t you tell when you’re gagged?” he inquired with majesty. “You’re -playin’ like a girl yourself. I can give the password for ’em, though,” -he added reasonably. So we all filed in the red barn, to the Court of -the Seven Kings, and each boy whispered the password into the first -manger, but Mary Elizabeth and I had it whispered for us. - -What the Court of the Seven Kings might have held for us we were never -to know. At that instant there appeared lumbering down the alley a load -of hay. Seated in the midst was a small figure whom we recognized as -Stitchy Branchett; and he rose and uttered a roar. - -“Come on, fellows!” he said. “We dast ride over to the Glen. I was -lookin’ for you. Father said so.” And Stitchy threw himself on his -back, and lifted and waved his heels. - -Already our liberators were swarming up the hay-rack, which had halted -for them. In a twinkling they were sunk in that fragrance, kicking -their heels even as their host. Already they had forgotten Mary -Elizabeth and me, nor did they give us good-bye. - -We two turned and went through the Wells’s yard, back to the street. -Almost at once we were again within range of the sounds of Delia, -practising interminably on her “At Home.” - -“I never rode on a load of hay,” said Mary Elizabeth at length. - -Neither had I, though I almost always walked backward to watch one when -it passed me. - -“What do you _s’pose_ the password was?” said Mary Elizabeth. - -It was days before we gave over wondering. And sometimes in later years -I have caught myself speculating on that lost word. - -“I wonder what we were rescued from,” said Mary Elizabeth when we -passed our woodshed door. - -We stopped and peered within. No Lord of Bindyliggs, though we had -almost expected to see him stretched there, bound and helpless. - -What were we rescued from? _We should never know._ - -We rounded the corner by the side yard. There sat our staring dolls, -drawn up about the tea-table, static all. As I looked at them I was -seized and possessed by an unreasoning fury. And I laid hold on Irene -Helena, and had her by the heels, and with all my strength I pounded -her head against the trunk of the catalpa tree. - -Mary Elizabeth understood--when did she not understand? - -“Which one can I--which one can I?” she cried excitedly. - -“All of ’em!” I shouted, and one after another we picked up the Eleven -by their skirts, and we threw them far and wide in the grass, and the -penny dolls we hurled into the potato patch. - -Then Mary Elizabeth looked at me aghast. - -“Your dolls!” she said. - -“I don’t care!” I cried savagely. “I’ll never play ’em again. I hate -’em!” And I turned to Mary Elizabeth with new eyes. “Let’s go down town -after supper,” I whispered. - -“I could,” she said, “but you won’t be let.” - -“I won’t ask,” I said. “I’ll go. When you get done, come on over.” - -I scorned to gather up the dolls. They were in the angle below the -parlour windows, and no one saw them. As soon as supper was finished, -I went to my room and put on my best shoes, which I was not allowed to -wear for everyday. Then I tipped my birthday silver dollar out of my -bank and tied it in the corner of my handkerchief. Down in the garden I -waited for Mary Elizabeth. - -It was hardly dusk when she came. We had seen nothing of Delia, and we -guessed that she was to stay in the house for the rest of the day as -penance for having, without doubt, played “At Home” too badly. - -“You better not do it,” Mary Elizabeth whispered. “They might....” - -“Come on,” I said only. - -“Let’s try a June grass,” she begged. “If the seeds all come off in my -teeth, we’ll go. But if they don’t--” - -“Come on,” said I, “I’m not going to monkey with signs any more.” - -We climbed the back fence, partly so that the chain, weighted with a -pail of stones, might not creak, and partly because to do so seemed -more fitting to the business in hand. We ran crouching, thereby -arousing the attention of old Mr. Branchett, who was training a -Virginia creeper along his back fence. - -“Hello, hello,” said he. “Pretty good runners for girls, seems to me.” - -Neither of us replied. Our souls were suddenly sickened at this sort of -dealing. - -Wisconsin Street was a blaze of light. The ’buses were on their way -from the “depots” to the hotels--nobody knew who might be in those -’buses. They were the nexus between us and the unguessed world. -Strangers were on the streets. Everything was in motion. Before -Morrison’s grocery they were burning rubbish, some boys from the other -end of town were running unconcernedly through the flames, and the -smell of the smoke set us tingling. At the corner a man was pasting -a circus bill--we stopped a moment to look down the throat of the -hippopotamus. Away up the street a band struck up, and we took hold of -hands again, and ran. - -We crossed the big square by the City Bank, under the hissing arc lamp. -By the post-office a crowd of men and boys was standing, and between -the files young women whom we knew, wearing ribbons and feathers, were -passing in and out of the office and laughing. Bard’s jewellery store -was brilliant--it looked lighter than any other store with its window -of dazzling cut glass and its wonderful wall of clocks whose pendulums -never kept pace. In a saloon a piano was playing--we glanced in with a -kind of joyous fear at the green screen beyond the door. We saw Alma -Fremont, whose father kept a grocery store, standing in the store door -with a stick of pink candy thrust in a lemon, and we thought on the -joy of having a father who was a grocer. We longed to stare in the -barber-shop window, and looked away. But our instinctive destination -was the place before the Opera House, where the band was playing. We -reached it, and stood packed in the crowd, close to the blare of the -music, and shivered with delight. - -“If only the fire-engine would come,” Mary Elizabeth breathed in my ear. - -But in a little while the guffaws, the jostling, the proximity of dirty -coats, the odour of stale tobacco must have disturbed us, because -gradually we edged a little away, and stood on the edge of the crowd, -against an iron rail outside a billiard room. The band ceased, and went -up into the hall. We had a distinct impulse to do the next thing. What -was there to do next? What was it that the boys did when they went -down town evenings? What else did they do while we were tidying our -play-houses for the night? For here we were, longing for play, if only -we could think what to do. - -I felt a hand beneath my chin, lifting my face. There, in the press, -stood my Father. Over his arm he carried my black jacket with the -Bedford cord. - -“Mother thought you might be cold,” he said. - -I put on the jacket, and he took Mary Elizabeth and me by the hand, and -we walked slowly back down Wisconsin Street. - -“We will see Mary Elizabeth safely home first,” my Father said, and we -accompanied her to the New Family’s door. - -Once in our house, it was I who proposed going to bed, and the -suggestion met with no opposition. Upstairs, I slipped the screen -from my window and leaned out in the dusk. The night, warm, fragrant, -significant, was inviting me to belong to it, was asking me, even as -bright day had asked me, what it had in common with the stuffiness and -dulness of forever watching others do things. Something hard touched my -hand. It was my birthday dollar. It had not occurred to me to spend it. - -I saw my Father stroll back down the street, lighting a cigar. Below -stairs I could hear my Mother helping to put away the supper dishes. -A dozen boys raced through the alley, just on their way down town. -So long as they came home at a stated hour at night, and turned up -at table with their hands clean, who asked them where they had been? -“Where have you been?” they said to me, the moment I entered the -house--and to Delia and Calista and Margaret Amelia and Betty. We had -often talked about it. And none of us had even ridden on a load of hay. -We had a vague expectation that it would be different when we grew up. -A sickening thought came to me: _Would it be different, or was this to -be forever?_ - -I ran blindly down the stairs where my Mother was helping to put away -the supper dishes--in the magic of the night, helping to put away the -supper dishes. - -“Mother!” I cried, “Mother! Who made it so much harder to be a girl?” - -She turned and looked at me, her face startled, and touched me--I -remember how gently she touched me. - -“Before you die,” she said, “it will be easier.” - -I thought then that she meant that I would grow used to it. Now I know -that she meant what I meant when I woke that night, and remembered my -dolls lying out in the grass and the dew, and was not sorry, but glad: -Glad that the time was almost come--for real playthings. - - - - -XII - -BIT-BIT - - -At the Rodmans’, who lived in a huge house on a hill, some of -the rooms had inscriptions in them--or what I should have called -mottoes--cunningly lettered and set about. Some of these were in -Margaret Amelia’s and Betty’s room, above the mirror, the bed, the -window; and there was one downstairs on a panel above the telephone. -The girls said that they had an aunt who had written them “on purpose,” -an aunt who had had stories in print. In my heart I doubted the part -about the printed stories, and so did Mary Elizabeth, but we loved -Margaret Amelia and Betty too well to let this stand between us. Also, -we were caught by the inscriptions. They were these: - -FOR A CRADLE[A] - - I cannot tell you who I am - Nor what I’m going to be. - You who are wise and know your ways - Tell me. - -[A] Copyright, 1908, by Harper & Brothers. - -FOR THE MIRROR - - Look in the deep of me. What are we going to do? - If I am I, as I am, who in the world are you? - -FOR AN IVORY COMB - - Use me and think of spirit, and spirit yet to be. - This is the jest: Could soul touch soul if it were not for me? - -FOR THE DOLL’S HOUSE - - Girl-doll would be a little lamp - And shine like something new. - Boy-doll would be a telephone - And have the world speak through. - The Poet-doll would like to be - A tocsin with a tongue - To other little dolls like bells - Most sensitively rung. - The Baby-doll would be a flower, - The Dinah-doll a star, - And all--how ignominious! - Are only what they are. - -WHERE THE BOUGHS TOUCH THE WINDOW - - We lap on the indoor shore--the waves of the leaf mere, - We try to tell you as well as we can: We wonder what you hear? - -FOR ANOTHER WINDOW - - I see the stones, I see the stars, - I know not what they be. - They always say things to themselves - And now and then to me. - But when I try to look between - Big stones and little stars, - I almost know ... but what I know - Flies through the window-bars. - -And downstairs, on the Telephone: - - I, the absurdity, - Proving what cannot be. - Come, when you talk with me - Does it become you well - To doubt a miracle? - -We did not understand all of them, but we liked them. And I am sure now -that the inscriptions were partly responsible for the fact that in a -little time, with Mary Elizabeth and me to give them encouragement, -everything, indoors and out, had something to say to us. These things -we did not confide to the others, not even to Margaret Amelia and -Betty who, when we stood still to spell out the inscriptions, waited -a respectful length of time and then plucked at our aprons and said: -“Come on till we show you something,” which was usually merely a crass -excuse to get us away. - -So Mary Elizabeth and I discovered, by comparing notes, that at night -our Clothes on the chair by the bed would say: “We are so tired. Don’t -look at us--we feel so limp.” - -And the Night would say: “What a long time the Day had you, and how he -made you work. Now rest and forget and stop being you, till morning.” - -Sleep would say: “Here I come. Let me in your brain and I will pull -your eyes shut, like little blinds.” - -And in the morning the Stairs would say: “Come! We are all here, -stooping, ready for you to step down on our shoulders.” - -Breakfast would say: “Now I’m going to be you--now I’m going to be you! -And I have to be cross or nice, just as you are.” - -Every fire that warmed us, every tree that shaded us, every path that -we took, all these “answered back” and were familiars. Everything spoke -to us, save only one. And this one thing was Work. Our playthings in -the cupboard would talk to us all day long _until_ the moment that we -were told to put them in order, and then instantly they all fell into -silence. Pulling weeds in the four o’clock bed, straightening books, -tidying the outdoor play-house--it was always the same. Whatever we -worked at kept silent. - -It was on a June morning, when the outdoors was so busy and beautiful -that it was like a golden bee buried in a golden rose, that I finally -refused outright to pick up a brown sunhat and some other things in -the middle of the floor. Everything outdoors and in was smiling and -calling, and to do a task was like going to bed, so far as the joy of -the day was concerned. This I could not explain, but I said that I -would not do the task, and this was high treason. - -Sitting in a straight-backed chair all alone for half an hour -thereafter--the usual capital punishment--was like cutting off the head -of the beautiful Hour that I had meant to have. And I tried to think -it out. Why, in an otherwise wonderful world, did Work have to come and -spoil everything? - -I do not recall that I came to any conclusion. How could I, at a time -that was still teaching the Hebraic doctrine that work is a curse, -instead of the new gospel--always dimly divined by children before our -teaching has corrupted them,--that being busy is being alive, and that -all work may be play if only we are shown how to pick out the kind that -is play to us, and that doing nothing is a kind of death. - -And while I sat there alone on that straight-backed chair, I wish that -I, as I am now, might have called in Mary Elizabeth, whom I could see -drearily polishing the New Family’s lamp-chimneys, and that I might -have told the story of Bit-bit. - - * * * * * - -Bit-bit, the smallest thing in the world, sat on the slipperiest edge -of the highest mountain in the farthest land, weaving a little garment -of sweet-grass. Then out of the valley a great Deev arose and leaned -his elbows on the highest mountain and said what he thought--which is -always a dangerous business. - -[Illustration: “THEN OUT OF THE VALLEY A GREAT DEEV AROSE.”] - -“Bit-bit,” said the Deev, “how dare you make up my sweet-grass so -disgustin’ extravagant?” - -(It is almost impossible for a Deev to say his _ing’s_.) - -“Deevy dear,” said Bit-bit, without looking up from his work, “I have -to make a garment to help clothe the world. Don’t wrinkle up my plan. -And _don’t_ put your elbows on the table.” - -“About my elbows,” said the Deev, “you are perfectly right, though -Deevs always do that with their elbows. But as to that garment,” he -added, “I’d like to know why you have to help clothe the world?” - -“Deevy dear,” said Bit-bit, still not looking up from his work, “I have -to do so, because it’s this kind of a world. _Please_ don’t wrinkle up -things.” - -“I,” said the Deev, plainly, “will now show you what kind of a world -this really is. And I rather think I’ll destroy you with a great -destruction.” - -Then the Deev took the highest mountain and he tied its streams and -cataracts together to make a harness, and he named the mountain new, -and he drove it all up and down the earth. And he cried behind it: - -“Ho, Rhumbthumberland, steed of the clouds, trample the world into -trifles and plough it up for play. Bit-bit is being taught his lesson.” - -From dawn he did this until the sky forgot pink and remembered only -blue and until the sun grew so hot that it took even the sky’s -attention, and the Deev himself was ready to drop. And then he pulled -on the reins and Rhumbthumberland, steed of the clouds, stopped -trampling and let the Deev lean his elbows on his back. And there, -right between the Deev’s elbows, sat Bit-bit, weaving his garment of -sweet-grass. - -“Thunders of spring,” cried the Deev, “aren’t you destroyed with a -great destruction?” - -But Bit-bit never looked up, he was so busy. - -“Has anything happened?” he asked politely, however, not wishing to -seem indifferent to the Deev’s agitation--though secretly, in his -little head, he hated having people plunge at him with their eyebrows -up and expect him to act surprised too. When they did that, it always -made him savage-calm. - -“The world is trampled into trifles and ploughed up for play,” said -the exasperated Deev, “_that’s_ what’s happened. How dare you pay no -attention?” - -“Deevy dear,” said Bit-bit, still not looking up from his task, “I -have to work, whether it’s this kind of a world or not. I _wish_ you -wouldn’t wrinkle up things.” - -Then the Deev’s will ran round and round in his own head like a fly -trying to escape from a dark hole--that is the way of the will of all -Deevs--and pretty soon his will got out and went buzzle-buzzle-buzzle, -which is no proper sound for anybody’s will to make. And when it did -that, the Deev went off and got a river, and he climbed up on top of -Rhumbthumberland and he swung the river about his head like a ribbon -and then let it fall from the heights like a lady’s scarf, and then he -held down one end with his great boot and the other end he emptied into -the horizon. From the time of the heat of the sun he did this until -the shadows were set free from the west and lengthened over the land, -shaking their long hair, and then he lifted his foot and let the river -slip and it trailed off into the horizon and flowed each way. - -“_Now_ then!” said the Deev, disgustingly pompous. - -But when he looked down, there, sitting on his own great foot, high and -dry and pleasant, was Bit-bit, weaving his garment of sweet-grass and -saying: - -“Deevy dear, a river washed me up here and I was so busy I didn’t have -time to get down.” - -The Deev stood still, thinking, and his thoughts flew in and out like -birds, but always they seemed to fly against window-panes in the air, -through which there was no passing. And the Deev said, in his head: - -“Is there nothing in this created cosmos that will stop this little -scrap from working to clothe the world? Or must I play Deev in earnest?” - -And that was what he finally decided to do. So he said things to his -arms, and his arms hardened into stuff like steel, and spread out like -mighty wings. And with these the Deev began to beat the air. And he -beat it and beat it until it frothed. It frothed like white-of-egg and -like cream and like the mid-waters of torrents, frothed a mighty froth, -such as I supposed could never be. And when the froth was stiff enough -to stand alone, the Deev took his steel-wing arm for a ladle, and he -began to spread the froth upon the earth. And he spread and spread -until the whole earth was like an enormous chocolate cake, thick with -white frosting--one layer, two layers, three layers, disgustingly -extravagant, so that the little Deevs, if there had been any, would -never have got the dish scraped. Only there wasn’t any dish, so they -needn’t have minded. - -And when he had it all spread on, the Deev stood up and dropped his -steel arms down--and even they were tired at the elbow, like any true, -egg-beating arm--and he looked down at the great cake he had made. -And there, on the top of the frosting, which was already beginning to -harden, was sitting Bit-bit, weaving his garment of sweet-grass and -talking about the weather: - -“I think there is going to be a storm,” said Bit-bit, “the air around -here has been so disgustingly hard to breathe.” - -Then, very absently, the Deev let the steel out of his arms and made -them get over being wings, and, in a place so deep in his own head that -nothing had ever been thought there before, he _thought_: - -“There is more to this than I ever knew there is to anything.” - -So he leaned over, all knee-deep in the frosting as he was, and he said: - -“Bit-bit, say a great truth and a real answer: What is the reason that -my little ways don’t bother you? Or kill you? Or keep you from making -your garment of sweet-grass?” - -“Why,” said Bit-bit, in surprise, but never looking up from his work, -“Deevy dear, that’s easy. I’m much, much, _much_ too busy.” - -“Scrap of a thing,” said the Deev, “too busy to mind cataracts and an -earth trampled to trifles and then frosted with all the air there is?” - -“Too busy,” assented Bit-bit, snapping off his thread. “And now I _do_ -hope you are not going to wrinkle up things any more.” - -“No,” said the Deev, with decision, “I ain’t.” (Deevs are always -ungrammatical when you take them by surprise.) And he added very -shrewdly, for he was a keen Deev and if he saw that he could learn, -he was willing to learn, which is three parts of all wisdom: “Little -scrap, teach me to do a witchcraft. Teach me to work.” - -At that Bit-bit laid down his task in a minute. - -“What do you want to make?” he asked. - -The Deev thought for a moment. - -“I want to make a palace and a garden and a moat for _me_,” said he. -“I’m tired campin’ around in the air.” - -“If that’s all,” said Bit-bit, “I’m afraid I can’t help you. I thought -you wanted to work. Out of all the work there is in the world I should -think of another one if I were you, Deevy.” - -“Well, then, I want to make a golden court dress for _me_, all -embroidered and flowered and buttoned and gored and spliced,” said the -Deev, or whatever these things are called in the clothing of Deevs; -“I want to make one. I’m tired goin’ around in rompers.” (It wasn’t -rompers, really, but it was what Deevs wear instead, and you wouldn’t -know the name, even if I told you.) - -“Excuse me,” said Bit-bit, frankly, “I won’t waste time like that. -Don’t you want to _work_?” - -“Yes,” said the Deev, “I do. Maybe I don’t know what work is.” - -“Maybe you don’t,” agreed Bit-bit. “But I can fix that. I’m going for a -walk now, and there’s just room for you. Come along.” - -So they started off, and it was good walking, for by now the sun had -dried up all the frosting; and the Deev trotted at Bit-bit’s heels, -and they made a very funny pair. So funny that Almost Everything -watched them go by, and couldn’t leave off watching them go by, and so -followed them all the way. Which was what Bit-bit had _thought_ would -happen. And when he got to a good place, Bit-bit stood still and told -the Deev to turn round. And there they were, staring face to face with -Almost Everything: Deserts and towns and men and women and children and -laws and governments and railroads and factories and forests and food -and drink. - -“There’s your work,” said Bit-bit, carelessly. - -“Where?” asked the Deev, just like other folks. - -“_Where?_” repeated Bit-bit, nearly peevish. “Look at this desert -that’s come along behind us. Why don’t you swing a river over your -head--you _could_ do that, couldn’t you, Deevy?--and make things grow -on that desert, and let people live on it, and turn ’em into folks? Why -don’t you?” - -“It ain’t amusin’ enough,” said the Deev. - -(Deevs are often ungrammatical when they don’t take pains; and this -Deev wasn’t taking _any_ pains.) - -“Well,” said Bit-bit, “then look at this town that has come along -behind us, full of dirt and disease and laziness and worse. Why -don’t you harness up a mountain--you _could_ do that, couldn’t you, -Deevy?--and plough up the earth and trample it down and let people live -as they were meant to live, and turn them into folks? Why don’t you?” - -“It couldn’t be done that way,” said the Deev, very much excited and -disgustingly certain. - -“Well,” said Bit-bit, “then look at the men and women and children that -have come along behind us. What about them--what about _them_? Why -don’t you make your arms steel and act as if you had wings, and beat -the world into a better place for them to live, instead of making a -cake of it. You could do it, Deevy--_anybody_ could do that.” - -“Yes,” said the Deev, “I could do that. But it don’t appeal to me.” - -(Deevs are always ungrammatical when they are being emphatic, and now -the Deev was being very emphatic. He was a keen Deev, but he would only -learn what he wanted to learn.) - -“Deevy _dear_,” cried Bit-bit, in distress because the Deev was such a -disgusting creature, “then at least do get some sweet-grass and make a -little garment to help clothe the world?” - -“What’s the use?” said the Deev. “Let it go naked. It’s always been -that way.” - -So, since the Deev would not learn the work witchcraft, Bit-bit, -very sorrowful, stood up and said a great truth and made a real -answer--which is always a dangerous business. - -“You will, you will, you will do these things,” he cried, “because it’s -that kind of a world.” - -And then the Deev, who had all along been getting more and more -annoyed, pieced together his will and his ideas and his annoyance, and -they all went buzzle-buzzle-buzzle together till they made an act. And -the act was that he stepped sidewise into space, and he picked up the -earth and put it between his knees, and he cracked it hard enough so -that it should have fallen into uncountable bits. - -“It’s my nut,” said the Deev, “and now I’m going to eat it up.” - -But lo, from the old shell there came out a fair new kernel of a world, -so lustrous and lovely that the Deev was blinded and hid his eyes. -Only first he had seen how the deserts were flowing with rivers and -the towns were grown fair under willing hands for men and women and -children to live there. And there, with Almost Everything, sat Bit-bit -in his place, weaving a little garment of sweet-grass to clothe some -mite of the world. - -“Now this time try not to wrinkle things all up, Deev,” said Bit-bit. -“I must say, you’ve been doing things disgustingly inhuman.” - -So after that the Deev was left camping about in the air, trying to -make for himself new witchcrafts. And there he is to this day, being -a disgusting creature generally, and _only_ those who are as busy as -Bit-bit are safe from him. - - - - -XIII - -WHY - - -There was a day when Mary Elizabeth and Delia and Calista and Betty -and I sat under the Eating Apple tree and had no spirit to enter upon -anything. Margaret Amelia was not with us, and her absence left us -relaxed and without initiative; for it was not as if she had gone to -the City, or to have her dress tried on, or her hair washed, or as if -she were absorbed in any real occupation. Her absence was due to none -of these things. Margaret Amelia was in disgrace. She was, in fact, -confined in her room with every expectation of remaining there until -supper time. - -“What’d she do?” we had breathlessly inquired of Betty when she had -appeared alone with her tidings. - -“Well,” replied Betty, “it’s her paper dolls and her button-house. She -always leaves ’em around. She set up her button-house all over the rug -in the parlour--you know, the rug that its patterns make rooms? An’ -she had her paper dolls living in it. That was this morning--and we -forgot ’em. And after dinner, while we’re outdoors, the minister came. -And he walked into the buttons and onto the glass dangler off the lamp -that we used for a folding-doors. And he slid a long ways on it. And he -scrushed it,” Betty concluded resentfully. “And now she’s in her room.” - -We pondered it. There was justice there, we saw that. But shut Margaret -Amelia in a room! It was as ignominious as caging a captain. - -“Did she cry?” we indelicately demanded. - -“Awful,” said Betty. “She wouldn’t of cared if it had only been -raining,” she added. - -We looked hard at the sky. We should have been willing to have it rain -to make lighter Margaret Amelia’s durance, and sympathy could go no -further. But there was not a cloud. - -It was Mary Elizabeth who questioned the whole matter. - -“How,” said she, “does it do any good to shut her up in her room?” - -We had never thought of this. We stared wonderingly at Mary Elizabeth. -Being shut in your room was a part of the state of not being grown up. -When you grew up, you shut others in their rooms or let them out, as -you ruled the occasion to require. There was Grandmother Beers, for -instance, coming out the door with scissors in her hands and going -toward her sweet-pea bed. Once she must have shut Mother in her room. -Mother! - -Delia was incurably a defender of things as they are. Whenever I am -tempted to feel that guardians of an out-worn order must know better -than they seem to know, I remember Delia. Delia was born reactionary, -even as she was born brunette. - -“Why,” said she with finality, “that’s the way they punish you.” - -Taken as a fact and not as a philosophy, there was no question about -this. - -“I was shut in one for pinching Frankie Ames,” I acknowledged. - -“I was in one for getting iron-rust on my skirt,” said Calista, “and -for being awful cross when my bath was, and for putting sugar on the -stove to get the nice smell.” - -“I was in one for telling a lie,” Betty admitted reluctantly. “And -Margaret Amelia was in one for wading in the creek. She was in a -downstairs one. And I took a chair round outside to help her out--but -she wouldn’t do it.” - -“Pooh! I was in one lots of times,” Delia capped it. And, as usual, -we looked at her with respect as having experiences far transcending -our own. “I’ll be in one again if I don’t go home and take care of my -canary,” she added. “Mamma said I would.” - -“Putting sugar on the stove isn’t as wicked as telling a lie, is it?” -Mary Elizabeth inquired. - -We weighed it. On the whole, we were inclined to think that it was not -so wicked, “though,” Delia put in, “you do notice the sugar more.” - -“Why do they shut you in the same way for the different wickeds?” Mary -Elizabeth demanded. - -None of us knew, but it was Delia who had the theory. - -“Well,” she said, “you’ve _got_ to know you’re wicked. It don’t make -any difference how wicked. Because you stop anyhow.” - -“No, you don’t,” Betty said decidedly, “you’re always getting a new -thing to be shut in about. Before you mean to,” she added perplexedly. - -Mary Elizabeth looked away at Grandmother Beers, snipping sweet-peas. -Abruptly, Mary Elizabeth threw herself on the grass and stared up -through the branches of the Eating Apple tree, and then laid her arms -straight along her sides, and began luxuriously to roll down a little -slope. The inquiry was too complex to continue. - -“Let’s go see if the horse-tail hair is a snake yet,” she proposed, -sitting up at the foot of the slope. - -“I’ll have to do my canary,” said Delia, but she sprang up with the -rest of us, and we went round to the rain-water barrel. - -The rain-water barrel stood at the corner of the house, and reflected -your face most satisfyingly, save that the eaves-spout got in the way. -Also, you always inadvertently joggled the side with your knee, which -set the water wavering and wrinkled away the image. At the bottom of -this barrel invisibly rested sundry little “doll” pie-tins of clay, -a bottle, a broken window-catch, a stray key, and the bowl of a -soap-bubble pipe, cast in at odd intervals, for no reason. There were a -penny doll and a marble down there too, thrown in for sheer bravado and -bitterly regretted. - -Into this dark water there had now been dropped, two days ago, a long -black hair from the tail of Mr. Branchett’s horse, Fanny. We had been -credibly informed that if you did this to a hair from a horse’s tail -and left it untouched for twenty-four hours or, to be _perfectly_ safe, -for forty-eight hours, the result would inevitably be a black snake. -We had gone to the Branchetts’ barn for the raw material and, finding -none available on the floor, we were about to risk jerking it from the -source when Delia had perceived what we needed caught in a crack of the -stall. We had abstracted the hair, and duly immersed it. Why we wished -to create a black snake, or what we purposed doing with him when we -got him created, I cannot now recall. I believe the intention to have -been primarily to see whether or not they had told us the truth--“they” -standing for the universe at large. For my part, I was still smarting -from having been detected sitting in patience with a handful of salt, -by the mouse-hole in the shed, in pursuance of another recipe which I -had picked up and trusted. Now if this new test failed.... - -We got an old axe-handle from the barn wherewith to probe the water. -If, however, the black snake were indeed down there, our weapon, -offensive and defensive, would hardly be long enough; so we substituted -the clothes-prop. Then we drew cuts to see who should wield it, and -the lot fell to Betty. Gentle little Betty turned quite pale with the -responsibility, but she resolutely seized the clothes-prop, and Delia -stood behind her with the axe-handle. - -“Now if he comes out,” said Betty, “run for your lives. He might be a -blue racer.” - -None of us knew what a blue racer might be, but we had always heard of -it as the fastest of all the creatures. A black snake, it seemed, might -easily be a blue racer. As Betty raised the clothes-prop, I, who had -instigated the experiment, weakened. - -“Maybe he won’t be ready yet,” I conceded. - -“If he isn’t there, I’ll never believe anything anybody tells me -again--ever,” said Delia firmly. - -The clothes-prop Betty plunged to the bottom, and lifted. No struggling -black shape writhed about it. She repeated the movement, and this time -we all cried out, for she brought up the dark discoloured rag of a -sash of the penny doll, the penny doll clinging to it and immediately -dropping sullenly back again. Grown brave, Betty stirred the water, and -Delia, advancing, did the same with her axe-handle. Again and again -these were lifted, revealing nothing. At last we faced it: No snake was -there. - -“So that’s a lie, too,” said Delia, brutally. - -We stared at one another. I, as the one chiefly disappointed, looked -away. I looked down the street: Mr. Branchett was hoeing in his garden. -Delivery wagons were rattling by. The butter-man came whistling round -the house. Everybody seemed so busy and so _sure_. They looked as if -they knew why everything was. And to us, truth and justice and reason -and the results to be expected in this grown-up world were all a -confusion and a thorn. - -As we went round the house, talking of what had happened, our eyes were -caught by a picture which should have been, and was not, of quite -casual and domestic import. On the side-porch of Delia’s house appeared -her mother, hanging out Delia’s canary. - -“Good-bye,” said Delia, briefly, and fared from us, running. - -We lingered for a little in the front yard. In five minutes the -curtains in Delia’s room stirred, and we saw her face appear, and -vanish. She had not waved to us--there was no need. It had overtaken -her. She, too, was “in her room.” - -Delicacy dictated that we withdraw from sight, and we returned to the -back yard. As we went, Mary Elizabeth was asking: - -“Is telling a lie and not feeding your canary as wicked as each other?” - -It seemed incredible, and we said so. - -“Well, you get shut up just as hard for both of ’em,” Mary Elizabeth -reminded us. - -“Then I don’t believe any of ’em’s wicked,” said I, flatly. On which we -came back to the garden and met Grandmother Beers, with a great bunch -of sweet-peas in her hand, coming to the house. - -“Wicked?” she said, in her way of soft surprise. “I didn’t know you -knew such a word.” - -“It’s a word you learn at Sunday school,” I explained importantly. - -“Come over here and tell me about it,” she invited, and led the way -toward the Eating Apple tree. And she sat down in the swing! Of course -whatever difference of condition exists between your grandmother and -yourself vanishes when she sits down casually in your swing. - -My Grandmother Beers was a little woman, whose years, in England, in -“New York state,” and in her adopted Middle West, had brought her -only peace within, though much had beset her from without. She loved -Four-o’clocks, and royal purple. When she said “royal purple,” it was -as if the words were queens. She was among the few who sympathized -with my longing to own a blue or red or green jar from a drug store -window. We had first understood each other in a matter of window-sill -food: This would be a crust, or a bit of baked apple, or a cracker -which I used to lay behind the dining-room window-shutter--the -closed one. For in the house at evening it was warm and light and -Just-had-your-supper, while outside it was dark and damp and big, and I -conceived that it must be lonely and hungry. The Dark was like a great -helpless something, filling the air and not wanting particularly to -be there. Surely It would much rather be light, with voices and three -meals, than the Dark, with nobody and no food. So I used to set out a -little offering, and once my Grandmother Beers had caught me paying -tribute. - -“Once something _did_ come and get it,” I defended myself over my -shoulder, and before she could say a word. - -“Likely enough, likely enough, child,” she assented, and did not chide -me. - -Neither did she chide me when once she surprised me into mentioning the -Little Things, who had the use of my playthings when I was not there. -It was one dusk when she had come upon me setting my toy cupboard to -rights, and had commended me. And I had explained that it was so the -Little Things could find the toys when they came, that night and every -night, to play with them. I remember that all she did was to squeeze my -hand; but I felt that I was wholly understood. - -What child of us--of Us Who Were--will ever forget the joy of having -an older one enter into our games? I used to sit in church and tell -off the grown folk by this possibility in them--“She’d play with -you--she wouldn’t--she would--he would--they wouldn’t”--an ancient -declension of the human race, perfectly recognized by children, but -never given its proper due.... I shall never forget the out-door romps -with my Father, when he stooped, with his hands on his knees, and then -ran _at_ me; or when he held me while I walked the picket fence; or -set me in the Eating Apple tree; nor can I forget the delight of the -play-house that he built for me, _with a shelf around_.... And always I -shall remember, too, how my Mother would play “Lost.” We used to curl -on the sofa, taking with us some small store of fruit and cookies, -wrap up in blankets and shawls, put up an umbrella--possibly two of -them--and there we were, lost in the deep woods. We had been crossing -the forest--night had overtaken us--we had climbed in a thick-leaved -tree--it was raining--the woods were infested by bears and wolves--we -had a little food, possibly enough to stave off starvation till -daylight. Then came by the beasts of the forest, wonderful, human -beasts, who passed at the foot of our tree, and with whom we talked -long and friendly--and differently for each one--and ended by sharing -with them our food. We scraped acquaintance with birds in neighbouring -nests, the stars were only across a street of sky, the Dark did its -part by hiding us. Sometimes, yet, when I see a fat, idle sofa in, say, -an hotel corridor, I cannot help thinking as I pass: “What a wonderful -place to play Lost.” I daresay that some day I shall put up my umbrella -and sit down and play it. - -Well--Grandmother Beers was one who knew how to play with us, and I was -always half expecting her to propose a new game. But that day, as she -sat in the swing, her eyes were not twinkling at the corners. - -“What does it mean?” she asked us. “What does ‘wicked’ mean?” - -“It’s what you aren’t to be,” I took the brunt of the reply, because I -was the relative of the questioner. - -“Why not?” asked Grandmother. - -Why not? Oh, we all knew that. We responded instantly, and out came -the results of the training of all the families. - -“Because your mother and father say you can’t,” said Betty Rodman. - -“Because it makes your mother feel bad,” said Calista. - -“Because God don’t want us to,” said I. - -“Delia says,” Betty added, “it’s because, if you are, when you grow up -people won’t think anything of you.” - -Grandmother Beers held her sweet-peas to her face. - -“If,” she said after a moment, “you wanted to do something wicked more -than you ever wanted to do anything in the world--as much as you’d want -a drink to-morrow if you hadn’t had one to-day--and if nobody ever -knew--would any of those reasons keep you from doing it?” - -We consulted one another’s look, and shifted. We knew how thirsty that -would be. Already we were thirsty, in thinking about it. - -“If I were in your places,” Grandmother said, “I’m not sure those -reasons would keep me. I rather think they wouldn’t,--always.” - -We stared at her. It was true that they didn’t always keep us. Were -not two of us “in our rooms” even now? - -Grandmother leaned forward--I know how the shadows of the apple leaves -fell on her black lace cap and how the pink sweet-peas were reflected -in her delicate face. - -“Suppose,” she said, “that instead of any of those reasons, somebody -gave you this reason: That the earth is a great flower--a flower that -has never _really_ blossomed yet. And that when it blossoms, life is -going to be more beautiful than we have ever dreamed, or than fairy -stories have ever pretended. And suppose our doing one way, and not -another, makes the flower come a little nearer to blossoming. But our -doing the other way puts back the time when it can blossom. _Then_ -which would you want to do?” - -Oh, make it grow, make it grow, we all cried--and I felt a secret -relief: Grandmother was playing a game with us, after all. - -“And suppose that everything made a difference to it,” she went on, -“every little thing--from telling a lie, on down to going to get a -drink for somebody and drinking first yourself out in the kitchen. -Suppose that everything made a difference, from hurting somebody on -purpose, down to making up the bed and pulling the bed-spread tight so -that the wrinkles in the blanket won’t show....” - -At this we looked at one another in some consternation. How did -Grandmother know.... - -“Until after a while,” she said, “you should find out that -everything--loving, going to school, playing, working, bathing, -sleeping, were all just to make this flower grow. Wouldn’t it be fun to -help?” - -Yes. Oh, yes, we were all agreed about that. It would be great fun to -help. - -“Well, then suppose,” said Grandmother, “that as you helped, you found -out something else: That in each of you, say, where your heart is, or -where your breath is, there was a flower trying to blossom too! And -that only as you helped the earth flower to blossom could your flower -blossom. And that your doing one way would make your flower droop its -head and grow dark and shrivel up. But your doing the other way would -make it grow, and turn beautiful colours--so that bye and bye every one -of your bodies would be just a sheath for this flower. Which way _then_ -would you rather do?” - -Oh, make it grow, make it grow, we said again. - -And Mary Elizabeth added longingly:-- - -“Wouldn’t it be fun if it was true?” - -“It is true,” said Grandmother Beers. - -She sat there, softly smiling over her pink sweet-peas. We looked at -her silently. Then I remembered that her face had always seemed to me -to be somehow _light within_. Maybe it was her flower showing through! - -“Grandmother!” I cried, “is it true--is it true?” - -“It is true,” she repeated. “And whether the earth flower and other -people’s flowers and your flower are to bloom or not is what living is -about. And everything makes a difference. Isn’t that a good reason for -not being ‘wicked’?” - -We all looked up in her face, something in us leaping and answering to -what she said. And I know that we understood. - -“Oh,” Mary Elizabeth whispered presently to Betty, “hurry home and tell -Margaret Amelia. It’ll make it so much easier when she comes out to her -supper.” - - * * * * * - -That night, on the porch alone with Mother and Father, I inquired into -something that still was not clear. - -“But how can you _tell_ which things are wicked? And which ones are -wrong and which things are right?” - -Father put out his hand and touched my hand. He was looking at me with -a look that I knew--and his smile for me is like no other smile that I -have ever known. - -“Something will tell you,” he said, “always.” - -“Always?” I doubted. - -“Always,” he said. “There will be other voices. But if you listen, -something will tell you always. And it is all you need.” - -I looked at Mother. And by her nod and her quiet look I perceived that -all this had been known about for a long time. - -“That is why Grandma Bard is coming to live with us,” she said, “not -just because we wanted her, but because--_that_ said so.” - -In us all a flower--and something saying something! And the earth -flower trying to blossom.... I looked down the street: At Mr. Branchett -walking in his garden, at the lights shining from windows, at the -folk sauntering on the sidewalk, and toward town where the band -was playing. We all knew about this together then. _This_ was why -everything was! And there were years and years to make it come true. - -What if I, alone among them all, had never found out? - - - - -XIV - -KING - - -There was a certain white sugar bear and a red candy strawberry which -we had been charged not to eat, because the strawberry was a nameless -scarlet and the bear, left from Christmas, was a very soiled bear. We -had all looked at these two things longingly, had even on occasion -nibbled them a bit. There came a day when I crept under my bed and ate -them both. - -It was a bed with slats. In the slat immediately above my head there -was a knot-hole. Knot-hole, slat, the pattern of the ticking on the -mattress, all remain graven on the moment. It was the first time that -I had actually been conscious of--indeed, had almost _heard_--the -fighting going on within me. - -Something was saying: “Oh, eat it, eat it. What do you care? It won’t -kill you. It may not even make you sick. It is good. Eat it.” - -And something else, something gentle, insistent, steady, kept saying -over and over in exactly the same tone, and so that I did not know -whether the warning came from within or without:-- - -“It must not be eaten. It must not be eaten. It must not be eaten.” - -But after a little, as I ate, this voice ceased. - -Nobody knew that I had eaten the forbidden bear and strawberry. -Grandmother Beers squeezed my hand just the same. Mother was as tender -as always. And Father--his kind eyes and some little jest with me were -almost more than I could bear. I remember spending the evening near -them, with something sore about the whole time. From the moment that it -began to get dark the presence of bear and strawberry came and fastened -themselves upon me, so that I delayed bed-going even more than usual, -and interminably prolonged undressing. - -Then there came the moment when Mother sat beside me. - -“Don’t ask God for anything,” she always said to me. “Just shut -your eyes and think of his lovingness being here, close, close, -close--breathing with you like your breath. Don’t ask him for anything.” - -But that night I scrambled into bed. - -“Not to-night, Mother,” I said. - -She never said anything when I said that. She kissed me and went away. - -_Then!_ - -There I was, face to face with it at last. What was it that had told me -to eat the bear and the strawberry? What was it that had told me that -these must not be eaten? What had made me obey one and not the other? -Who was it that spoke to me like that? - -I shut my eyes and thought of the voice that had told me to eat, and it -felt like the sore feeling in me and like the lump in my throat, and -like unhappiness. - -I thought of the other gentle voice that had spoken and had kept -speaking and at last had gone away--and suddenly, with my eyes shut, I -was thinking of something like lovingness, close, close, breathing with -me like my breath. - -So now I have made a story for that night. It is late, I know. But -perhaps it is not too late. - - * * * * * - -Once upon a time a beautiful present was given to a little boy named -Hazen. It was not a tent or a launch or a tree-top house or a pretend -aeroplane, but it was a little glass casket. And it was the most -wonderful little casket of all the kinds of caskets that there are. - -For in the casket was a little live thing, somewhat like a fairy and -somewhat like a spirit, and so beautiful that everyone wanted one too. - -Now the little fairy (that was like a spirit) was held fast in the -casket, which was tightly sealed. And when the casket was given to -Hazen, the Giver said:-- - -“Hazen dear, until you get that little spirit free, you cannot be wise -or really good or loved or beautiful. But after you get her free you -shall be all four. And nobody can free her but you yourself, though you -may ask anybody and everybody to tell you how.” - -Now Hazen’s father was a king. And it chanced that while Hazen was yet -a little boy, the king of a neighbour country came and took Hazen’s -father’s kingdom, and killed all the court--for that was the way -neighbour countries did in those days, not knowing that neighbours are -nearly one’s own family. They took little Hazen prisoner and carried -him to the conquering king’s court, and they did it in such a hurry -that he had not time to take anything with him. All his belongings--his -tops, his football, his books, and his bank, had to be left behind, -and among the things that were left was Hazen’s little glass casket, -forgotten on a closet shelf, upstairs in the castle. And the castle -was shut up and left as it was, because the conquering king thought -that maybe he might like sometime to give to his little daughter, -the Princess Vista, this castle, which stood on the very summit of a -sovereign mountain and commanded a great deal of the world. - -In the court of the conquering king poor little Hazen grew up, and he -was not wise or _really_ good or loved or beautiful, and he forgot -about the casket or thought of it only as a dream, and he did not know -that he was a prince. He was a poor little furnace boy and kitchen-fire -builder in the king’s palace, and he slept in the basement and did -nothing from morning till night but attend to drafts and dampers. He -did not see the king at all, and he had never even caught a glimpse of -the king’s little daughter, the Princess Vista. - - * * * * * - -One morning before daylight Hazen was awakened by the alarm-in-a-basin -at the head of his cot--for he was always so tired that just an alarm -never wakened him at all, but set in a brazen basin an alarm would -waken _anybody_. He dressed and hurried through the long, dim passages -that led to the kitchens, and there he kindled the fires and tended the -drafts and shovelled the coal that should cook the king’s breakfast. - -Suddenly a Thought spoke to him. It said:-- - -“Hazen, you are not wise, or _really_ good, or loved, or beautiful. Why -don’t you become so?” - -“I,” Hazen thought back sadly, “_I_ become these things? Impossible!” -and he went on shovelling coal. - -But still the Thought spoke to him, and said the same thing over and -over so many times that at last he was obliged to listen and even to -answer. - -“What would I do to be like that?” he asked almost impatiently. - -“First go up in the king’s library,” said the Thought. - -So when the fires were roaring and the dampers were right, Hazen went -softly up the stair and through the quiet lower rooms of the palace, -for it was very early in the morning, and no one was stirring. Hazen -had been so seldom above stairs that he did not even know where the -library was and by mistake he opened successively the doors to the -great banquet room, the state drawing rooms, a morning room, and even -the king’s audience chamber before at last he chanced on the door of -the library. - -The king’s library was a room as wide as a lawn and as high as a tree, -and it was filled with books, and the shelves were thrown out to make -alcoves, so that the books were as thick as leaves on branches, and the -whole room was pleasant, like something good to do. It was impossible -for little Hazen, furnace boy though he was, to be in that great place -of books without taking one down. So he took at random a big leather -book with a picture on the cover, and he went toward a deep window-seat. - -Nothing could have exceeded his surprise and terror when he perceived -the window-seat to be occupied. And nothing could have exceeded his -wonder and delight when he saw who occupied it. She was a little girl -of barely his own age, and her lovely waving hair fell over her soft -blue gown from which her little blue slippers were peeping. She, too, -had a great book in her arms, and over the top of this she was looking -straight at Hazen in extreme disapproval. - -“Will you have the goodness,” she said--speaking very slowly and most -_freezing_ cold--“to ’splain what you are doing in my father’s library?” - -At these words Hazen’s little knees should have shaken, for he -understood that this was the Princess Vista herself. But instead, he -was so possessed by the beauty and charm of the little princess that -there was no room for fear. Though he had never in his life been taught -to bow, yet the blood of his father the king, and of _his_ father the -king, and of _his_ father the king, and so on, over and over, stirred -in him and he bowed like the prince he was-but-didn’t-know-it. - -“Oh, princess,” he said, “I want to be wise and _really_ good and loved -and beautiful, and I have come to the king’s library to find out how to -do it.” - -“Who are you, that want so many ’surd things?” asked the princess, -curiously. - -“I am the furnace boy,” said the poor prince, “and my other name is -Hazen.” - -At this the princess laughed aloud--for when he had bowed she had -fancied that he might be at least the servant to some nobleman at the -court, too poor to keep his foot-page in livery. - -“The furnace boy indeed!” she cried. “And handling my father’s books. -If you had what you ’serve, you’d be put in pwison.” - -At that Hazen bowed again very sadly, and was about to put back his -book when footsteps sounded in the hall, and nursery governesses and -chamberlains and foot-pages and lackeys and many whose names are as -dust came running down the stairs, all looking for the princess. And -the princess, who was not frightened, was suddenly sorry for little -Hazen, who was. - -“Listen,” she said, “you bow so nicely that you may hide in that alcove -and I will not tell them that you are there. But don’t you come here -to-morrow morning when I come to read my book, or I can’t tell _what_ -will happen.” - -Hazen had just time to slip in the alcove when all the nursery -governesses, chamberlains, foot-pages, and those whose names are as -dust burst in the room. - -“I was just coming,” said the princess, haughtily. - -But when she was gone, Hazen, in his safe alcove, did not once look at -his big leather book. He did not even open it. Instead he sat staring -at the floor, and thinking and thinking and thinking of the princess. -And it was as if his mind were opened, and as if all the princess -thoughts in the world were running in, one after another. - -Presently, when it was time for the palace to be awake, he stirred -and rose and returned the book to its place, and in the midst of his -princess thoughts he found himself face to face with a great mirror. -And there he saw that, not only was he not beautiful, but that his -cheek and his clothes were all blackened from the coal. And then he -thought that he would die of shame; first, because the princess had -seen him looking so, and second, because he looked so, whether she had -seen him or not. - -He went back to the palace kitchen, and waited only to turn off the -biggest drafts and the longest dampers before he began to wash his -face and give dainty care to his hands. In fact, he did this all day -long and sat up half the night trying to think how he could be as -exquisitely neat as the little princess. And at last when daylight came -and he had put coal in the kitchen ranges and had left the drafts right -and had taken another bath after, he dressed himself in his poor best -which he had most carefully brushed, and he ran straight back up the -stair and into the king’s library. - -The Princess Vista was not there. But it was very, very early this time -and the sun was still playing about outside, and so he set himself to -wait, looking up at the window-seat where he had first seen her. As -soon as the sun began to slant in the latticed windows in earnest, the -door opened and the princess entered, her waving hair falling on her -blue gown, and the little blue slippers peeping. - -When she saw Hazen, she stood still and spoke most _freezing_ cold. - -“Didn’t I tell you on no ’count to come here this morning?” she wished -to know. - -Generations of kings for ages back bowed in a body in little Hazen. - -“Did your Highness not know that I would come?” he asked simply. - -“Yes,” said the princess to that, and sat down on the window-seat. “I -will punish you,” said she, “but you bow so nicely that I will help you -first. Why do you wish to be wise?” - -“I thought that I had another reason,” said Hazen, “but it is because -you are wise.” - -“I’m not so very wise,” said the princess, modestly. “But I could make -you as wise as I am,” she suggested graciously. “What do you want to -know?” - -There was so much that he wanted to know! Down in the dark furnace room -he had been forever wondering about the fires that he kindled, about -the light that he did not have, about everything. He threw out his arms. - -“I want to know about the whole world!” he cried. - -The princess considered. - -“Perhaps they haven’t teached me everything yet,” she said. “What do -you want to know about the world?” - -Hazen looked out the window and across the palace garden, lying all -golden-green in the slow opening light, with fountains and flowers and -parks and goldfish everywhere. - -“What makes it get day?” he asked. For since he had been a furnace boy, -Hazen had been taught nothing at all. - -“Why, the sun comes,” answered the princess. - -“Is it the same sun every day?” Hazen asked. - -“I don’t think so,” said the princess. “No--sometimes it is a red sun. -Sometimes it is a hot sun. Sometimes it is big, big, when it goes -down. Oh, no. I am quite sure a different sun comes up every day.” - -“Where do they get ’em all?” Hazen asked wonderingly. - -“Well,” the princess said thoughtfully, “suns must be like cwort (she -never could say “court”) processions. I think they always have them -ready somewheres. What else do you want to know about?” - -“About the Spring,” said Hazen. “Where does that come from? Where do -they get it?” - -“They never teached me that,” said the princess, “but _I_ think Summer -is the mother, and Winter the father, and Autumn is the noisy little -boy, and Spring is the little girl, with violets on.” - -“Of course,” cried Hazen, joyfully. “I never thought of that. Why can’t -they talk?” he asked. - -“They ’most can,” said the princess. “Some day maybe I can teach you -what they say. What else do you want to know?” - -“About people,” said Hazen. “Why are some folks good and some folks -bad? Why is the king kind and the cook cross?” - -“Oh, they never teached me that!” the princess cried, impatiently. -“What a lot of things you ask!” - -“One more question, your Highness,” said Hazen, instantly. “Why are you -so beautiful?” - -The princess smiled. “Now I’ll teach you my picture-book through,” she -said. - -She opened the picture-book and showed him pictures of castles and -beasts and lawns and towers and ladies and mountains and bright birds -and pillars and cataracts and wild white horses and, last, a picture of -a prince setting forth on a quest. “Prince Living sets out to make his -fortune,” it said under the picture, and Hazen stared at it. - -“Why shouldn’t I set out to make _my_ fortune?” he cried. - -The princess laughed. - -“You are a furnace boy,” she explained. “_They_ don’t make fortunes. -Who would mind the furnace if they did?” - -Hazen sprang to his feet. - -“That can’t be the way the world is!” he cried. “Not when it’s so -pretty and all stuck full of goldfish and fountains and flowers and -parks. If I went, I _would_ make my fortune!” - -The princess crossed her little slippered feet and looked at him. And -when he met her eyes, he was ashamed of his anger, though not of his -earnestness, and he bowed again; and all the kings of all the courts of -his ancestors were in the bow. - -“After all,” said the princess, “we don’t have the furnace in Summer. -And you bow so nicely that I b’lieve I will help you to make your -fortune. _Anyhow_, I can help you to set out.” - -Hazen was in the greatest joy. The princess bade him wait where he was, -and she ran away and found somewhere a cast-off page boy’s dress and -a cap with a plume and a little silver horn and a wallet, with some -bread. These she brought to Hazen just as footsteps sounded on the -stairs, and nursery governesses and chamberlains and foot-pages and -many whose names are as dust came running pell-mell down the stairs, -all looking for the princess. - -“Hide in that alcove,” said the princess, “till I am gone. Then put on -this dress and go out at the east gate which no one can lock. And as -you go by the east wing, do not look up at my window or I will wave my -hand and somebody may see you going. Now good-bye.” - -But at that Hazen was suddenly wretched. - -“I can’t leave _you_!” he said. “How can I leave _you_?” - -“People always leave people,” said the princess, with superiority. -“Play that’s one of the things I teached you.” - -At this Hazen suddenly dropped on one knee--the kings, his fathers, -did that for him too--and kissed the princess’s little hand. And as -suddenly she wished very much that she had something to give him. - -“Here,” she said, “here’s my picture-book. Take it with you and learn -it through. _Now_ good-bye.” - -And Hazen had just time to slip in the alcove when all the n. g.’s, -c.’s, f. p.’s, and l.’s, whom there wasn’t time to spell out, as well -as all those whose names are now dust, burst in the room. - -“I was just coming,” said the princess, and went. - -Hazen dressed himself in the foot-page’s livery and fastened the -wallet at one side and the little silver horn at the other, and put on -the cap with a plume; and he stole into the king’s garden, with the -picture-book of the princess fast in his hand. - -He had not been in a garden since he had left his father’s garden, -which he could just remember, and to be outdoors now seemed as -wonderful as bathing in the ocean, or standing on a high mountain, -or seeing the dawn. He hastened along between the flowering shrubs -and hollyhocks; he heard the fountains plashing and the song-sparrows -singing and the village bells faintly sounding; he saw the goldfish and -the water-lilies gleam in the pool and the horses cantering about the -paddock. And all at once it seemed that the day was his, to do with -what he would, and he felt as if already that were a kind of fortune in -his hand. So he hurried round the east wing of the palace and looked -up eagerly toward the princess’s window. And there stood the Princess -Vista, watching, with her hair partly brushed. - -When she saw him, she leaned far out. - -“I told you not to look,” she said. “Somebody will see you going.” - -“I don’t care if anyone does,” cried Hazen. “I _had_ to!” - -“How fine you look now,” the princess could not help saying. - -“You are beautiful as the whole picture-book!” he could not help saying -back. - -“_Now_, good-bye!” she called softly, and waved her hand. - -“Good-bye--oh, good-bye!” he cried, and waved his plumed cap. - -And then he left her, looking after him with her hair partly brushed, -and he ran out the east gate which was never locked, and fared as fast -as he could along the king’s highway, in all haste to grow wise and -_really_ good and loved and beautiful. - -Hazen went a day’s journey in the dust of the highway, and toward -nightfall he came to a deep wood. To him the wood seemed like a great -hospitable house, with open doors between the trees and many rooms -through which he might wander at will, the whole fair in the light of -the setting sun. And he entered the gloom as he might have entered a -palace, expecting to meet someone. - -Immediately he was aware of an old man seated under a plane tree, and -the old man addressed him with:-- - -“Good even, little lad. Do you travel far?” - -“Not very, sir,” Hazen replied. “I am only going to find my fortune and -to become wise, _really_ good, beautiful, and loved.” - -“So!” said the old man. “Rest here a little and let us talk about it.” - -Hazen sat beside him and they talked about it. Now, I wish very much -that I might tell you all that they said, but the old man was so old -and wise that his thoughts came chiefly as pictures, or in other form -without words, so that it was not so much what he said that held his -meaning as what he made Hazen feel by merely being with him. Indeed, I -do not know whether he talked about the stars or the earth or the ways -of men, but he made little Hazen somehow know fascinating things about -them all. And when time had passed and the dusk was nearly upon them, -the old man lightly touched Hazen’s forehead:-- - -“Little lad,” he said, “have you ever looked in there?” - -“In my own head?” said Hazen, staring. - -“Even so,” said the old man. “No? But that might well be a pleasant -thing to do. Will you not do that, for a little while?” - -This was the strangest thing that ever Hazen had heard. But next -moment, under the old man’s guidance, he found himself, as it were, -turned about and seeing things that he had never seen, and looking -back into his own head as if there were a window that way. And he did -it with no great surprise, for it seemed quite natural to him, and he -wondered why he had never done it before. - -Of the actual construction of things in there Hazen was not more -conscious than he would have been of the bricks and mortar of a palace -filled with wonderful music and voices and with all sorts of surprises. -Here there were both surprises and voices. For instantly he could see -a company of little people, _every one of whom looked almost like -himself_. And it was as it is when one stands between two mirrors set -opposite, and the reflections reflect the reflections until one is -dizzy; only now it was as if all the reflections were suddenly to be -free of the mirror and be little living selves, ready to say different -things. - -One little Self had just made a small opening in things, and several -Selves were peering into it. Hazen looked too, and he saw to his -amazement that it was a kind of picture of his plans for making his -fortune. There were cities, seas, ships, men, forests, water-falls, -leaping animals, glittering things, all the adventures that he had -been imagining. And the Selves were talking it over. - -“Consider the work it will be,” one was distinctly grumbling, “before -we can get anything. _Is_ it worth it?” - -He was a discouraged, discontented-looking Self, and though he had -Hazen’s mouth, it was drooping, and though he had Hazen’s forehead, it -was frowning. - -A breezy little Self, all merry and fluffy and light as lace, -answered:-- - -“O-o-o-o!” it breathed. “I think it will be fun. That’s all I care -about it--it will be fun and _nothing else_.” - -Then a strange, fascinating Self, from whom Hazen could not easily look -away, spoke, half singing. - -“Remember the beauty that we shall see as we go--as we go,” he chanted. -“We can live for the beauty everywhere and for _nothing else_.” - -“Think of the things we shall learn!” cried another Self. -“Knowledge--knowledge all the way--and _nothing else_.” - -Then a soft voice spoke, which was sweeter than any voice that Hazen -had ever heard, and the Self to whom it belonged looked like Hazen -when he was asleep. - -“Nay,” it said sighing, “there are many dangers. But to meet dangers -bravely and to overcome them finely is the way to grow strong.” - -At this a little voice laughed and cracked as it laughed, so that it -sounded like something being broken which could never be mended. - -“Being strong and wise don’t mean making one’s fortune,” it said. “Just -one thing means fortune, and that is being rich. To be rich--rich! -That’s what we want and it is all we want. And I am ready to fight with -everyone of you to get riches.” - -Hazen looked where the voice sounded, and to his horror he saw a little -Self made in his own image, but hideously bent and distorted, so that -he knew exactly how he would look if he were a dwarf. - -“Not me!” cried the breezy little Fun Self then. “You wouldn’t fight -me!” - -“Yes, I would,” said the dwarf. “I’d fight everybody, and when we were -rich, you’d thank me for it.” - -“Ah, no,” said the Knowledge Self. “I am the only proper ruler in this -fortune affair. Knowledge is enough for us to have. Knowledge is what -we want.” - -“Beauty is all you need!” cried the fascinating Beauty Self. “I am the -one who should rule you all.” - -“Well, rich, rich, rich! Do I not say so? Will not riches bring beauty -and fun and leisure for knowledge?” said the dwarf. “Riches do it all. -Do as I say. Take me for your guide.” - -“Strength is the thing!” said a great voice, suddenly. “We want to be -big and strong and _nothing else_. I am going to rule in this.” And the -voice of the Strong Self seemed to be everywhere. - -“Not without me ... not without me!” said the Wise Self. But it spoke -faintly, and could hardly be heard in the clamour of all the others who -now all began talking at once, with the little Fun Self dancing among -them and crying, “I’m the one--you all want me to rule, _really_, but -you don’t know it.” - -And suddenly, in the midst of all this, Hazen began to see strange -little shadows appearing and lurking about, somewhat slyly, and often -running away, but always coming back. They were tiny and faintly -outlined--less like reflections in a mirror than like reflections -which had not yet found a mirror for their home. And they spoke in thin -little voices which Hazen could hear, and said:-- - -“We’ll help you, Rich! We’ll help you, Strength! We’ll help you, Fun! -Only let us be one of you and we’ll help you win, and you shall reign. -Here are Envy Self and Lying Self and Hate Self and Cruel Self--we’ll -help, if you’ll let us in!” - -And when he heard this, Hazen suddenly called out, with all his might:-- - -“Stop!” he cried, “I’m the ruler here! I’m Hazen!” - -And of course he was the ruler--because it was the inside of his own -head. - -Instantly there was complete silence there, as when a bell is suddenly -struck in the midst of whisperings. And all the Selves shrank back. - -“Hazen!” they said, “we didn’t know you were listening. You be king. -We’ll help--we’ll help.” - -“As long as I live,” said little Hazen then, “not one of you shall rule -in here without me. I shall want many of you to help me, but only as -much as I tell you to, and no more. I’m only a furnace boy, but I tell -you that I am king of the inside of my own head, and I’m going to rule -here and nobody else!” - -Then, nearer than any of the rest--and he could not tell just where it -came from, but he knew how near it was--another voice spoke to him. And -somewhat it was like the Thought that had spoken to him in the king’s -kitchen and bidden him go up to the king’s library--but yet it was -nearer than that had been. - -“Bravely done, Hazen,” it said. “Be king--be king, even as you have -said!” - -With the voice came everywhere sweet music, sounding all about Hazen -and in him and through him; and everywhere was air of dreams--he -could hardly tell whether he was watching these or was really among -them. There were sweet voices, dim figures, gestures of dancing, -soft colours, lights, wavy, wonderful lines, little stars suddenly -appearing, flowers, kindly faces, and then one face--the exquisite, -watching face of the Princess Vista at the window, with her hair partly -brushed ... and then darkness.... - -... When he woke, it was early morning. The sun was pricking through -the leaves of the forest, the birds were singing so sweetly and -swiftly that it was as if their notes overlapped and made one sound on -which everything was threaded like curious and beautiful beads on a -silver cord. The old man was gone; and before Hazen, the way, empty and -green, led on with promise of surprise. - -And now as he went forward, eating his bread and gathering berries, -Hazen had never felt so able to make his future. It was as if he were -not one boy but many boys in one, and they all ready to do his bidding. -Surely, he thought, his fortune must lie at the first turn of the path! - -But at the first turn of the path he met a little lad no older than -himself, who was drawing a handcart filled with something covered, and -he was singing merrily. - -“Hello,” said the Merry Lad. “Where are _you_ going?” - -“Nowhere in particular,” said Hazen. And though he had readily confided -to the old man what he was hoping to find, someway Hazen felt that if -he told the Merry Lad, he would laugh at him. And that no one likes, -though it is never a thing to fear. - -“Come on with me,” said the Merry Lad. “I am going in the town to sell -my images. There will be great sport.” - -And, without stopping to think whether his fortune lay that way, Hazen, -whose blood leapt at the idea of the town and its sports, turned and -went with him. - -The Merry Lad was very merry. He told Hazen more games and riddles -than ever he had heard. He sang him songs, did little dances for him -in the open glades, raced with him, and when they reached the dusty -highway, got him in happy talk with the other wayfarers. And by the -time they gained the town, they were a gay little company. There the -Merry Lad took his images to the market-place and spread them under a -tree--little figures made to represent Mirth, Merriment, Laughter, Fun, -Fellowship, and Delight--no end there was to the variety and charm of -the little images, and no end to all that the Merry Lad did to attract -the people to them. He sang and danced and whistled and even stood on -his head, and everyone crowded about him and was charmed. - -“Pass my cap about,” he said, while he danced, to Hazen. “They will -give us money.” - -So Hazen passed the Merry Lad’s cap, and the people gave them money. -They filled the cap, indeed, with clinking coins, and went away -carrying the images. And by nightfall the Merry Lad and Hazen had more -money than they knew how to use. - -“Oh,” the Merry Lad cried, “we shall have a glorious time. Come!” - -Now Hazen had never been in the town at night, and he had never been -in any town at any time without some of the king’s servants for whom -he had had to fetch and carry. To him the streets were strange and -wonderful, blazing with lights, filled with gayly dressed folk, and -sounding now and again to strains of music. But the Merry Lad seemed -wholly at home, and he went here and there like a painted moth, -belonging to the night and a part of it. They feasted and jested and -joyed, and most of all they spent the money that they had earned, and -they spent it on themselves. I cannot tell you the things that they -bought. They bought a wonderful, tropical, talking bird; they bought a -little pony on which they both could ride, with the bird on the pony’s -neck; they bought a tiny trick monkey and a suit of Indian clothes with -fringed leggings and head-feathers; and a music-box that played like -a whole band. And when the evening with its lights and pantomimes was -over, they pitched their tent on the edge of the town, picketed the -pony outside, brought the other things safely within, and lay down to -sleep. - -Now, since they had no pillows, Hazen took the picture-book which -the princess had given him and made his pillow of that. And as soon -as everything was quiet, and the Merry Lad and the talking bird -were asleep and the pony was dozing at its picket, the princess’s -picture-book began to talk to Hazen. I do not mean that it said -words--it is a great mistake to think that everything that is said must -be said in words--but it talked to him none the less, and better than -with words. It showed him the princess in her blue gown sitting in the -window-seat with her little blue slippers crossed. It showed him her -face as she taught him about the sun and the world, and taught him -her picture-book through. It reminded him that his page-boy’s dress -was worn because, in his heart, he was her page. It brought back the -picture of her standing at the window, with her hair partly brushed, -to wave him a good-bye--“_Now_, good-bye,” he could hear her little -voice. He remembered now that he had started out to find his fortune -and to become wise, _really_ good, loved, and beautiful. And lo, all -this that he had done all day with the Merry Lad--was it helping him to -any of these? - -As soon as he knew this, he rose softly and, emptying his pockets of -his share of the money earned that day, he laid it near the Merry Lad’s -pillow, took the picture-book, and slipped away. - -The Merry Lad did not wake, but the talking bird stirred on his perch -and called after him: “Stay where you are! Stay where you are!” And -the words seemed to echo in Hazen’s head and were repeated there as if -another voice had said them, and while he hesitated at the door of the -tent, he knew what that other voice was: It was within his head indeed, -and it was the voice of that breezy little Self, all merry and fluffy -and light as lace--the Fun Self itself! - -And then he knew that all day long that was the voice that he had been -obeying when he went with the Merry Lad, and all day long that Self had -been guiding him, and had been his ruler. And he himself had not been -king of the Selves at all! - -Hazen slipped out into the night and ran as fast as he could. Nearly -all that night he travelled without stopping, lest when day came the -Merry Lad should overtake him. And when day did come, Hazen found -himself far away, and passing the gate of a garden where, in the dawn, -a youth was walking, reading a book. Him Hazen asked if he might come -in the garden and rest for a little. - -This Bookman, who was pleasant and gentle and seemed half dreaming, -welcomed him in, and gave him fruit to eat, and Hazen fell asleep in -the arbour. When he awoke, the Bookman sat beside him, still reading, -and seeing that the boy was awake, he began reading to him. - -He read a wonderful story about the elements of which everything -in the world is made. He read that they are a great family of more -than seventy, and so magically arranged that they make a music, done -in octaves like the white keys of a piano. So that a man, if he is -skilful, can play with these octaves as he might with octaves of sound, -and with a thousand variations can make what he will, and almost play -for himself a strain of the heavenly harmony in which things began. You -see what wonderful music that would be? Hazen saw, and he could not -listen enough. - -Until dark he was in the garden, eating fruit and listening; and the -Bookman, seeing how he loved to listen, asked him if he would not stay -on in the garden, and live there awhile. And without stopping to think -whether his fortune lay that way, Hazen said that he would stay. - -Everything that the Bookman read to him was like magic, and it taught -Hazen to do wonderful things. For example, he learned marvellous ways -with sentences and with words. The Bookman showed him how to get inside -of words, as if they had doors, so that Hazen could look from out the -words that were spoken almost as if they had been little boxes, and he -inside. The Bookman showed him how to look behind the words on a page -and to see how different they seemed that way. He would say a sentence, -and instantly it would become solid, and he would set it up, and Hazen -could hang to it, or turn upon it like a turning-bar. It was all great -sport. For sentences were not the only things with which he could -juggle. He showed Hazen how to think a thing and have _that_ become -solid in the air, too. Just as one might think, “Now I will plant my -garden,” and presently there the garden is, solid; or, “Now I will get -my lesson,” and presently, sure enough, there the lesson _is_, in one’s -head, _so_ the Bookman taught Hazen to do with nearly all his thoughts, -making many and many of them into actions or else into a solid, so that -it could be handled as a garden can. - -And at last, one night, Hazen thought of the Princess Vista, hoping -that that thought would become solid too, and that the princess would -be there before him, for he wished very much to see her. But it did not -do so, and he asked the Bookman the reason. - -“Why does not my thought about the Princess Vista become solid, and the -princess be here beside me?” he asked wistfully. - -“Some thoughts take a very long time to become solid,” said the -Bookman, gently, “and sometimes we have to travel a long way to make -them so. If you think of the princess long and hard enough, I daresay -that you will go to her some day--and there she will be, solid.” - -But of course as soon as Hazen began thinking of the princess long and -hard, he wanted, more than anything else in the world, to be doing -something that should hasten the time of seeing her, which could not -well be until he had made his fortune. So thereupon he told the Bookman -that he must be leaving the garden. - -“I knew that the day must come,” said the Bookman, sadly. “_Could_ you -not stay?” - -And when he said that, Hazen wanted so very much to stay there in the -enchantment of the place, that it seemed as if a voice in his own -head were echoing the words. And while he hesitated at the gate of -the garden, he knew what that other voice was! It was within his head -indeed, and it was the voice of that strange, fascinating Self from -which he had found that he could hardly look away--the Knowledge Self -itself. And then he knew that all this time in this garden, it was -this voice that he had been obeying and it had been guiding him. He -himself had not been king of the Selves at all. So when he knew that, -he hesitated not a moment, for he saw that although the Bookman was -far finer than the Merry Lad, still neither must be king, but only he -himself must be king. - -“Alas!” he cried, as he left the garden, “I am not nearer to making my -fortune now than I was at the beginning!” - - - - -XV - -KING (_continued_) - - -So Hazen left the garden and the gentle Bookman, who was loath to let -him go, and hurried out into the world again. - -He travelled now for many days, hearing often of far countries which -held what he sought, but never reaching any of them. Always he did what -tasks came to his hand, for this seemed a good way toward fortune. But -sometimes the Envy Self and the Discontented Self spoke loudly in his -head so that he thought that it was he himself who was speaking, and -he obeyed them, and stopped his work, and until the chance to finish -it was lost, he did not know that it was these Selves who had made -him cease his task and lose his chance and be that much farther from -fortune. For that was the way of all the Selves--they had a clever -fashion of making Hazen think that their voices were his own voice, and -sometimes he could hardly tell the difference. - -At last, one night, he came to a hill, sloping gently as if something -beautiful were overflowing. Its trees looked laid upon the mellow -west beyond. The turf was like some Titan woman’s embroidery, sheared -and flowered. Hazen looked at it all, and at the great sky and the -welcoming distance, and before he knew whether it came as a thought or -as a song, he had made a little rhyme:-- - - Do you wish you had a world of gold - With a turquoise roof on high, - And a coral east and a ruby west - And diamonds in the sky? - - Do you wish there were little doors of air - That a child might open wide, - Where were emerald chairs and a tourmaline rug - And a moonstone moon beside? - - Do you wish the lakes were silver plates - And the sea a sapphire dish? - What a wonderful, wonderful world it is-- - For haven’t you got your wish? - -He liked to sing this, and he loved the hill and the evening. He lay -there a long time, making little rhymes and loving everything. Next -day he wandered away in the woods, and asked for food at a hut, and -offered the bewildered woman a rhyme in payment, and at night he -returned to his hill, and there he lived for days, playing that he -was living all alone in the world--that there was not another person -anywhere on the earth. - -But one night when he was lying on the hillside, composing a song to -the Littlest Leaf in the Wood, suddenly the voice of his song was not -so loud as a voice within him which seemed to say how much he delighted -to be singing. And then he knew the voice--that it was the voice of the -Beauty Self in his own head, that it was that voice that had made him -linger on the hillside and had commanded him to sing about the beauty -in the world _and to do nothing else_. And all this time it had been -king of the Selves, and not he! - -He rose and fled down the hillside, and for days he wandered alone, -sick at heart because this fair Beauty Self had tricked him into -following her _and no other_, even as the Fun Self and the Knowledge -Self had done. But even while he wandered, grieving, again and again -the Idle Self, the Strong Self, the Discontented Self, deceived him -for a little while and succeeded in making their own voices heard, and -now and again the little shadowy Selves--the Malice and Cruel and Envy -Selves drew very near him and tried to speak for him. And they all -fought to keep him from being king and to deceive him into thinking -that they spoke for him. - -One brooding noonday, as Hazen was travelling, alone and tired, on the -highroad, a carriage overtook him, and the gentleman within, looking -sharply at him, ordered the carriage stopped, and asked him courteously -if he was not the poet whose songs he had sometimes heard, and of whose -knowledge and good-fellowship others had told him. It proved that it -was no other than Hazen whom he meant, and he took him with him in -his carriage to a great, wonderful house overlooking the valley, and -commanding a sovereign mountain on whose very summit stood a deserted -castle. It seemed as if merely looking on that wonderful prospect would -help one to be wise and _really_ good and beautiful and worthy to be -loved. - -At once Hazen’s host, the Gentleman of the Carriage, began showing -him his treasures and all that made life for him. The house was -filled with curious and beautiful things, pictures, ivories, marbles, -and tapestries, and with many friends. In the evenings there were -always festivities; mirth and laughter were everywhere, and Hazen -was laden with gifts of these and other things, and delighted in the -entertainment. But by day, in a high-ceiled library and a cool study, -the two spent hours pouring over letters and science, finding out -the secrets of the world, getting on the other side of words, saying -sentences, and thinking thoughts that became solid; or they would -wander on the hillsides and carry rare books and dream of the beauty in -the world and weave little songs. Now they would be idle, now absorbed -in feats of strength, and now they would descend into the town and -there delight in its great sport. And in all this Hazen had some part -and earned his own way, because of his cleverness and willingness to -enter in the life and belong to it. - -One day, standing on a balcony of the beautiful house, looking across -at the mountain and the deserted castle, Hazen said aloud:-- - -“This is the true life. This is fortune. For now I hear all the voices -of all my Selves, and I give good things to each, and I am king of -them all!” - -But even as he spoke he heard another voice sounding within his own, -and it laughed, and cracked as it laughed, so that it sounded like -something being broken that could never be mended. - -“I told you so, Hazen! I told you so!” it cried. “Being loved and -_really_ good do not mean making our fortune. Just one thing means -fortune, and that is being rich. To be rich, _rich_, means good times -and learning and beauty and idleness. I’ve fought every one of the -others, and now you’ve got all that they had to offer, because you have -let me be king--_me and no other_.” - -To his horror, Hazen recognized the voice of the dwarf, the Riches -Self, and knew that he was deceived again, that he himself was ruler of -nothing, and that the dwarf was now king of all his Selves. - -When he realized this, it seemed to Hazen that his heart was pierced -and that he could not live any longer. Suppose--ah, suppose that he did -get back to the Princess Vista now--what had he to take to her? Could -he give her himself--a Self of which not he but the dwarf was the -owner? - -Somehow, in spite of their protestations and persuadings, Hazen said -good-bye to them all, to his host and to those who had detained him, -and he was off down into the valley alone--not knowing where he was -going or what he was going to do, or what hope now remained that he -should ever be any nearer the fortune for which he had so hopefully set -out. - -It was bright moonlight when he came to the edge of a fair, green, -valley meadow. The whiteness was flooding the world, as if it would -wash away everything that had ever been and would begin it all over -again. And in the centre of the meadow, all the brightness seemed to -gather and thicken and glitter, as if something mysterious were there. -It drew Hazen to itself, as if it were so pure that it must be what -he was seeking, and he broke through the hedge and stepped among the -flowers of the lush grass, and he stood before it. - -It was a fountain of water, greater than any fountain that Hazen had -ever seen or conceived. It rose from the green in pure strands of -exquisite firmness, in almost the slim lines and spirals of a stair; -and its high, curving spray and its plash and murmur made it rather -like a gigantic white tree, with music in its boughs--the tree of life -itself. - -Hazen could no more have helped leaping in the fountain than he could -have helped his joy in its beauty. He sprang in the soft waters as -if he were springing into arms, and it drew him to itself as if he -belonged to it. The waters flowed over him, and he felt purified, and -as if a healing light had shone through him, body and mind. - -But to his amazement, he did not remain in the fountain’s basin. -Gently, as if he were upborne by unseen hands, he mounted with the rise -of the fountain, in its slim lines and spirals, until he found himself -high above the meadow in a silvery tower that was thrown out from the -fountain itself. And there, alone in that lofty silence, it was as if -he were face to face with himself and could see his own heart. - -Then the Thought spoke to him which had spoken to him long ago that -morning in the king’s kitchen, and again on that first night in the -wood. - -“Hazen!” it said, “you are not wise or _really_ good or loved or -beautiful. Why don’t you become so?” - -“I!” said Hazen, sadly. “I have lost my chance. I came out to find my -fortune and I have thrown it away.” - -But still the Thought spoke to him, and said the same thing over and -over so many times that at last he answered:-- - -“What, then, must I do?” he asked. - -And then he listened, there in the night and the stillness, to hear -what it was that he must do. And this was the first time that ever he -had listened like this, or questioned carefully his course. Always -before he had done what seemed to him the thing that he wished to do, -without questioning whether his fortune lay that way. - -“Bravely spoken, Hazen,” said the Thought, then. “Someone near is in -great need. Find him and help him.” - -Instantly Hazen leaped lightly to the ground, and ran away through -the moonlit meadow, and he sought as never in his life had he sought -anything before, for the one near, in great need, whom he was to find -and help. All through the night he sought, and with the setting of -the moon he was struggling up the mountain, because it seemed to him -that he must do some hard thing, and this was hard. In the early dawn -he stood on the mountain’s very summit, and knocked at the gate of the -deserted castle there. And it was the forsaken castle of his father, -the king, whom the Princess Vista’s father had conquered; but this -Hazen did not know. - -No sound answered his summons, so he swung the heavy gate on its broken -hinges and stepped within. The court yard was vacant and echoing and -grass-grown. Rabbits scuttled away at his approach, and about the -sightless eyes of the windows, bats were clinging and moving. The clock -in the tower was still and pointed to an hour long-spent. The whole -place breathed of things forgotten and of those who, having loved them, -were forgotten too. - -Hazen mounted the broad, mossy steps leading to the portals, and he -found one door slightly ajar. Wondering greatly, he touched it open, -and the groined hall appeared like a grim face from behind a mask. -On the stone floor, not far beyond the threshold, lay an old man, -motionless. And when, uttering a little cry of pity and amazement, -Hazen stooped over him, he knew him at once to be that old man who had -greeted him at the entrance to the wood on the evening of the day on -which he himself had left the king’s palace. - -What with bringing him water and bathing his face and chafing his -hands, Hazen at last enabled the old man to speak, and found that he -had been nearly all his life-time the keeper of the castle and for -some years its only occupant. He was not ill, but he had fallen and -was hurt, and he had lain for several days without food. So Hazen, who -knew well how to do it, kindled a fire of fagots in the great, echoing -castle kitchen, and, from the scanty store which he found there, -prepared broth and eggs, and then helped the old man to his bed in the -little room which had once been a king’s cabinet. - -“Lad, lad!” said the old man, when he had remembered Hazen. “And -have you found your fortune? And are you by now wise, _really_ good, -beautiful, and loved?” - -“Alas!” said Hazen, only, and could say no more. - -The old man nodded. “I know, I know,” he said sadly. “The little -Selves have been about, ruling here and ruling there. Is it not so? Sit -here a little, and let us talk about it.” - -Then Hazen told him all that had befallen since that night when they -sat together in the wood. And though his adventures seemed to Hazen -very wonderful, the old man merely nodded, as if he were not hearing -but only remembering. - -“Ay,” he said, at the last, “I have met them all--the Merry Lad, the -Bookman, and all the rest, and have dwelt a space with some. And I, -too, have come to the fountain in the night, and have asked what it was -that I should do.” - -“But tell me, sir,” said Hazen, eagerly, “how was it that I was told at -the fountain that there was one near in great need. Did the fountain -know you? Or did my Thought? And how could that be?” - -“Nay, lad,” said the old man, “but always, for everyone, there is -someone near in need--yet. One has only to look.” - -Then he talked to Hazen more about his fortune, and again the old man’s -meaning was in his mere presence, so that whether he talked about the -stars or the earth or the ways of men, he made Hazen know fascinating -things about them all. And now Hazen listened far differently from the -way that he had listened that other time when they had talked, and it -was as if the words had grown, and as if they meant more than once they -had meant. - -Now, whoever has stood for the first time in a great, empty castle -knows that there is one thing that he longs to do above all other -things, and this is to explore. And when the afternoon lay brooding -upon the air, and slanting sun fell through the dusty lattices, Hazen -asked the old man eagerly if he might wander through the rooms. - -“As freely,” answered the old man, willingly, “as if you were the -castle’s prince.” - -Thus it chanced that, after all the years, Hazen, though he was far -from dreaming the truth, was once more roaming through the rooms of his -birthplace and treading the floors that had once echoed the step of his -father, the king. - -It was a wonderful place, the like of which Hazen thought he had never -seen before, save only in the palace of the father of the princess. -Above stairs the rooms had hardly been disturbed since that old day of -the hurried flight of all his father’s court. There was a great room -of books, as rich in precious volumes as the king’s library which he -already knew, and there, though this he could not guess, his own father -had been wont to sit late in the night, consulting learned writers and -dreaming of the future of his little son. There was the chapel, where -they had brought Hazen himself to be christened, in the presence of all -the court; there the long banqueting room to which he had once been -carried so that the nobles might pledge him their fealty, the arched -roof echoing their shouts. The throne room, the council room, the state -drawing rooms--through all these, with their dim, dusty hangings and -rich, faded furnishings, Hazen footed; and at last, up another stair, -he came to the private apartments of the king and queen themselves. - -Breathing the life of another time the rooms lay, as if partly -remembering and partly expecting. In the king’s room was the hunting -suit that he had thrown off just before the attack, the book that he -had been reading, the chart that he had consulted. In the queen’s -room were tarnished golden toilet articles and ornaments, and in her -wardrobe her very robes hung, dusty and mouldering, the gold thread and -gold fringes showing black and sad. - -And then Hazen entered a room which seemed to have been a child’s -room--and it was his room, of his first babyhood. Something in him -stirred and kindled, almost as if his body remembered, though his mind -could not do so. Toys lay scattered about--tops, a football, books, and -a bank. The pillow of the small white bed was indented as if from the -pressure of a little head, and a pair of tiny shoes, one upright, one -overturned, were on the floor. Hazen picked up one little shoe and held -it for a minute in his hand. He wondered if some of the little garments -of the child, whoever he was, might not be in the hanging room. And he -opened the closed door. - -The door led to a closet and, as he had guessed, little garments were -hanging there. But it was not these that caught his eye and held him -breathless and spellbound on the threshold. On the high shelf of the -closet stood a small glass casket. And in the casket was a little bit -of live thing that fluttered piteously, as if begging to be released, -and frantic with joy at the coming of light from without. - -Hazen’s heart beat as he took the casket in his hand. It was the most -wonderful little box that ever he had seen. And the little living thing -was something like a fairy and something like a spirit and so beautiful -that it seemed to Hazen that he must have it for his own. Something -stirred and kindled in his mind so that it was almost a memory, and he -said to himself:-- - -“I have seen a casket like this. I have _had_ a casket like this. Nay, -but the very earliest thing that ever I can remember is a casket like -this from which no one knew how to release this little living spirit.” - -For the little spirit was fast in the crystal prison, and if one broke -the casket, one would almost certainly harm the spirit--but what other -way was there to do? - -With the casket in his hand and the little spirit fluttering within, -Hazen ran back below stairs to the old man. - -“Look!” Hazen cried. “This casket! It is from the closet shelf of some -child’s room. I remember a casket such as this, and within it a little -living spirit. I have _had_ a casket such as this! What does it mean?” - -Then the old man, who had been keeper there when the castle was taken, -trembled and peered into Hazen’s face. - -“Who are you?” the old man cried. “Who are you--and what is your name?” - -“Alas,” said Hazen, sadly, “I was but the furnace boy to the king of a -neighbouring country, and who I am I do not know. But as for my name, -that is Hazen, and I know not what else.” - -Then the old man cried out, and tried to bow himself, and to kiss -Hazen’s hand. - -“Prince Hazen!” cried he. “You are no other. Ah, God be praised. You -are the son of my own beloved king.” - -As well as he could for his joy and agitation, the old man told Hazen -everything: how the castle had been taken by that king of a neighbour -country--who did _not_ know that neighbours are nearly one’s own -family--how Hazen had been made prisoner, and how he was really heir -to this kingdom and to all its ample lands. And how the magic casket, -which after all these years the old man now remembered, was to make -Hazen, and no other, wise and _really_ good and loved and beautiful, -if only the little spirit could be freed. - -“But how am I to do that?” Hazen cried. “For to break the casket would -be to harm the spirit. And what other way is there to do?” - -“Alas,” answered the old man, “that I do not know. I think that this -you must do alone. As for me, my life is almost spent. And now that I -have seen you, my prince, the son of my dear sovereign, there is left -to me but to die in peace.” - -At this, Hazen, remembering how much he owed the wonderful old man for -that enchanted talk in the wood, when he had taught him fascinating -things about the stars and the earth and the ways of men, and had shown -him the inside of his own head and all those Selves of his and he their -king if he would be so--remembering all these things Hazen longed to do -something for him in return. But what could he do for him, he the heir -of a conquered kingdom and a desolate palace? Yet the old man had been -his father’s servant; and it was he whom the Thought at the fountain -had bidden him to help; but chiefly Hazen’s heart overflowed with -simple pity and tenderness for the helpless one. And in that pity the -Thought spoke again:-- - -“Give him the casket,” it said. - -Hazen hesitated--and in an instant his head was a chaos of voices. It -was as if all the little Selves, even those which had now long been -silent, were listening, were suddenly fighting among themselves in open -combat to see what they could make Hazen do. - -“That beautiful thing!” cried the Beauty Self. “Keep it--keep it, -Hazen!” - -“You will never have another chance at a fortune if you give it up!” -cried the Discontented Self. - -“If you throw away your chance at a fortune, your life will be a life -of hard work--and where will your good time come in?” cried the little -Fun Self, anxiously. - -“You will have only labour and no leisure for learning--” warned the -Knowledge Self. - -“What of the Princess Vista? Do you not owe it to her to keep the -casket? And is it not _right_ that you should keep the casket and grow -wise and _really_ good and loved and beautiful?” they all argued in -turn. And above them all sounded the terrible, cracked voice of the -dwarf, not laughing now, but fighting for his life:-- - -“Fool! Nothing counts but your chance at fortune. If you part with the -casket, you part with _me!_” - -But sweet and clear through the clamour sounded the solemn insisting of -the Thought:-- - -“Give him the casket--give him the casket, Hazen.” - -Quickly Hazen knelt beside the old man, and placed the magic casket in -his hands. - -“Lo,” said Prince Hazen, “I have nothing to give you, save only this. -But it may be that we can yet find some way to release the spirit and -that then you can have the good fortune that this will give. Take the -casket--it is yours.” - -In an instant, and noiselessly, the magic casket fell in pieces in -Hazen’s hands, and vanished. And with a soft sound of escaping wings -the little spirit rose joyously and fluttered toward Hazen, and -alighted on his breast. There were sudden sweetness and light in all -the place, and a happiness that bewildered Hazen--and when he looked -again, the little spirit had disappeared--but his own breast was filled -with something new and marvellous, as if strange doors to himself had -opened, and as if the spirit had found lodging there forever. - -In the clear silence following upon the babel of the little voices -of all the mean and petty Selves, Hazen was aware of a voice echoing -within him like music; and he knew the Thought now better than he knew -himself, who had so many Selves, and he knew that when it spoke to him -softly, softly, he would always hear. - -“If you had kept the magic casket for yourself,” it said, “the spirit -would have drooped and died. _It was only by giving the casket away -that the spirit could ever be free._ It was only when the spirit became -yours that you could hope to be wise and good and beautiful and worthy -to be loved. And now where is the Princess Vista’s picture-book?” - -All this time Hazen had not lost the picture-book of the princess, -and now it was lying on the floor near where he was that night -to have slept. He caught it up and turned the pages, and the old -familiar pictures which the princess had shown him that morning in the -window-seat made him long, as he had not longed since he had left the -palace, to see her again. - -He turned to the old man. - -“There is a certain princess--” he began. - -“Ay,” said the old man, gently, “so there is always, my prince. Go to -her.” - -The mere exquisite presence of that spirit in the room seemed to have -healed and invigorated the old man, and he had risen to his feet, -clothed with a new strength. He set about searching in the king’s -wardrobe for suitable garments for his young prince, and in a cedar -chest he found vestments of somewhat ancient pattern, but of so rich -material and so delicately made that the ancient style did but add to -their beauty. - -When he had made Hazen ready, there was never a fairer prince in the -world. Then the old man led him below stairs and showed him in a -forgotten room, of which he himself only had the key, a box containing -the jewels of the queen, his mother. So, bearing these, save one with -which he purchased a horse for his needs, Prince Hazen set out for the -palace of the princess. - -It chanced that it was early morning when Prince Hazen entered the -palace grounds which he had left as a furnace boy. And you must know -that, since his leaving, years had elapsed; for though he had believed -himself to have stayed with the Merry Lad but one day, and with the -Bookman but a few days, and but a little time on the hills singing -songs, and in byways listening to the voices of Idleness, Strength, and -the rest, and lingering in that fair home where the Dwarf had sent him, -yet in reality with each one he had spent a year and more, so that now -he was like someone else. - -But the princess’s father’s palace garden was just the same, and Hazen -entered by the east gate, which still no one could lock; and to be back -within the garden was as wonderful as bathing in the ocean or standing -on a high mountain or seeing the dawn. His horse bore him along between -the flowering shrubs and the hollyhocks; he heard the fountains -plashing and the song-sparrows singing and the village bells faintly -sounding; he saw the goldfish and the water-lilies gleam in the pool, -and the horses cantering about the paddock. And all at once it seemed -to him that the day was his and the world was his, to do with them what -he would. - -So he galloped round the east wing of the palace, and looked up -eagerly and longingly toward the princess’s window. And there stood the -Princess Vista, watching. But when she saw him, she drew far back as if -she were afraid. And Prince Hazen, as he bowed low in his saddle, could -think of no word to say to her that seemed a word to be said. He could -only cry up to her:-- - -“Oh, Princess Vista. Come down! Come down! Come down--and teach me -about the whole world.” - -He galloped straight to the great entrance way, and leaped from his -horse, and no one questioned him, for they all knew by his look that he -came with great authority. And he went to the king’s library, to that -room which was as wide as a lawn and as high as a tree, and filled with -mystery, and waited for her, knowing that she would come. - -She entered the room almost timidly, as, once upon a time, the little -furnace boy had entered. And when she saw him waiting for her before -the window-seat, nothing could have exceeded her terror and her wonder -and her delight. And now her eyes were looking down, and she did _not_ -ask him what he was doing there. - -“Oh, Princess Vista,” he said softly, “I love you. I want to be loved!” - -“Who are you--that want so much?” the princess asked--but her eyes -knew, and her smile knew. - -“Someone who has brought back your picture-book,” said Prince Hazen. “I -pray you, teach it to me again.” - -“Nay,” said the princess, softly, “I have taught you a wrong thing. For -I have taught you that there are many suns. And instead there is only -one sun, and it brings only one day--and that day is this day!” - -It was so that she welcomed him back. - -They went to the king, her father, and told him everything. And when he -knew that his daughter loved Prince Hazen, he restored his kingdom to -him, and named him his own successor. And Hazen was crowned king, with -much magnificence, and his father’s courtiers, who were living, were -returned to his court, and that wise, wonderful old man, who had shown -him the inside of his own head, was given a place of honour near the -king. - -But on the day of the coronation, louder than the shouts of the people, -and nearer even than the voice of his queen, sounded that voice of the -wise and good Self, which was but the Thought, deep within the soul of -the king:-- - -“Hail to Hazen--King of All His Selves!” - - - - -XVI - -THE WALK - - -“What’s the latest you ever stayed up?” Delia demanded of Mary -Elizabeth and me. - -“I sat up till ten o’clock once when my aunt was coming,” I boasted. - -“Once I was on a train that got in at twelve o’clock,” said Mary -Elizabeth, thoughtfully, “but I was asleep till the train got in. Would -you call that sitting up till twelve o’clock?” - -On the whole, Delia and I decided that you could not impartially call -it so, and Mary Elizabeth conceded the point. Her next best experience -was dated at only half past nine. - -“I was up till eleven o’clock lots of times.” Delia threw out -carelessly. - -We regarded her with awe. Here was another glory for her list. Already -we knew that she had slept in a sleeping car, patted an elephant, and -swum four strokes. - -“What’s the earliest you ever got up?” Delia pursued. - -Here, too, we proved to have nothing to compete with the order of -Delia’s risings. However, this might yet be mended. There seemed never -to be the same household ban on getting up early that there was on -staying up late. - -“Let’s get up some morning before four o’clock and take a walk,” I -suggested. - -“My brother got up at half past three once,” Mary Elizabeth announced. - -“Well,” I said, “let’s get up at half past three. Let’s do it to-morrow -morning.” - -Mary Elizabeth and I had stretched a string from a little bell at -the head of her bed to a little bell at the head of my bed. This the -authorities permitted us to ring so long as there was discernible a -light, or any other fixed signal, at the two windows; and also after -seven o’clock in the morning. But of course the time when we both -longed most frantically to pull the cord was when either woke at night -and lay alone in the darkness. In the night I used to put my hand on -the string and think how, by a touch, I could waken Mary Elizabeth, -just as if she were in my room, just as if we were hand in hand. I -used to think what joy it would be if all little children on the same -side of the ocean were similarly provided, and if no one interfered. -A little code of signals arose in my mind, a kind of secret code which -should be heard by nobody save those for whom they were intended--for -sick children, for frightened children, for children just having a bad -dream, for motherless children, for cold or tired or lonely children, -for all children sleepless for any cause. I used to wish that little -signals like this could be rung for all unhappy children, night or day. -Why, with all their inventions, had not grown people invented this? Of -course they would never make things any harder for us than they could -help (we thought). But why had they not done this thing to make things -easier? - -The half past three proposal was unanimously vetoed within doors: We -might rise at five o’clock, no earlier. This somewhat took edge from -the adventure, but we accepted it as next best. Delia was to be waked -by an alarm clock. Mary Elizabeth and I felt that, by some mysterious -means, we could waken ourselves; and we two agreed to call each other, -so to say, by the bells. - -When I did waken, it was still quite dark, and when I had found light -and a clock, I saw that it was only a little after three. As I had -gone to bed at seven, I was wide awake at three; and it occurred to me -that I would stay up till time to call Mary Elizabeth. This would be -at half past four. Besides, stopping up then presented an undoubted -advantage: It enabled me to skip my bath. Clearly I could not, with -courtesy, risk rousing the household with many waters. - -I dressed in the dark, braided my own hair in the dark--by now I could -do this save that the plait, when I brought it over my shoulder, still -would assume a jog--and sat down by the open window. It was one of the -large nights ... for some nights are undeniably larger than others. -When I was on the street with my hand in a grown-up hand, the night -was invariably bounded by trees, fences, houses, lawns, horse-blocks, -and the like. But when I stepped to the door alone at night, I always -noticed that it stretched endlessly away. So it was now. I could slip -out the screen, as I had discovered earlier in the season when I had -felt the need of feeding a nest of house-wrens in the bird-house below -my sill--and I took out the screen now, and leaned out in the darkness. -The stars seemed very near--I am always glad that I did not know how -far away they are, for they looked so friendly near. If only, I used -to think, the clouds would form _behind_ the stars and leave them all -shiny and blurry bright in the rain. What were they? How came they to -be in our world’s sky? - -I suppose that I had been ten minutes at the window that morning when -I saw a light briefly flash in Mary Elizabeth’s window. Instantly, I -softly pulled my bell. She answered, and then I could see her, dim in -the window once more dark. - -“It isn’t time yet!” she called softly--our houses were very near. - -“Not yet,” I answered, “but I’m going to stay up.” - -Mary Elizabeth briefly considered this. - -“What for?” she propounded. - -I had not thought what for. - -“To--why to be up early,” I answered confidently. “I’m all dressed.” - -The defence must have carried conviction. - -“I will, too,” Mary Elizabeth concluded. - -She disappeared and, after a suitable time, reappeared at the window, -presumably fully clothed. I detached the bell from my bed and sat with -it in my hand, and I found afterward that she had done the same. From -time to time we each gave the cord a slight, ecstatic pull. The whole -mystery of the great night lay in those gentle signals. - -It is unfortunate to have to confess that, after a time, the mystery -palled. But it did. Stars, wide, dark, moonless lawn, empty street, -all these blurred and merged in a single impression. This was one of -chilliness. Even calling through the night at intervals, and at the -imminent risk of being heard, lost its charm, because after a little -while there was nothing left to call. “How still it is!” and “Nobody -but us is up in town,” and “Won’t Delia be mad?” lose their edge when -repeated for about the third time each. Moreover, I was obliged to face -a new foe: I was getting sleepy. - -Without undue disturbance of the cord, I managed to consult the clock -once more. It was five minutes of four. There remained more than an -hour to wait! It was I who capitulated. - -“Mary Elizabeth,” I said waveringly, “would you care very much if I was -to lay down just a little to rest my eyes?” - -“No, I wouldn’t care,” came with significant alacrity. “I will, too.” - -I lay down on the covers and pulled a comforter about me. As I drifted -off I remember wondering how the dark ever kept awake all night. For it -was awake. To know that one had only to listen. - -We all had a signal which we called a “trill,” made by tongue and -teeth, with almost the force of a boy and a blade of grass. This, -produced furiously beneath my window, was what wakened me. Delia stood -between the two houses, engaged with such absorption in manufacturing -this sound that she failed to see me at the window. A moment after -I had hailed her, Mary Elizabeth appeared at her window, looking -distinctly distraught. - -Seeing us fully dressed, Delia’s indignation increased. - -“Why didn’t you leave me know you were up?” she demanded shrilly. “It’s -a quarter past five. I been out here fifteen minutes.” - -We were assuring her guiltily that we would be right down when there -came an interruption. - -“_Delia!_” - -Delia’s father, in a gray bath-robe, stood at an upper window of their -house across the street. - -“What do you mean by waking up the whole neighbourhood?” he inquired, -not without reason. “Now I want you to come home.” - -“We were going walking,” Delia reminded him. - -“You are coming home at once after this proceeding,” Delia’s father -assured her. “No more words please, Delia.” - -He disappeared from the window. Delia moved reluctantly across the -street. As she went, she threw a resentful glance at Mary Elizabeth and -me, each. - -“I’m sorry, Delia!” we called softly in chorus. She made no reply. Mary -Elizabeth and I were left staring at each other down our bell-rope, -no longer taut, but limp, as we had left it earlier.... Even in that -stress, the unearthly sweetness of the morning smote me--the early sun, -the early shadows. It all looked so exactly as if it had expected you -not to be looking. This is the look of outdoors that, _now_, will most -quickly take me back. - -“It wouldn’t be fair to go walking without Delia,” said Mary Elizabeth, -abruptly and positively. - -“No,” I agreed, with equal decision. Then, “We might as well go back to -bed,” I pursued the subject further. - -“Let’s,” said Mary Elizabeth. - - - - -XVII - -THE GREAT BLACK HUSH - - -On that special night, which somehow I remember with tenderness, I -sometimes think now--all these years after--that I should like to have -been with those solitary, sleepy little figures, trying so hard to get -near to mystery. I should think that a Star Story must have come in -anybody’s head to tell them. Like this:-- - - * * * * * - -Once, when it didn’t matter to anybody whether you were late or early, -or quick or slow, not only because there wasn’t anybody and there -wasn’t any you, but because it was back in the beginning when there -were no lates and earlies and quicks and slows, _then_ things began to -happen in the middle of the Great Black Hush which was all there was to -everything. - -The Great Black Hush reached all the way around the Universe and in -directions without any names, and it was huge and humble and superior -and helpless and mighty and in other ways it was very much indeed like -a man. And as there was nothing to do, the Great Black Hush was bored -past extinction and almost to creation. For there wasn’t anything else -about save only the Wind, and the Wind would have nothing whatever to -do with him and always blew right by. - -Now, inasmuch as everything that is now was then going to be created, -it was all waiting somewhere to be created; and nothing is clearer than -that. Lines and colours and musics and tops and blocks and flame and -Noah’s arks and mechanical toys and mountains and paints and planets -and air and water and alphabets and jumping-jacks, all, all, were -waiting to be created, and among them waited people. I cannot tell you -where they waited, because there was no where; but they were waiting, -as anybody can see, for time to be begun. - -Among the people who were waiting about was one special baby, who was -just big enough to reach out after everything and to try to put it in -his mouth, and they had an awful time with him. He put his little hands -on coloured things and on flame things and on air and on water and on -musics, and he wanted to know what they all were, and he tried to put -them in his mouth. And his mother was perfectly distracted, and she -told him so, openly. - -[Illustration: “TO SEE WHAT RUNNING AWAY IS REALLY LIKE.”] - -“Special Baby,” she said to him openly, “I don’t see why every hair -in my head is not pure white. And if you don’t stop making so much -trouble, I’ll run away.” - -“Run away,” thought the Special Baby. “Now what thing is that?” - -And he stretched out his little hand to see, but there wasn’t anything -there, and he couldn’t put it in his mouth; so without letting anybody -know, he started off all by himself to see what running away is really -like. - -He ran and he ran, past lines and colours and blocks and flame and -music and paint and planets, all waiting about to begin, till he began -to notice the Great Black Hush, where it lay all humble and important, -and bored past extinction and almost to creation. - -“What thing is that?” thought the Special Baby, and put out his little -hand to get it and put it in his mouth. - -So he touched the Great Black Hush, and under the little hand the Great -Black Hush felt as never he had felt before. For the Special Baby’s -hand was soft and wandering and most clinging--any General Baby’s hand -will give you the idea if you care to try. And it made it seem as if -there were something to do. - -All through his huge, helpless, superior, and mighty being the Great -Black Hush was stirred, and when the Special Baby was frightened and -would have gone back, the Great Black Hush did the most astonishing -things to try to keep him. He plaited the darkness up like a ruffle -and waved it like a flag and opened it like a flower and shut it like -a door and poured it about like water, all to keep the Special Baby -amused. But though the Special Baby tried to put most of these and -_all_ the dark in his mouth, still on the whole he was badly frightened -and wanted his mother, and he began to cry to show how much he wanted -her. And then the Great Black Hush was at his wits’ end. - -“Now, who is there to be the mother of this Special Baby?” he cried in -despair, for there wasn’t anything else anywhere around, save only the -Wind, and the Wind always blew right by. But the blowing by must have -been because the Great Black Hush had never spoken before, for these -were the first words that ever he had said; and the Wind, on hearing -them, stopped still as a stone, and listened. - -“Would I do?” the Wind asked, and the Great Black Hush was so -astonished that he almost dropped the Special Baby. - -“Would I do?” asked the Wind again, and made the dark like blown -garments and like long, blown hair and tender motions, such as women -make. And she took the Special Baby in her arms and rocked him as -gently as boughs, so that he laughed with delight and tried to put the -wind in his mouth and finally went to sleep, with his beads on. - -“_Now_ what’ll we do?” said the Great Black Hush, hanging about, all -helpless and mighty. - -“We can get along without a cradle,” said the Wind, “because I will -rock him to sleep in my arms.” (This was before time began and before -they laid them down to go to sleep alone in a dark room.) “But we -ought, we _ought_,” she added, “to have something for him to play with -when he wakes up.” (This was before time began and before anybody ate. -But they always played. That came first.) - -“If he had something to play with, what would that look like?” asked -the Great Black Hush, all helpless. - -“It musn’t have points like scissors, or ends like string, and the -paint mustn’t come off. I think,” said the Wind, “it ought to look like -a shining ball.” - -“By my distance,” said the Great Black Hush, all mighty, “that’s what -it shall look like.” - -Then he began to make a plaything, and he worked all over him and all -over everywhere at the fashioning. I don’t know how he did it, because -I wasn’t there, and I can’t reckon how long it took him, because there -wasn’t any time, but I know some things about it all, and one is that -he finally got it done. - -“Look!” the Great Black Hush cried to the Wind,--for she paid more -attention to the Special Baby now than she did to him. And when she -looked, there hung in the sky, a great, enormous, shining ball. - -“That’s big enough so he can’t get it in his mouth,” she said -approvingly. “It’s really ginginatic.” - -“You mean gigantic, dear,” said the Great Black Hush, all superior. But -the Wind didn’t care because words hadn’t been used long enough to fit -closely, and besides he had said “dear” and she knew what _that_ meant. -“Dear” came before “gigantic.” - -“Now wake him up,” said the Great Black Hush, “to play with it.” - -But this the Wind would by no means do. She said the Special Baby must -have his sleep out or he’d be cross. And the Great Black Hush wondered -however she knew that, and he went away, all humble, and amused himself -making more playthings till the baby woke up. And all the playthings -looked like shining balls, because that was the only kind of plaything -the Wind had told him to make and he didn’t know whether anything -else would do. So he made them by the thousands and started them all -swinging because he thought the Special Baby would like them to do that. - -By-and-by--there was always by-and-by before there was any time, and -that is why so many people prefer it--when he couldn’t stay any longer, -he went back where the Wind waited, cuddling the Special Baby close. - -“Sh-h-h-h,” said the Wind, but she was too late, and the Special Baby -woke up, with wide eyes and a smile in them. - -But he wasn’t cross. For the minute he opened his eyes he saw all -the thousands of shining balls hanging in the darkness and swinging, -swinging, and he crowed with delight and stretched out his little hands -for them, but they were so big he couldn’t put them in his mouth and so -he might reach out all he pleased. - -“_Ho_,” said the Great Black Hush, “now everything is as it never was -before.” - -But the Wind sighed a little. - -“I wish everything were more so,” she said. “I ought to have a place to -take the Special Baby and make his clothes and mend his socks and tie -on his shoes and rub his little back. Also, I want to learn a lullaby, -and this is so public.” - -Then the Great Black Hush thought and thought, and remembered that away -back on the Outermost Way and beneath the Wild Wing of Things, there -was a tidy little place that might be just the thing. It was _not_ up -to date, because there wasn’t any date, but still he thought it might -be just the thing. - -“By the welkin,” he said, “I know a place that is the place. I’ll go -and sweep it out.” - -“Not so fast,” said the Wind, gently. “I go also. I want to be sure -that there are enough closets--” or whatever would have corresponded to -that before there was any Modern at all. - -So the three went away together and groped about on the Outermost Way -and beneath the Wild Wing of Things, and there the Wind swept it out -tidily and there they made their home. And when it was all done,--which -took a great while because the Wind kept wanting additions put -on,--they came out and sat at the door of the place, the Great Black -Hush and the Wind and the Special Baby between. - -And as they did that a wonderful thing was true. For now that the -Great Black Hush had withdrawn to his new home, lo, all the swinging -plaything balls were shining through space, and there was light. And -the man and the woman and the child at the door of the first home -looked in one another’s faces. And the man and the woman were afraid of -the light and their look clung each to the other’s in that fear; but -the Special Baby stretched out his little hands and tried to put the -light in his mouth. - -“Don’t, dear,” said the woman, and her voice sounded quite natural. - -“Pay attention to me and not to the Baby,” said the man, and _his_ -voice sounded quite natural, and very mighty, so that the woman -obeyed--until the Special Baby wanted her again. - -And that was when she made her lullaby, and it was the first song:-- - -WIND SONG[B] - - Horn of the morning! - And the little night pipings fail. - The day is launched like a hollow ship - With the sun for a sail. - The way is wide and blue and lone - With all its miles inviolate - Save for the swinging stars we’ve sown - And a thistle of cloud remote and blown. - Oh, I passion for something nearer than these! - How shall I know that this live thing is I - With only the morning for proof and the sky? - I long for a music more soft to its keys, - For a touch that shall teach me the new sureties. - Give me some griefs and some loyalties - And a child’s mouth on my own! - - Lullaby, lullaby, - Babe of the world, swing high, - Swing low. - I am a mother you never may know, - But oh - And oh, how long the wind will know you, - With lullabies for the dead night through. - Babe of the earth, as I blow ... - Swing high, - To touch at the sky, - And at last lie low. - Lullaby.... - -[B] Reproduced by permission of _The Craftsman_. - -But meanwhile the Special Baby’s real mother--the one who had told him -about running away--was hunting and hunting and _hunting_ for him and -going nearly distracted and expecting every hair in her head to turn -pure white. She went about among all the rest, asking and calling and -wanting to know, and finally she made up her mind that she would not -stay where she was, but that she would run away and hunt for him. And -she did. And when all the things that were waiting to be born heard -about it, there was no holding them back either. So out they came, -lines and colours and musics and tops and blocks and flame and Noah’s -arks and mechanical toys and mountains and planets and paints and air -and water and alphabets and jumping-jacks, all, all came out in the -wake of the lost Special Baby. And some came early and some came late, -some hurried and some hung back. And among all these came people, and -many and many of the to-be-born things were hidden in peoples’ hearts -and did not appear till long after; and this was true of some things -which I have not mentioned at all, and of some that have not appeared -even yet. But some people did not bring anything in their hearts, and -they merely observed that it was a shameful waste, so many shining -balls swinging about and only the Special Baby to play with them, and -_he_ evidently eternally lost. - -But the Special Baby’s real mother didn’t say a word. She only ran and -ran on, asking and calling and wanting to know. And at last she came -to the Outermost Way and near the Wild Wing of Things, and the Special -Baby heard her coming. And when he heard that, he made his choicest -coo-noise in his throat and he stretched out his arms to his real -mother that he was used to. - -And when his real mother heard the coo-noise, she brushed aside the -Wild Wing of Things and took him in her arms--and she never saw the -Wind and the Great Black Hush at all, because they are that kind. So -she carried the Special Baby off, kicking and crowing and catching at -the swinging, shining balls--but they were too big to put in his mouth -so there was no danger--and _she_ hunted up a place where she could -make his clothes and mend his socks and tie on his shoes and rub his -little back. But about them all things were going on, and everybody -else was doing the same thing, so nobody noticed. - -Then, all alone before their home on the Outermost Way and beneath the -Wild Wing of Things that was all brushed aside, the Great Black Hush -and the Wind looked at each other. And their look clung, as when they -had first found light, and they were afraid. For now all space was -glowing and shining with swinging balls, and all the things were being -born and making homes, and time was rushing by so fast that it awed -them who had never seen such a thing before. - -“_What_ have we done?” demanded the Great Black Hush. - -But the Wind was not so much concerned with that. She only grieved and -grieved for the Special Baby. And the Great Black Hush comforted her, -and I think he comforts her unto this day. - -Only at night. Then, as you know, the Great Black Hush comes from the -Outermost Way and fills the air, and with him often and often comes the -Wind. And together they wander among all the shining balls--you will -know this, if you listen, on many a night--and together they look for -the Special Baby. But _he_ has grown up, long and long ago, only he -still stretches out his hands to everything, for he is the way he was -made. - - - - -XVIII - -THE DECORATION OF INDEPENDENCE - - -That year we celebrated Fourth of July in the Wood Yard. - -The town had decided not to have a celebration, though we did not know -who had done the actual deciding, and this we used to talk about. - -“How can the _town_ decide anything?” Delia asked sceptically. “When -does it do it?” - -“Why,” said Margaret Amelia--to whom, her father being a judge, we -always turned to explain matters of state, “its principal folks say so.” - -“Who are its principal folks?” I demanded. - -“Why,” said Margaret Amelia, “I should think you could tell that. They -have the stores and offices and live in the residence part.” - -I pondered this, for most of the folk in the little town did neither of -these things. - -“Why don’t they have another Fourth of July for the rest, then,” I -suggested, “and leave them settle on their own celebration?” - -Margaret Amelia looked shocked. - -“I guess you don’t know much about the Decoration of Independence,” -said she. - -The Decoration of Independence--we all called it this--was, then, to go -by without attention because the Town said so. - -“The Town,” said Mary Elizabeth, dreamily, “the Town. It sounds like -somebody tall, very high, and pointed at the top, with the rest of her -dark and long and flowy--don’t it?” - -“City,” she and I were agreed, sounded like somebody light and sitting -down with her skirts spread out. - -“Village” sounded like a little soft hollow, not much of any colour, -with a steeple to it. - -“I like ‘Town’ best,” Mary Elizabeth said. “It sounds more like a -mother-woman. ‘City’ sounds like a lady-woman. And ‘Village’ sounds -like a grandma-woman. I like ‘Town’ best.” - -“What I want to do,” Margaret Amelia said restlessly, “is to spend -my Fourth of July dollar. I had a Fourth of July dollar ever since -Christmas. It’s no fun spending it with no folks and bands and wagons.” - -“I’ve got my birthday dollar yet,” I contributed. “If I spent it for -Fourth of July, I’d be glad of it, but if I spend it for anything else, -I’ll want it back.” - -“I had a dollar,” said Calista, gloomily, “but I used a quarter of -it up on the circus. Now I’m glad I did. I wish’t I’d stayed to the -sideshow.” - -“Stitchy Branchitt says,” Betty offered, “that the boys are all going -to Poynette and spend their money there. Poynette’s got exercises.” - -Oh, the boys would get a Fourth. Trust them. But what about us? We -could not go to Poynette. We could not rise at three A.M. and -fire off fire-crackers. No fascinating itinerant hucksters would come -the way of a town that held no celebration. We had nowhere to spend our -substance, and to do that was to us what Fourth of July implied. - -The New Boy came wandering by, eating something. Boys were always -eating something that looked better than anything we saw in the -candy-shop. Where did they get it? This that he had was soft and pink -and chewy, and it rapidly disappeared as he approached us. - -Margaret Amelia Rodman threw back her curls and flashed a sudden -radiant smile at the New Boy. She became quite another person from the -judicious, somewhat haughty creature whom we knew. - -“Let’s us get up a Fourth of July celebration,” she said. - -We held our breath. It never would have occurred to us. But now that -she suggested it, why not? - -The New Boy leaped up on a gate-post and sat looking down at us, -chewing. - -“How?” he inquired. - -“Get up a partition,” said Margaret Amelia. “Circulate it like for -take-a-walk at school or teacher’s present, and all sign.” - -“And take it to who?” asked the New Boy. - -Margaret Amelia considered. - -“My father,” she proposed. - -The scope of the idea was enormous. Her father was a judge and wore -very black clothes every day, and never spoke to any of us. Therefore -he must be a great man. Doubtless he could do anything. - -Boys, as we knew them, usually flouted everything that we -said, but--possibly because of Margaret Amelia’s manner of -presentation--this suggestion seemed to strike the New Boy favourably. -Afterward we learned that this was probably partly owing to the fact -that the fare to Poynette was going to eat distressingly into the boys’ -Fourth money, unless they walked the ten miles. - -By common consent we had Margaret Amelia and the New Boy draw up the -“partition.” But we all spent a long time on it, and at length it -read:-- - - * * * * * - - “We the Undersigned want there should be a July 4 this year. - We the Undersigned would like a big one. But if it can’t be so - very big account of no money, We the Undersigned would like one - anyway, and hereby respectfully partition about this in the - name of the Decoration of Independence.” - -There was some doubt whether or not to close this document with “Always -sincerely” but we decided to add only the names, and these we set out -to secure, the New Boy carrying one copy and Margaret Amelia another. I -remember that, to honour the occasion, she put on a pale blue crocheted -shawl of her mother’s and we all trailed in her wake, worshipfully. - -The lists grew amazingly. Long before noon we had to get new papers. By -night we had every child that we knew, save Stitchy Branchitt. He had a -railroad pass to Poynette, and he favoured the out-of-town celebration. -But the personal considerations of economic conditions were as usual -sufficient to swing the event, and the next morning I suppose that -twenty-five or thirty of us, bearing the names of three or four times -as many, marched into Judge Rodman’s office. - -On the stairs Margaret Amelia had a thought. - -“Does your father pay taxes?” she inquired of Mary Elizabeth--who was -with us, having been sent down town for starch. - -“On his watch--he used to,” said Mary Elizabeth, doubtfully. “But he -hasn’t got that any more.” - -“Well, I don’t know,” said Margaret Amelia, “whether we’d really -ought to of put down any names that their fathers don’t pay taxes. It -may make a difference. I guess you’re the only one we got that their -fathers don’t--that he ain’t--” - -I fancy that what Margaret Amelia had in mind was that Mary Elizabeth’s -father was the only one who lived meanly; for many of the others must -have gone untaxed, but they lived in trim, rented houses, and we knew -no difference. - -Mary Elizabeth was visibly disturbed. - -“I never thought of that,” she said. “Maybe I better scratch me off.” - -But there seemed to me to be something indefinably the matter with this. - -“The Fourth of July is for everybody, isn’t it?” I said. “Didn’t the -whole country think of it?” - -“I think it’s like a town though,” said Margaret Amelia. “The principal -folks decided it, I’m sure. And they _always_ pay taxes.” - -We appealed to the New Boy, as authority superior even to Margaret -Amelia. How was this--did the Decoration of Independence mean -everybody, or not? Could Mary Elizabeth sign the partition since her -father paid no taxes? - -“Well,” said the New Boy, “it _says_ everybody, don’t it? But nobody -ever gets to ride in the parade but distinguished citizens--it always -says them, you know. I s’pose maybe it meant the folks that pays the -taxes, only it didn’t like to put it in.” - -“I better take my name off,” said Mary Elizabeth, decidedly. “It might -hurt.” - -So the New Boy produced a stump of pencil, and we found the right -paper, and held it up against the wall of the stairway, and Mary -Elizabeth scratched her name off. - -“I won’t come up, then,” she whispered to me, and made her way down the -stairs, her head held very high. - -Judge Rodman was in his office--he makes, I find, my eternal picture -of “judge,” short, thick, frock-coated, bearded, bald, spectacled, -square-toed, and with his hands full of loose papers and his -watch-chain shining. - -“Bless us,” he said, too, as a judge should. - -Margaret Amelia was ahead,--still in the pale blue crocheted -shawl,--and she and the New Boy laid down the papers, and the judge -picked them up, and read. His big pink face flushed the more, and -he took off his spectacles and brushed his eyes, and he cleared his -throat, and beamed down on us, and stood nodding.... I remember that he -had an editorial in his paper the next night called “A Lesson to the -Community,” and another, later, “Out of the Mouths of Babes”--for Judge -Rodman was a very great man, and owned the newspaper and the brewery -and the principal department store, and had been to the legislature; -and his newspaper was always thick with editorials about honouring the -flag and reverencing authority and the beauties of home life--Miss -Messmore used to cut them out and read them to us at General Exercises. - -So Judge Rodman called a Town meeting in the Engine House, and we all -hung about the door downstairs, because they said that if children -went to the meeting, they would scrape their feet on the bare floor -so that nobody could hear a sound; and so we waited outside until we -heard hands clapped and the Doxology sung, and then we knew that it had -passed. - -We were having a new Court House that year, so the Court House yard -was not available for exercises: and the school grounds had been sown -with grass seed in the beginning of vacation, and the market-place was -nothing but a small vacant lot. So there was only one place to have -the exercises: the Wood Yard. And as there was very little money to -do anything with, it was voted to ask the women to take charge of the -celebration and arrange something “tasty, up-to-date, and patriotic,” -as Judge Rodman put it. They set themselves to do it. And none of -us who were the children then will ever forget that Fourth of July -celebration--yet this is not because of what the women planned, nor of -anything that the committee of which Judge Rodman was chairman thought -to do for the sake of the day. - -Our discussion of their plans was not without pessimism. - -“Of course what they get up won’t be any _real_ good,” the New Boy -advanced. “They’ll stick the school organ up on the platform, and -that sounds awful skimpy outdoors. And the church choirs’ll sing. And -somebody’ll stand up and scold and go on about nothing. But it’ll get -folks here, and balloon men, and stuff to sell, and a band; so I s’pose -we can stand the other doin’s.” - -“And there’s fireworks on the canal bank in the evening,” we reminded -him. - -Fourth of July morning began as usual before it dawned. The New Boy and -the ten of his tribe assembled at half past three on the lawn between -our house and that of the New Family, and, at a rough estimate, each -fired off the cost of his fare to Poynette and return. Mary Elizabeth -and I awoke and listened, giving occasional ecstatic pulls at our bell. -Then we rose and watched the boys go ramping on toward other fields, -and, we breathed the dim beauty of the hour, and, I think, wondered if -it knew that it was Fourth of July, and we went back to bed, conscious -that we were missing a good sixth of the day, a treasure which, as -usual, the boys were sharing. - -After her work was done, Mary Elizabeth and I took our bags of -torpedoes and popped them off on the front bricks. Delia was allowed -to have fire-crackers if she did not shoot them off by herself, and -she was ardently absorbed in them on their horse-block, with her -father. Calista had brothers, and had put her seventy-five cents in -with their money on condition that she be allowed to stay with them -through the day. Margaret Amelia and Betty always stopped at home until -annual giant crackers were fired from before their piazza, with Judge -Rodman officiating in his shirt-sleeves, and Mrs. Rodman watching in -a starched white “wrapper” on the veranda and uttering little cries, -all under the largest flag that there was in the town, floating from -the highest flagpole. Mary Elizabeth and I had glimpses of them all in -a general survey which we made, resulting in satisfactory proof that -the expected merry-go-round, the pop-corn wagon, a chocolate cart, an -ice-cream cone man, and a balloon man and woman were already posted -expectantly about. - -“If it wasn’t for them, though,” observed Mary Elizabeth to me, “the -town wouldn’t be really acting like Fourth of July, do you think so? It -just kind of lazes along, like a holiday.” - -We looked critically at the sunswept street. The general aspect of the -time was that people had seized upon it to do a little extra watering, -or some postponed weeding, or to tinker at the screens. - -“How could it act, though?” I inquired. - -“Well,” said Mary Elizabeth, “a river flows, don’t it? And I s’pose a -mountain towers. And the sea keeps a-coming in ... and they all act -like themselves. Only just a Town don’t take any notice of itself--even -on the Fourth.” - -That afternoon we were all dressed in our white dresses--“Mine used -to have a sprig in it,” said Mary Elizabeth, “but it’s so faded out -anybody’d ’most say it was white, don’t you think so?”--and we -children met at the Rodmans’--where Margaret Amelia and Betty appeared -in white embroidered dresses and blue ribbons and blue stockings, and -we marched down the hill, behind the band, to the Wood Yard. The Wood -Yard had great flags and poles set at intervals, with bunting festooned -between, and the platform was covered with bunting, and the great -open space of the yard was laid with board benches. Place in front -was reserved for us, and already the rest of the town packed the Yard -and hung about the fences. Stitchy Branchitt had given up his journey -to Poynette after all, and had established a lemonade stand at the -Wood Yard gate--“a fool thing to do,” the New Boy observed plainly. -“He knows we’ve spent all we had, and the big folks never think -your stuff’s clean.” But Stitchy was enormously enjoying himself by -deafeningly shouting:-- - -“Here’s what you get--here’s what you get--here’s what you get. -Cheap--cheap--_cheap_!” - -“Quit cheepin’ like some kind o’ bir-r-rd,” said the New Boy, out of -one corner of his mouth, as he passed him. - -Just inside the Wood Yard gate I saw, with something of a shock, Mary -Elizabeth’s father standing. He was leaning against the fence, with -his arms folded, and as he caught the look of Mary Elizabeth, who was -walking with me, he smiled, and I was further surprised to see how -kind his eyes were. They were almost like my own father’s eyes. This -seemed to me somehow a very curious thing, and I turned and looked at -Mary Elizabeth, and thought: “Why, it’s her _father_--just the same as -mine.” It surprised me, too, to see him there. When I came to think of -it, I had never before seen him where folk were. Always, unless Mary -Elizabeth were with him, he had been walking alone, or sitting down -where other people never sat. - -Judge Rodman was on the platform, and as soon as the band and the -choirs would let him--he made several false starts at rhetorical pauses -in the music--he introduced a clergyman who had always lived in the -town and who prayed for the continuance of peace and the safe conquest -of all our enemies. Then Judge Rodman himself made the address, having -generously consented to do so when it was proposed to keep the money -in the town by hiring a local speaker. He began with the Norsemen and -descended through Queen Isabella and Columbus and the Colonies, making -a détour of Sir Walter Raleigh and his cloak, Benedict Arnold, Israel -Putnam and Pocahontas, and so by way of Valley Forge and the Delaware -to Faneuil Hall and the spirit of 1776. It was a grand flight, filled -with what were afterward freely referred to as magnificent passages -about the storm, the glory of war, and the love of our fellow-men. - -(“Supposing you happen to love the enemy,” said Mary Elizabeth, -afterward. - -“Well, a pretty thing that would be to do,” said the New Boy, shocked. - -“We had it in the Sunday school lesson,” Mary Elizabeth maintained. - -“Oh, well,” said the New Boy. “I don’t mean about such things. I mean -about what you _do_.” - -But I remember that Mary Elizabeth still looked puzzled.) - -Especially was Judge Rodman’s final sentence generally repeated for -days afterward:-- - -“At Faneuil Hall,” said the judge, “the hour at last had struck. The -hands on the face of the clock stood still. ‘The force of Nature could -no further go.’ The supreme thing had been accomplished. Henceforth -we were embalmed in the everlasting and unchangeable essence of -freedom--freedom--_freedom_.” - -Indeed, he held our attention from the first, both because he did not -read what he said, and because the ice in the pitcher at his elbow had -melted before he began and did not require watching. - -Then came the moment when, having completed his address, he took up -the Decoration of Independence, to read it; and began the hunt for his -spectacles. We watched him go through his pockets, but we did so with -an interest which somewhat abated when he began the second round. - -“What _is_ the Decoration of Independence, anyhow?” I whispered to Mary -Elizabeth, our acquaintance with it having been limited to learning it -“by heart” in school. - -“Why, don’t you know?” Mary Elizabeth returned. “It’s that thing Miss -Messmore can say so fast. It’s when we was the British.” - -“Who decorated it?” I wanted to know. - -“George Washington,” replied Mary Elizabeth. - -“How?” I pressed it. “How’d he do it?” - -“I don’t know--but I think that’s what he wanted of the cherry -blossoms,” said she. - -At this point Judge Rodman gave up the search. - -“I deeply regret,” said he, “that I shall be obliged to forego my -reading of our national document which, next to the Constitution -itself, best embodies our unchanging principles.” - -And then he added something which smote the front rows suddenly -breathless:-- - -“However, it occurs to me, since this is preeminently the children’s -celebration and since I am given to understand that our public schools -now bestow due and proper attention upon the teaching of civil -government, that it will be a fitting thing, a moving thing even, to -hear these words of our great foundation spoken in childish tones. Miss -Messmore, can you, as teacher of the city schools, in the grades where -the idea of our celebration so fittingly originated, among the tender -young, can you recommend, madam, perhaps, one of your bright pupils -to repeat for us these undying utterances whose commitment has now -become, as I understand it, a part of our public school curriculum?” - -There was an instant’s pause, and then I heard Margaret Amelia Rodman’s -name spoken. Miss Messmore had uttered it. Judge Rodman was repeating -it, smiling blandly down with a pleased diffidence. - -“There can be no one more fitted to do this, Judge Rodman,” Miss -Messmore had promptly said, “than your daughter, Margaret Amelia, at -whose suggestion this celebration, indeed, has come about.” - -Poor Margaret Amelia. In spite of her embroidered gown, her blue -ribbons, and her blue stockings, I have seldom seen anyone look so -wretched as did she when they made her mount that platform. To give her -courage her father met her, and took her hand. And then, in his pride -and confidence, something else occurred to him. - -“Tell us, Margaret Amelia,” he said with a gesture infinitely paternal, -“how came the children to think of demanding of us wise-heads that we -give observance to this day which we had already voted to let slip past -unattended? What spirit moved the children to this act?” - -At first Margaret Amelia merely twisted, and fingered her sash at -the side. Margaret Amelia was always called on for visitors’ days, -and the like. She could usually command her faculties and give a -straightforward answer, not so much because of what she knew as because -of her unfailing self-confidence. Of this her father was serenely -aware; but, aware also that the situation made unusual demands, he -concluded to help her somewhat. - -“How came the children,” he encouragingly put it, “to think of making -this fine effort to save our National holiday this year?” - -Margaret Amelia straightened slightly. She faced her audience with -something of her native confidence, and told them:-- - -“Why,” she said, “we all had some Fourth of July money, and there -wasn’t going to be any way to spend it.” - -A ripple of laughter ran round, and Judge Rodman’s placid pink turned -to purple. - -“I fear,” he observed gravely, “that the immediate nature of the event -has somewhat obscured the real significance of the children’s most -superior movement. Now, my child! Miss Messmore thinks that you should -recite for us at least a portion of the Declaration of Independence. -Will you do so?” - -Margaret Amelia looked at him, down at us, away toward the waiting Wood -Yard, and then at Miss Messmore. - -“Is it that about ‘The shades of night were falling fast’?” she -demanded. - -In the roar of laughter that followed, Margaret Amelia ran down, poor -child, and sobbed on Miss Messmore’s shoulder. I never think of that -moment without something of a return of my swelling sympathy for her -who suffered this species of martyrdom, and so needlessly. I have seen, -out of schools and out of certain of our superstitions, many martyrdoms -result, but never one that has touched me more. - -I do not know whether something of this feeling was in the voice that -we next heard speaking, or whether that which animated it was only its -own bitterness. That voice sounded, clear and low-pitched, through the -time’s confusion. - -“I will read the Declaration of Independence,” it said. - -And making his way through the crowd, and mounting the platform steps, -we saw Mary Elizabeth’s father. - -Instinctively I put out my hand to her. But he was wholly himself, -and this I think that she knew from the first. He was neatly dressed, -and he laid his shabby hat on the table and picked up the book with a -tranquil air of command. I remember how frail he looked as he buttoned -his worn coat, and began to read. - -“‘We, the people of the United States--’” - -It was the first time that I had ever thought of Mary Elizabeth’s -father as to be classed with anybody. He had never had employment, he -belonged to no business, to no church, to no class of any sort. He -merely lived over across the tracks, and he went and came alone. And -here he was saying “_We_, the people of the United States,” just as if -he belonged. - -When my vague fear had subsided lest they might stop his reading -because he was not a taxpayer, I listened for the first time in my life -to what he read. To be sure, I had--more or less--learned it. Now I -listened. - -“Free and equal,” I heard him say, and I wondered what this meant. -“Free and equal.” But there were Mary Elizabeth and I, were we equal? -Perhaps, though, it didn’t mean little girls--only grown-ups. But there -were Mary Elizabeth’s father and mother, and all the other fathers -and mothers, they were grown up, and were they equal? And what were -they free from, I wondered. Perhaps, though, I didn’t know what these -words meant. “Free and equal” sounded like fairies, but folks I was -accustomed to think of as burdened, and as different from one another, -as Judge Rodman was different from Mary Elizabeth’s father. This, -however, was the first time that ever I had caught the word right: Not -Decoration, but Declaration of Independence, it seemed! - -Mary Elizabeth’s father finished, and closed the book, and stood for -a moment looking over the Wood Yard. He was very tall and pale, and -seeing him with something of dignity in his carriage I realized with -astonishment that, if he were “dressed up,” he would look just like -the men in the choir, just like the minister himself. Then suddenly -he smiled round at us all, and even broke into a moment of soft and -pleasant laughter. - -“It has been a long time,” he said, “since I have had occasion to -remember the Declaration of Independence. I am glad to have had it -called to my attention. We are in danger of forgetting about it--some -of us. May I venture to suggest that, when it is taught in the schools, -it be made quite clear to whom this document refers. And for the rest, -my friends, God bless us all--some day.” - -“Bless us,” was what Judge Rodman had said. I remember wondering if -they meant the same thing. - -He turned and went down the steps, and at the foot he staggered a -little, and I saw with something of pride that it was my father who -went to him and led him away. - -At once the band struck gayly into a patriotic air, and the people on -all the benches got to their feet, and the men took off their hats. And -above the music I heard Stitchy Branchitt beginning to shout again:-- - -“Here’s what you get--here’s what you get--here’s what you get! -Something cheap--cheap--_cheap!_” - - * * * * * - -When I came home from the fireworks with Delia’s family and Mary -Elizabeth, my father and mother were sitting on the veranda. - -“It’s we who are to blame,” I heard my father saying, “though we’re -fine at glossing it over.” - -I wondered what had happened, and I sat down on the top step and began -to untie my last torpedo from the corner of my handkerchief. Mary -Elizabeth had one left, too, and we had agreed to throw them on the -stone window-sills of our rooms as a final salute. - -“Let’s ask her now,” said father. - -Mother leaned toward me. - -“Dear,” she said, “father has been having a talk with Mary Elizabeth’s -father and mother. And--when her father isn’t here any more--which may -not be long now, we think ... would you like us to have Mary Elizabeth -come and live here?” - -“With us?” I cried. “_With us?_” - -Yes, they meant with us. - -“To work?” I demanded. - -“To be,” mother said. - -“Oh, yes, _yes!_” I welcomed it. “But her father--where will he be?” - -“In a little while now,” father said, “he will be free--and perhaps -even equal.” - -I did not understand this wholly. Besides, there was far too much to -think about. I turned toward the house of the New Family. A light -glowed in Mary Elizabeth’s room. I brought down my torpedo on the -brick walk, and it exploded merrily, and from Mary Elizabeth’s window -came an answering pop. - -“Then Mary Elizabeth will get free and equal too!” I cried joyously. - - - - -XIX - -EARTH-MOTHER - - -And for that day and that night, and for all the days and all the -nights, I should like to tell a story about the Earth, and about some -of the things that it keeps expecting. - -And if it were Sometime Far Away--say 1950--or 2050--or 3050--I should -like to meet some Children of Then, and tell them this story about Now, -and hear them all talk of what a curious place the earth must have been -long ago, and of how many things it did not yet do. - -And their Long Ago is our Now! - - * * * * * - -For ages and ages (I should say to the Children of Then) the Earth was -a great round place of land and water, with trees, fields, cities, -mountains, and the like dotted about on it in a pattern; and it spun -and spun, out in space, like an enormous engraved ball tossed up in the -air from somewhere. And many people thought that this was all there was -to know about it, and after school they shut up their geographies and -went about engraving new trees, fields, cities, and such things on the -outside of the earth. And they truly thought that this was All, and -they kept on doing it, rather tired but very independent. - -Now the Earth had a friend and companion whom nobody thought much -about. It was Earth’s Shadow, cast by the sun in the way that any other -shadow is cast, but it was such a big shadow that of course it fell -far, far out in space. And as Earth went round, naturally its Shadow -went round, and if one could have looked down, one would have seen the -Shadow sticking out and out, so that the Earth and its Shadow-handle -would have seemed almost like a huge saucepan filled with cities and -people, all being held out over the sun, to get them done. - -Among the cities was one very beautiful City. She wore robes of -green or of white, delicately embroidered with streets in a free and -exquisite pattern, and her hair was like a flowing river, and at night -she put on many glorious jewels. And she had the power to change -herself at will into a woman. This was a power, however, which she had -never yet used, and indeed she did not yet know wholly that she had -this power, but she used to dream about it, and sometimes she used to -sing about the dream, softly, to herself. Men thought that this song -was the roar of the City’s traffic, but it was not so. - -Now the Earth was most anxious for this City to become a woman because, -although the Earth whirled like an enormous engraved ball and seemed -like a saucepan held over the sun, still all the time it was really -just the Earth, and it was very human and tired and discouraged, and -it needed a woman to rest it and to sing to it and to work with it, in -her way. But there were none, because all the ordinary women were busy -with _their_ children. So the only way seemed to be for the City to be -a woman, as she knew how to be; and the Earth was most anxious to have -this happen. And it tried to see how it could bring this about. - -I think that the Earth may have asked the Moon, because she is a woman -and might be expected to know something about it. But the Moon, as -usual, was asleep on the sky, with a fine mosquito-netting of mist all -about her, and she said not a word. (If you look at the Moon, you -can see how like a beautiful, sleeping face she seems.) I think that -the Earth may have asked Mars, too, because he is so very near that -it would be only polite to consult him. But he said: “I’m only a few -million years old yet. Don’t expect me to understand either cities or -people.” And finally the Earth asked its Shadow. - -“Shadow, dear,” it said, “you are pretty deep. Can’t you tell me how to -make this City turn into a woman? For I want her to work with me, in -_her_ way.” - -The Shadow, who did nothing but run to keep up with the Earth, let a -few thousand miles sweep by, and then it said:-- - -“Really, I wouldn’t know. I’m not up on much but travel.” - -“Well,” said the Earth, “then please just ask the Uttermost Spaces. You -continually pass by that way and somebody ought to know something.” - -So the Shadow swept along the Uttermost Spaces and made an -abyss-to-abyss canvass. - -“The Uttermost Spaces want to know,” the Shadow reported next day, -“whether in all that City there is a child. They said if there is, it -could probably do what you want.” - -“A child,” said the Earth. “Well, sea caves and firmaments. Of course -there is. What do the Uttermost Spaces think I’m in the Earth business -for if it isn’t for the Children?” - -“I don’t know,” said its Shadow, rather sulkily. “I’m only telling you -what I heard. If you’re cross with me, I won’t keep up with you. I’m -about tired of it anyway.” - -“Oh, I beg your pardon,” said the Earth, “You mustn’t mind me. I’m -always a little sunstruck. A thousand thanks. Come along, do.” - -“A child,” thought the Earth, “a child. How could a child change a City -into a woman? And _what_ child?” - -But it was a very wise old Earth, and to its mind all children are -valuable. So after a time it concluded that one child in that City -would be as good as another, and perhaps any child could work the -miracle. So it said: “I choose to work the miracle that child who is -thinking about the most beautiful thing in the world.” - -Then it listened. - -Now, since the feet of people are pressed all day long to earth, it -is true that the Earth can talk with everyone and, by listening, can -know what is in each heart. When it listened this time, it chanced that -it was the middle of the night, when nearly every little child was -sleeping and dreaming. But there was one little girl lying wide awake -and staring out her bedroom window up at the stars, and as soon as the -Earth listened to her thoughts, it knew that she was the one. - -Of what do you suppose she was thinking? She was thinking of her -mother, who had died before she could remember her, and wondering -where she was; and she was picturing what her mother had looked like, -and what her mother would have said to her, and how her mother’s -arms would have felt about her, and her mother’s good-night kiss; -and she was wondering how it would be to wake in the night, a little -frightened, and turn and stretch out her arms and find her mother -breathing there beside her, ready to wake her and give her an -in-the-middle-of-the-night kiss and send her back to sleep again. And -she thought about it all so longingly that her little heart was like -nothing in the world so much as the one word “Mother.” - -“It will be you,” said the Earth. - -So the Earth spoke to its Shadow who was, of course, just then fastened -to that same side, it being night. - -“Shadow, dear,” Earth said, like a prescription, “fold closely about -her and drop out a dream or two. But do not let her forget.” - -So Shadow folded about her and dropped out a dream or two. And all -night Earth lapped her in its silences, but they did not let her -forget. And Shadow left word with Morning, telling Morning what to do, -and she kissed the little girl’s eyelids so that the first thing she -thought when she waked was how wonderful it would be to be kissed awake -by her mother. And her little heart beat _Mother_ in her breast. - -As soon as she was dressed (“Muvvers wouldn’t pinch your feet with the -button-hook, or tie your ribbon too tight, or get your laxtixs short -so’s they pull,” she thought), as soon as she was dressed, and had -pressed her feet to Earth, Earth began to talk to her. - -“Go out and find a mother,” it said to her. - -“My muvver is dead,” thought the little girl. - -Earth said: “I am covered with mothers and with those who ought to be -mothers. Go to them. Tell them you haven’t any mother. Wouldn’t one of -those be next best?” - -And the Earth said so much, and the little girl’s heart so strongly -beat _Mother_, that she could not help going to see. - -On the street she looked very little and she felt--oh, _much_ littler -than in the house with furniture. For the street seemed to be merely a -world of Skirts--skirts everywhere and also the bottoms of men’s coats -with impersonal Legs below. And these said nothing. Away up above were -Voices, talking very fast, and to one another, and entirely leaving -her out. She was out of the conversations and out of account, and it -felt far more lonely than it did with just furniture. Now and then -another child would pass who would look at her as if she really were -there; but everyone was hanging on its mother’s hand or her Skirt, or -else, if the child were alone, a Voice from ahead or behind was saying: -“Hurry, dear. Mother won’t wait. Come and see what’s in _this_ window.” -Littlegirl thought how wonderful that would be, to have somebody ahead -looking back for her, and she waited on purpose, by a hydrant, and -pretended that she was going to hear somebody saying: “_Do_ come on, -dear. Mother’ll be late for her fitting.” But nobody said anything. -Only an automobile stood close by the hydrant and in it was a little -yellow-haired girl, and just at that moment a lady came from a shop and -got in the automobile and handed the little girl a white tissue-paper -parcel and said: “Sit farther over--there’s a dear. Now, that’s for -you, but don’t open it till we get home.” _What_ was in the parcel, -Littlegirl wondered, and stood looking after the automobile until it -was lost. One little boy passed her, holding tightly to his mother’s -hand, and she stooping over him and he _crying_. Littlegirl tried to -think what could be bad enough to cry about when you had hold of your -mother’s hand and she was bending over you. A stone in your shoe? Or -a pin in your neck? Or because you’d lost your locket? But would any -of those things matter enough to cry when your mother had hold of your -hand? She looked up at the place beside her where her own mother would -be walking and tried to see where her face would be. - -And as she looked up, she saw the tops of the high buildings across -the street, and below them the windows hung thick as pictures on a -wall, and thicker. The shop doors were open like doors to wonderful, -mysterious palaces where you went in with your mother and she picked -out your dresses and said: “Wouldn’t you like this one, dear? Mother -used to have one like this when _she_ was a little girl.” And -Littlegirl saw, too, one of the side streets, and how it was all lined -with homes, whose doors were shut, like closed lips with nothing to say -to anybody save those who lived there--the children who were promised -Christmas trees--and _got_ them, too. And between shops and homes was -the world of Skirts and Voices, mothers whose little girls were at -home, daddys who would run up the front steps at night and cry: “Come -here, Puss. Did you grow any since morning?” Or, “_Where’s my son?_” -(Littlegirl knew how it went--she had heard them.) Shops and homes and -crowds--a City! A City for everybody but her. - -When the Earth--who all this time was listening--heard her think that, -it made to flow up into her little heart the longing to belong to -somebody. And Littlegirl ran straight up to a lady in blue linen, who -was passing. - -“Are you somebody’s muvver?” she asked. - -The lady looked down in the little face and stood still. - -“No,” she said soberly. - -Littlegirl slipped her hand in her white glove. - -“I aren’t anybody’s little girl,” she said. “Let’s trade each other.” - -And the Earth, who was listening, made to flow in the lady’s heart an -old longing. - -“Let’s go in here, at any rate,” said the Lady, “and talk it over.” - -So they went in a wonderful place, all made of mirrors, and jars of -bonbons, and long trays, as big as doll cradles, and filled with -bonbons too. And they sat at a cool table, under a whirry fan, and had -before them thick, foamy, frozen chocolate. And the Blue Linen Lady -said:-- - -“But whose little girl are you, really?” - -“I’m _my_ little girl, I think,” said Littlegirl. “I don’t know who -else’s.” - -“With whom do you live?” asked the Lady. - -“Some peoples,” said Littlegirl, “that’s other people’s muvvers. Don’t -let’s say about them.” - -“What shall we say about?” asked the Lady, smiling. - -“Let’s pretend you was my muvver,” said Littlegirl. - -The lady looked startled, but she nodded slowly. - -“Very well,” she said. “I’ll play that. How do you play it?” - -Littlegirl hesitated and looked down in her chocolate. - -“I don’t know berry well,” she said soberly. “_You_ say how.” - -“Well,” said the Lady, “if you were my little girl, I should probably -be saying to you, ‘Do you like this, dear? Don’t eat it fast. And take -little bits of bites.’ And you would say, ‘Yes, mother.’ And then what?” - -Littlegirl looked deep down her chocolate. She was making a cave in one -side of it, with the foamy part on top for snow. And while she looked -the snow suddenly seemed to melt and brim over, and she looked at the -lady mutely. - -“I don’t know how,” she said; “I don’t know how!” - -“Never mind!” said the Lady, very quickly and a little unsteadily, -“I’ll tell you a story instead--shall I?” - -So the Blue Linen Lady told her a really wonderful story. It was about -a dwarf who was made of gold, all but his heart, and about what a -terrible time he had trying to pretend that he was a truly, flesh and -blood person. It made him so unhappy to have to pretend all the time -that he got _scandalous_ cross to everybody, and nothing could please -him. His gold kept getting harder and harder till he could move only -with the greatest difficulty, and it looked as if his heart were going -golden too. And if it did, of course he would die. But one night, just -as the soft outside edges of his heart began to take on a shining -tinge, a little boy ran out in the road where the dwarf was passing, -and in the dark mistook him for his father, and jumped up and threw -his arms about the dwarf’s neck and hugged him. And of a sudden the -dwarf’s heart began to beat, and when he got in the house, he saw that -he wasn’t gold any more, and he wasn’t a dwarf--but he was straight -and strong and real. “And so,” the Lady ended it, “you must love every -grown-up you can, because maybe their hearts are turning into gold and -you can stop it that way.” - -“An’ must _you_ love every children?” asked Littlegirl, very low. - -“Yes,” said the Lady, “I must.” - -“An’ will you love me an’ be my muvver?” asked Littlegirl. - -The Blue Linen Lady sighed. - -“You dear little thing,” she said, “I’d love it--I’d love it. But I -truly haven’t any place for you to live--or any time to give you. -Come now--I’m going to get you some candy and take you back where you -belong--_in an automobile_. Won’t that be fun?” - -But when she turned for the candy, Littlegirl slipped out the door and -ran and ran as fast as she could. (She had thanked the lady, first -thing, for the thick, frozen, foamy chocolate, so _that_ part was -all right.) And Littlegirl went round a corner and lost herself in a -crowd--in which it is far easier to lose yourself than in the woods. -And there she was again, worse off than before, because she had felt -how it would feel to feel that she had a mother. - -The Earth--who would have shaken its head if it could without -disarranging everything on it--said things instead to its Shadow--who -was by now on the other side of the world from the City. - -“Shadow, dear,” said the Earth, “what _do_ you think of that?” - -“The very Uttermost Spaces are ashamed for her,” said the Shadow. - -But of course the Blue Linen Lady had no idea that the Earth and its -Shadow and the Uttermost Spaces had been watching to see what she did. - -Littlegirl ran on, many a weary block, and though she met -mother-looking women she dared speak to none of them for fear they -would offer to take her back in an automobile, with some candy, to the -people with whom she lived-without-belonging. And of late, these people -had said things in her presence about the many mouths to feed, and she -had heard, and had understood, and it had made her heart beat _Mother_, -as it had when she wakened that day. - -At last, when she was most particularly tired, she came to the park -where it was large and cool and woodsy and wonderful. But in the park -the un-motherness of things was worse than ever. To be sure, there -were no mothers there, only nurse-maids. But the nurse-maids and the -children and the covers-to-baby-carriages were all so ruffly or lacy -or embroidery or starchy and so white that _mother_ was written all -over them. Nobody else could have cared to have them like that. How -wonderful it would be, Littlegirl thought, to be paid attention to as -if you were a really person and not just hanging on the edges. Even -the squirrels were coaxed and beckoned. She sat down on the edge of -a bench on which an old gentleman was feeding peanuts to a squirrel -perched on his knee, and she thought it would be next best to having -a Christmas tree to be a squirrel and have somebody taking pains like -that to keep her near by. - -“Where’s your nurse, my dear?” the old gentleman asked her finally, and -she ran away so that he should not guess that she was her own little -girl and nobody else’s. - -Wherever she saw a policeman, she lingered beside a group of children -so that he would think that she belonged to them. And once, for a long -way, she trotted behind two nurses and five children, pretending that -she belonged. Once a thin, stooped youth in spectacles called her and -gave her an orange. He was sitting alone on a bench with his chin in -his chest, and he looked ill and unhappy. Littlegirl wondered if this -was because he didn’t have any mother either, and she longed to ask -him; but she was afraid he would not want to own to not having any, in -a world where nearly everyone seemed to have one. So she played through -the long hours of the morning. So, having lunched on the orange, she -played through the long hours of the afternoon. And then Dusk began to -come--and Dusk meant that Earth’s Shadow had run round again, and was -coming on the side where the City lay. - -And when the Shadow reached the park, there, on a knoll beside a -barberry bush, he found Littlegirl lying fast asleep. - -In a great flutter he questioned the Earth. - -“Listen,” said Shadow, “what _are_ you thinking of? Here is the child -who was to work the miracle and make the City turn into a woman. And -she is lying alone in the park. And I’m coming on and I’ll have to make -it all dark and frighten her. What does this mean?” - -But the Earth, who is closer to people than is its Shadow, merely -said:-- - -“Wait, Shadow. I am listening. I can hear the speeding of many feet. -And I think that the miracle has begun.” - -It was true that all through the City there was the speeding of many -feet, and on one errand. Wires and messengers were busy, automobiles -were busy, blue-coated men were busy, and all of them were doing the -same thing: Looking for Littlegirl. Busiest of all was the Blue Linen -Lady, who felt herself and nobody else responsible for Littlegirl’s -loss. - -“It is too dreadful,” she kept saying over and over, “I had her with -me. She gave me my chance, and I didn’t take it. If anything has -happened to her, I shall never forgive myself.” - -“That’s the way people always talk _afterward_,” said the Earth’s -Shadow. “Why don’t they ever talk that way before? I’d ask the -Uttermost Spaces, but I know they don’t know.” - -But the wise Earth only listened and made to flow to the Blue Linen -Lady’s heart an old longing. And when they had traced Littlegirl as far -as the park--for it seemed that many of the busy Skirts and Coats and -Voices had noticed her, only they were so very busy--the Blue Linen -Lady herself went into the park, and it was the light of her automobile -that flashed white on the glimmering frock of Littlegirl. - -Littlegirl was wakened, as never before within her memory she had been -wakened, by tender arms about her, lifting her, and soft lips kissing -her, many and many a time. And waking so, in the strange, great Dark, -with the new shapes of trees above her and tenderness wrapping her -round, and an in-the-middle-of-the-night kiss on her lips, Littlegirl -could think of but one thing that had happened:-- - -“Oh, I’m _glad_ I died--I’m _glad_ I died!” she said. - -“You haven’t died, you little thing!” cried the Blue Linen Lady. -“You’re alive--and if they’ll let you stay, you’re never going to leave -me. I’ve made up my mind to _that_. Come--come, dear.” - -Littlegirl lay quite still, too happy to speak or think. For somebody -had said “dear,” had even said “Come, dear.” And it didn’t mean a -little girl away ahead, or away back, or in an automobile. _It meant -her._ - -The Earth’s Shadow brooded over the two and helped them to be very near. - -“It’s worth keeping up with you all this time,” Shadow said to the -Earth, “to see things like this. Even the Uttermost Spaces are touched.” - -But the Earth was silent, listening. For the City, the beautiful, -green-robed City lying in her glorious night jewels, knew what was -happening too. And when the Lady lifted Littlegirl, to carry her -away, it was as if something had happened which had touched the life -of the City herself. She listened, as the Earth was listening, and the -soft crooning which men thought was the roar of her traffic was really -her song about what she heard. For the story of Littlegirl spread and -echoed, and other children’s stories like hers were in the song, and it -was one of the times when the heart of the City was stirred to a great, -new measure. At last the City understood the homelessness of children, -and their labour, and their suffering, and the waste of them; and she -brooded above them like a mother.... And suddenly she knew herself, -that she _was_ the mother of all little children, and that she must -care for them like a mother _if she was to keep herself alive_. And if -they were to grow up to be her Family, and not just her pretend family, -with nobody looking out for anybody else--as no true family would do. - -“Is it well?” asked the Shadow, softly, of the Earth. - -“It is well,” said the Earth, in deep content. “Don’t you hear the -human voices beginning to sing with her? Don’t you see the other -Cities watching? Oh, it is well indeed.” - -“I’ll go and mention it to the Uttermost Spaces,” said the Shadow. - -And, in time, so he did. - - - - -XX - -THREE TO MAKE READY - - -Red mosquito-netting, preferably from peach baskets, was best for -bottles of pink water. You soaked the netting for a time depending in -length on the shade of pink you desired--light, deep, or plain. A very -little red ink produced a beautiful red water, likewise of a superior -tint. Violet ink, diluted, remained true to type. Cold coffee gave the -browns and yellows. Green tissue paper dissolved into somewhat dull -emerald. Pure blue and orange, however, had been almost impossible to -obtain save by recourse to our paint boxes, too choice to be used in -this fashion, or to a chance artificial flower on an accessible hat--of -which we were not at all too choice, but whose utilization might be -followed, not to say attended, by consequences. - -That August afternoon we were at work on a grand scale. At the Rodmans, -who lived on the top of the hill overlooking the town and the peaceful -westward-lying valley of the river, we had chosen to set up a great -Soda Fountain, the like of which had never been. - -“It’s the kind of a fountain,” Margaret Amelia Rodman explained, “that -knights used to drink at. That kind.” - -We classified it instantly. - -“Now,” she went on, “us damsels are getting this thing up for the -knights that are tourmeying. If the king knew it, he wouldn’t leave -us do it, because he’d think it’s beneath our dignity. But he don’t -know it. He’s off. He’s to the chase. But all the king’s household is -inside the palace, and us damsels have to be secret, getting up our -preparations. Now we must divide up the--er--responsibility.” - -I listened, spellbound. - -“I thought you and Betty didn’t like to play Pretend,” I was surprised -into saying. - -“Why, we’ll pretend if there’s anything to pretend _about_ that’s -real,” said Margaret Amelia, haughtily. - -They told us where in the palace the various ingredients were likely to -be found. Red mosquito-netting, perhaps, in the cellar--at this time -of day fairly safe. Red and violet ink in the library--very dangerous -indeed at this hour. Cold coffee--almost unobtainable. Green tissue -paper, to be taken from the flower-pots in the dining-room--exceedingly -dangerous. Blue and orange, if discoverable at all, then in the -Christmas tree box in the trunk room--attended by few perils as to -meetings en route, but in respect to appropriating what was desired, by -the greatest perils of all. - -This last adventure the Rodmans themselves heroically undertook. It was -also conceded that, on their return from their quest--provided they -ever did return alive--it would be theirs to procure the necessary -cold coffee. The other adventures were distributed, and Mary Elizabeth -and I were told off together to penetrate the cellar in search of red -mosquito-netting. The bottles had already been collected, and these -little Harold Rodman was left to guard and luxuriously to fill with -water and luxuriously to empty. - -There was an outside cellar door, and it was closed. This invited -Mary Elizabeth and me to an expedition or two before we even entered. -We slid from the top to the bottom, sitting, standing, and backward. -Then, since Harold was beginning to observe us with some attention, we -lifted the ring--_the ring_--in the door and descended. - -“Aladdin immediately beheld bags of inexhaustible riches,” said Mary -Elizabeth, almost reverently. - -First, there was a long, narrow passage lined with ash barrels, a -derelict coal scuttle, starch boxes, mummies of brooms, and the like. -But at this point if we had chanced on the red mosquito-netting, we -should have felt distinctly cheated of some right. A little farther on, -however, the passage branched, and we stood in delighted uncertainty. -If the giant lived one way and the gorgon the other, which was our way? - -The way that we did choose led into a small round cellar, lighted -by a narrow, dusty window, now closed. Formless things stood -everywhere--crates, tubs, shelves whose ghostly contents were shrouded -by newspapers. It occurred to me that I had never yet told Mary -Elizabeth about our cellar. I decided to do so then and there. She -backed up against the wall to listen, manifestly so that there should -be nothing over her shoulder. - -Our cellar was a round, bricked-in place under the dining-room. -Sometimes I had been down there while they had been selecting preserves -by candle-light. And I had long ago settled that the curved walls -were set with little sealed doors behind each of which _He_ sat. -These _He’s_ were not in the least unfriendly--they merely sat there -close to the wall, square shouldered and very still, looking neither -to right nor left, waiting. Probably, I thought, it might happen -some day--whatever they waited for; and then they would all go away. -Meanwhile, there they were; and they evidently knew that I knew they -were there, but they evidently did not expect me to mention it; for -once, when I did so, they all stopped doing nothing and looked at me, -all together, as if something used their eyes for them at a signal. -It was to Mary Gilbraith that I had spoken, while she was at our -house-cleaning, and the moment I had chosen was when she was down in -the cellar without a candle and I was lying flat on the floor above -her, peering down the trap doorway. - -“Mary,” I said, “they’s a big row of _He’s_ sitting close together -inside the wall. They’ve got big foreheads. Bang on the wall and see -if they’ll answer--” for I had always longed to bang and had never -quite dared. - -“Oh, my great Scotland!” said Mary Gilbraith, and was up the ladder -in a second. That was when they looked at me, and then I knew that I -should not have spoken to her about them, and I began to see that there -are some things that must not be said. And I felt a kind of shame, too, -when Mary turned on me. “You little Miss,” she said wrathfully, “with -your big eyes. An’ myself bitin’ on my own nerves for fear of picking -up a lizard for a potato. Go play.” - -“I _was_ playing,” I tried to explain. - -“Play playthings, then, and not ha’nts,” said Mary. - -So I never said anything more to her, save about plates and fritters -and such things. - -To this recital Mary Elizabeth listened sympathetically. - -“There’s just one great big one lives down in our cellar,” she confided -in turn. “Not in the wall--but out loose. When the apples and stuff go -down there, I always think how glad he is.” - -“Are you afraid of him?” I asked. - -“Afraid!” Mary Elizabeth repeated. “Why, no. Once, when I was down -there, I tried to pretend there wasn’t anything lived there--and _then_ -it was frightening and I was scared.” - -I understood. It would indeed be a great, lonely, terrifying world if -these little friendly folk did not live in cellars, walls, attics, -stair-closets and the like. Of course they were friendly. Why should -they be otherwise? - -“R-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-t,” something went, close by Mary Elizabeth’s head. - -We looked up. The dimness of the ceiling was miles deep. We could not -see a ceiling. - -“St-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t,” it went again. And this time it did not stop, and -it began to be accompanied by a rumbling sound as from the very cave -inside the world. - -Mary Elizabeth and I took hold of hands and ran. We scrambled up the -steps and escaped to the sultry welcome of bright day. Out there -everything was as before. Little Harold was crossing the lawn carrying -a flower-pot of water which was running steadily from the hole in the -bottom. With the maternal importance of little girls, we got the jar -from him and undertook to bring him more water. And when he led us to -the source of supply, this was a faucet in the side of the house just -beyond a narrow, dusty, cellar window. When he turned the faucet, we -were, so to speak, face to face with that R-s-t-t-t-t-t. - -Mary Elizabeth and I looked at each other and looked away. Then we -looked back and braved it through. - -“Anyway,” she said, “we were afraid of a truly thing, and not of a -pretend thing.” - -There seemed to us, I recall, a certain loyalty in this as to a creed. - -Already Delia had returned from the library. The authorities refused -the ink. One might come in there and write with it, but one must -not take it from the table. Calista arrived from the dining-room. A -waiting-woman to the queen, she reported, was engaged in dusting the -sideboard and she herself had advanced no farther than the pantry door. -It remained only for Margaret Amelia and Betty to come from their -farther quest bearing a green handbill which they thought might take -the place of Calista’s quarry if she returned empty-handed; but we were -no nearer than before to blue and orange materials, or to any other. - -We took counsel and came to a certain ancient conclusion that in union -there is strength. We must, we thought we saw, act the aggressor. We -moved on the stronghold together. Armed with a spoon and two bottles, -we found a keeper of properties within who spooned us out the necessary -ink; tea was promised to take the place of coffee if we would keep out -of the house and not bother anybody any more, indefinitely; shoe-polish -was conceded in a limited quantity, briefly, and under inspection; and -we all descended into Aladdin’s cave and easily found baskets to which -red mosquito-netting was clinging in sufficient measure. Then we sat in -the shade of the side lawn and proceeded to colour many waters. - -It was a delicate task to cloud the clear liquid to this tint and that, -to watch it change expression under our hands, pale, deepen, vary to -our touch; in its heart to set jewels and to light fires. We worked -with deep deliberation, testing by old standards of taste set up by -at least two or three previous experiences, consulting one another’s -soberest judgment, occasionally inventing a new liquid. I remember that -it was on that day that we first thought of bluing. Common washing -bluing, the one substance really intended for colouring water, had so -far escaped our notice. - -“Somebody,” observed Margaret Amelia, as we worked, “ought to keep -keeping a look-out to see if they’re coming back.” - -Delia, who was our man of action, ran to the clothes-reel, which stood -on the highest land of the castle grounds, and looked away over the -valley. - -“There’s a cloud of dust on the horizon,” she reported, “but I think -it’s Mr. Wells getting home from Caledonia.” - -“Wouldn’t they blare their horns before they got here?” Mary Elizabeth -wanted to know. - -“What was a knight _for_, anyway?” Delia demanded. - -“_For?_” Margaret Amelia repeated, in a kind of personal indignation. -“Why, to--to--to right wrongs, of course.” - -Delia surveyed the surrounding scene through the diluted red ink in a -glass-stoppered bottle. - -“I guess I know that,” she said. “But I mean, what was his job?” - -We had never thought of that. Did one, then, have to have a job other -than righting wrongs? - -Margaret Amelia undertook to explain. - -“Why,” she said, “it was this way: Knights liberated damsels and razed -down strongholds and took robber chieftains and got into adventures. -And they lived off the king and off hermits.” - -“But what was the end of ’em?” Delia wanted to know. “They never -married and lived happily ever after. They married and just kept right -on going.” - -“That was on account of the Holy Grail,” said Mary Elizabeth. It -was wonderful, as I look back, to remember how her face would light -sometimes; as just then, and as when somebody came to school with the -first violets. - -“The what?” said Delia. - -“They woke up in the night sometimes,” Mary Elizabeth recited softly, -“and they saw it, in light, right there inside their dark cell. And -they looked and looked, and it was all shiny and near-to. And when -they saw it, they knew about all the principal things. And those that -never woke up and saw it, always kept trying to, because they knew they -weren’t _really_ ones till they saw. Most everybody wasn’t really, -because only a few saw it. Most of them died and never saw it at all.” - -“What did it look like?” demanded Delia. - -“Hush!” said Calista, with a shocked glance, having somewhere picked up -the impression that very sacred things, like very wicked things, must -never be mentioned. But Mary Elizabeth did not heed her. - -“It was all shining and near to,” she repeated. “It was in a great, -dark sky, with great, bright worlds falling all around it, but it was -in the centre and it didn’t fall. It was all still, and brighter than -anything; and when you saw it, you never forgot.” - -There was a moment’s pause, which Delia broke. - -“How do you know?” she demanded. - -Mary Elizabeth was clouding red mosquito-netting water by shaking soap -in it, an effect much to be desired. She went on shaking the corked -bottle, and looking away toward the sun slanting to late afternoon. - -“I don’t know how I know,” she said in manifest surprise. “But I know.” - -We sat silent for a minute. - -“Well, I’m going back to see if they’re coming home from the hunt -_now_,” said Delia, scrambling up. - -“From the _chase_,” Margaret Amelia corrected her loftily, “and from -the tourmey. I b’lieve,” she corrected herself conscientiously, “that -had ought to be tourmament.” - -This time Delia thought that she saw them coming, the king and his -knights, with pennons and plumes, just entering Conant Street down by -the Brices. As we must be ready by the time the party dismounted, there -was need for the greatest haste. But we found that the clothes-reel, -which was to be the fountain, must have a rug and should have flowing -curtains if it were to grace a castle courtyard; so, matters having -been further delayed by the discovery of Harold about to drink the -vanilla water, we concluded that we had been mistaken about the -approach of the knights; and that they were by now only on the bridge. - -A journey to the attic for the rug and curtains resulted in delays, -the sight of some cast-off garments imperatively suggesting the -fitness of our dressing for the rôle we were to assume. This took some -time and was accompanied by the selection of new names all around. -At last, however, we were back in the yard with the rugs and the -muslin curtains in place, and the array of coloured bottles set up -in rows at the top of the carpeted steps. Then we arranged ourselves -behind these delicacies, in our bravery of old veils and scarves and -tattered sequins. Harold was below, as a page, in a red sash. “A little -foot-page,” Margaret Amelia had wanted him called, but this he himself -vetoed. - -“Mine feet _big_ feet,” he defended himself. - -Then we waited. - -We waited, chatted amiably, as court ladies will. Occasionally we rose -and scanned the street, and reported that they were almost here. Then -we resumed our seats and waited. This business had distinctly palled on -us all when Delia faced it. - -“Let’s have them get here if they’re going to,” she said. - -So we sat and told each other that they were entering the yard, that -they were approaching the dais, that they were kneeling at our feet. -But it was unconvincing. None of us really wanted them to kneel or -knew what to do with them when they did kneel. The whole pretence was -lacking in action, and very pale. - -“It was lots more fun getting ready than this is,” said Calista, -somewhat brutally. - -We stared in one another’s faces, feeling guilty of a kind of -disloyalty, yet compelled to acknowledge this great truth. In our -hearts we remembered to have noticed this thing before: That getting -ready for a thing was more fun than doing that thing. - -“Why couldn’t we get a quest?” inquired Margaret Amelia. “Then it -wouldn’t have to stop. It’d last every day.” - -That was the obvious solution: We would get a quest. - -“Girls can’t quest, can they?” Betty suggested doubtfully. - -We looked in one another’s faces. Could it be true? Did the damsels sit -at home? Was it only the knights who quested? - -Delia was a free soul. Forthwith she made a precedent. - -“Well,” she said, “I don’t know whether they did quest. But they can -quest. So let’s do it.” - -The reason in this appealed to us all. Immediately we confronted the -problem: What should we quest for? - -We stared off over the valley through which the little river ran -shining and slipped beyond our horizon. - -“I wonder,” said Mary Elizabeth, “if it would be wrong to quest for the -Holy Grail _now_.” - -We stood there against the west, where bright doors seemed opening in -the pouring gold of the sun, thick with shining dust. The glory seemed -very near. Why not do something beautiful? Why not--why not.... - - - - -The following pages contain advertisements of Macmillan books by the -same author, and new fiction - - - - -_By the Same Author_ - - -Christmas - -BY ZONA GALE - -Author of “Mothers to Men,” “The Loves of Pelleas and Etarre.” -Illustrated in colors by LEON SOLON. - -_Decorated cloth, 12mo, $1.30 net; postpaid, $1.42_ - -A town in the Middle West, pinched with poverty, decides that it will -have no Christmas, as no one can afford to buy gifts. They perhaps -foolishly reckon that the heart-burnings and the disappointments of -the children will be obviated by passing the holiday season over with -no observance. How this was found to be simply and wholly impossible, -how the Christmas joys and Christmas spirit crept into the little town -and into the hearts of its most positive objectors, and how Christmas -cannot be arbitrated about, make up the basis of a more than ordinarily -appealing novel. Incidentally it is a little boy who really makes -possible a delightful outcome. A thread of romance runs through it all -with something of the meaning of Christmas for the individual human -being and for the race. - - “A fine story of Yuletide impulses in Miss Gale’s best - style.”--_N. Y. World._ - - “No living writer more thoroughly understands the true spirit - of Christmas than does Zona Gale.”--_Chicago Record-Herald._ - - “‘Christmas’ is that rare thing, a Yuletide tale, with a touch - of originality about it.”--_N. Y. Press._ - - “The book is just the thing for a gift.”--_Chicago Tribune._ - - - - -_The Other Books of Miss Gale_ - - -Mothers to Men - -_Decorated cloth, 12mo, $1.50 net; by mail, $1.62 net_ - -The author is singularly successful in detaching herself from all -the wear and tear of modern life and has produced a book filled with -sweetness, beautiful in ideas, charming in characterizations, highly -contemplative, and evidencing a philosophy of life all her own. - - “One of the most widely read of our writers of short - fiction.”--_The Bookman._ - - -Friendship Village - -_Cloth, 12mo, $1.50 net_ - - “As charming as an April day, all showers and sunshine, and sometimes - both together, so that the delighted reader hardly knows whether - laughter or tears are fittest.”--_The New York Times._ - - -The Loves of Pelleas and Etarre - -_Cloth, 12mo, $1.50 net_ - -_Macmillan Fiction Library_ - -_12mo, $.50 net_ - - “It contains the sort of message that seems to set the world right - for even the most depressed, and can be depended upon to sweeten - every moment spent over it.”--_San Francisco Chronicle._ - - -Friendship Village Love Stories - -_Decorated cloth, gilt top, 12mo, $1.50 net_ - - Miss Gale’s pleasant and highly individual outlook upon life has - never been revealed to better advantage than in these charming - stories of the heart affairs of the young people of Friendship - Village. - - - - -_New Macmillan Fiction_ - - -MRS. WATTS’S NEW NOVEL - - Van Cleve - - BY MARY S. WATTS - - Author of “Nathan Burke,” “The Legacy,” etc. - - _Cloth, 12mo._ - - Never has the author of “Nathan Burke” and “The Legacy” written - more convincingly or appealingly than in this story of modern - life. Those who have enjoyed the intense realism of Mrs. - Watts’s earlier work, the settings of which have largely been - of the past, will welcome this book of the present in which she - demonstrates that her skill is no less in handling scenes and - types of people with which we are familiar than in the so-called - “historical” novel. “Van Cleve” is about a young man who, while - still in his early twenties, is obliged to support a family of - foolish, good-hearted, ill-balanced women, and one shiftless, - pompous old man, his grandmother, aunt, cousin, and uncle. Van - Cleve proves himself equal to the obligation--and equal, too, to - many other severe tests that are put upon him by his friends. - Besides him there is one character which it is doubtful whether - the reader will ever forget--Bob. His life not only shapes Van - Cleve’s to a large extent, but that of several other people, - notably his sister, the girl whom Van Cleve loves in his patient - way. - - -The Valley of the Moon - - BY JACK LONDON - - With Frontispiece in Colors by GEORGE HARPER - - _Decorated cloth, 12mo, $1.35 net_ - - A love story in Mr. London’s most powerful style, strikingly - contrasted against a background of present-day economic - problems--that is what “The Valley of the Moon” is. The hero, - teamster, prize-fighter, adventurer, man of affairs, is one of - Mr. London’s unforgettable big men. The romance which develops - out of his meeting with a charming girl and which does not end - with their marriage is absorbingly told. The action of the plot - is most rapid, one event following another in a fashion which - does not allow the reader to lose interest even temporarily. “The - Valley of the Moon” is, in other words, an old-fashioned London - novel, with all of the entertainment that such a description - implies. - - -Robin Hood’s Barn - - BY ALICE BROWN - - Author of “Vanishing Points,” “The Secret of the Clan,” “The - Country Road,” etc. - - With Illustrations in Colors and in Black and White by - H. M. CARPENTER - - _Decorated cloth, 12mo, $0.00 net_ - - Miss Brown’s previous books have given her a distinguished - reputation as an interpreter of New England life. The idealism, - the quaint humor, the skill in character drawing, and the - dramatic force which have always marked her work are evident in - this charming story of a dream that came true. The illustrations, - the frontispiece being in colors, the others in black and white, - are by Mr. Horace Carpenter, whose sympathetic craftsmanship is - widely known and appreciated. - - -Deering at Princeton - - BY LATTA GRISWOLD - - Author of “Deering of Deal” - - With Illustrations by E. C. CASWELL - - _Decorated cloth, 12mo; preparing_ - - This is a college story that reads as a college story should. - Here Mr. Griswold tells of Deering’s Princeton years from - his freshman days to his graduation. A hazing adventure of - far-reaching importance, a football game or two in which Deering - has a hand, a reform in the eating club system, the fraternity - régime of Princeton, initiated by Deering and carried through - at the sacrifice of much that he values, a touch of sentiment - centering around a pretty girl who later marries Deering’s - roommate, besides many lively college happenings which only one - familiar with the life could have chronicled, go to the making of - an intensely interesting tale. - - -Tide Marks - - BY MARGARET WESTRUP - - _Decorated cloth, 12mo; preparing_ - - A novel of unusual interest and power told in a style both - convincing and distinctive. Margaret Westrup promises to be one - of the literary finds of the season. - - -The Will to Live - - BY M. P. WILLCOCKS - - Author of “The Wingless Victory,” etc. - - _Cloth, 12mo; preparing_ - - In description, in vividness of character depiction, in - cleverness of dialogue, and in skill of plot construction, Miss - Willcocks’ previous books have displayed her rare ability. “The - Will to Live” is perhaps her most mature work; it is a story with - which one is sure to be satisfied when the last page is turned. - - THE MACMILLAN COMPANY - Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York - - - - -Transcriber’s Note: - -In the advertisements at the end of the book, the price of $0.00 is as -published. - -Variations in spelling, hyphenation and punctuation have been retained -as they appear in the original publication except as follows: - - Page 145 - “_We are all alike, all of us who live!_ _changed to_ - _We are all alike, all of us who live!_ - - Page 229 - resentfully “And now she’s in her _changed to_ - resentfully. “And now she’s in her - - Page 281 - for this seemed a a good way _changed to_ - for this seemed a good way - - Page 286 - I’ve fought everyone of _changed to_ - I’ve fought every one of - - Page 289 - him and help him. _changed to_ - him and help him.” - - Page 396 - London’s unforgetable big men _changed to_ - London’s unforgettable big men - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of When I Was a Little Girl, by Zona Gale - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHEN I WAS A LITTLE GIRL *** - -***** This file should be named 60457-0.txt or 60457-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/4/5/60457/ - -Produced by Tim Lindell and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: When I Was a Little Girl - -Author: Zona Gale - -Illustrator: Agnes Pelton - -Release Date: October 8, 2019 [EBook #60457] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHEN I WAS A LITTLE GIRL *** - - - - -Produced by Tim Lindell and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<hr class="divider" /> -<h1>WHEN I WAS A LITTLE GIRL</h1> - - -<div class="hidehand"> -<hr class="divider2" /> -<div class="figcenter width400"> -<img src="images/cover2.jpg" width="400" height="584" alt="Cover" /> -</div></div> - - -<div class="section"> -<hr class="divider2" /> - -<div class="figcenter width200"> -<img src="images/colophon.png" width="200" height="65" alt="Colophon" /> -</div> - -<p class="center p120">THE MACMILLAN COMPANY<br /> -<small>NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO · DALLAS<br /> -ATLANTA · SAN FRANCISCO</small></p> - -<p class="center p120">MACMILLAN & CO., <span class="smcap">Limited</span><br /> -<small>LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA<br /> -MELBOURNE</small></p> - -<p class="center p120">THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, <span class="smcap">Ltd.</span><br /> -<small>TORONTO</small></p> -</div> - - - - -<div class="section"> -<hr class="divider2" /> -<div class="figcenter width400"> -<a name="frontispiece" id="frontispiece"></a> -<img src="images/frontispiece.jpg" width="400" height="644" alt="Frontispiece" /><br /> -SOMEWHERE BEYOND SEALED DOORS -</div></div> - - - -<div class="section"> -<hr class="divider" /> -</div> -<p class="center p180">WHEN I WAS A LITTLE<br /> -GIRL</p> - -<p class="center p140 mt3"><small>BY</small><br /> -ZONA GALE</p> - -<p class="center mt3">AUTHOR OF “THE LOVES OF PELLEAS AND ETARRE,”<br /> -“FRIENDSHIP VILLAGE,” ETC.</p> - -<p class="center mt3 p120"><small>WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY</small><br /> -AGNES PELTON</p> - -<p class="center ornate p140">New York</p> -<p class="center p130">THE MACMILLAN COMPANY<br /> -<small>1913</small></p> - -<p class="center"><i>All rights reserved</i></p> - - - - -<div class="section"> -<hr class="divider" /> -<p class="center">Copyright, 1911, by The Curtis Publishing Company.</p> - -<hr class="small" /> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1913,<br /> -By</span> THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.</p> - -<hr class="small" /> - -<p class="center">Set up and electrotyped. Published October, 1913.</p> - - -<p class="center ornate">Norwood Press</p> -<p class="center">J. B. Cushing Co.—Berwick & Smith Co.<br /> -Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.</p> -</div> - - - -<div class="section"> -<hr class="divider" /> -<p class="center ornate p140">To</p> - -<p class="center">THE LITTLE GIRL ON CONANT STREET<br /> -AND TO THE<br /> -MEMORY OF HER GRANDMOTHER<br /> -HARRIET BEERS</p> -</div> - - - -<div class="section"> -<hr class="divider" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">vii</a></span> -</div> - -<h2><a name="contents" id="contents"></a>CONTENTS</h2> - -<table summary="Contents"> -<tr> -<th class="tdr">CHAPTER</th> -<th class="tdl"> </th> -<th class="tdr2">PAGE</th> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">I.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">In Those Days</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#i">1</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">II.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">In No Time</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#ii">16</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">III.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">One for the Money</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#iii">35</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">IV.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">The Picnic</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#iv">53</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">V.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">The King’s Trumpeter</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#v">77</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">VI.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">My Lady of the Apple Tree</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#vi">103</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">VII.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">The Princess Romancia</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#vii">118</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">VIII.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">Two for the Show</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#viii">147</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">IX.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">Next Door</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#ix">159</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">X.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">What’s Proper</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#x">173</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">XI.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">Dolls</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#xi">192</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">XII.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">Bit-Bit</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#xii">211</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">XIII.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">Why</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#xiii">228</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">XIV.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">King</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#xiv">247</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">XV.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">King</span> (<i>continued</i>)</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#xv">281</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">XVI.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">The Walk</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#xvi">307</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">XVII.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">The Great Black Hush</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#xvii">315</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">XVIII.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">The Decoration of Independence</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#xviii">329</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">XIX.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">Earth-Mother</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#xix">354</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr">XX.</td> -<td class="tdl smcap">Three to Make Ready</td> -<td class="tdr2"><a href="#xx">375</a> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">viii</a></span></td> -</tr> -</table> - - - - -<div class="section"> -<hr class="divider" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">ix</a></span> -</div> - -<h2><a name="illustrations" id="illustrations"></a>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> - -<table summary="List of Illustrations"> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">Somewhere beyond sealed doors</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#frontispiece"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<th class="tdl"> </th> -<th class="tdr">FACING PAGE</th> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">Sat on a rock in the landscape and practised</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#sat">32</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">Little by little she grew silent and refused to join in -the games</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#little">128</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">But the minute folk left the room—ah, then!</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#but">168</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">She settled everything in that way; she counted the -petals of fennel daisies and blew thistle from -dandelions</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#she">196</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">Then out of the valley a great deev arose</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#then">216</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">To see what running away is really like</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#to">316</a> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">x</a></span></td> -</tr> -</table> - - - -<div class="section"> -<hr class="divider" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</a></span> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">There</span> used to be a little girl who does not come here any more. She is -not dead, for when certain things happen, she stirs slightly where she -is, perhaps deep within the air. When the sun falls in a particular -way, when graham griddle cakes are baking, when the sky laughs -sudden blue after a storm, or the town clock points in its clearest -you-will-be-late way at nine in the morning, when the moonlight is on -the midnight and nothing moves—then, somewhere beyond sealed doors, -the little girl says something, and it is plain that she is here all -the time.</p> - -<p>You little child who never have died, in these stories I am trying -to tell you that now I come near to understanding you. I see you -still, with your over-long hair and your over-much chattering, your -naughtiness and your dreams. I know the qualities that made you -disagreeable and those that made you dear, and I look on you somewhat -as spirit looks on spirit, understanding from within. I wish that -we could live it again, you and I—not all of it, by any means, and -not for a serious business; but now and then, for a joy and for an -idleness. And this book is a way of trying to do it over again, -together.</p> - -<p class="nmb">Will you care to come from the quiet where you are, near to me and -yet remote? I think that you will come, for you were wont untiringly -to wonder about me. And now here I am, come true, so faintly like her -whom you dreamed, yet so like you yourself, your child, fruit of your -spirit, you little shadowy mother....</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse"> -<div class="line"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">xii</a></span> -If only words were moments</div> -<div class="line">And I knew where they fly,</div> -<div class="line">I’d make a tale of time itself</div> -<div class="line">To tell you by and bye.</div> -</div> -<div class="verse"> -<div class="line">If only words were fathoms</div> -<div class="line">That let us by for pearls,</div> -<div class="line">I’d make a story ocean-strange</div> -<div class="line">For little boys and girls.</div> -</div> -<div class="verse"> -<div class="line">But words are only shadow things.</div> -<div class="line">I summon all I may.</div> -<div class="line">Oh, see—they try to spell out Life!</div> -<div class="line">Let’s act it, like a play.</div> -</div></div></div> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">1</a></span> - -<p class="center p180">When I was a Little Girl</p> -</div> - -<h2 class="no-break"><a name="i" id="i"></a>I<br /> -<span>IN THOSE DAYS</span></h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">In</span> those days time always bothered us. It went fast or it went slow, -with no one interfering. It was impossible to hurry it or to hold it -back.</p> - -<p>“Only ten weeks more,” we invariably said glibly, when the Spring term -began.</p> - -<p class="nmb">“Just think! We’ve—got—t-e-n—weeks!” we told one another at the -beginning of vacation, what time we came home with our books, chanting -it:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse"> -<div class="line outdent">“<em>No more Latin,</em></div> -<div class="line"><em>No more French,</em></div> -<div class="line"><em>No more sitting on a hard wood bench.</em>”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p class="noi">—both chorally and antiphonally chanting it.</p> - -<p>Yet, in spite of every encouragement, the Spring term lasted -immeasurably and the Summer vacation melted. It was the kindred -difference of experience respectively presented<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">2</a></span> by a bowl of hot -ginger tea and an equal bulk of ice-cream.</p> - -<p>In other ways time was extraordinary. We used to play with it: “Now is -now. But now that other Now is gone and a Then is now. How did it do -it? How do all the Nows begin?”</p> - -<p>“When is the party?” we had sometimes inquired.</p> - -<p>“To-morrow,” we would be told.</p> - -<p>Next morning, “Now it’s to-morrow!” we would joyfully announce, only -to be informed that it was, on the contrary, to-day. But there was no -cause for alarm, for now the party, it seemed, had changed too, and -that would be to-day. It was frightfully confusing.</p> - -<p>“<em>When</em> is to-morrow?” we demanded.</p> - -<p>“When to-day stops being,” they said.</p> - -<p>But never, never once did to-day stop that much. Gradually we -understood and humoured the pathetic delusion of the Grown-ups: <em>To-day -lasted always and yet the poor things kept right on forever waiting for -to-morrow.</em></p> - -<p>As for me, I had been born without the time sense. If I was told that -we would go to drive in ten minutes, I always assumed that I could -finish dressing my doll, tidy my play-house, put<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">3</a></span> her in it with all -her family disposed about her down to the penny black-rubber baby -dressed in yarn, wash my face and hands, smooth my hair (including -the protests that these were superfluous), make sure that the kitten -was shut in the woodshed ... long before most of which the family -was following me, haling me away, chiding me for keeping older folk -waiting, and the ten minutes were gone far by. Who would have thought -it? Ten minutes seem so much.</p> - -<p>And if I went somewhere with permission to stay an hour! Then the -hour stretched invitingly before me, a vista lined with crowding -possibilities.</p> - -<p>“How long can you stay?” we always promptly asked our guests, for there -was a feeling that the quality of the game to be entered on depended -on the time at our disposal. But when they asked me, it never was -conceivable that anything so real as a game should be dependent on -anything so hazy as time.</p> - -<p>“Oh, a whole hour!” I would say royally. “Let’s play City.”</p> - -<p>With this attitude Delia Dart, who lived across the street, had no -patience. Delia was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">4</a></span> definite. Her evenly braided hair, her square -finger tips, her blunt questions, her sense of what was due to -Delia—all these were definite.</p> - -<p>“City!” she would burst out. “You can’t play City unless you’ve got all -afternoon.”</p> - -<p>And Margaret Amelia and Betty Rodman, who were pretty definite too, -would back Delia up; but since they usually had permission to stay all -afternoon, they would acquiesce when I urged: “Oh, well, let’s start -in anyhow.” Then about the time the outside wall had been laid up in -the sand-pile and we had selected our building sites, the town clock -would strike my hour, which would be brought home to me only by Delia -saying:—</p> - -<p>“Don’t you go. Will she care if you’re late?”</p> - -<p>On such occasions we never used the substantive, but merely “she.” -It is worth being a child to have a sense of values so simple and -unassailable as that.</p> - -<p>“I’m going to do just this much. I can run all the way home,” I would -answer; and I would begin on my house walls. But when these were -done, and the rooms defined by moist sand partitions, there was all -the fascination of its garden, with walks to be outlined with a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">5</a></span> -shingle and sprays of Old Man and cedar to be stuck in for trees, and -single stems of Fever-few and Sweet Alyssum or Flowering-currant and -Bleeding-heart for the beds, and Catnip for the borders, and a chick -from Old-Hen-and-Chickens for a tropical plant. We would be just begun -on the stones for the fountain when some alien consciousness, some -plucking at me, would recall the moment. And it would be half an hour -past my hour.</p> - -<p>“You were to come home at four o’clock,” Mother would say, when I -reached there panting.</p> - -<p>“<em>Why</em> did I have to come home at four o’clock?” I would finally give -way to the sense of great and arbitrary wrong.</p> - -<p>She always told me. I think that never in my life was I bidden to -do a thing, or not to do it, “because I tell you to.” But never -once did a time-reason seem sufficient. What were company, a -nap-because-I-was-to-sit-up-late, or having-to-go-somewhere-else beside -the reality of that house which I would never occupy, that garden where -I would never walk?</p> - -<p>“You can make it the next time you go to Delia’s,” Mother would say. -But I knew that this was impossible. I might build another<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">6</a></span> house, -adventure in another garden; this one was forever lost to me.</p> - -<p>“... only,” Mother would add, “you can not go to Delia’s for ...” she -would name a period that yawned to me as black as the abyss. “... -because you did not come home to-day when you were told.” And still -time seemed to me indefinite. For now it appeared that I should never -go to Delia’s again.</p> - -<p>I thought about it more and more. What was this time that was laid on -us so heavy? Why did I have to get up <em>because</em> it was seven o’clock, -go to school <em>because</em> it was nine, come home from Delia’s <em>because</em> -the clock struck something else ... above all, why did I have to go to -bed <em>because</em> it was eight o’clock?</p> - -<p>I laid it before my little council.</p> - -<p>“Why do we have to go to bed because it’s bed-time?” I asked them. -“Which started first—bed-time or us?”</p> - -<p>None of us could tell. Margaret Amelia Rodman, however, was of opinion -that bed-time started first.</p> - -<p>“Nearly everything was here before we were,” she said gloomily. “We -haven’t got anything in the house but the piano and the rabbits that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">7</a></span> -wasn’t first before us. Mother told father this morning that we’d had -our stair-carpet fifteen years.”</p> - -<p>We faced that. Fifteen years. Nearly twice as long as we had lived. If -a stair-carpet had lasted like that, what was the use of thinking that -we could find anything to control on the ground of our having been here -first?</p> - -<p>Delia Dart, however, was a free soul. “<em>I</em> think we begun before -bed-time did,” she said decidedly. “Because when we were babies, -we didn’t have any bed-time. Look at babies now. They don’t have -bed-times. They sleep all the while.”</p> - -<p>It was true. Bed-time must have started after we did. Besides, we -remembered that it was movable. Once it had been half past seven. Now -it was eight. Delia often sat up, according to her own accounts, much -later even than this.</p> - -<p>“Grown-ups don’t have any bed-time either,” Betty took it up. “They’re -like babies.”</p> - -<p>This was a new thought. How strange that Grown-ups and babies should -share this immunity, and only we be bound.</p> - -<p>“Who <em>made</em> bed-time?” I inquired irritably.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">8</a></span> -“S-h-h!” said Delia. “God did.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t believe it,” I announced flatly.</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Delia, “anyway, he makes us sleepy.”</p> - -<p>This I also challenged. “Then why am I sleepier when I go to church -evenings than when I play Hide-and-go-seek in the Brice’s barn -evenings?” I submitted.</p> - -<p>This was getting into theology, and Delia used the ancient method.</p> - -<p>“We aren’t supposed to know all those things,” she said with -superiority, and the council broke up.</p> - -<p>That night I brought my revolt into the open. At eight o’clock I was -disposing the articles in my play-house so that they all touched, -in order that they might be able to talk during the night. It was -well-known to me that inanimate objects must touch if they would -carry on conversation. The little red chair and the table, the blue -paper-weight with a little trembling figure inside, the silver vase, -the mug with “Remember me” in blue letters, the china goat, all must be -safely settled so that they might while away the long night in talk. -The blue-glass paper weight with the horse and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">9</a></span> rider within, however, -was uncertain what he wanted to companion. I tried him with the china -horse and with the treeful of birds and with the duck in a boat, but -somehow he would not group. While he was still hesitating, it came:—</p> - -<p>“Bed-time, dear,” they said.</p> - -<p>I faced them at last. I had often objected, but I had never reasoned it -out.</p> - -<p>“I’m not sleepy,” I announced serenely.</p> - -<p>“But it’s bed-time,” they pressed it mildly.</p> - -<p>“Bed-time is when you’re sleepy,” I explained. “I’m not sleepy. So it -can’t be bed-time.”</p> - -<p>“Bed-time is eight o’clock,” they said with a hint of firmness, and -picked me up strongly and carried me off; and to my expostulation that -the horse and his rider in the blue paper-weight would have nobody to -talk to all night, they said that he wouldn’t care about that; and when -I wept, they said I was cross, and that proved it was Bed-time.</p> - -<p>There seemed no escape. But once—once I came near to understanding. -Once the door into Unknown-about Things nearly opened for me, and just -for a moment I caught a glimpse.</p> - -<p>I had been told to tidy my top bureau drawer.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">10</a></span> I have always loathed -tidying my top bureau drawer. It is so unlike a real task. It is made -up of odds and ends of tasks that ought to have been despatched long -ago and gradually, by process of throwing away, folding, putting in -boxes, hanging up, and other utterly uninteresting operations. I can -create a thing, I can destroy a thing, I can keep a thing as it was; -but to face a top bureau drawer is none of these things. It is a motley -task, unclassified, without honour, a very tag-end and bobtail of a -task, fit for nobody.</p> - -<p>I was thinking things that meant this, and hanging out the window. It -was a gentle day, like a perfectly natural human being who wants to -make friends and will not pretend one iota in order to be your friend. -I remember that it was a still day, that I loved, not as I loved Uncle -Linas and Aunt Frances, who always played with me and gave me things, -but as I loved Mother and father when they took me somewhere with them, -on Sunday afternoons.... I had a row of daffodils coming up in the -garden. I began pretending that they were marching down the border, -down the border, down the border to the big rock by the cooking-apple<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">11</a></span> -tree—why of course! I had never thought of it, but that rock was where -they got their gold....</p> - -<p>A house-wren came out of a niche in the porch and flew down to the -platform in the boxalder, where father was accustomed to feed the -birds. The platform was spread with muffin crumbs. The little wren ate, -and flew to the clothes-line and poured forth his thankful exquisite -song. I had always felt regret that we had no clothes reel that -would whirl like a witch in the wind, but instead merely a system of -clothes-lines, duly put up on Mondays; but the little wren evidently -did not know the difference.</p> - -<p>“Abracadabra, make me sing like that....” I told him. But I hadn’t said -the right thing, and he flew away and left me not singing. I began -thinking what if he <em>had</em> made me sing, and what if I had put back my -head and gone downstairs singing like a wren, and gone to arithmetic -class singing like a wren, and nobody could have stopped me, and nobody -would have wanted to stop me....</p> - -<p>... I leaned over the sill, holding both arms down and feeling the -blood flow down and weight my fingers like a pulse. What if I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">12</a></span> should -fall out the window and instead of striking the ground hard, as folk do -when they fall out of windows, I should go softly through the earth, -and feel it pressing back from my head and closing together behind my -heels, and pretty soon I should come out, plump ... before the Root of -Everything and sit there for a long time and watch it grow....</p> - -<p>... I looked up at the blue, glad that I was so near to it, and thought -how much pleasanter it would be to fly right away through the blue and -see what colour it was lined with. Pink, maybe—rose-pink, which showed -through at sunset when the sun leaped at last through the blue and it -closed behind him. Rose-pink, like my best sash and hair-ribbons....</p> - -<p>That brought me back. My best sash and hair-ribbons were in my top -drawer. Moreover, there were foot-steps on the stairs and at the very -door.</p> - -<p>“Have you finished?” Mother asked.</p> - -<p>I had not even opened the drawer.</p> - -<p>“You have been up here one hour,” Mother said, and came and stood -beside me. “What have you been doing?”</p> - -<p>I began to tell her. I do not envy her her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">13</a></span> quandary. She knew that I -was not to be too heavily chided and yet—the top drawers of this world -must be tidied.</p> - -<p>“Think!” she said. “That Hour has gone out the window without its work -being done. And now this Hour, that was meant for play, has got to -work. But not you! You’ve lost your turn. Now it’s Mother’s turn.”</p> - -<p>She made me sit by the window while she tidied the drawer. I was not to -touch it—I had lost my turn. While she worked, she talked to me about -the things she knew I liked to talk about. But I could not listen. It -is the only time in my life that I have ever really frantically wanted -to tidy a top bureau drawer of anybody’s.</p> - -<p>“Now,” she said when she had done, “this last Hour will meet the -Hour-before-the-last, and each of them will look the way the other -ought to have looked, and they will be all mixed up. And all day I -think they will keep trying to come back to you to straighten them out. -But you can’t do it. And they’ll have to be each other forever and ever -and ever.”</p> - -<p>She went away again, and I was left face to face with the very heart of -this whole perplexing Time business: those two Hours that would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">14</a></span> always -be somewhere trying to be each other, forever and ever, and always -trying to come back for me to straighten them out.</p> - -<p>Were there Hours out in the world that were sick hours, sick because we -had treated them badly, and always trying to come back for folk to make -them well?</p> - -<p>And were there Hours that were busy and happy somewhere because they -had been well used and they didn’t have to try to come back for us to -patch them up?</p> - -<p>Were Hours like that? Was Time like that?</p> - -<p>When I told Delia of the incident, she at once characteristically -settled it.</p> - -<p>“Why, if they wasn’t any time,” she said, “we’d all just wait and wait -and wait. They couldn’t have that. So they set something going to get -us going to keep things going.”</p> - -<p>Sometimes, in later life, when I have seen folk lunch because it is one -o’clock, worship because it is the seventh day, go to Europe because it -is Summer, and marry because it is high time, I wonder whether Delia -was not right. Often and often I have been convinced that what Mother -told me about the Hours trying to come back to get one to straighten -them out is true<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">15</a></span> with truth undying. And I wish, that morning by the -window, and at those grim, inevitable Bed-times, that I, as I am now, -might have told that Little Me this story about how, just possibly, -they first noticed time and about what, just possibly, it is.</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">16</a></span> -</div> - -<h2><a name="ii" id="ii"></a>II<br /> -<span>IN NO TIME</span></h2> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Before</span> months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, and seconds were counted -and named, consider how peculiar it all must have seemed. For example, -when the Unknown-about Folk of those prehistoric times wished to know -<em>when</em> a thing would happen, of course they can have had no word -<em>when</em>, and no answer. If a little Prehistoric Girl gave a party, she -cannot have known when to tell her guests to come, so she must have -had to wait until the supper was ready and then invite them; and if -they were not perfectly-bred little guests, they may have been offended -because they hadn’t been invited before—only they would not have known -how to say or to think “before,” so they cannot have been quite sure -what they were offended at; but they may have been offended anyway, as -happens now with that same kind of guest. And if a little Prehistoric -Boy asked his father<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">17</a></span> to bring him a new eagle or a new leopard for a -pet, and his father came home night after night and didn’t bring it, -the Prehistoric Boy could not say, “<em>When</em> will you bring it, sir?” -because there was no when, so he may have asked a great many other -questions, and been told to sit in the back of the cave until he could -do better. Nobody can have known how long to boil eggs or to bake -bread, and people must have had to come to breakfast and just sit and -wait and wait until things were done. Worst of all, nobody can have -known that time is a thing to use and not to waste. Since they could -not measure it, they could not of course tell how fast it was slipping -away, and they must have thought that time was theirs to do with what -they pleased, instead of turning it all into different things—this -piece into sleep, this piece into play, this piece into tasks and -exercise and fun. Just as, in those days, they probably thought that -food is to be eaten because it tastes good and not because it makes -the body grow, so they thought that time was a thing to be thrown away -and not to be used, every bit—which is, of course, a prehistoric way -to think. And nobody can have known about birthdays, and no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">18</a></span> story can -have started “Once upon a time,” and everything must have been quite -different.</p> - -<p>About then,—only of course they didn’t know it was then—a Prehistoric -Mother said one morning to her Prehistoric Little Daughter:—</p> - -<p>“Now, Vertebrata, get your practising done and then you may go to -play.” (It wasn’t a piano and it wasn’t an organ, but it was a lovely, -reedy, blow-on-it thing, like a pastoral pipe, and little girls always -sat about on rocks in the landscape, as soon as they had had their -breakfasts, and practised.)</p> - -<p>So Vertebrata took her reed pipes and sat on a rock in the landscape -and practised—all of what we now know (but she did not know) would be -five minutes. Then she came in the cave, and tossed the pipes on her -bed of skins, and then remembered and hung them in their place above -the fireplace, and turned toward the doorway. But her mother, who was -roasting flesh at the fire, called her back.</p> - -<p>“Vertebrata,” she said, “did I not tell you to practise?”</p> - -<p>“I did practise,” said Vertebrata.</p> - -<p>“Then practise and practise,” said her mother,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">19</a></span> not knowing how else to -tell her to do her whole hour. Her mother didn’t know hours, but she -knew by the feel of her feelings when Vertebrata had done enough.</p> - -<p>So Vertebrata sat on a rock and did five minutes more, and came and -threw her pipes on her bed of skins, and remembered and hung them up, -and then turned toward the door of the cave. But her mother looked up -from the flesh-pot and called her back again.</p> - -<p>“Vertebrata,” she said, “do you want mother to have to speak to you -again?”</p> - -<p>“No, <em>indeed</em>, muvver,” said her little daughter.</p> - -<p>“Then practise and practise and practise,” said her mother. “If you -can’t play when you grow up, what will people think?”</p> - -<p>So Vertebrata went back to her landscape rock, and this thing was -repeated until Vertebrata had practised what we now know (but she did -not know) to have been a whole hour. And you can easily see that in -order to bring this about, what her mother must have said to her the -last time of all was this:—</p> - -<p>“I want you to practise and practise and practise and practise and -practise and practise and practise and practise and practise and -practise<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">20</a></span> and practise and practise—” <em>or</em> something almost as long.</p> - -<p>Now of course it was very hard for her mother to say all this besides -roasting the flesh and tidying the cave, so she made up her mind that -when her Prehistoric Husband came home, he must be told about it. And -when the sun was at the top of the sky and cast no shadow, and the -flesh was roasted brown and fragrant, she dressed it with pungent -herbs, and raked the vegetables out of the ashes and hid the dessert in -the cool wall of the cave—<em>that</em> was a surprise—and spread the flat -rock at the door of the cave and put vine-leaves in her hair and, with -Vertebrata, set herself to wait.</p> - -<p>There went by what we now know to have been noon, and another hour, and -more hours, and all afternoon, and all early twilight, and still her -Prehistoric Husband did not come home to dinner. Vertebrata was crying -with hunger, and the flesh and the vegetables were ice-cold, and the -Prehistoric Wife and Mother sat looking straight before her without -smiling. And then, just as the moon was rising red over the soft breast -of the distant wood, the Prehistoric Father appeared, not looking as if -he had done anything.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">21</a></span> -“Is dinner ready?” he asked pleasantly.</p> - -<p>Now this was the last straw, and the Prehistoric Wife and Mother said -so, standing at the door of the cave, with Vertebrata crying in the -offing.</p> - -<p>“Troglodyte,” she said sadly (that was what she called him), “dinner -has been ready and ready and ready and ready and ready and ready and -ready ...” and she showed him the ice-cold roasted flesh and vegetables.</p> - -<p>“I’m <em>so</em> sorry, dearest. I never knew,” said the Troglodyte, -contritely, and did everything in the world that he could do to show -her how sorry he was. He made haste to open his game-bag, and he drew -out what food he had killed, and showed her a soft, cock-of-the-rock -skin for a cap for her and a white ptarmigan breast to trim it with, -and at last she said—because nobody can stay offended when the -offender is sorry:—</p> - -<p>“Well, dear, say no more about it. We’ll slice up the meat and it will -do very well cold, and I’ll warm up the potatoes with some brown butter -(or the like). But hurry and bathe or I’ll be ready first <em>again</em>.”</p> - -<p>So he hurried and bathed in the brook, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">22</a></span> the cave smelled savoury -of the hot brown butter, and Vertebrata had a Grogan tail stuck in her -hair, and presently they sat down to supper. And it was nearly eight -o’clock, but they didn’t know anything about <em>that</em>.</p> - -<p>When the serious part of supper was done, and the dessert that was a -surprise had been brought and had surprised and gone, Vertebrata’s -mother sat up very straight and looked before her without smiling. And -she said:—</p> - -<p>“Now, something must be done.”</p> - -<p>“About what, Leaf Butterfly?” her husband asked.</p> - -<p>“Vertebrata doesn’t practise enough and you don’t come home to dinner -enough,” she answered, “and something must be done.”</p> - -<p>“I did practise—wunst,” said Vertebrata.</p> - -<p>“But you should practise once and once and once and once and once and -once, and so on, and not have to be told each once,” said her mother.</p> - -<p>“I did come home to dinner,” said the Prehistoric Husband, waving his -hand at his empty platter.</p> - -<p>“But you should come first and first and first and first and first, and -so on, and not let the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">23</a></span> dinner get ice-cold,” said his wife. “Hear a -thing,” said she.</p> - -<p>She sprinkled some salt all thick on the table and took the stick on -which the flesh had been roasted, and in the salt she drew a circle.</p> - -<p>“This,” she said, “is the sky. And this place, at the top, is the top -of the sky. And when the sun is at the top of the sky and there is no -shadow, I will have ready the dinner, hot and sweet in the pot, and -dessert—for a surprise. And when the sun is at the top of the sky -and there is no shadow, do you come to eat it, <em>always</em>. That will be -dinner.”</p> - -<p>“That is well,” said the Troglodyte, like a true knight—for in those -first days even true knights were willing that women should cook and -cave-tidy for them all day long and do little else. But that was long -ago and we must forgive it.</p> - -<p>Then she made a mark in the salt at the edge of the circle a little way -around from the first mark.</p> - -<p>“When the sun is at the edge of the sky and all red, and the shadows -are long, and the dark is coming, I will have ready berries and nuts -and green stuffs and sweet syrups and other things that I shall think -of—for you. And when the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">24</a></span> sun is at the edge of the sky and all red, -and the shadows are long, and the dark is coming, do you hurry to us, -<em>always</em>. That will be supper.”</p> - -<p>“That is well,” said the Troglodyte, like a true knight.</p> - -<p>Then she drew the stick a long way round.</p> - -<p>“This is sleep,” she said. “This place here is waking, and breakfast. -And then next the sun will be at the top of the sky again. And we will -have dinner in the same fashion. And this is right for you. But what to -do with the child I don’t know, unless I keep her practising from the -time the sun is at the top of the sky until it is at the bottom. For if -she can’t play when she grows up, what will people think?”</p> - -<p>Now, while she said this, the Prehistoric Woman had been sitting with -the stick on which the flesh had been roasted held straight up in her -fingers, resting in the middle of the ring which she had made in the -salt. And by now the moon was high and white in the sky. And the Man -saw that the moon-shadow of the stick fell on the circle from its -centre to beyond its edge. And presently he stretched out his hand and -took the stick from her, and held it so and sat very still, thinking, -thinking, thinking....</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">25</a></span> -“Faddie,” said Vertebrata—she called him that for loving—“Faddie, -will you make me a little bow and arrow and scrape ’em white?”</p> - -<p>But her father did not hear her, and instead of answering he sprang -up and began drawing on the soft earth before the cave a deep, deep -circle, and he ran for the long stick that had carried his game-bag -over his shoulder, and in the middle of the earth circle he set the -stick.</p> - -<p>“Watch a thing!” he cried.</p> - -<p>Vertebrata and her mother, understanding little but trusting much, sat -by his side. And together in the hot, white night the three watched the -shadow of the stick travel on the dial that they had made. Of course -there was no such thing as bed-time then, and Vertebrata usually sat -up until she fell over asleep, when her mother carried her off to her -little bed of skins; but this night she was so excited that she didn’t -fall over. For the stick-shadow moved like a finger; like, indeed, a -living thing that had been in the world all the time without their -knowing. And they watched it while it went a long way round the circle. -Then her mother said, “Nonsense, Vertebrata, you must be sleepy now -whether you know it or not,” and she put her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">26</a></span> to bed, Vertebrata saying -all the way that she was wide awake, just like in the daytime. And -when her mother went back outside the cave, the Man looked up at her -wonderfully.</p> - -<p>“Trachystomata,” said he (which is to say “siren”), “if the sun-shadow -will do the same thing as the moon-shadow, we have found a way to make -Vertebrata practise enough.”</p> - -<p>In the morning when Vertebrata came out of the cave—she woke alone and -dressed alone, just like being grown-up—she found her mother and her -father down on their hands and knees, studying the circle in the soft -earth and the long sun-shadow of the stick. And her mother called her -and she went running to her. And her mother said:—</p> - -<p>“Now we will have breakfast, dear, and then you get your pipes and come -here and practise. And when you begin, we will lay a piece of bone -where the shadow stands, and when I feel the feeling of enough, I will -tell you, and you will stop practising, and we will lay another piece -of bone on that shadow. And after this you will always practise from -one bone to another, forever.”</p> - -<p>Vertebrata could hardly wait to have breakfast<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">27</a></span> before she tried it, -and then she ran and brought her pipes and sat down beside the circle. -And her father did not go to his hunting, or her mother to her cooking -and cave-tidying, but they both sat there with Vertebrata, hearing her -pipe and watching the shadow finger move, and waiting till her mother -should feel the feeling of enough.</p> - -<p><em>Now!</em> Since the world began, the Hours, Minutes, and Seconds had been -hanging over it, waiting patiently until people should understand -about them. But nobody before had ever, ever thought about them, and -Vertebrata and her mother and her father were the very first ones who -had even begun to understand.</p> - -<p>So it chanced that in the second that Vertebrata began to pipe and the -bone was laid on the circle, <em>that</em> Second (deep in the air and yet -as near as time is to us) knew that it was being marked off at last -on the soft circle of the earth, and so did the next Second, and the -next, and the next, and the next, until sixty of them knew—and there -was the first Minute, measured in the circle before the cave. And other -Minutes knew what was happening, and they all came hurrying likewise, -and they filled the air with exquisite,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">28</a></span> invisible presences—all to -the soft sound of little Vertebrata’s piping. And she piped, and piped, -on the lovely, reedy, blow-on-it instrument, and she made sweet music. -And for the first time in her little life, her practising became to her -not merely practising, but music-making—there, while she watched the -strange Time-shadow move.</p> - -<p>“J—o—y!” cried the Seconds, talking among themselves. “People are -beginning to know about us. It is <em>time</em> that they should.”</p> - -<p>“Ah!” they cried again. “We can go faster than anything.”</p> - -<p>“Think of all of our poor brothers and sisters that have gone, without -anybody knowing they were here,” they mourned.</p> - -<p>“Pipe, pipe, pipe,” went Vertebrata, and the little Seconds danced by -almost as if she were making them with her piping.</p> - -<p>The Minutes, too, said things to one another—who knows if Time is so -silent as we imagine? May not all sorts of delicate conversations go on -in the heart of time about which we never know anything—Second talking -with Second, and Minute answering to Minute; and the grave Hours, -listening to everything we say and seeing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">29</a></span> everything we do, confiding -things to the Day about us and about Eternity from which they have -come. I cannot tell you what they say about you—you will know that, if -you try to think, and especially if you stand close to a great clock -or hear it boom out in the night. And I cannot tell you what they say -about Eternity. But I think that this may be one of the songs that they -sing:—</p> - -<p class="center nmb">SONG OF THE MINUTES</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse"> -<div class="line">We are a garland for men,</div> -<div class="line">We are flung from the first gate of Time,</div> -<div class="line">From the touch that opened the minds of men</div> -<div class="line">Down to the breath of this rhyme.</div> -</div> -<div class="verse"> -<div class="line">We are the measure of things,</div> -<div class="line">The rule of their sweep and stir,</div> -<div class="line">But whenever a little girl pipes and sings,</div> -<div class="line">We will keep time for her.</div> -</div> -<div class="verse"> -<div class="line">We are a touching of hands</div> -<div class="line">From those in the murk of the earth,</div> -<div class="line">Through all who have garnered life in their hands</div> -<div class="line">And wrought it from death unto birth.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">30</a></span> -</div> -<div class="verse"> -<div class="line">We are the measure of things,</div> -<div class="line">The rule of their stir and sweep,</div> -<div class="line">And wherever a little child weeps or sings</div> -<div class="line">It is his soul we keep.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>At last, when sixty Minutes had danced and chorussed past, there was, -of course, the first rosy Hour ever to have her coming and passing -marked since earth began. And when the Hour was gone, Vertebrata’s -mother felt the feeling of enough, and she said to Vertebrata:—</p> - -<p>“That will do, dear. Now you may go and play.”</p> - -<p>That was the first exact hour’s practising that ever any little girl -did by any sort of clock.</p> - -<p>“Ribbon-fish mine,” said the Prehistoric Man to his wife, when -Vertebrata had finished, “I have been thinking additional thoughts. Why -could we not use the circle in other ways?”</p> - -<p>“What ways, besides for your coming home and for Vertebrata’s -practising?” asked the Prehistoric Woman; but we must forgive her for -knowing about only those two things, for she was a very Prehistoric -Woman indeed.</p> - -<p>“Little bones might be laid between the big bones,” said the Man—and -by that of course<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">31</a></span> he meant measuring off minutes. “By certain of them -you could roast flesh and not kneel continually beside the fire. By -certain of them you could boil eggs, make meet the cakes, and not be in -peril of burning the beans. Also....”</p> - -<p>He was silent for a moment, looking away over the soft breast of the -wood where the sun was shining its utmost, because it has so many -reasons.</p> - -<p>“When I look at that moving finger on the circle thing,” he said -slowly, “it feels as if whoever made the sun were saying things to me, -but with no words. For his sun moves, and the finger on the circle -thing moves with it—as if it were telling us how long to do this -thing, and how long to do that thing—you and me and Vertebrata. And -we must use every space between the bones—and whoever made the sun is -telling us this, but with no words.”</p> - -<p>The Prehistoric Woman looked up at her husband wonderfully.</p> - -<p>“You are a great man, Troglodyte!” she told him.</p> - -<p>At which he went away to hunt, feeling for the first time in his -prehistoric life as if there were a big reason, somewhere out in the -air, why he should get as much done as he could.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">32</a></span> And the Prehistoric -Woman went at her baking and cave-tidying, but always she ran to the -door of the cave to look at the circle thing, as if it bore a great -message for her to make haste, a message with no words.</p> - -<p>As for Vertebrata, she had taken her pipes and danced away where, -on rocks in the landscape, the other little Prehistorics sat about, -getting their practising done. She tried to tell them all about the -circle thing, waving her pipes and jumping up and down to make them -understand, and drawing circles and trying to play to them about it on -her pipes; and at last they understood a little, like understanding a -new game, and they joined her and piped on their rocks all over the -green, green place. And the Seconds and Minutes and Hours, being fairly -started to be measured, all came trooping on, to the sound of the -children’s piping.</p> - -<p>When the sun was at the top of the sky, Vertebrata remembered, and she -stuck a stick in the ground and saw that there was almost no shadow. -So she left the other children and ran very hard toward her own cave. -And when she had nearly reached it, somebody overtook her, also running -very hard.</p> - -<div class="figcenter width400"> -<a name="sat" id="sat"></a> -<img src="images/i_032fp.jpg" width="400" height="536" alt="" /> -<div class="caption"><span class="smcap">Sat on a rock in the landscape and practised.</span></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">33</a></span> -“Faddie!” she called, as she called when she meant loving—and he swung -her up on his shoulder and ran on with her. And they burst into the -open space before the cave just as the shadow-stick pointed straight to -the top of the circle thing.</p> - -<p>There, before the door of the cave, was the flat rock, all set with -hot baked meat and toothsome piles of roast vegetables and beans that -were not burned. And the Prehistoric Woman, with vine-leaves in her -hair, was looking straight before her and smiling. And that was the -first dinner of the world that was ever served on time, and since that -day, to be late for dinner is one of the things which nobody may do; -and perhaps in memory of the Prehistoric Woman, when this occurs, the -politest ladies may always look straight before them <em>without smiling</em>.</p> - -<p>“Is dinner ready, Sea Anemone?” asked the Man.</p> - -<p>“On the bone,” replied his wife, pleasantly.</p> - -<p>“What’s for ’sert?” asked Vertebrata.</p> - -<p>“It’s a surprise,” said her mother—which is always the proper answer -to that question.</p> - -<p>And while they sat there, the Days and Weeks<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">34</a></span> and Months and Years -were coming toward them, faster than anything, to be marked off on the -circle thing before the door, <em>and to be used</em>. And they are coming -yet, like a message—but with no words.</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">35</a></span> -</div> - -<h2><a name="iii" id="iii"></a>III<br /> -<span>ONE FOR THE MONEY</span></h2> - - -<p><span class="smcap">We</span> were burying snow. Calista Waters had told us about it, when, late -in April, snow was found under a pile of wood in our yard. We wondered -why we had never thought of it before when snow was plentiful. We had -two long tins which had once contained ginger wafers. These were to be -packed with snow, fastened tight as to covers, and laid deep in the -earth at a distance which, by means of spoons and hot water, we were -now fast approaching.</p> - -<p>It was Spring-in-earnest. The sun was warm, robins were running on the -grass, already faintly greened where the snow had but just melted; -a clear little stream flowed down the garden path and out under the -cross-walk. The Wells’s barn-doors stood open, somebody was beating -a carpet, there was a hint of bonfire smoke in the air, there were -little stirrings and sounds that belonged to Spring as the gasoline -wood-cutter belonged to Fall.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">36</a></span> -Calista was talking.</p> - -<p>“And then,” she said, “some hot Summer day, when they’re all sitting -out on the lawn in the shade, with thin dresses and palm-leaf fans, -we’ll come and dig it up, and carry ’em big plates of feathery white -snow, with a spoon stuck in.”</p> - -<p>We were silent, picturing their delight.</p> - -<p>“Miss Messmore says,” I ventured, not without hesitation, “that snow is -all bugs.”</p> - -<p>In fact all of us had been warned without ceasing not to eat snow—but -there were certain spots where it was beyond human power to resist -it: Mr. Britt’s fence, for instance, on whose pickets little squares -of snow rested, which, eaten off by direct application of the lips, -produced a slight illusion of partaking of caramels.</p> - -<p>Delia stopped digging. “Maybe they won’t eat it when we bring it to -them in Summer?” she suggested.</p> - -<p>“Then we will,” said Calista, promptly. Of course they would not have -the heart to forbid us to eat it in, say, June.</p> - -<p>About a foot down in the ground we set the two tins side by side in an -aperture lined and packed with snow and filled in with earth.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">37</a></span> Over it -we made a mound of all the snow we could find in the garden. Then we -adjourned to the woodshed and sat on the sill and the sawbuck and the -work-bench.</p> - -<p>“What makes us give it away?” said Delia Dart, abruptly. “Why don’t we -sell it? We’d ought to get fifteen cents a dish for it by June.”</p> - -<p>We began a calculation, as rapid as might be. Each tin would hold at -least six dishes.</p> - -<p>“Why didn’t we bury more?” said Calista, raptly. “Why didn’t we bury a -tubful?”</p> - -<p>“It’d be an awful job to dig the hole,” I objected. “Besides, they’d -miss the tub.”</p> - -<p>The latter objection was insurmountable, so we went off to the garden -to hunt pig-nuts. A tree of these delicacies grew in the midst of the -potato patch, and some of the nuts were sure to have lain winter-long -in the earth and to be seasoned and edible.</p> - -<p>“Let’s all ask to go to the Rodmans’ this afternoon and tell Margaret -Amelia and Betty about the snow,” Calista suggested.</p> - -<p>“I can’t,” I said. “I’ve got to go calling.”</p> - -<p>They regarded me pityingly.</p> - -<p>“Can’t you come over there afterwards?” they suggested.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">38</a></span> -This, I knew, was useless. We should not start calling till late. -Besides, I should be hopelessly dressed up.</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Delia, soothingly, “<em>we’ll</em> go anyhow. Are you going to -call where there’s children?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t think so,” I said, darkly. “We never do.”</p> - -<p>That afternoon was one whose warm air was almost thickened by sun. The -maple buds were just widening into little curly leaves; shadows were -beginning to show; and everywhere was that faint ripple of running -water in which Spring speaks. But then there was I, in my best dress, -my best coat, my best shoes, my new hat, and gloves, faring forth to -make calls.</p> - -<p>This meant merely that there were houses where dwelt certain Grown-ups -who expected me to be brought periodically to see them, an expectation -persevered in, I believe, solely as a courtesy to my family. Twice a -year, therefore, we set out; and the days selected were, as this one, -invariably the crown and glory of all days: Days meet for cleaning -out the play-house, for occupying homes scraped with a shingle in the -softened soil, for assisting at bonfires,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">39</a></span> to say nothing of all that -was to be done in damming up the streams of the curbs and turning aside -the courses of rivers.</p> - -<p>The first call was on Aunt Hoyt—no true aunt, of course, but “aunt” -by mutual compliment. She lived in a tiny house on Conant Street, set -close to the sidewalk and shaded by an enormous mulberry tree. I sought -out my usual seat, a little hardwood stool to whose top was neatly -tacked a square of Brussels carpeting and whose cover, on being lifted, -revealed a boot-jack, a shoe-brush, and a round box of blacking. The -legs were deeply notched, and I amused myself by fitting my feet in the -notches and occasionally coming inadvertently back to the floor with an -echoing bump.</p> - -<p>Now and then Aunt Hoyt, who was little and wrinkled, and whose glasses -had double lenses in the middle so that I could not keep my eyes from -them when she spoke, would turn to address an observation at me.</p> - -<p>“How long her hair is! Do you think it is quite healthy for her to have -such long hair? I’ll warrant you don’t like to have it combed, do you, -dear?”</p> - -<p>If Aunt Hoyt had only known the depth of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">40</a></span> the boredom with which I had -this inane question put to me! It was one of the wonders of my days: -the utterly absurd questions that grown-up people could ask.</p> - -<p>For example: “How do you do to-day?” What had any reasonable child -to answer to that? Of course one was well. If one wasn’t, one would -be kept at home. If one wasn’t, one wasn’t going to tell anyway. Or, -“What’s she been doing lately?” Well! Was one likely to reply: “Burying -snow. Hunting pig-nuts. Digging up pebbles from under the eaves. Making -a secret play-house in the currant bushes that nobody knows about?” And -unless one did thus tell one’s inmost secrets, what was there left to -say? And if one kept a dignified silence, one was sulky!</p> - -<p>“She’s a good little girl, I’m sure. Is she much help to you?” Aunt -Hoyt asked that day, and patted my hair as we took leave. Dear Aunt -Hoyt, I know now that she was lonesome and longed for children and, -like many another, had no idea how to treat them, save by making little -conversational dabs at them.</p> - -<p>Then there was Aunt Arthur, who lived in a square brick house that -always smelled cool.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">41</a></span> At her house I invariably sat on a Brussels -“kick-about” in the bay window and looked at a big leather “Wonders -of Earth and Sea,” with illustrations. Sometimes she let me examine a -basket of shells that she herself had gathered at the beach—I used -to look at her hands and at her big, flat cameo ring and marvel that -they had been so near to the ocean. Once or twice, when I wriggled too -outrageously, she would let me go into the large, dim parlour, with -its ostrich egg hanging from the chandelier and the stuffed blackbird -under an oval glass case before the high mirror, and the coral piled -under the centre-table and the huge, gilt-framed landscape which she -herself had painted. But this day, between the lace curtains hanging -from their cornices, I caught sight of Calista and Delia racing up the -hill to the Rodmans, and the entire parlour was, so to say, poisoned. -In desperation I went back and asked for a drink of water—my ancient -recourse when things got too bad.</p> - -<p>Aunt Barker’s was better—there was a baby there. But that day ill-luck -went before me, for he was asleep and they refused to let me look at -him, because they said that woke him up.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">42</a></span> I disbelieved this, because I -saw no reason in it, and nobody gave me a reason. I resolved to try it -out the first time I was alone with a sleeping baby. I begged boldly to -go outdoors, and Mother would have consented, but Aunt Barker said that -a man was painting the lattice and that I would in every probability -lean against the lattice, or brush the paint pots, or try to get a -drink at the pump, which, I gathered, splashed everybody for miles -around. So I sat in a patent rocker, and the only rift in a world of -black cloud was that, by rocking far enough, the patent rocker could be -made to give forth a wholly delectable squeak. Of course fate swiftly -descended; I was bidden discontinue the squeak, and nothing remained to -me.</p> - -<p>Then we went to Grandma Bard’s. I did not in the least know why, but -the little rag-carpeted sitting-room, the singing kettle on the back of -the coal stove, the scarlet geraniums on the window, the fascinating -picture on the clock door, all entertained me at once. Grandma Bard -wore a black lace cap, and she bade me sit by her and instantly gave -me a peppermint drop from the pocket of her black sateen apron. She -asked me no questions, but while she talked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">43</a></span> with Mother, she laid -together two rose-coloured—rose-coloured!—bits of her patchwork and -quietly handed them to me to baste—none of your close stitches, only -basting! Then she folded a newspaper and asked me to cut it and scallop -it for her cupboard shelf. Then she found a handful of hickory nuts and -brought me the tack-hammer and a flat-iron....</p> - -<p>“Oh, Mother, let’s <em>not</em> go yet,” I heard myself saying.</p> - -<p>Going home—a delicate business, because stepping on any crack meant -being poisoned forthwith—I tried to think it out: What was it that -Mother and Grandma Bard knew that the rest didn’t know? I gave it up. -All I could think of was that they seemed to know me.</p> - -<p>“Isn’t Grandma Bard just grand?” I observed fervently.</p> - -<p>“I’m afraid,” Mother said thoughtfully, “that sometimes she has rather -a hard time to get on.”</p> - -<p>I was still turning this in my mind as we passed the wood yard. The -wood yard was a series of vacant lots where some mysterious person -piled cords and cords of wood, which smelled sweet and green and gave -out cool breaths. Sometimes the gasoline wood-cutter worked in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">44</a></span> there, -and we would watch till it had gone, and then steal in and bring away a -baking-powder can full of sawdust. We never knew quite what to do with -this sawdust. It was not desirable for mud-pies, and there was nothing -that we knew of to be stuffed with it. Yet when we could, we always -saved it. Perhaps it gave us an excuse to go into the wood yard, at -which we always peeped as we went by. This day, I lagged a few steps -behind and looked in, expectant of the same vague thing that we always -expected, and never defined—a bonfire, a robber, an open cave, some -changed aspect, I did not know what. And over by the sawdust pile, I -saw, stepping about, a little girl in a reddish dress—a little girl -whom I had never seen before. She looked up and saw me stand staring at -her; and her gaze was so clear and direct that I felt obliged to say -something in defence of my intrusion.</p> - -<p>“Hello,” I said.</p> - -<p>Her face suddenly brightened. “Hello,” she replied, and after a moment -she added: “I thought you was going to say ‘how de do.’”</p> - -<p>A faint spark of understanding leapt between us. Dressed-up little -girls usually did say “how<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">45</a></span> de do.” It was only in a kind of -unconscious deference to her own appearance that I had not done so. She -was unkempt and ragged—her sleeve was torn from cuff to elbow.</p> - -<p>“What you doing here?” I inquired, not averse to breaking the business -of calling by a bit of gossip.</p> - -<p>At this she did for the third time what I had been vaguely conscious -of her having done: She glanced over her shoulder toward a corner of -the yard which the piled wood concealed from me. I stepped forward and -looked there.</p> - -<p>On an end of wood-pile which we children had pulled down so as to -make a slope to ascend its heights, a man was sitting. His head and -shoulders were drooping, his legs were relaxed, and his hands were -hanging loose, as if they were heavy. His eyes were closed and his lips -were parted, yet about the face, with its fair hair and beard, there -was something singularly attractive and gentle. He looked like a man -who would tell you a story.</p> - -<p>“Who’s he?” I asked, and involuntarily I whispered.</p> - -<p>The girl began backing a little away from me, her eyes on my face, her -finger on her lips.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">46</a></span> -“It’s my father,” she said. “He’s—resting.”</p> - -<p>I had never heard of a man resting in the daytime. Save, perhaps, on -Sunday afternoons, this was no true function of men. I longed to look -at the man and understand better, but something in the little girl’s -manner forbade me. I looked perplexedly after her. Then I peered round -the fence post and saw my Mother standing under a tree, waiting for -me. She beckoned. I took one more look inside the fence, and I saw the -little girl sit down beside the sleeping man and fold her hands. The -afternoon sun smote across the long wood yard, with its mysterious -rooms made by the piling of the cords. It seemed impossible that this -strange, still place, with its thick carpet of sawdust and its moist -odours, should belong at all to the commonplace little street. And the -two strange occupants gave the last touch to its enchantment.</p> - -<p>I ran to overtake Mother, and I tried to tell her something of what I -had seen. But some way my words gave nothing of the air of the place -and of the two who waited there for something that I could not guess. -Already I knew this about words—that they were all very well for -<em>saying</em> a thing, but seldom for letting anybody <em>taste</em> what you were -talking about.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">47</a></span> -I did not give up trying to tell it until we passed the Rodmans’. -From the direction of their high-board fence I heard voices. Margaret -Amelia and Betty and Delia and Calista were engaged in writing on the -weathered boards of the fence with willows dipped in the clear-flowing -gutter stream.</p> - -<p>“Got it done?” I called mysteriously.</p> - -<p>They turned, shaking their heads.</p> - -<p>“It was all melted,” they replied. “We couldn’t find another bit.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, well,” I cried, “you come on over after supper. I’ve got something -to tell you.”</p> - -<p>“Something to tell you” would, of course, bring anybody anywhere. -After supper they all came “over.” It was that hour which only village -children know—that last bright daylight of slanting sun and driven -cows tinkling homeward; of front-doors standing open and neighbours -calling to one another across the streets, and the sky warm in the -quiet surface of some little water from whose bridge lads are tossing -stones or hanging bare-footed from the timbers. We withdrew past the -family, sitting on the side-porch, to the garden, where the sun was -still golden on the tops of the maples.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">48</a></span> -“Mother says,” I began importantly, “that she thinks Grandma Bard has -a hard time to get along. Well, you know our snow? Well, you know you -said you couldn’t find any more to bury? Well, why don’t we dig up -ours, right now, and sell it and give the money to Grandma Bard?”</p> - -<p>I must have touched some answering chord. Looking back, I cannot -believe that this was wholly Grandma Bard. Could it be that the others -had wanted to dig it up, independent of my suggestion? For there was -not one dissenting voice.</p> - -<p>The occasion seemed to warrant the best dishes. I brought out six china -plates and six spoons. These would be used for serving my own family, -while the others took the two cans and ran home with them to their -families.</p> - -<p>We dug rapidly now, the earth being still soft. To our surprise, the -tops of the tins were located much nearer to the surface than we had -supposed after our efforts of the morning to reach a great depth. The -snow in which we had packed the cans had disappeared, but we made -nothing of that. We drew out the cans,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">49</a></span> had off their tops, and gazed -distressfully down into clear water.</p> - -<p>“It went and melted!” said Calista, resentfully.</p> - -<p>In a way, she regarded it as her personal failure, since the ceremony -had been her suggestion in the first place.</p> - -<p>“Never mind, Calista,” we said, “you didn’t know.”</p> - -<p>Calista freely summed up her impressions.</p> - -<p>“How <em>mean!</em>” she said.</p> - -<p>We gravely gathered up the china plates and turned toward the -house—and now I was possessed of a really accountable desire to get -the plates back in their places as quickly as possible.</p> - -<p>On the way a thought struck us simultaneously. Poor Grandma Bard!</p> - -<p>“Let’s all go to see her to-morrow anyhow,” I suggested—largely, I am -afraid, because the memory of my entertainment there was still fresh in -my mind.</p> - -<p>When, after a little while, we came round the house where the older -ones were sitting, and heard them discussing uninteresting affairs, -we regarded them with real sympathy. They had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">50</a></span> so narrowly missed -something so vastly, absorbingly interesting.</p> - -<p>From Delia’s room a voice came calling as, at intervals, other voices -were heard calling other names throughout the neighbourhood—they were -at one with the tinkle of the bells and the far-off yodel of the boys.</p> - -<p>“Delia!”</p> - -<p>“Good night,” said Delia, briefly, and vanished without warning, as at -the sound of any other taps. Soon after, the others also disappeared; -and I crept up on the porch and lay down in the hammock.</p> - -<p>“What’s she been doing <em>now</em>?” somebody instantly asked me.</p> - -<p>For a moment I thought of telling; but not seriously.</p> - -<p>Evidently they had not expected an answer, for they went on talking.</p> - -<p>“... yes, I had looked forward to it for a long while. Of course we had -all counted on it. It was a great disappointment.”</p> - -<p>Somewhere in me the words echoed a familiar and recent emotion. So! -They too had their disappointments ... even as we. Of course whatever -this was could have been nothing like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">51</a></span> losing a fortune in melted snow. -Still, I felt a new sympathy.</p> - -<p>Mother turned to me.</p> - -<p>“We are going to ask Grandma Bard to come to live with us,” she said. -“Will you like that?”</p> - -<p>I sat up in the hammock. “All the time?” I joyfully inquired.</p> - -<p>“For the rest of the time,” Mother said soberly. “It seems as if one -ought to take a child,” she added to the others, “when one takes -anybody....”</p> - -<p>“Still,” said father, “till we get in our heads something of what the -state owes to old folks, there’s nobody but us to do its work....”</p> - -<p>I hardly heard them. To make this come true at one stroke! Even to be -able to adopt a child! How easily they could do things, these grown-up -ones; and how magnificently they acted as if it were nothing at all ... -like the giants planting city-seed and watching cities grow to the size -and shape of giants’ flower beds....</p> - -<p>They went on talking. Some of the things that they said we might have -said ourselves. In some ways they were not so very different<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">52</a></span> from us. -Yet think what they could accomplish.</p> - -<p>Watching them and listening, there in the April twilight, I began to -understand. It was not only that they could have their own way. But for -the sake of things that we had never yet so much as guessed or dreamed, -it was desirable to be grown up.</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">53</a></span> -</div> - -<h2><a name="iv" id="iv"></a>IV<br /> -<span>THE PICNIC</span></h2> - - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was Delia Dart who had suggested our Arbour Day picnic. “Let’s have -some fun Arbour Day,” she said.</p> - -<p>We had never thought of Arbour Day in that light. Exercises, though -they presented the open advantage of escape from the school grind, were -no special fun. Fun was something much more intimate and intangible, -definite and mysterious, casual and thrilling—and other anomalies.</p> - -<p>“Doing what?” we demanded.</p> - -<p>“Oh,” said Delia, restlessly, “go off somewheres. And eat things. And -do something to tell about and make their eyes stick out.”</p> - -<p>We were not old enough really to have observed this formula for -adventure. Hitherto we had always gone merely because we went. Yet -all three motives appealed to us. And events fostered our faint -intention. At the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">54</a></span> opening of school that morning, Miss Messmore made -an announcement.... I remember her grave way of smiling and silent -waiting, so that we hung on what she was going to say.</p> - -<p>“To-morrow,” she said, “is Arbour Day. All who wish will assemble here -at the usual hour in the afternoon. We are to plant trees and shrubs -and vines about the schoolhouse. There will be something for each one -to plant. But this is not required. Any who do not wish to be present -may remain away, and these will not be marked absent. Only those may -plant trees who wish to plant trees. I hope that all children will take -advantage of their opportunity. Classes will now pass to their places.”</p> - -<p>Delia telegraphed triumphantly in several directions. We could hardly -wait to confer. At recess we met immediately in the closet under the -stairs, a closet intended primarily for chalk, erasers, brooms, and -maps, but by virtue of its window and its privacy put to sub-uses of -secret committee meetings.</p> - -<p>“I told you,” said Delia. And such was Delia’s magnetism that we felt -that she had told us. “Let’s take our lunch and start as soon as we get -out.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">55</a></span> -“Couldn’t we go after the exercises?” Calista Waters submitted -waveringly.</p> - -<p>“<em>After!</em>” said Delia, scornfully. “It’ll be three o’clock. <em>That’s</em> no -fun. We want to start by twelve, prompt, and stay till six.”</p> - -<p>Margaret Amelia Rodman bore out Delia’s contention. She and Betty had -a dozen eggs saved up from their pullets. They would boil them and -bring them. “The pullets?” Calista demanded aghast and was laughed -into subjection, and found herself agreeing and planning in order to -get back into favour. Delia and the Rodmans were, I now perceive, born -leaders of mediæval living.</p> - -<p>“Why don’t you wait till Saturday?” I finally said, from out a silence -that had tried to produce this earlier. “That’s only two days.”</p> - -<p>“Saturday!” said Delia. “Anybody can have a picnic Saturday. This is -most as good as running away.”</p> - -<p>And of course it was. But....</p> - -<p>“Who wants to plant a tree?” Delia continued. “They’ll plant all -they’ve got whether we’re here or not, won’t they?”</p> - -<p>That was true. They would do so. It was clearly a selfish wish to -participate that was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">56</a></span> agitating Calista and me. In the end we were -outvoted, and we went. Our families, it seemed, all took the same -attitude: We need not plant trees if we did not wish to plant trees. -Save in the case of Harold Rodman. He was ruled to be too small to walk -to Prospect Hill, and he preferred going back to school to staying at -home alone.</p> - -<p>“I won’t plant no tree, though,” he announced resentfully, as we left -him. “I’m goin’ dig ’em all up!” he shouted after us. “Every one in the -world!”</p> - -<p>It was when I was running round the house to get my lunch that I came -for the second time face to face with Mary Elizabeth.</p> - -<p>Mary Elizabeth was sitting flat on the ground, cleaning knives which -I recognized as our kitchen knives. This she was doing by a simple -process, not unknown to me and consisting of driving the knife into the -ground up to its black handle and shoving it rapidly up and down. It -struck me as very strange that she should be there, in <em>our</em> back yard, -cleaning <em>our</em> knives, and I somewhat resented it. For it is curious -how much of a savage a little girl in a white apron can really be. But -then I did not at once recognize<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">57</a></span> her as the girl whom I had seen in -the wood yard.</p> - -<p>I remember her sometimes as I saw her that day. She had straight brown -hair the colour of my own, and her thick pig-tail, which had fallen -over her shoulder as she worked, was tied with red yarn. Her face was a -lovely, even cream colour, with no freckles such as diversified my own -nose, and with no other colour in her cheek. Her hands were thin and -veined, with long, agile fingers. The right sleeve of her reddish plaid -dress was by now slit almost to the shoulder, and her bare arm showed, -and it was nearly all wrist. She had on a boy’s heavy shoes, and these -were nearly without buttons.</p> - -<p>“What you doing?” I inquired, coming to a standstill.</p> - -<p>She lifted her face and smiled, not a flash of a smile, but a slow -smile of understanding me.</p> - -<p>“This,” she replied, and went on with her task.</p> - -<p>“What’s your name?” I demanded.</p> - -<p>“Mary Elizabeth,” she answered, and did not ask me my name. This -was her pathetic way of deference to me because my clothing and my -“station” were other than hers.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">58</a></span> -I went on to the house, but I went, looking back.</p> - -<p>“Mother,” I said, “who is she? The little girl out there.”</p> - -<p>While she put up my lunch in the Indian basket, Mother told me how Mary -Elizabeth had come that morning asking for something to do. She had set -her to work, and meanwhile she was finding out who she was. “I gave -her something to eat,” Mother said. “And I have never seen even you so -hungry.” Hungry and having no food. I had never heard of such a thing -at first hand—not nearer than in books and in Sunday school. But ... -hungry that way, and in our yard!</p> - -<p>It was chiefly this that accounted for my invitation to her—this, -and the fact that, as she came to the door to tell my Mother good-bye -and to take what she had earned, she gave me again that slow, -understanding-me smile. Anyway, as we walked toward the gate, I -overtook her with my Indian basket.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you want to come to the picnic with us?” I said.</p> - -<p>She stared at me. “What do you do?” she asked.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">59</a></span> -“Why,” I said, “a picnic? Eat in the woods and—and get things, and sit -on the grass. Don’t you think they’re fun?”</p> - -<p>“I never was to one,” she answered, but I saw how she was watching me -almost breathlessly.</p> - -<p>“Come on, then,” I insisted carelessly.</p> - -<p>“Honest?” she said. “Me?”</p> - -<p>When she understood, I remember how she walked beside me, looking at me -as if she might at any moment find out her mistake.</p> - -<p>Delia, waiting impatiently at our gate with her own basket,—somehow I -never waited at the gates of others, but it was always they who waited -at mine,—bade me hurry, stared at Mary Elizabeth, and serenely turned -her back on her.</p> - -<p>“This,” I said, “is Mary Elizabeth. I asked her to go to our picnic. -She’s going. I’ve got enough lunch. This is Delia.”</p> - -<p>I suppose that they looked at each other furtively—so much of the -stupidity of being a knight with one’s visor lowered yet hangs upon -us—and then Delia plucked me, visibly, by the sleeve and addressed me, -audibly, in the ear.</p> - -<p>“What’d you go and do that for?” said she. And I who, at an early age, -resented being<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">60</a></span> plucked by the sleeve as a bird resents being patted -on the head, or the wall of any personality trembles away when it is -tapped, took Mary Elizabeth by the hand and marched on to meet the -Rodmans and Calista.</p> - -<p>Calista was a vague little soul, with no sense of facts. She was always -promising to walk with two girls at recess, which was equivalent to -asking two to be her partners in a quadrille. It simply could not be -done. So Calista was forever having to promise to run errands with -someone after school to make amends for not having walked with her at -recess. She seldom had a grievance of her own, but she easily fell in -with the grievances of others. When I presented Mary Elizabeth to her, -Calista received her serenely as a part of the course of human events; -and so I think she would have continued to regard her, without great -attention and certainly with no criticism, had she not received the -somewhat powerful suggestion of Delia and Margaret Amelia and Betty -Rodman. The three fell behind Mary Elizabeth and me as we trotted down -the long street on which the April sun smote with Summer heat.</p> - -<p>“—over across the railroad tracks and picks<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">61</a></span> up tin cans and old -rubbers and sells ’em and drinks just awful and got ten children and -got arrested,” I heard Delia recounting.</p> - -<p>“The idea. To our picnic,” said Margaret Amelia’s thin-edged voice.</p> - -<p>“Without asking us,” Betty whispered, anxious to think of something of -account to say.</p> - -<p>Mary Elizabeth heard. I have seen that look of dumb, unresentful -suffering in many a human face—in the faces of those who, by the Laws -of sport or society or of jurisprudence, find no escape. She had no -anger, and what she felt must have been long familiar. “I’d better go -home,” she said to me briefly.</p> - -<p>I still had her by the hand. And it was, I am bound to confess, as no -errant but chiefly as antagonist to the others that I pulled her along. -“You got to come,” I reminded her. “You said you would.”</p> - -<p>It was cruel treatment, by way of kindness. The others, quickly -adapting themselves, fell into the talk of expeditions, which is never -quite the same as any other talk; and the only further notice that they -took of Mary Elizabeth was painstakingly to leave her out. They never -said anything to her, and when she ventured<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">62</a></span> some faint word, they -never answered or noticed or seemed to hear. In later years I have had -occasion to observe, among the undeveloped, these same traces of tribal -antagonisms.</p> - -<p>As we went, I had time to digest the hints which I had overheard -concerning Mary Elizabeth’s estate. I knew that a family having many -children had lately come to live “across the tracks,” and that, because -of our anxiety to classify, the father was said to be a drunkard. I -looked stealthily at Mary Elizabeth, with a certain respect born of her -having experience so transcending my own. Telling how many drunken men -and how many dead persons, if any, we had seen was one of our modes -of recreation when we foregathered. Technically Mary Elizabeth was, I -perceived, one of the vague “poor children” for whom we had long packed -baskets and whom we used to take for granted as barbarously as they -used to take for granted the plague. Yet now that I knew one such, -face to face, she seemed so much less a poor child than a little girl. -And though she said so little, she had a priceless manner of knowing -what I was driving at, which not even Margaret Amelia and Betty Rodman -had, and they were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">63</a></span> the daughters of an assemblyman, and had a furnace -in their house, and had had gold watches for Christmas. It was very -perplexing.</p> - -<p>“First one finds a May-flower’s going to be a princess!” Delia shouted. -Delia was singularly unimaginative; the idea of royalty was her -single entrance to fields of fancy. The stories that I made up always -began “Once there was a fairy”; Margaret and Betty started at gnomes -and dwarfs; Calista usually selected a poor little match girl or a -boot-black asleep in a piano box; but Delia invariably chose a royal -family, with many sons.</p> - -<p>We ran, shouting, across the stretch of scrub-oak which stretched -where the town blocks of houses and streets gave it up and reverted to -the open country. To reach this unprepossessing green place, usually -occupied by a decrepit wagon and a pile of cord-wood, was like passing -through a doorway into the open. We expressed our freedom by shouting -and scrambling to be princesses—all, that is, save Mary Elizabeth. She -went soberly about, a little apart, and I wished with all my heart that -she might find the first May-flower; but she did not do so.</p> - -<p>We hunted for wind-flowers. It was on Prospect<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">64</a></span> Hill that these first -flowers—wind-flowers, pasque flowers, May-flowers, however one has -learned to say them—were found in Spring—the <em>anemone patens</em> which, -next to pussy-willows themselves, meant to us Spring. A week before -Nellie Pitmouth had brought to school the first that we had seen. -Nellie had our pity because she drove the cows to pasture before -she came to school, but she had her reward, for it was always she -who found the first spoils. I remember those mornings when I would -reach school to find a little group about Nellie in whose hands would -be pussy-willows, or the first violets, or our rarely found white -violets. For a little while, in the light of real events like these, -Nellie enjoyed distinction. Then she relapsed into her usual social -obscurity and the stigma of her gingham apron which she wore even on -half holidays. This day we pressed hard for her laurels, scrambling in -the deep mould and dead leaves in search of the star faces on silvery, -silken, furry stems. We hoped untiringly that we might some day find -arbutus, which grew in abundance only eighteen miles away, on the -hills. In Summer we patiently looked for wintergreen, which they were -always finding<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">65</a></span> farther up the river. And from the undoubted dearth -of both we escaped with a pretence to the effect that we were under a -spell, and that some day, the witch having died, we should walk on our -hill and find the wintergreen come and the arbutus under the leaves.</p> - -<p>By five o’clock we had been hungry for two hours, and we spread our -lunch on the crest. Prospect Hill was the place to which we took our -guests when we had them. It was the wide west gateway of the town, -where through few ventured, for it opened out on the bend of the little -river, navigable only to rowboats and launches, and flowing toward us -from the west. You stood at the top of a sharp declivity, and it was -like seeing a river face to face to find it flowing straight toward -you, out of the sky, bearing little green islands and wet yellow -sandbars. It almost seemed as if these must come floating toward us -and bringing us everything.... For these were the little days, when we -still believed that everything was necessary.</p> - -<p>We quickly despatched the process of “trading off,” a sandwich for an -apple, a cooky for a cake, and so on, occasionally trading back<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">66</a></span> before -the bargain had been tasted. Mary Elizabeth sat at one side; even after -I had divided my lunch and given her my basket for a plate, she sat a -very little away from us—or it may be my remembrance of her aloofness -that makes this seem so. Each of the others gave her something from -her basket—but it was the kind of giving which makes one know what -a sad word is the word “bestow.” They “bestowed” these things. Since -that time, when I have seen folk administering charity, I have always -thought of the manner, ill-bred as is all condescension, in which we -must have shared our picnic food with Mary Elizabeth.</p> - -<p>I believe that this is the first conversation that ever I can remember. -Up to this time, I had talked as naturally as the night secretes -dreams, with no sense of responsibility for either to mean anything. -But that day I became uncomfortably conscious of the trend of the talk.</p> - -<p>“I have to have my new dress tried on before supper,” Delia announced, -her back to the river and her mouth filled with a jam sandwich. “It’s -blue plaid, with blue buttons and blue tassels on,” she volunteered.</p> - -<p>“My new dress Aunt Harriet brought me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">67</a></span> from the City isn’t going to be -made up till last day of school,” Margaret Amelia informed us. “It’s -got pink flowers in and it cost sixty cents a yard.”</p> - -<p>“Margaret and I are going to have white shoes before we go visiting,” -Betty remembered.</p> - -<p>“I got two new dresses that ain’t made up yet. Mamma says I got so many -I don’t need them,” observed Calista, with an indifferent manner and a -soft, triumphant glance. Whereat we all sat silent.</p> - -<p>I struggled with the moment, but it was too much for me.</p> - -<p>“I got a white silk lining to my new dress,” I let it be known. -“It’s made, but I haven’t had it on yet. China silk,” I added -conscientiously. Then, moved perhaps by a common discomfort, we all -looked toward Mary Elizabeth. I think I loved her from that moment.</p> - -<p>“None of you’s got the new style sleeves,” she said serenely, and held -aloft the arm whose sleeve was slit from wrist to shoulder.</p> - -<p>We all laughed together, but Delia pounced upon the arm. She caught and -held it.</p> - -<p>“What’s that on your arm?” she cried, and we all looked. From the elbow -up the skin was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">68</a></span> mottled a dull, ugly purple, as if rough hands had -been there.</p> - -<p>Mary Elizabeth flushed. “Ain’t you ever had any bruises on you?” she -inquired in a tone so finely modulated that Delia actually hastened to -defend herself from the impeachment of inexperience.</p> - -<p>“Sure,” she said heartily. “I counted ’em last night. I got seven.”</p> - -<p>“I got five and a great long skin,” Betty competed hotly.</p> - -<p>“Pooh,” said Calista, “I’ve got a scratch longer than my hand is. -Teacher said maybe I’d get an infect,” she added importantly.</p> - -<p>Then we kept on neutral ground, such as blank-books and Fourth of July -and planning to go bare-foot some day, until Calista attacked a pickled -peach which she had brought.</p> - -<p>“Our whole cellar’s full of pickled peaches,” I incautiously observed. -“I could have brought some if I’d thought.”</p> - -<p>“We got more than that,” said Delia, instantly. “We got a thousand -glasses of jelly left over from last year.”</p> - -<p>“A thousand!” repeated Margaret Amelia, in derision. “A hundred, you -mean.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">69</a></span> -“Well,” Delia said, “it’s a lot. And jars and jars and jars of -preserves. And cans and cans and <em>cans</em>....”</p> - -<p>The others took it up. Why we should have boasted of the quantity of -fruit in our parents’ cellars, I have no notion, save that it was -for the unidentified reason which impels all boasting. When I am in -a very new bit of country, where generalizations and multiplications -follow every fact, I am sometimes reminded of the fashion of our talk -whose statements tried to exceed themselves, in a kind of pyrotechnic -pattern bursting at last into nothing and the night. We might have been -praising climate or crops or real estate.</p> - -<p>Mary Elizabeth spoke with something like eagerness.</p> - -<p>“We got a bottle of blackberry cordial my grandmother made before she -died,” she said. “We keep it in the top bureau drawer.”</p> - -<p>“What a funny place to keep it....” Delia began, and stopped of her own -accord.</p> - -<p>I remember that everybody was willing enough to let Mary Elizabeth help -pick up the dishes. Then she took a tree for Pussy-wants-a-corner, -which always follows the picnic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">70</a></span> part of a picnic. But hardly anyone -would change trees with her, and by the design which masks as chance, -everyone ran to another tree. At last she casually climbed her tree, -agile as a cat, a feat which Delia alone was shabby enough to pretend -not to see.</p> - -<p>We started homeward when the red was flaming up in the west and falling -deep in the heart of the river. By then Mary Elizabeth was almost at -ease with us, but rather, I think, because of the soft evening, and -perhaps in spite of our presence.</p> - -<p>“Oh!” she cried. “Somebody grabbed the sun and pulled it down. I saw it -go!”</p> - -<p>Delia looked shocked. “You oughtn’t to tell such things,” she reproved -her.</p> - -<p>Mary Elizabeth flung up the arm with the torn sleeve and ran beside us, -laughing with abandon. We were all running down the slope in the red -light.</p> - -<p>“We’re Indians, looking for roots for the medicine-man,” Delia called; -“Yellow Thunder is sick. So is Red Bird. We’re hunting roots.”</p> - -<p>She was ahead and we were following. We caught at the dead mullein -stalks and milkweed pods and threw them away, and leaped up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">71</a></span> and pulled -at the low branches with their tender buds. We were filled with the -flow of the Spring and seeking to express it, as in the old barbaric -days, by means of destruction.... At the foot of the slope a little -maple tree was growing, tentative as a sunbeam and scarcely thicker, -left by the Spring that had last been that way. When she reached it, -Delia laid hold on it, and had it out by its slight root, and tossed it -on the moss.</p> - -<p>“W-h-e-e-e!” cried Delia, “I wish it was Arbour Day to-morrow too!”</p> - -<p>Mary Elizabeth stopped laughing. “I turn here,” she said. “It’s the -short cut. Good-bye—I had a grand time. The best time I ever had.”</p> - -<p>Delia pretended not to hear. She said nothing. The others called casual -good-byes over shoulder. Going home, they rebuked me soundly for having -invited Mary Elizabeth. Delia rehearsed the array of reasons. If she -came to school, we would have to <em>know</em> her, she wound up. I remember -feeling baffled and without argument. All that they said was true, and -yet—</p> - -<p>“I’m going to see her,” I announced stoutly,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">72</a></span> more, I dare say, because -I was tired and a little cross than from real loyalty.</p> - -<p>“You’ll catch some disease,” said Delia. “I know a girl that went to -see some poor children and she caught the spinal appendicitis and died -before she got back home.”</p> - -<p>We went round by the schoolhouse, drawn there by a curiosity that -had in it inevitable elements of regret. There they were, little -dead-looking trees, standing in places of wet earth, and most of them -set somewhat slanting. Everyone was gone, and in the late light the -grounds looked solemn and different.</p> - -<p>“Just think,” said Delia, “when we grow up and the trees grow up, we -can tell our children how we planted ’em.”</p> - -<p>“Why, we never—” Calista began.</p> - -<p>“Our school did, didn’t it?” Delia contended. “And our school’s we, -isn’t it?”</p> - -<p>But we overruled her. No, to the end of time, the trees that stood in -those grounds would have been planted by other hands than ours. We -were probably the only ones in the school who hadn’t planted a tree. -“I don’t care, do you?” we demanded of one another, and reiterated our -denial.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">73</a></span> -“I planted a-a-a—-Never-green!” Harold Rodman shouted, running to meet -us.</p> - -<p>“So did we!” we told him merrily, and separated, laughing. It had, it -seemed, been a great day, in spite of Mary Elizabeth.</p> - -<p>I went into the house, and hovered about the supper table. I perceived -that I had missed hot waffles and honey, and these now held no charm. -Grandmother Beers was talking.</p> - -<p>“When I was eight years old,” she said, “I planted it by the well. And -when Thomas went back to England fifty years after, he couldn’t reach -both arms round the trunk. And there was a seat there—for travellers.”</p> - -<p>I looked at her, and thought of that giant tree. Would those -dead-looking little sticks, then, grow like that?</p> - -<p>“If fifty thousand school children each planted a tree to-day,” said my -mother, “that would be a forest. And planting a forest is next best to -building a city.”</p> - -<p>“Better,” said my father, “better. What kind of tree did you plant, -daughter?” he inquired.</p> - -<p>I hung my head. “I—we—there was a picnic,” I said. “We didn’t <em>have</em> -to plant ’em. So we had a picnic.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">74</a></span> -My father looked at me in the way that I remember.</p> - -<p>“That’s it,” he said. “For everyone who plants a tree, there are half -a dozen that have a picnic. And two dozen that cut them down. At last -we’ve got one in the family who belongs to the majority!”</p> - -<p>When I could, I slipped out in the garden. It was darkening; the frogs -in the Slough were chorussing, and down on the river-bank a cat-bird -sang at intervals, was silent long enough to make you think that he -had ceased, and then burst forth again. The town clock struck eight, -as if eight were an ancient thing, full of dignity. Our kitchen clock -answered briskly, as if eight were a proud and novel experience of its -own. The ’bus rattled past for the Eight-twenty. And away down in the -garden, I heard a step. Someone had come in the back gate and clicked -the pail of stones that weighted its chain.</p> - -<p>I thought that it would be one of the girls, who not infrequently chose -this inobvious method of entrance. I ran toward her, and was amazed to -find Mary Elizabeth kneeling quietly on the ground, as she had been -when I came upon her at noon.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">75</a></span> -“What you doing?” I demanded, before I could see what she was doing.</p> - -<p>“This,” she said.</p> - -<p>I stooped. And she had a little maple tree, for which she was hollowing -a home with a rusty fire-shovel that she had brought with her.</p> - -<p>“It’s the one Delia Dart pulled out,” she said. “I thought it’d be kind -of nice to put it here. In your yard. You could bring the water, if you -want.”</p> - -<p>I brought the water. Together we bent in the dusk, and we set out the -little tree, near the back gate, close to my play-house.</p> - -<p>“We’d ought to say a verse or something,” I said vaguely.</p> - -<p>“I can’t think of any,” Mary Elizabeth objected.</p> - -<p>Neither could I, but you had to say something when you planted a tree. -And a line was as good as a verse.</p> - -<p>“‘God is love’ ’s good enough,” said Mary Elizabeth, stamping down the -earth. Then we dismissed the event, and hung briefly above the back -gate. Somehow, I was feeling a great and welcome sense of relief.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">76</a></span> -“It was kind o’ nice to do that,” I observed, with some embarrassment.</p> - -<p>“No, it wasn’t either,” rejoined Mary Elizabeth, modestly.</p> - -<p>We stood kicking at the gravel for a moment. Then she went away.</p> - -<p>I faced about to the quiet garden. And suddenly, for no reason that I -knew, I found myself skipping on the path, in the dark, just as if the -day were only beginning.</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">77</a></span> -</div> - -<h2><a name="v" id="v"></a>V<br /> -<span>THE KING’S TRUMPETER</span></h2> - - -<p><span class="smcap">And</span> so it is for that night long ago when Mary Elizabeth and I stood by -the tree and tried to think of something to say, that after all these -years I have made the story of Peter.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Long years ago, when the world was just beginning to be, there was a -kingdom which was not yet finished. Of course when a world has just -stopped being nothing and is beginning to be something, it takes a -great while to set all the kingdoms going. And this one wasn’t done.</p> - -<p>For example, in the palace garden where little Peter used to play, -the strangest things were to be met. For the mineral kingdom was just -beginning to be vegetable, and the vegetable was just beginning to -be animal, and the animal was just beginning to be man,—and man was -just, just beginning to know about his living<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">78</a></span> spirit. Do you see what -<em>that</em> means? While you looked at a mound of earth it became a bush—or -a very little time afterward, as time in these things is reckoned. -While you looked at a beast-shaped bush—all bushes at night are shaped -like beasts—it became a living animal—or, again, a <em>very</em> little -afterward. And men had by no means got over being apes, tigers, swine, -and dogs, and sometimes you hardly knew which a man was, a real man or -one of these animals. And spirits were growing in men as fast as this -might be. Everything, you see, lay in savage angles and wild lines.</p> - -<p>Little Peter was playing one morning in the palace garden, and such -playing as it was! He would be moulding little balls of loam and -fashioning them with seeds, when suddenly they would break into life as -buds and then as flowers, almost as one now sees twigs of wood break -into life, or as quiet cocoons become living butterflies—for the world -is not so different. Or Peter would be playing with a spongy-looking -mass on a rock in the brook, when it would break from its rock and go -gayly swimming about, and be a fish-thing. Or he would push at a bit of -ooze with a cat-tail, and a little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">79</a></span> flying life would mount abruptly -and wing away. It was exciting playing in those days, and some of the -things you can do in these days. Only then it was all new, so Peter -could see just how wonderful it was.</p> - -<p>Now, that morning the king was walking in his palace garden. And he was -troubled, for everywhere that he looked there were loose ends and rough -edges, and shapeless things waiting to be fashioned, and it was so all -over his kingdom. There was such a great lot to do that he could not -possibly do it all alone—no king, however industrious, could have done -it all. And he longed for the help of all his subjects. So when the -king came on little Peter, busily making living things where none had -been before, he was mightily pleased, and he sat down with the little -lad on a grassy platform in the midst of the garden.</p> - -<p>“Lo, now, little lad,” said the king, “what do you play?”</p> - -<p>Instead of playing at keeping store or keeping house or at acting or -hunting or exploring, little Peter was playing another game.</p> - -<p>“I’m playing it’s creation, your majesty,” he answered, “and I’m -playing help the king.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">80</a></span> -“Lo, now,” said the king, “I would that all my subjects would play as -well as you.”</p> - -<p>The king thought for a moment, looking out on all the savage angles and -wild lines, while little Peter watched a bit of leaf mould becoming a -green plant.</p> - -<p>“Summon me my hundred heralds!” the king suddenly bade his servants.</p> - -<p>So the servants summoned the hundred heralds, who hurried into their -blue velvet and silver buckles and came marching, twenty abreast, -across the grassy plateau, where the morning sun made patterns like -wings, and among the wings they bowed themselves and asked the king his -will.</p> - -<p>“Hundred heralds,” said the king, “be it only that you do this -willingly, I would that you go out into my kingdom, into its highways -and even to its loneliest outposts, and take my people my message. Cry -to them, until each one hears with his heart as well as his head: ‘The -world is beginning. You must go and help the king.’”</p> - -<p>Now, little Peter, when he heard the message, rose and stood beside the -king, and in his breast something thrilled and trembled like a smitten -chord. But as for the hundred heralds, they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">81</a></span> were troubled as one -man—though he not yet wholly a man.</p> - -<p>“O king,” they said, twenty at a time, “blue velvet and silver buckles -are meet for the streets of cities and to call men to feasting -and to honour the king. But as for the highways and the loneliest -outposts—that is another matter.”</p> - -<p>“But what of the message?” the king asked sadly, and this none of the -heralds knew how to answer; and presently the king sent them away, for -he would never have unwilling service in his palace or in his kingdom. -And as they went, little Peter looked after them, and he saw, and -the king saw, that for all their blue velvet and silver buckles, the -hundred heralds, marching away twenty abreast, were not yet all men, -but partly they were apes in manner and swine at heart. And little -Peter wondered if he fashioned them as he did his bits of mould, -whether they would burst from a sheath, <em>all</em> men, as burst his little -plants.</p> - -<p>“Summon me my thousand trumpeters!” the king bade his servants next.</p> - -<p>The thousand trumpeters hurried into their purple velvet and their lace -collars and seized their silver trumpets, and came marching fifty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">82</a></span> -abreast across the grassy plateau, where the noon sun made a blinding -light, like the light of another sun; and they bowed themselves in the -brightness and asked the king his will.</p> - -<p>But when the king had told them his will and had repeated the message -and asked them if they could go willingly, the thousand trumpeters were -troubled as one man—and he not yet wholly a man.</p> - -<p>“O king,” said they, in fifties and one hundreds, “lo, now, these -silver trumpets. These are meet to sound up and down the streets of -cities and to call men to feasting and to honour the king, and never -are they meet to sound in the lonely outposts. Pray thee, O king, keep -us near thee.”</p> - -<p>“But what of the message?” the king asked, and none of his trumpeters -could help him there, and he would have no unwilling service in his -palace or in his kingdom, so he sent them all away. And as they went, -little Peter looked after them, and he saw, and the king saw, that for -all their purple velvet and lace collars, the thousand trumpeters, -marching away fifty abreast, were not all men, but they were apes in -manner and swine and hounds at heart. And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">83</a></span> little Peter almost wished -that he could fashion them as he did his bits of mould and see if they -would not change into something better.</p> - -<p>So then the king called a meeting of his High Council, and his -councillors hurried into their robes of state and appeared on the -grassy plateau when the evening was lighting the place to be a glory.</p> - -<p>“Lo, now,” said the king, “I needs must send a message to all my -people. Let us devise or dream some way to take it.”</p> - -<p>When they heard the message, the councillors nodded, with their hands -over their mouths, looking at the ground.</p> - -<p>Then the king said—there, in the beginning of the world:—</p> - -<p>“I have a thought about a wire which shall reach round the earth and -oversea and undersea, on which a man may send a message. And a thought -I have about a wire which shall stretch across the land, and upon that -wire a voice may travel alone. And a thought about messages that shall -pierce the air with no wire and no voice. But none of these things is -now.”</p> - -<p>(“Nay,” said the council, murmuring among themselves, “or ever shall -be.”)</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">84</a></span> -“—and if they were,” said the king, “I would have one serve me even -better than these, to reach the head and the heart of my people. How -shall I do this thing? For I must have help in finishing my kingdom.”</p> - -<p>The council, stepping about in the slanting light, disputed the matter, -group by group, but there lay nowhere, it seemed, a conclusion.</p> - -<p>“You yourselves,” the king cried at last, “who know well that the -kingdom must be completed, you yourselves gather the people in -multitudes together and tell them the message.”</p> - -<p>But at this the High Council twitched their robes of state and would -have none of it.</p> - -<p>“Who would sit in the high places if we did <em>that</em>?” said they.</p> - -<p>So the king sent them all away, and little Peter, standing beside the -king, looked after them. And he saw, and the king saw, how, under their -robes of state, the High Council had not entirely stopped being ape -and swine and hound and tiger and, early in the world as it was, still -there seemed no great excuse for that.</p> - -<p>“Oh, sire,” said little Peter, “I wish I could play with them as I play -with my bits of mould<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">85</a></span> and loam and could turn them into something -better and alive.”</p> - -<p>“Well said, little Peter,” replied the king, smiling sadly.</p> - -<p>And now the west, which had been like a vast, stained-glass window, -streaming with warm light, fell into gray opaqueness, and the grassy -plateau became a place of shadows in which night things were born -gently. And the king looked away to the beast-shaped bushes and to all -the striving land.</p> - -<p>“Oh, my kingdom, my kingdom!” he cried, grieving. “Now, would that this -little Peter here could help you in the making.”</p> - -<p>And then little Peter stood upright in the faint light.</p> - -<p>“May it please the king,” he said softly, “I will take the message to -his people.”</p> - -<p>The king stared down at him.</p> - -<p>“You?” he said. “<em>You</em>, little man? And how, pray, would you take my -message?”</p> - -<p>“May it please the king,” said little Peter, “I would tell everyone in -the kingdom till all should have been told.”</p> - -<p>“Little man,” said the king, “you are no bigger than a trumpet.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">86</a></span> -“Ay,” said the little lad, “I think that is what I am. I would that I -be not Peter, but Trumpeter. So send me forth.”</p> - -<p>At this the king laughed, and for the laughter his heart was the -lighter. He touched the boy’s brow.</p> - -<p>“See, then, I touch your brow, little Trumpeter,” he said. “Go -forth—and do you know my message?”</p> - -<p>“You had first touched my heart, your majesty,” said the little boy, -“and the message is there.”</p> - -<p>You would think, perhaps, that Peter would have waited till the -morning, but he would not wait an hour. He made a little packet -of linen and of food, and just as the folk within the palace were -beginning their evening revelry, he stepped out on the highway and -fared forth under the moon.</p> - -<p>But fancy walking on such a highway as that! At first glance it looked -like any other night road, stretching between mysterious green. But not -anything there could be depended upon to stay as it was. A hillock, -lying a little way ahead, became, as he reached it, a plumy shrub, -trembling with amazement at its transformation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">87</a></span> from dead earth to -living green. At a turn in the road, a low bush suddenly walked away -into the wood, a four-footed animal. Everything changed as he looked at -it, as if nothing were meant to be merely what it was. The world was -beginning!</p> - -<p>At the foot of a hill, where the shadows were thick, Peter met the -first one to whom he could give his message. The man was twisted and -ragged and a beggar, and he peered down in Peter’s face horribly.</p> - -<p>“Sir,” said Peter, courteously, “the world is beginning. You must go -and help the king.”</p> - -<p>“Help the king!” cried the beggar, and his voice was uneven, like a -bark or a whine that was turning into words. “I can’t help the king -without my supper.”</p> - -<p>“Supper is only supper,” said little Peter, who had never in his life -been hungry. “One must help the king—that is more.”</p> - -<p>The beggar struck the ground with his staff.</p> - -<p>“I’m hungry,” he said like a bark. “I want some supper and some dinner -and all the way back to breakfast before I help the king, world or no -world!”</p> - -<p>And suddenly little Peter understood what it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">88</a></span> is to be hungry, and -that, if folk were hungry, they must first find means of feeding -themselves before they could listen. So he gave the beggar all that he -had of food in his packet, which was the least that he could do, and -sent him on his way, charging him with the message.</p> - -<p class="nmb">At the top of the hill, Peter came on another man, sitting under a -sycamore tree. The man was a youth, and very beautiful, and he was -making a little song, which went like this:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse"> -<div class="line outdent">“<em>Open, world, your trembling petals slowly,</em></div> -<div class="line"><em>Here one, there one, natal to its hour,</em></div> -<div class="line"><em>Toward the time when, holden in a vessel holy,</em></div> -<div class="line"><em>You shall be a flower.</em>”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Though Peter did not know what the song might mean, yet it fell sweetly -upon the night, and he liked to listen. And when it was done, he went -and stood before the youth.</p> - -<p>“Sir,” he said, “the world is beginning. You must go and help the king.”</p> - -<p>“I know, I know, little lad,” said the youth, and his voice was clear, -like bird-notes that were turning into words. “I, too, tell the -message, making it in a song.”</p> - -<p>And these words made Peter glad, so that his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">89</a></span> strength was new, and he -ran on with the poet’s gentle music in his ears.</p> - -<p>I cannot tell you how far Peter went, but he went very far, and to -many a lonely outpost, and away and away on a drear frontier. It was -long to go and hard to do, but that is the way the world is made; and -little Peter went on, now weary, now frightened, now blithe, now in -good company, now alone and in the dark. I cannot tell you all the -adventures he had and all the things he did—perhaps you will know -these in some other way, sometime. And there were those to whom he -told the message who listened, or set out in haste for the king’s -palace; and some promised that they would go another day, and a few ran -to tell others. But many and many were like the hundred heralds and -the thousand trumpeters and the king’s High Council, and found many -a reason why they might not set out. And some there were who mocked -Peter, saying that the world indeed was doing very well without their -help and would work itself out if only one would wait; and others would -not even listen to the little lad.</p> - -<p>At last, one morning when the whole world seemed glad that it was -beginning and seemed to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">90</a></span> long to tell about it, little Peter entered a -city, decorated for a festival. Everywhere were garlands of vines and -of roses, bright rugs and fluttering pennons and gilded things, as if -the world had been long enough begun so that already there were time -to take holidays. The people were flooding the streets and crowding -the windows, and through their holiday dress Peter could see how some -minced and mocked a little like apes, and others peered about like -giraffes, and others ravened for food and joy, like the beggar or the -bear or the tiger, and others kept the best, like swine, or skulked -like curs, or plodded like horses, or prattled like parrots. Animals -ran about, dumb like the vegetables they had eaten. Vegetables were -heaped in the stalls, mysterious as the earth which they had lately -been. The buildings were piled up to resemble the hills from whose -substance they had been created, and their pillars were fashioned like -trees. Everywhere were the savage angles and wild lines of one thing -turning into another. And Peter longed to help to fashion them all, as -he fashioned his little balls of mould and loam.</p> - -<p>“There is so much yet to do,” thought little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">91</a></span> Peter, “I wonder that -they take so much time for holidays.”</p> - -<p>So he ran quickly to a high, white place in the midst of the town, -where they were making ready to erect the throne of the king of the -carnival, and on that he stood and cried:—</p> - -<p>“Hear me—hear me! The world is beginning. You must go and help the -king.”</p> - -<p>Now, if those about the carnival throne had only said: “What is that to -us? Go away!” Peter would have been warned. But they only nodded, and -they said kindly: “Yes, so it is—and we mean to help presently. Come -and help us first!” And one of the revellers, seeing Peter, how little -he was, picked him up and held him at arm’s length and cried:—</p> - -<p>“Lo, now, this little lad. He is no bigger than a trumpet....”</p> - -<p>(That was what the king had said, and it pleased Peter to hear it said -again.)</p> - -<p>“... Let us take him,” the revellers went on, “and <em>have</em> him for a -trumpet. And take him with us in our great procession. What think ye?”</p> - -<p>“And may I cry out what message I please?” little Peter asked eagerly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">92</a></span> -“Surely,” answered all the revellers, gayly. “What is that to us, so -that you come with us?”</p> - -<p>They picked him up and tossed him on their shoulders—for he was of -about a brazen trumpet’s weight, no more;—and Peter clapped his hands -for joy, for he was a boy and he loved to think that he would be a part -of that gorgeous procession. And they took him away to the great tent -on the city green where everyone was dressing for the carnival.</p> - -<p>Peter never had seen anything so strange and wonderful as what was -within that tent. In it everything and everybody had just been or was -just going to be something or somebody else. Not only had the gay -garments piled on the floor just been sheep’s and silkworm’s coats, -not only had the colours laid upon them just been roots and stems and -herb-leaves, not only had the staves been tree’s boughs and elephant’s -tusks, but the very coal burning in the braziers and the oil in the -torches had once been sunshine, and the very flames had been air, and -before that water, and so on. But, most of all, the people showed what -they had been, for in any merry-making the kinds of animals in folk -can<em>not</em> be covered up; and it was a regular menagerie.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">93</a></span> -They took little Peter and dressed him like a trumpet. They thrust both -his legs into one long cloth-of-gold stocking, and he held his arms -tightly at his sides while they wound his little body in ruffles of -gold-coloured silk, growing broader and broader into a full-gathered -ruff from which his laughing face peeped out. And he was so slender and -graceful that you could hardly have told him from a real, true, golden -trumpet.</p> - -<p>Then the procession was ready to start, all lined up in the great -tent. And the heralds and the music all burst out at once as the green -curtain of the tent was drawn aside, and the long, glittering line -began to move. Little heralds, darting about for all the world like -squirrels and chipmunks; a great elephant of a master of ceremonies, -bellowing out the order of the day as if he had been presiding over -the jungle; a group of men high in the town’s confidence, whose spots -proclaimed them once to have been leopards, and other things; long, -lithe harlequins descended from serpents; little, fat clowns still -showing the magpie; prominent citizens, unable as yet to conceal the -fox and the wolf in their faces; the mayor of the town, revealing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">94</a></span> the -chameleon in his blood; little donkey men; and a fine old gentleman or -two made like eagles—all of them getting done into men as quickly as -possible. In the midst rode the king of the carnival, who had evidently -not long since been a lion, and that no doubt was why they picked him -out. He rode on a golden car from which sprays of green sprang out to -reach from side to side of the broad street. And at his lips, held like -a trumpet, he carried little Peter, one hand on Peter’s feet set to the -kingly lips, and the other stretched out to Peter’s breast.</p> - -<p>Then Peter lifted up his shrill little voice and shouted loud his -message:—</p> - -<p>“<em>The world is beginning! The world is beginning! The world is -beginning! You must go and help the king. You must go-o-o and help the -king!</em>”</p> - -<p>But just as he cried that, the carnival band struck into a merry march, -and all the heralds were calling, and the people were shouting, and -Peter’s little voice did not reach very far.</p> - -<p>“Shout again!” bade the king of the carnival, who did not care in the -least what Peter said, so long only as he acted like a trumpet.</p> - -<p>So Peter shouted again—shouted his very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">95</a></span> best. He shouted as loudly -as he did at play, as loudly as when he swam and raced in the water, -as loudly as any boy could shout. But it seemed to him that his voice -carried hardly farther than the little chipmunk-and-squirrel heralds -before him, and that nobody heard him.</p> - -<p>Still, it was all such fun! The glitter of the procession, the -eagerness of the people, the lilt and rhythm of the music. And fun -over all was it to be carried by the carnival king himself, high above -everyone and dressed like a golden trumpet. Surely, surely no boy -ever had more fun than that! Surely, surely it was no great marvel -that after a little time, so loud was the clamour and so fast the -excitement, that Peter stopped crying his message, and merely watched -and laughed and delighted with the rest.</p> - -<p>Up and down through the thronged streets they went, that great, -glittering procession, winding its mile or more of spangles and gilding -and gay dress and animals richly caparisoned. Everywhere the crowded -walks and windows and balconies sent cheers into the air, everywhere -flowers were thrown and messages tossed and melody flooded. And -wherever that long line passed, everyone noted the king’s trumpet and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">96</a></span> -pointed it out and clapped hands and tried to throw upon it garlands. -And there was so much to see, and so much excitement there was in the -hour, that at last little Peter did not even think of his message, and -only jested and made merry. For it was the most wonderful game that -ever he had played.</p> - -<p>“How now, my little trumpeter?” the king of the carnival would say -sometimes, when he rested his arms and held Peter at his side.</p> - -<p>“Oh, <em>well</em>, your majesty!” Peter would cry, laughing up at him.</p> - -<p>“This is all a fine game and nothing more,” the king of the carnival -would tell him. “Is this not so?”</p> - -<p>Then he would toss the boy on high again, away above the golden car, -and Peter would cry out with the delight of it. And though there were -no wings and no great brightness in the air, yet the hour was golden -and joy was abroad like a person.</p> - -<p>Presently, a band of mountebanks, dressed like ploughmen and -harvesters, came tumbling and racing by the procession, and calling to -everyone to come to a corn husking on the city green.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">97</a></span> -“Husks! Husks! A corn husking on the city green. Husks—husks—husks!” -they cried.</p> - -<p>But there was such a tumult that no one could well hear what they said, -and presently they appealed to the carnival king to tell the people.</p> - -<p>“Nay, O king, they hear us not for the noise of thy passing,” said -they. “Prithee tell the people what we would say.”</p> - -<p>“Tell the people, my little trumpeter!” cried the king, and lifted -Peter to his lips.</p> - -<p>And Peter shouted out with all his might.</p> - -<p>“Husks! Husks! A corn husking on the city green. Husks—husks—husks!”</p> - -<p>“Bravely done!” called the mountebanks, in delight, and ran alongside -the car, leaping and tumbling and grotesquely showing their delight. -“Bravely done! Tell the people—bid the people come!”</p> - -<p>So Peter called again, and yet again, at the full strength of his -little voice. And it seemed to him that the people surely listened, -and it was a delight and a flattery to be the one voice in the great -procession, save only the music’s voice.</p> - -<p>At last, for one moment it chanced that the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">98</a></span> bands ceased altogether -their playing, so that there was an instant of almost silence.</p> - -<p>“<em>Husks, husks, husks!</em>” he cried, with all his might.</p> - -<p class="nmb">And as he did that, thin and clear through the silence, vexed somewhat -by the voices of the people,—now barks, now whines, now bellows, now -words,—Peter caught a little wandering melody, as though a bird’s -singing were turning into words:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse"> -<div class="line outdent">“<em>Open, world, your trembling petals slowly,</em></div> -<div class="line"><em>Here one, there one, natal to its hour</em>....”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p class="noi">and in the midst of that motley throng, Peter, looking down, -saw the poet whom he had left on the hill-top, now wandering alone and -singing his message to his lute.</p> - -<p>“Oh, the king! Oh, <em>my</em> king!” cried little Peter, as if he had had a -great wound.</p> - -<p>“What now, my little trumpeter?” asked the carnival king.</p> - -<p>“Not you—<em>not</em> you!” cried Peter. “Oh, set me down,—set me down. Oh, -what have I done?”</p> - -<p>“How <em>now</em>, little Trumpet?” cried the carnival king. But Peter, -instead of stretching<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">99</a></span> out his little body, slim and trumpet-graceful, -turned and fell at the king’s feet in the car and slipped from his -grasp and scrambled through the branching green and reached the street.</p> - -<p>There, in the wonder and then the mockery of the people, he began -struggling to free himself from the ruffles of cloth-of-gold about his -body. Some laughed, some ran from him as if he were mad, and some, -wishing for themselves the golden ruffles, helped him to pull them off -and to strip down the clinging golden stocking that bound his limbs. -And then, being close to the city gates, little Peter ran, all naked as -he was, without the gates and on to the empty road. And he ran sobbing -out his heart:—</p> - -<p>“Oh, my king! I would have told them that the world is beginning—but, -instead I have told them only to get them husks!”</p> - -<p>Now the poet, who had seen it all—and who understood—ceased his song -and made his way as quickly as might be for the press of the people, -and ran after Peter, and fared along the road beside him, trying to -comfort him. But the little lad might not be comforted, and he only -cried out again:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">100</a></span> -“The king—the king! I would have given them his message—and I bade -them only to get them husks!”</p> - -<p>So the poet—who understood—said no word at all, but he shielded Peter -with his mantle; and then he took his lute and walked beside the little -lad, singing.</p> - -<p>They had gone but a short distance when they reached the top of a hill, -where the sun shone with exceeding brightness, and the poet noted -that the light fell almost like little wings. Peter saw none of this, -for his hands were still covering his face. But he heard the poet’s -singing interrupted by a voice. The voice was uneven—like a bark or -a whine that is turning into words—but yet its words were clear and -unmistakable. And they were:—</p> - -<p>“<em>Sirs, the world is beginning. You must go and help the king.</em>”</p> - -<p>Peter looked up and he saw the man who had spoken, a man twisted and -ragged, but who smiled down into the little boy’s face so gently that, -for a moment, Peter did not know him; and then he recognized that -beggar to whom, on that night long ago, he had given food and the -message.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">101</a></span> -“Ay, friend!” the poet was answering him ringingly, “and we go!”</p> - -<p>The beggar hurried on, and the poet touched Peter’s hand.</p> - -<p>“Nay, now, little Peter,” he said, “grieve not your heart too much. -For you it was who told the beggar the message—from the top of the -hill I heard—and I saw you give him food. Can you tell any man without -some good coming true of the tidings? Then it may well be that there -are those in the town to whom you told the king’s message who will -remember, too. Go we forth together to try again!”</p> - -<p>Peter looked down the long highway, stretching between the mysterious -green, where shrubs changed to animals in so little a space; and -then he looked away to the king’s kingdom and saw how it was not -finished—because the world had just stopped being nothing and was -beginning to be something—and he looked back towards the city where, -as at the court, men had not yet done being animals. Everything -was changing, as if nothing were meant to be merely what it is. -And everything was in savage angles and wild lines. The world was -beginning. The people <em>must</em> be told to go and help the king.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">102</a></span> -“Go we forth together to try again,” the poet repeated.</p> - -<p class="nmb">He touched his lute, and its melody slipped into the sunshine.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse"> -<div class="line outdent">“<em>Toward the time when, holden in a vessel holy,</em></div> -<div class="line"><em>You shall be a flower.</em>”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Then Peter stretched out his arms, and his whole slender little body -became like one trumpet voice, and that voice strong and clear to reach -round the world itself.</p> - -<p>“I try once again!” he answered. “The world is beginning. <em>I must go -and help the king.</em>”</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">103</a></span> -</div> - -<h2><a name="vi" id="vi"></a>VI<br /> -<span>MY LADY OF THE APPLE TREE</span></h2> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Our</span> lawn was nine apple trees large. There were none in front, where -only Evergreens grew, and two silver Lombardy poplars, heaven-tall. The -apple trees began with the Cooking-apple tree by the side porch. This -was, of course, no true tree except in apple-blossom time, and at other -times hardly counted. The length of twenty jumping ropes—they call -them skipping ropes now, but we never called them so—laid one after -another along the path would have brought one to the second tree, the -Eating-apple tree, whose fruit was red without and pink-white within. -To this day I do not know what kind of apples those were, whether -Duchess, Gilliflower, Russet, Sweet, or Snow. But after all, these only -name the body of the apple, as Jasper or Edith names the body of you. -The soul of you, like the real sense of Apple, lives nameless all its -days. Sometime we must play<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">104</a></span> the game of giving us a secret name—the -Pathfinder, the Lamplighter, the Starseeker, and so on. But colours and -flavours are harder to name and must wait longer than we.</p> - -<p>... Under this Nameless tree, then, the swing hung, and to sit in the -swing and have one’s head touch apple-blossoms, and mind, not touch -them with one’s foot, was precisely like having one’s swing knotted to -the sky, so that one might rise in rhythm, head and toe, up among the -living stars. I can think of no difference worth the mentioning, so -high it seemed. And if one does not know what rhythm is, one has only -to say it over: Spring, Summer, apple-blossom, apple; new moon, old -moon, running river, echo—and then one will know.</p> - -<p>“I would pick some,” said Mother, looking up at the apple-blossoms, “if -I only knew which ones will never be apples.”</p> - -<p>So some of the blossoms would never be apples! Which ones? <em>And why?</em></p> - -<p>“Why will some be apples and some others never be apples?” I inquired.</p> - -<p>But Mother was singing and swinging me, and she did not tell.</p> - -<p>“Why will you be apples and you not be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">105</a></span> apples, and me not know which, -and you not know which?” I said to the apple-blossoms when next my head -touched them. Of course, you never really speak to things with your -throat voice, but you think it at them with your head voice. Perhaps -that is the way they answer, and that is why one does not always hear -what they say....</p> - -<p>The apple-blossoms did not say anything that I could hear. The -stillness of things never ceased to surprise me. It would have been far -less wonderful to me if the apple-blossoms and the Lombardy poplars and -my new shoes had answered me sometimes than that they always kept their -unfriendly silence. One’s new shoes <em>look</em> so friendly, with their -winking button eyes and their placid noses! And yet they act as cross -about answering as do some little boys who move into the neighbourhood.</p> - -<p>... Indeed, if one comes to think of it, one’s shoes are rather like -the sturdy little boys among one’s clothes. One’s slippers are more -like little girls, all straps and bows and tiptoes. Then one’s aprons -must be the babies, long and white and dainty. And one’s frocks and -suits—that is to say, one’s <em>new</em> frocks and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">106</a></span> suits—are the ladies -and gentlemen, important and elegant; and one’s everyday things are -the men and women, neither important nor elegant, but best of all; and -one’s oldest garments are the witches, shapeless and sad and haunted. -This leaves ribbons and sashes and beads to be fairies—both good and -bad.</p> - -<p>The silence of the Nameless tree was to lift a little that very day. -When Mother had gone in the house,—something seemed always to be -pulling at Mother to be back in the house as, in the house, something -always pulled at me to be back out-of-doors,—I remember that I was -twisting the rope and then lying back over the board, head down, -for the untwisting. And while my head was whirling and my feet were -guiding, I looked up at the tree and saw it as I had never seen it -before: soft falling skirts of white with lacy edges and flowery -patterns, drooping and billowing all about a pedestal, which was the -tree trunk, and up-tapering at the top like a waist—why, the tree was -a lady! Leaning in the air there above the branches, surely I could -see her beautiful shoulders and her white arms, her calm face and her -bright hair against the blue. She had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">107</a></span> risen out of the trunk at the -tree’s blossoming and was waiting for someone to greet her.</p> - -<p>I struggled out of the swing and scrambled, breathless, back from the -tree and looked where she should be. Already I knew her. Nearly, I knew -the things that she would say to me—sometimes now I know the things -that she would have said if we had not been interrupted.</p> - -<p>The interruption came from four girls who lived, as I thought, outside -my world,—for those were the little days when I did not yet know -that this cannot be. They were the Eversley sisters, in full-skirted, -figured calico, and they all had large, chapped hands and wide teeth -and stout shoes. For a year they had been wont to pass our house on the -way to the public school, but they had spoken to me no more than if -I had been invisible—until the day when I had first entered school. -After that, it was as if I had been born into their air, or thrown in -the same cage, or had somehow become one of them. And I was in terror -of them.</p> - -<p>“Come ’ere once!” they commanded, their voices falling like sharp -pebbles about the Apple-blossom lady and me.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">108</a></span> -Obediently I ran to the front fence, though my throat felt sick when -I saw them coming. “Have an apple core? Give us some of them flowers. -Shut your eyes so’s you’ll look just like you was dead.” These were -the things that they always said. Something kept telling me that I -ought not to tell them about my lady, but I was always wanting to win -their approval and to let them know that I was really more one of them -than they thought. So I disobeyed, and I told them. Mysteriously, -breathlessly I led them back to the tree; and feeling all the time that -I was not keeping faith, I pointed her out to them. I showed them just -where to look, beginning with the skirts, which surely anybody could -see.... I used often to dream that a crowd of apish, impish little folk -was making fun of me, and that afternoon I lived it, standing out alone -against those four who fell to instant jeering. If they had stooped and -put their hands on their knees and hopped about making faces, it would -have been no more horrible to me than their laughter. It held for me -all the sense of bad dreams, and then of waking alone, in the middle of -the night. The worst was that I could find no words to make them know. -I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">109</a></span> could only keep saying, “She is there, she is there, she is there.” -By some means I managed not to cry, not even when they each broke a -great branch of blossoms from the Eating-apple tree and ran away, -flat-footed, down the path; not indeed until the gate had slammed and I -turned back to the tree and saw that my lady had gone.</p> - -<p>There was no doubt about it. Here were no longer soft skirts, but only -flowery branches where the sunlight thickened and the bees drowsed. -My lady was gone. Try as I might, I could not bring her back. So she -had been mocking me too! Otherwise, why had she let me see her so that -I should be laughed at, and then herself vanished? Yet, even then, I -remember that I did not doubt her, or for a moment cease to believe -that she was really there; only I felt a kind of shame that I could -see her, and that the others could not see her. I had felt the same -kind of shame before, never when I was alone, but always when I was -with people. We played together well enough,—Pom, pom, pullaway, -Minny-minny motion, Crack-the-whip, London Bridge, and the rest, save -that I could not run as fast as nearly everybody. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">110</a></span> the minute we -stopped playing and <em>talked</em>, then I was always saying something so -that the same kind of shame came over me.</p> - -<p>I saw Delia crossing the street. In one hand she held two cookies which -she was biting down sandwich-wise, and in the other hand two cookies, -as yet unbitten. The latter she shook at me.</p> - -<p>“I knew I’d see you,” she called resentfully. “I says I’d give ’em to -you if I saw you, and if I didn’t see you—”</p> - -<p>She left it unfinished at a point which gave no doubt as to whose -cookies they might have been had I not been offensively about. But -the cookies were fresh, and I felt no false delicacy. However, after -deliberation, I ate my own, one at a time, rejecting the sandwich -method.</p> - -<p>“It lasts them longest,” I explained.</p> - -<p>“The other way they bite thicker,” Delia contended.</p> - -<p>“Your teeth don’t taste,” I objected scientifically.</p> - -<p>Delia opened her eyes. “Why, they do too!” she cried.</p> - -<p>I considered. I had always had great respect for the strange chorus -of my teeth, and I was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">111</a></span> perfectly ready to regard them as having -independent powers.</p> - -<p>“Oh, not when you eat tipsy-toes like that,” said Delia, scornfully. -“Lemme show you....” She leaned for my cooky, her own being gone. I ran -shamelessly down the path toward the swing, and by the time the swing -was reached I had frankly abandoned serial bites.</p> - -<p>I sat on the grass, giving Delia the swing as a peace-offering. She -took it, as a matter of course, and did not scruple to press her -advantage.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you want to swing me?” she said.</p> - -<p>I particularly disliked being asked in that way to do things. Grown-ups -were always doing it, and what could be more absurd: “Don’t you want -to pick up your things now?” “Don’t you want to let auntie have that -chair?” “Don’t you want to take this over to Mrs. Rodman?” The form of -the query always struck me as quite shameless. I truthfully shook my -head.</p> - -<p>“I’m company,” Delia intimated.</p> - -<p>“When you’re over to my house, I have to let you swing because you’re -company,” I said speculatively, “and when I’m over to your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">112</a></span> house, I -have to let you swing because it’s your swing.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t care about being company,” said Delia, loftily, and started -home.</p> - -<p>“I’ll swing you. I was only fooling!” I said, scrambling up.</p> - -<p>It worked—as Delia knew it would and always did work. All the same, -as I pushed Delia, with my eyes on the blue-check gingham strap -buttoned across the back of her apron, I reflected on the truth and -its parallels: How, when Delia came to see me, I had to “pick up” the -playthings and set in order store or ship or den or cave or county fair -or whatnot because Delia had to go home early; and when I was over to -Delia’s, I had to help put things away because they were hers and she -had got them out.</p> - -<p>Low-swing, high-swing, now-I’m-going-to-run-under-swing—I gave them -all to Delia and sank on the grass to watch the old cat die. As it -died, Delia suddenly twisted the rope and then dropped back and lay -across the board and loosed her hands. I never dared “let go,” as we -said, but Delia did and lay whirling, her hair falling out like a sun’s -rays, and her eyes shut.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">113</a></span> -I watched her, fascinated. If she opened her eyes, I knew how the -picket fence would swim for her, no longer a line but a circle. Then -I remembered what I had seen in the tree when I was twisting, and I -looked back....</p> - -<p>There she was! Quite as I had fleetingly seen her, with lacy skirts -and vague, sweeping sleeves and bending line of shoulder, my Lady of -the Tree was there again. I looked at her breathlessly, unsurprised at -the gracious movement of her, so skilfully concealed by the disguises -of the wind. Oh, was she there all the time, or only in apple-blossom -time? Would she be there not only in white Spring but in green Summer -and yellow Fall—why, perhaps all those times came only because she -changed her gown. Perhaps night came only because she put on something -dusky, made of veils. Maybe the stars that I had thought looked to be -caught in the branches were the jewels in her hair. And the wind might -be her voice! I listened with all my might. What if she should tell me -her name ... and know my name!...</p> - -<p>“Seventeen un-twists,” announced Delia. “Did you ever get that many out -of such a little stingy swing as you gave me?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">114</a></span> -I did not question the desirability of telling Delia. The four Eversley -girls had been barbarians (so I thought). Delia I had known always. To -be sure, she had sometimes failed me, but these times were not real. My -eyes were on the tree, and Delia came curiously toward me.</p> - -<p>“Bird?” she whispered.</p> - -<p>I shook my head and beckoned her. Still looking at my lady, I drew -Delia down beside me, brought her head close to mine.</p> - -<p>“Look,” I said, “her skirt is all branches—and her face is turned the -other way. See her?”</p> - -<p>Delia looked faithfully. She scanned the tree long and impartially.</p> - -<p>“See her? See her?” I insisted, under the impression that I was -defining her. “It’s a lady,” I breathed it finally.</p> - -<p>“Oh,” said Delia, “you mean that side of the tree is the shape of one. -Yes, it is—kind of. I’m going home. We got chocolate layer cake for -supper. Good-bye. Last tag.”</p> - -<p>I turned to Delia for a second. When she went, I looked back for my -lady—but she had gone. Only—now I did not try to bring her back. -Neither did I doubt her, even then.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">115</a></span> But there came back a certain -loneliness that I had felt before, only never so much as now. Why was -it that the others could not see?</p> - -<p>I lay face downward in the grass under the tree. There were other -things like this lady that I had been conscious of, which nobody else -seemed to care about. Sometimes I had tried to tell. More often I had -instinctively kept still. Now slowly I thought that I understood: I was -different. Different from the whole world. Did I not remember how, when -I walked on the street, groups of children would sometimes whisper: -“There she is—there she is!” Or, “Here she comes!” I had thought, poor -child, that this would be because my hair was long, like little Eva’s -in the only play that most of us had seen. But now I thought I knew -what they had known and I had not known: That I was different.</p> - -<p>I dropped my face in the crook of my arm and cried—silently, because -to cry aloud seemed always to have about it a kind of nakedness; but I -cried sorely, pantingly, with aching throat, and tried to think it out.</p> - -<p>What was this difference? I had heard them say in the house that my -head was large, my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">116</a></span> hair too long to let me be healthy; and the four -Eversleys always wanted me to shut my eyes so that I should look dead. -But it was something other than these. Maybe—I shall never forget the -grip of that fear—maybe I was not human. Maybe I was Adopted. I had no -clear idea what Adopted meant, but my impression was that it meant not -to have been born at all. That was it. I was like the apple-blossoms -that would never be apples. I was just a Pretend little girl, a kind of -secret one, somebody who could never, never be the same as the rest.</p> - -<p>I turned from that deep afternoon and ran for the wood-pile where I had -a hiding-place. Down the path I met Mother and clung to her.</p> - -<p>“Mother, Mother!” I sobbed. “Am I adopted?”</p> - -<p>“No, dear,” she said seriously. “You are mine. What is it?”</p> - -<p>“Promise me I’m not!” I begged.</p> - -<p>“I promise,” she said. “Who has been talking to you? You little lamb, -come in the house,” she added. “You’re tired out, playing.”</p> - -<p>I went with her. But the moment had entered me. I was not like the -rest. I said it over, and every time it hurt. There is no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">117</a></span> more -passionate believer in democracy than a child.</p> - -<p>Across the street Delia was sitting on the gate-post, ostentatiously -eating chocolate layer cake, and with her free hand twisting into -a curl the end of her short braid. Between us there seemed to have -revealed itself a gulf, life-wide. Had Delia always known about me? Did -the Rodman girls know? And Calista? The four Eversleys must know—this -was why they laughed so.... But I remember how, most of all, I hoped -that Mary Elizabeth did not know—yet.</p> - -<p>From that day I faced the truth: I was different. I was somehow not -really-truly. And it seemed to me that nothing could ever be done about -it.</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">118</a></span> -</div> - -<h2><a name="vii" id="vii"></a>VII<br /> -<span>THE PRINCESS ROMANCIA</span></h2> - - -<p><span class="smcap">That</span> night I could not go to sleep with the knowledge. If only I, as I -am now, might have sat on the edge of the bed and told a story to me -as I was then! I am always wishing that we two might have known each -other—I as I am now and I as I was then. We should have been so much -more interested in each other than anybody else could ever be. I can -picture us looking curiously at each other through the dark, and each -would have wished to be the other—how hard we would have wished that. -But neither of us would have got it, as sometimes happens with wishes.</p> - -<p>Looking back on that night, and knowing how much I wanted to be like -the rest, I think this would be the story that I, as I am now, would -have told that Little Me.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Once upon a time to the fairy king and queen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">119</a></span> there was born a little -daughter. And the king, being a modern fairy, determined to invite to -the christening of his daughter twelve mortals—a thing never before -countenanced in fairy ceremony. And of course all unreal people are -always very particular about their ceremonies being <em>just</em> so.</p> - -<p>It was a delicate and difficult task to make out that mortal invitation -list, for it was very hard to find in the world twelve human beings -who, at a fairy party, would exactly fit in. After long thought and -consultation with all his ministers and councillors, the king made out -the following list:—</p> - -<p>A child; a poet; a scientist; a carpenter; a prophet; an artist; an -artisan; a gardener; a philosopher; a woman who was also a mother; a -man who was also a father; and a day labourer.</p> - -<p>“Do you think that will do <em>at all</em>?” the fairy king asked the fairy -queen, tossing over the list.</p> - -<p>“Well, dear,” she replied, “it’s probably the best you can do. You know -what people are.” She hesitated a mere breath—a fairy’s breath—and -added: “I do wonder a little, though, just <em>why</em> the day labourer.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">120</a></span> -“My dear,” said the king, “some day you will understand that, and many -other things as well.”</p> - -<p>The christening room was a Vasty Hall, whose deep blue ceiling was as -high as the sky and as strange as night. Lamps, dim as the stars, hung -very high, and there was one silver central chandelier, globed like the -moon, and there were frescoes like clouds. The furnishings of the Vasty -Hall were most magnificent. There were pillars like trees spreading out -into capitals of intricate and leafy design. Lengths of fair carpet ran -here and there, as soft and shining as little streams; there were thick -rugs as deep as moss, seats of native carved stone, and tapestries as -splendid as vistas curtaining the distance. And the music was like the -music of All-night, all done at once.</p> - -<p>To honour the occasion the fairy guests had all come dressed as -something else—for by now, of course, the fairies are copying many -human fashions. One was disguised as a Butterfly with her own wings -prettily painted. One represented a Rose, and she could hardly be -distinguished from an American Beauty. One was made up as a Light, -whom nobody could recognize.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">121</a></span> One was a White Moth and one was a -Thistle-down, and there were several fantastic toilettes, such as a -great Tulle Bow, a Paper Doll, and an Hour-glass. As for the Human -Beings present, they all came masked as themselves, as usual; and their -names I cannot give you, though sometimes I see someone with dreaming -eyes whom I think may possibly have been one of those twelve—for of -course it must have made a difference in their looks ever afterward. -It was a very brilliant assemblage indeed, and everyone was most -intangible and elusive, which are fairy terms for well-behaved.</p> - -<p>While the guests were waiting for the fairy baby princess to be brought -in, they idled about, with that delightful going-to-be-ice-cream -feeling which you have at any party in some form or another, only -you must <em>never</em> say so, and they exchanged the usual pleasant -nothing-at-alls. It is curious how very like human nothings fairy -nothings are.</p> - -<p>For example:—</p> - -<p>“There is a great deal of night about,” said the Butterfly Fairy with a -little shiver. “If I were a truly butterfly, I should never be able to -find my way home.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">122</a></span> -“And there is such a fad for thunder-and-lightning this season,” added -the Paper Doll Fairy, agreeably.</p> - -<p>“Do you remember,” asked the White Moth Fairy, “the night that we all -dressed as white moths and went to meet the moon? We flew until we were -all in the moonlight, and then we knew that we had met her. I wonder -why more people do not meet the moon-rise?”</p> - -<p>“That reminds me,” said the Thistle-down Fairy, “of the day we all made -up as snowflakes and went to find the Spring. Don’t you know how she -surprised us, in the hollow of the lowland? And what a good talk we -had? I wonder why more people do not go to meet the Spring?”</p> - -<p>“A charming idea!” cried the Rose Fairy to the Light Fairy, and the -Light Fairy shone softly upon her, precisely like an answer.</p> - -<p>Then somebody observed that the wind that night was a pure soprano, and -the guests amused themselves comparing wind-notes; how on some nights -the wind is deep bass, like a man’s voice, raging through the world; -and sometimes it is tenor, sweet, and singing only serenades; and -sometimes it is all contralto and like a lullaby;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">123</a></span> and sometimes, but -not often, it is like harp music played on the trees.</p> - -<p>Suddenly the whole dark lifted, like a garment; and moonlight flooded -the Vasty Hall. And as if they had filtered down the air with the -light, the fairy christening party entered—not as we enter a room, by -thresholds and steps, but the way that a thought comes in your head and -you don’t know how it got there.</p> - -<p>The christening party wore robes of colours that lie deep between -the colours and may hardly be named. And, in a secret ceremony, such -as attends the blooming of flowers, the fairy baby was christened -Romancia. Then the fairies brought her many offerings; and these having -been received and admired, a great hush fell on the whole assembly, -for now the twelve Human Beings came forward with their gifts. And -everyone, except, indeed, the princess herself, was wild with curiosity -to see what they had brought.</p> - -<p>No one left a card with any gift, but when the fairy king came to look -them over afterward, he felt certain who had brought each one. The -gifts were these: A little embroidered gown which should make everyone -love the princess<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">124</a></span> while she wore it; a gazing crystal which would -enable the princess to see one hundred times as much as anybody else -saw; certain sea secrets and sea spells; a lyre which played itself; -a flask containing a draught which should keep the princess young; a -vial of colours which hardly anyone ever sees; flowers and grasses and -leaves which could be used almost like a dictionary to spell out other -things; an assortment of wonderful happy fancies of every variety; a -new rainbow; a box of picture cards of the world, every one of which -should come true if one only went far enough; and a tapestry of the -universe, wrapped around a brand-new idea in a box.</p> - -<p>When these things had been graciously accepted by the king, there was -a stir in the company, and sweeping into its midst came another Human -Being, one who thought that she had every right to be invited to the -christening, but who had not been invited. All the fairies shrank back, -for it was an extraordinary-looking Human Being. She was tall and lithe -and wore a sparkling gown, and her face had the look of many cities, -and now it was like the painted cover of an empty box, and all the time -it had the meaning only of those who never look<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">125</a></span> at the stars, or walk -in gardens, or think about others rather than themselves, or listen to -hear what it is right for them to do. This kind of Human Being is one -who not often has any good gift to give to anyone, and this the fairies -knew.</p> - -<p>The Vasty Hall became very quiet to see what she had brought, for no -one understood what she could possibly have to bestow upon a baby. And -without asking leave of the king or the queen, she bent over the child -and clasped on her wrist the tiniest bracelet that was ever made in the -world, and she snapped its lock as fast as the lock on a fetter, and -held up the tiniest key that ever was wrought.</p> - -<p>“The princess,” she cried, “shall seem <em>different from everyone else</em>. -She shall seem like nobody who is or ever has been. As long as she -wears her bracelet, this shall be true; and that she may never lose it, -I shall hold her bracelet’s key. Hail to this little princess child, -who shall seem like nobody in the world!”</p> - -<p>Now, no one present was quite certain what this might mean, but the -lady’s robe was so beautifully embroidered and sparkling, and her voice -was such a thing of loops and curves, that nearly everyone accepted the -gift as something<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">126</a></span> fine after all, and the queen gave her her hand to -kiss. But the king, who was a very wise fairy, said nothing at all, and -merely bowed and eyed the bracelet, in deep thought.</p> - -<p>His meditation was interrupted by a most awkward incident. In the -excitement of the bestowal of gifts by the Human Beings, and in the -confusion of the entrance of the thirteenth and uninvited Human Being, -one of them all had been forgotten and had got himself shuffled well -at the back of everyone. And now he came pressing forward in great -embarrassment, to bring his gift. It was the day labourer, and several -of the Human Beings drew hastily back as he approached the dais. But -everyone fell still farther back in consternation when it was seen -what he had brought. For on the delicate cobweb coverlet of the little -princess’s bed, he cast a spadeful of earth.</p> - -<p>“It’s all I’ve got,” the man said, “or I’d brought a better.”</p> - -<p>The earth all but covered the little bed of the princess, and it was -necessary to lift her from it, which the fairy queen did with her own -hands, flashing a reproachful glance at her husband, the king. But -when the party had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">127</a></span> trooped away for the dancing,—with the orchestra -playing the way a Summer night would sound if it were to steep itself -in music, so that it could only be heard and not seen,—then the king -came quietly back to the christening chamber and ordered the spadeful -of earth to be gathered up and put in a certain part of the palace -garden.</p> - -<p>And so (the Human Beings having gone home at once and forgotten that -they had been present), when the music lessened to silence and the -fairies stole from note to note and at last drifted away as invisibly -as the hours leave a dial, they passed, in the palace garden, a great -corner of the rich black earth which the day labourer had brought to -the princess. And it was ready for seed sowing.</p> - -<p>The Princess Romancia grew with the days and the years, and from the -first it was easily to be seen that certainly she seemed different -from everyone in the world. As a baby she began talking in her cradle -without having been taught—not very plainly, to be sure, or so that -anybody in particular excepting the fairy queen understood her—but -still she talked. As a little girl she seemed always to be listening<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">128</a></span> -to things as if she understood them as well as she did people, or -better. When she grew older, nobody knew quite how she differed, but -everybody agreed that she seemed different. And this the princess knew -better than anybody, and most of the time it made her hurt all over.</p> - -<p>When the fairies played at thistle-down ball, the princess often played -too, but she never felt really like one of them all. She felt that they -were obliged to have her play with them because she was the princess, -and not because they wanted her. When they played at hide-and-go-seek -in a flower bed, somehow the others always hid together in the big -flowers, and the princess hid alone in a tulip or a poppy. And whenever -they whispered among themselves, she always fancied that they were -whispering of her. She imagined herself often looked at with a smile or -a shrug; she began to believe that she was not wanted but only endured -because she was the princess, and she was certain that no one liked -her for herself alone, because she was somehow so different. Little by -little she grew silent, and refused to join in the games, and sat apart -alone. Presently she began to give blunt answers and to take exception -and even to disagree. And, of course, little by little the court began -secretly to dislike her, and to cease to try to understand her, and -they told one another that she was hopelessly different and that that -was all that there was to be said about her.</p> - -<div class="figcenter width400"> -<a name="little" id="little"></a> -<img src="images/i_128fp.jpg" width="400" height="625" alt="" /> -<div class="caption"><span class="smcap">Little by little she grew silent and refused to join -in the games.</span></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">129</a></span> -But in spite of all this, the Princess Romancia was very beautiful, and -the fame of her beauty went over the whole of fairyland. When enough -years had gone by, fairy princes from this and that dominion began to -come to the king’s palace to see her. But though they all admired the -princess’s great beauty, many were of course repelled by her sharp -answers and her constant suspicions.</p> - -<p>But at last the news of the princess’s beauty and strangeness reached -the farthest border of fairyland and came to the ears of the young -Prince Hesperus. Now Prince Hesperus, who was the darling of his -father’s court and beloved of everybody, was tired of everybody. “Every -fairy is like every other fairy,” he was often heard saying wearily. -“I do wish I could find somebody with a few new ways. One would think -fairies were all cut from one pattern!” Therefore, when word came to -him of the strange and beautiful Princess Romancia, who was believed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">130</a></span> -to be different from everyone else in the world, you can imagine with -what haste he made ready and set out for her father’s place.</p> - -<p>Prince Hesperus arrived at the palace at twilight, when the king’s -garden was wrapped in that shadow light which no one can step through, -<em>if he looks</em>, without feeling somewhat like a fairy himself and -glad to be one. He sent his servants on ahead, folded his wings, and -proceeded on foot through the silent gardens. And in a little arbour -made of fallen petals, renewed each day, he came on the Princess -Romancia, asleep. He, of course, did not recognize her, but never, -since for him the world began, had the prince seen anyone so beautiful.</p> - -<p>His step roused her and she sprang to her feet. And as soon as he -looked at her, Prince Hesperus found himself wanting to tell her of -what he had just been thinking, and before he knew it he was doing so.</p> - -<p>“I have just been thinking,” he said, “what a delightful pet a -leaf-shadow would make, if one could catch it and tame it. I wonder if -one could do it? Think how it would dance for one, all day long.”</p> - -<p>The Princess Romancia stared a little.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">131</a></span> -“But when the sun went down,” she was surprised into saying, “the -shadow would be dead.”</p> - -<p>“Not at all,” the prince replied, “it would only be asleep. And it -would never have to be fed, and it could live in one’s palace.”</p> - -<p>“I would like such a pet,” said the princess, thoughtfully.</p> - -<p>“If I may walk with you,” said the prince, “we will talk more about it.”</p> - -<p>They walked together toward the palace and talked more about it, so -that the Princess Romancia quite forgot to be more different than she -was, and the prince forgot all about everything save his companion. -And he saw about her all the gifts of tenderness and vision and magic, -of sea secrets and sea spells, of music and colours and knowledge and -charming notions which the Human Beings had brought her at her birth, -though these hardly ever were visible <em>because</em> the princess seemed -so different from everybody else. And when, as they drew near the -palace, their servants came hastening to escort them, the two looked at -each other in the greatest surprise to find that they were prince and -princess. For all other things had seemed so much more important.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">132</a></span> -Their formal meeting took place that evening in the Vasty Hall, where, -years before, the princess had been christened. Prince Hesperus was -filled with the most joyous anticipation and awaited his presentation -to the princess with the feeling that fairyland was just beginning. But -the princess, on the other hand, was no sooner back in the palace among -her ladies than the curse of her terrible christening present descended -upon her as she had never felt it before. How, the poor princess -thought, could the prince possibly like her, who was so different from -everybody in the world? While she was being dressed, every time that -her ladies spoke in a low tone, she imagined that they were speaking of -her; every time that one smiled and shook her head, the princess was -certain that it was in pity of her. She fancied that they knew that -her walk was awkward, her voice harsh, her robe in bad taste, and an -old fear came upon her that the palace mirrors had all been changed -to conceal from her that she was really very ugly. In short, by the -time that she was expected to descend, poor Princess Romancia had made -herself utterly miserable.</p> - -<p>Therefore, when, in her gown of fresh cobweb,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">133</a></span> the princess entered the -hall and the prince hastened eagerly forward, she hardly looked at him. -And when, at the banquet that followed, he sat beside her and tried to -continue their talk of the arbour and the walk, she barely replied at -all.</p> - -<p>“How beautiful you are,” he murmured.</p> - -<p>“So is the night,” said the princess, “and you do not tell the night -that it is beautiful.”</p> - -<p>“Your eyes are like stars,” the prince said.</p> - -<p>“There are real stars above,” said the princess.</p> - -<p>“You are like no one else!” cried the prince.</p> - -<p>“At least you need not charge me with that,” said the poor princess.</p> - -<p>Nor would she dance with him or with anyone else. For she imagined that -they did not wish to dance with her, and that her dancing was worse -than anyone’s. And as soon as she was able, and long before cock-crow, -she slipped away from them all and went to sleep in a handy crocus cup.</p> - -<p>Now at all this the king and queen were nearly as distressed as the -prince, and they were obliged to tell Prince Hesperus the whole story -of the christening. When he heard about the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">134</a></span> uninvited Human Being who -had given the baby princess this dreadful present and had kept the key -to the bracelet which was its bond, he sprang up and grasped his tiny -sword.</p> - -<p>“I will go out in the world and find this Human Being,” he cried, “and -I will bring back the bracelet key.”</p> - -<p>Without again seeing the princess, Prince Hesperus left the palace and -fared forth on his quest. And when she found that he was gone, she was -more wretched than ever before. For in her life no one had ever talked -to her as he had talked, speaking his inmost fancies, and when she had -lost him, she wanted more than ever to talk with him. But the king, who -was a very wise fairy, did not tell her where the prince had gone.</p> - -<p>And now the Princess Romancia did not know what to do with herself. The -court was unbearable; all her trivial occupations bored her; and the -whole world seemed to have been made different from all other worlds. -Worst to endure was the presence of her companions, who all seemed to -love and to understand one another, while she only was alone and out of -their sympathy.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">135</a></span> -“Oh,” she cried, “if only I had a game or a task to do with somebody or -something that didn’t know I am different—that wouldn’t know who I am!”</p> - -<p>And she thought longingly of the prince’s fancy about the leaf-shadow -for a pet which should dance with one all day long.</p> - -<p>“A leaf-shadow would not know that I am not like everybody else!” the -poor princess thought.</p> - -<p>One night, when a fairy ring had been formed in an open grassy space -among old oaks, the princess could bear it all no longer. When the -music was at its merriest and a band of strolling goblin musicians were -playing their maddest, she slipped away and returned to the palace by -an unfrequented path and entered a long-disused part of the garden. -And there, in a corner where she had never before walked, she came on -a great place of rich, black earth, which, in the sweet Spring air, -lay ready for the sowing. It was the spadeful of earth which the day -labourer had brought to her christening; and there, for all these -years, the king had caused it to remain untouched, its own rank weed -growth enriching its richness, until but a touch would now<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">136</a></span> turn it -to fruitage. And seeing it so, and being filled with her wish for -something which should take her thought away from herself and from her -difference from all the world, the Princess Romancia was instantly -minded to make a garden.</p> - -<p>Night being the work time and play time of the fairies, the princess -went at once to the palace granaries and selected seeds of many kinds, -flower and vegetable and fern seeds, and she brought them to this -corner of rich earth, and there she planted them, under the moon. She -would call no servants to help her, fearing lest they would smile among -themselves at her strange doing. All night she worked at the planting, -and when morning came, she fell asleep in a mandrake blossom, and woke -hungry for a breakfast of honeydew and thinking of nothing save getting -back to her new gardening.</p> - -<p>The Wind helped her, and as the days passed, the Sun and the Rain -helped her, and she used certain magic which she knew, so that -presently her garden was a glory. Poppies and corn, beans and berries, -green peas and sweet peas, pinks and potatoes, celery and white phlox, -melons and cardinal flowers—all these grew wonderfully together, as -it were, hand in hand,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">137</a></span> as they will grow for fairy folk, and in such -great luxuriance that the princess wrought early and late to keep them -ordered and watered. She would have no servants to help her, for she -grew more and more to love her task. For here at last in her garden -she had found those whom she could not imagine to be smiling among -themselves at anything that she said or did; but all the green things -responded to her hands like friends answering to a hand clasp, and when -the flowers nodded to one another, this meant only that a company of -little leaf-shadows were set dancing on the earth, almost as if they -had been tamed to be her pets, according to the prince’s fancy.</p> - -<p>Up at the palace the queen and the ladies-in-waiting to the queen and -the princess regarded all this as but another sign of poor Romancia’s -strangeness. From her tower window the queen peered anxiously down at -her daughter toiling away at sunrise.</p> - -<p>“Now she is raising carrots and beets,” cried the queen, wringing her -hands. “She grows more different from us every moment of her life!”</p> - -<p>“She seems to do so,” admitted the king;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">138</a></span> but he was very wise; and, -“Let her be,” he commanded everybody. “We may see what this all means, -and a great many other things as well.”</p> - -<p>Meanwhile Prince Hesperus, journeying from land to land and from height -to valley, was seeking in vain for the one person who, as he thought, -could remove from the princess the curse of her difference from all the -rest of the world. And it was very strange how love had changed him; -for now, instead of his silly complaint that every fairy is like every -other fairy, and his silly longing for a different pattern in fairies, -he sought only for the charm which should make his beloved princess -like everybody else. Where should he find this terrible Human Being, -this uninvited one who held the key to the princess’s bracelet that was -so like a fetter?</p> - -<p>He went first to the town nearest to fairyland. The people of the town, -having no idea how near to fairyland they really were, were going -prosaically about their occupations, and though they could have looked -up into the magic garden itself, they remained serenely indifferent. -There he found the very mother who had been at the christening of the -princess; and alighting close<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">139</a></span> to a great task that she was doing -for the whole world, he tried to ask her who it was who makes folk -different from all the rest. But she could not hear his tiny, tiny -voice which came to her merely as a thought about something which could -not possibly be true. In a pleasant valley he came on that one who, -at the christening, had brought the lyre which played of itself, but -when the prince asked him his question, he fancied it to be merely -the wandering of his own melody, with a note about something new to -his thought. The poet by the stream singing of the brotherhood of -man, the prophet on a mountain foreseeing the brotherhood as in a -gazing crystal, the scientist weaving the brotherhood in a tapestry -of the universe—none of these knew anyone who can possibly make folk -different from everybody else, nor did any of the others on whom Prince -Hesperus chanced.</p> - -<p>When one day he thought that he had found her, because he met one whose -face had the look of many cities and was like the painted cover of an -empty box, straightway he saw another and another and still others, men -and women both, who were like her, with only the meaning of those who -never look at the stars, or walk in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">140</a></span> gardens, or think about others -rather than themselves, or listen to hear what is right for them to do. -And then he saw that these are many and many, who believe themselves to -be different from everybody else and who try to make others so, and he -saw that it would be useless to look further among them for that one -who had the key for which he sought.</p> - -<p>So at last Prince Hesperus turned sadly back toward the palace of the -princess.</p> - -<p>“Alas,” said the prince, “it is for her own happiness that I seek to -have her like other people. For myself I would love her anyway. But -yet, what am I to do—for she seems so different that she will never -believe that I love her!”</p> - -<p>It was already late at night when the prince found himself in the -neighbourhood of the palace, and being tired and travel-worn, he -resolved to take shelter in the cup of some flower and wait until the -palace revelries were done. Accordingly he entered the garden of an -humble cottage and crept within the petals of a wild lily growing in -the long, untended grass.</p> - -<p>He had hardly settled himself to sleep when he heard from the cottage -the sound of bitter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">141</a></span> crying. Now this is a sound which no fairy will -ever pass by or ever so much as hear about without trying to comfort, -and at once Prince Hesperus rose and flew to the sill of an open -lattice.</p> - -<p>He looked in on a poor room, with the meanest furnishings. On a -comfortless bed lay the father of the house, ill and helpless. His wife -sat by his side, and the children clung about her, crying with hunger -and mingling their tears with her own. The man turned and looked at -her, making a motion to speak, and Prince Hesperus flew into the room -and alighted on the handle of a great spade, covered with earth, which -stood in a corner.</p> - -<p>“Wife,” the man said, “I’ve brought you little but sorrow and hunger. -I would have brought you more if I had had better. And now I see you -starve.”</p> - -<p>“I am not <em>too</em> hungry,” the wife said—but the children sobbed.</p> - -<p>Prince Hesperus waited not a moment. He flew into the night and away -toward the palace, and missing the fairy ring where among old oaks the -fairies were dancing, he reached the palace by an unfrequented path and -entered a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">142</a></span> disused part of the palace garden. And there, in a corner -which he had never visited, Prince Hesperus saw a marvellous mass of -bloom and fruit—poppies and corn, beans and berries, green peas and -sweet peas, pinks and potatoes, celery and white phlox, melons and -cardinal flowers—all growing wonderfully together, as it were, hand in -hand. And above them, in a moon-flower clinging to the wall, sat the -Princess Romancia, rocking in the wind and brooding upon her garden.</p> - -<p>“Come!” cried Prince Hesperus. “There is a thing to do!”</p> - -<p>The princess looked at him a little fearfully, but he paid almost no -attention to her, so absorbed he was in what he wished to have done.</p> - -<p>“Hard by is a family,” said the prince, “dying of hunger. Here is food. -Hale in these idlers dancing in the light of the moon, and let us carry -the family the means to stay alive.”</p> - -<p>Without a word the princess went with him, and they appeared together -in the fairy ring and haled away the dancers. And when these understood -the need, they all joined together, fairies, goblin musicians and all, -and hurried away to the garden of the princess.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">143</a></span> -They wove a litter of sweet stems and into this they piled all the food -of the princess’s tending. And when the queen would have had them send -to the palace kitchen for supplies, the king, who was a wise fairy, -would not permit it and commanded that all should be done as the prince -wished. So when the garden was ravaged of its sweets, they all bore -them away, and trooped to the cottage, and cast them on the threshold. -And then they perched about the room, or hovered in the path of the -moonlight to hear what should be said. And Prince Hesperus and Princess -Romancia listened together upon the handle of the poor man’s spade.</p> - -<p>At sight of the gifts the wife sprang up joyfully and cried out to her -husband, and the children wakened with happy shouts.</p> - -<p>“Here is food—food!” they cried. “Oh, it must be from the fairies.”</p> - -<p>The sick man looked and smiled.</p> - -<p>“Ay,” he said, “the Little Folk have remembered us. They have brought -us rich store in return for my poor spadeful of earth.”</p> - -<p>Then the prince and princess and all the court understood that this -poor man whom they had helped was that very day labourer who had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">144</a></span> -come to the christening of the princess. And swift as a moonbeam—and -not unlike one—Prince Hesperus darted from beside the princess and -alighted on the man’s pillow.</p> - -<p>“Ah,” he cried, “can you not, then, tell me who it is who has the power -to make one different from everybody else in the world?”</p> - -<p>In half delirium the day labourer heard the voice of the prince and -caught the question. But he did not know that it was the voice of the -prince, and he fancied it to be the voice of the whole world, as it -were throbbing with the prince’s question. And he cried out loudly in -answer:—</p> - -<p>“No one has that power! No one is different! Those who seem different -hold no truth. We are all alike, all of us that live!”</p> - -<p>Swiftly the prince turned to the king and the queen and the court.</p> - -<p>“The uninvited Human Being,” he cried, “did she say that the princess -should <em>be</em> different from all the world, or that she should merely -<em>seem</em> different?”</p> - -<p>The queen and the court could not remember, but the king, who was a -wise fairy, instantly remembered.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">145</a></span> -“She said that she should <em>seem</em> different,” he said.</p> - -<p>Then the prince laughed out joyfully.</p> - -<p>“Ay,” he cried, “seem different, indeed! There are many and many who -may do that. But this man speaks truth and out of his spadeful of earth -we have learned it, -<a name="quote" id="quote"></a><ins title="Original has extraneous open quote"><em>We</em></ins><em> are all alike, all of us who -live!</em>”</p> - -<p>With that he grasped his tiny sword and flew to the side of the -princess and lifted her hand in his. And with a swift, deft stroke he -cut from her wrist the bracelet that was like a fetter, and he took her -in his arms.</p> - -<p>“Ah, my princess,” he cried. “You have seemed different from us all -only because you would have it so!”</p> - -<p>The Princess Romancia looked round on the court, and suddenly she saw -only the friendliness which had always been there if she could have -believed. She looked on her father and mother, the king and the queen, -and she saw only tenderness. She looked on the day labourer and his -family and understood that, fairy and princess though she was, she was -like them and they were like her. Last, she looked in the face of the -prince—and she did not look away.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">146</a></span> -Invisibly, as the hours leave a dial, the fairies drifted from the -little room and back to the fairy ring among the old oaks to dance -for very joyousness. The labourer and his family, hearing them go, -were conscious of a faint lifting of the dark, as if morning were -coming, bringing a new day. And to the Princess Romancia, beside Prince -Hesperus, the world itself was a new world, where she did not walk -alone as she had thought, but where all folk who will have it so walk -together.</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">147</a></span> -</div> - -<h2><a name="viii" id="viii"></a>VIII<br /> -<span>TWO FOR THE SHOW</span></h2> - - -<p><span class="smcap">First</span> of all there was Every Day, with breakfast, lunch, outdoors, -dinner, and evenings.</p> - -<p>Then there were Sundays, which were quite another kind of time, -as different as layer cake from sponge cake: With breakfast late, -and mustn’t-jump-rope, and the living-room somehow different, the -Out-of-doors moved farther off, our play-house not waiting for us -but acting busy at something else in which we had no part; the swing -hanging useless as it did when we were away from home and thought about -it in the night; bells ringing as if it were <em>their</em> day; until we were -almost homesick to hear the grocer’s cart rattle behind the white horse.</p> - -<p>There were school half holidays when the sun shone as it never shone -before, and we could not decide how to spend the time, and to look -ahead seemed a glorious year before dark.</p> - -<p>There were the real holidays—Christmas<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">148</a></span> and the Fourth and Birthdays, -which didn’t seem like days of time at all, but were like fairies of -time, not living in any clock.</p> - -<p>And Company-time, when we were not to go in certain rooms, or sing in -the hall, and when all downstairs seemed unable to romp with us.</p> - -<p>And Vacation-time, when 9 o’clock and 1 o’clock and 4 o’clock meant -nothing, and the face of the clock never warned or threatened and the -hands never dragged, and Saturday no longer stood out but sank into -insignificance, and the days ran like sands.</p> - -<p>All these times there were when life grew different and either let us -in farther than ever before or else left us out altogether. But almost -the strangest and best of these was house-cleaning time.</p> - -<p>Screens out, so that the windows looked like faces and not like masks! -The couch under the Cooking-apple tree! We used to lie on the couch and -look up in the boughs and wish that they would leave it there forever. -What was the rule that made them take it in? Mattresses in the backyard -to jump on and lie on and stare up from, so differently, into the blue. -Rugs like rooms, opening out into an adjoining pansy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">149</a></span> bed. Chairs set -about on the grass, as if at last people had come to understand, as we -had always understood, that the Outdoors is a real place to be in, and -not just a place to pass through to get somewhere else. If only, if -only some day they had brought the piano out on the lawn! To have done -one’s practising out there, just as if a piano were born, not made! -But they never did that, and we were thankful enough for the things -that they did do. When Saturday came, I found with relief that they had -still the parlour and one bedroom left to do. I had been afraid that by -then these would be restored to the usual dry and dustless order.</p> - -<p>In the open window of the empty sitting-room I was sitting negligently -that morning, when I saw Mr. Britt going by. He was as old as anyone I -knew in the world—Mr. Britt must have been fifty. I never thought of -him as <em>folks</em> at all. There were the other neighbours, all dark-haired -and quick and busy at the usual human errands; and then there was Mr. -Britt, leaving his fruit trees and his rose bushes to go down to his -office in the Court House. He had white hair, a long square white -beard, and he carried a stick with a crook in the handle. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">150</a></span> watched -him pityingly. His life was all done, as tidy as a sewed seam, as -sure as a learned lesson. All lived out, a piece at a time, just as -I planned mine. How immeasurably long it had taken him; what a slow -business it must have seemed to him; how very old he was!</p> - -<p>At our gate he stopped. Mr. Britt’s face was pink, and there were -pleasant wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, and when he talked, he -seemed to think about you.</p> - -<p>“Moving?” he inquired.</p> - -<p>“House-cleaning,” I explained with importance.</p> - -<p>“Fine day of it,” he commented and went on. He always sighed a little -when he spoke, not in sorrow; but in a certain weariness.</p> - -<p><em>In forty-two years I should be as old as that.</em> Forty-two years—more -than five life-times, as I knew them.</p> - -<p>I was still looking after him, trying to think it through—a number as -vast as the sky of stars was vast—when round the corner, across the -street, the Rodman girls appeared. (“Margaret and Betty Rodman?” my -mother used to inquire pointedly when I said “the Rodman girls.”) In -their wake was their little brother, Harold. I hailed them joyously.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">151</a></span> -“Come on over! It’s house-cleaning.”</p> - -<p>“We were,” admitted Betty, as they ran. “We saw the things out in the -yard, and we asked right off. We can stay a whole hour.”</p> - -<p>“Can’t we get Mary Gilbraith to tell us when it’s an hour?” Margaret -Amelia suggested as they came in at the gate. “Then we won’t have to -remember.”</p> - -<p>Mary Gilbraith stood beating a curtain, and we called to her. She -nodded her head, wound in a brown veil.</p> - -<p>“Sure,” she said. “And don’t you children track up them clean floors -inside there.”</p> - -<p>I glanced over my shoulder into the empty room.</p> - -<p>“Shall I get down,” I inquired of my guests, “or will you get up?”</p> - -<p>They would get up, and they did so. We three just fitted the sill, with -Harold looking wistfully upward.</p> - -<p>“Go find a nice stick,” Margaret Amelia advised him maternally.</p> - -<p>“What’ll we play?” I was pursuing politely. “Pretend?” I intimated. -Because of course there is nothing that is quite so much fun as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">152</a></span> -pretend. “Or real?” I conceded the alternative its second place.</p> - -<p>“Pretend what?” Betty wanted to know.</p> - -<p>“Well, what difference does that make?” I inquired scornfully. “We can -decide that after.”</p> - -<p>However, we duly weighed the respective merits of Lost-in-the-Woods, -Cave-in-the Middle-of-the-World, and Invisible, a selection always -involving ceremony.</p> - -<p>“Harold can’t play any of them,” Margaret Amelia remembered -regretfully. “He don’t stay lost nor invisible—he wriggles. And Cave -scares him.”</p> - -<p>We considered what to do with Harold, and at last mine was the -inspiration—no doubt because I was on the home field. In a fence -corner I had a play-house, roofed level with the fence top. From my -sand-pile (sand boxes came later—mine was a corner of the garden -sacred to me) we brought tin pails of earth which we emptied about the -little boy, gradually covering his fat legs and nicely packing his -plaid skirt. Then we got him a baking-powder can cover for a cutter and -a handleless spoon, and we went away. He was infinitely content.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">153</a></span> -“Makin’ a meat pie,” he confided, as we left him.</p> - -<p>Free, we were drawn irresistibly back to the out-of-doors furniture. We -jumped in the middle of the mattresses lying in the grass, we hung the -comforters and quilts in long overlapping rows on the clothes line and -ran from one end to the other within that tent-like enclosure. Margaret -Amelia arranged herself languidly on the Brussels couch that ordinarily -stood in the upstairs hall piled with leather-bound reports, but now, -scales falling from our eyes, we saw to be the bank of a stream whereon -Maid Marian reclined; but while Betty and I were trying to decide which -should be Robin Hood and which Alan-a-dale (alas, for our chivalry ... -we were both holding out to be Robin) Maid Marian settled it by dancing -down the stair carpet which made a hallway half across the lawn. We -followed her. The terminus brought us back to the parlour window. We -stepped on the coping and stared inside. This was our parlour! Yet -it looked no more like the formal room which we seldom entered than -a fairy looks like a mortal. Many and many a time an empty room is -so much more a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">154</a></span> suggestive, haunted, beckoning place than ever it -becomes after its furniture gets it into bondage. Rooms are often free, -beautiful creatures before they are saddled and bridled with alien -lives and with upholstery, and hitched for lumbering, permanent uses. I -felt this vaguely even then.</p> - -<p>“It’s like the cloth in the store,” I observed, balancing on my stomach -on the sill. “It’s heaps prettier before it’s made up into clothes.”</p> - -<p>“How funny,” said Margaret Amelia. “I like the trimming on, and the -pretty buttons.”</p> - -<p>“Let’s play,” I said hurriedly; for I had seen in her eyes that look -which always comes into eyes whose owners have just called an idea -“funny.”</p> - -<p>“Very well. But,” said Betty, frankly, “I’m awful sick of playing -Pretend. You always want to play that. We played that last time anyhow. -Let’s play Store. Let’s play,” she said, with sudden zest, “Furniture -Store, outdoors.”</p> - -<p>The whole lawn became the ground floor for our shop. Forthwith we -arranged the aisles of chairs, stopping to sit in this one and that “to -taste the difference.” To sit in the patent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">155</a></span> upholstered rocker, close -to the flowering currant bush fragrant with spicy, yellow buds was like -being somewhere else.</p> - -<p>“This looks like the pictures of greenhouses,” said Margaret Amelia, -dragging a willow chair to the Bridal Wreath at the fork in the brick -walk. She idled there for a moment.</p> - -<p>“Emily Broom says that when they moved she rode right through town on -their velvet lounge on the dray,” she volunteered.</p> - -<p>We pictured it mutely. Something like that had been a dream of mine. -Now and then, I had walked backward on the street to watch a furniture -wagon delivering a new chair that rocked idle and unoccupied in the -box. I always marvelled at the unimaginativeness of the driver which -kept him on the wagon seat.</p> - -<p>“We’ve never moved,” I confessed regretfully.</p> - -<p>“We did,” said Betty, “but they piled everything up so good there -wasn’t anything left to sit on. I rode with the driver—but his seat -wasn’t very high,” she added, less in the interest of truth than with a -lingering resentment.</p> - -<p>“Stitchy Branchett told me,” contributed Margaret Amelia, “once he set -on the top step of the step ladder on one of their dray loads.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">156</a></span> -“I don’t believe it,” I announced flatly. “It’d tip and pitch him off.”</p> - -<p>“He <em>said</em> he did,” Margaret Amelia held. “Betty heard him. Didn’t he, -Betty? Who I don’t believe is Joe Richmond. He says he went to sleep on -a mattress on the dray when they moved. He couldn’t of.”</p> - -<p>“Course he couldn’t of,” we all affirmed.</p> - -<p>“Delia says they’ve moved six times that she can remember of and she’s -rode on every load,” I repeated.</p> - -<p>We all looked enviously across at Delia’s house. Then, moved by -a common impulse, we scrambled back to make the most of our own -advantages, such as they were.</p> - -<p>At last the ground floor of the furniture store was all arranged, and -the two show windows set with the choicest pieces to face the street. -And when we were ready to open the place to the general public, we sat -on the edge of the well curb and surveyed our results.</p> - -<p>“Now let’s start,” said Margaret Amelia.</p> - -<p>At that instant—the precision with which these things happen is almost -conscious—Mary Gilbraith briefly put her head out the kitchen window.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">157</a></span> -“It’s just edgin’ on ’leven,” she announced. “You children keep your -feet off them mattresses.”</p> - -<p>We stared at one another. This was incredible. Margaret Amelia and -Betty had just come. We had hardly tasted what the morning might have -held. Our place of business was only at this moment ready for us. We -had just meant to begin.</p> - -<p>There was no appeal. We went down the garden path for Harold. He sat -where we had left him, somewhat drowsy in the warm sun, patting an -enormous mound of moist earth. Busy with our own wrongs, we picked him -up and stood him on his feet without warning him. An indignant roar -broke from him.</p> - -<p>“Just goin’ frost my meat pie!” he wailed. “Wiv chocolate on!”</p> - -<p>Some stirring of pity for our common plight may have animated us—I do -not remember. But he was hurried off. I went with them to the fence, -gave them last tag as became an hostess, stood on the gate as it swung -shut, experienced the fine jar and bang of its closing, and then hung -wistfully across it, looking for the unknown.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">158</a></span> -The elm and maple shadows moved pleasantly on the cream-coloured brick -walk whose depths of tone were more uneven than the shadows. An oriole -was calling, hanging back downward from a little bough. Somebody’s dog -came by, looked up at me, wagged his tail, and hurried on about his -business. Looking after him, I saw Mr. Britt coming slowly home with -his mail. At our gate he stopped.</p> - -<p>“Playing something?” he inquired.</p> - -<p>Welcoming any sympathy, I told him how we had just got ready to play -when it was time to stop. He nodded with some unexpected understanding, -closing his eyes briefly.</p> - -<p>“That’s it,” he said. “We all just get ready when it’s time to stop. -Fine day of it,” he added, and sighed and went on.</p> - -<p>I stared after him. Could it be possible that his life had not seemed -long to him? That he felt as if he had hardly begun? I dismissed this -as utterly improbable. Fifty years!</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">159</a></span> -</div> - -<h2><a name="ix" id="ix"></a>IX<br /> -<span>NEXT DOOR</span></h2> - - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> house next door had been vacant for two months when the New Family -moved in. We had looked forward with excitement, not unmodified by -unconscious aversion, to the arrival of the New Family.</p> - -<p>“Have they any girls?” we had inquired when the To Rent sign had come -down.</p> - -<p>They had, it appeared, one girl. We saw her, with wavy hair worn “let -down” in the morning, though we ourselves wore let-down hair only for -occasions, pig-tails denoting mornings. She had on new soles—we saw -them showing clean as she was setting her feet daintily; and when we, -who were walking the fence between the two houses, crossed glances with -her, we all looked instantly away, and though it was with regret that -we saw her put into the ’bus next day to go, we afterward learned, to -spend the Spring with her grandmother in a dry climate,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">160</a></span> we still felt -a certain satisfaction that our social habits were not to be disquieted.</p> - -<p>Nothing at all had been suspected of a New Boy. Into that experience I -came without warning.</p> - -<p>I was sitting on the flat roof of my play-house in the fence corner, -laboriously writing on the weathered boards with a bit of a picket, -which, as everybody knows, will make very clear brown letters, when the -woodshed door of the house next door opened, and the New Boy came out. -He came straight up to the fence and looked up at me, the sun shining -in his eyes beneath the rimless plush cap which he was still wearing. -He was younger than I, so I was not too afraid of him.</p> - -<p>“What you got?” he inquired.</p> - -<p>I showed him my writing material.</p> - -<p>“I wrote on a window with a diamond ring a’ready,” he submitted.</p> - -<p>I had heard of this, but I had never wholly credited it and I said -so. Besides, it would wear the ring out and who wanted to wear out a -diamond ring to write on a window?</p> - -<p>“It don’t wear it out,” the New Boy said. “It can keep right on writing -forever and ever.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">161</a></span> -“Nothing can keep right on forever,” I contended.</p> - -<p>He cast about for an argument.</p> - -<p>“Trees does,” he produced it.</p> - -<p>I glanced up at them. They certainly seemed to bear him out. I decided -to abandon the controversy, and I switched with some abruptness to -a subject not unconnected with trees, and about which I had often -wondered.</p> - -<p>“If you was dirt,” I observed, “how could you decide to be into a -potato when you could be into an apple just as well?”</p> - -<p>The New Boy was plainly taken aback. Here he was, as I see now, doing -his best to be friendly and to make conversation personal, to say -nothing of his having condescended to parley with a girl at all, and I -was rewarding him with an abstraction.</p> - -<p>Said he: “Huh?”</p> - -<p>“If you was dirt—” I began a little doubtfully, but still sticking to -the text.</p> - -<p>“I ain’t dirt,” denied the New Boy, with some heat.</p> - -<p>“I says, if you <em>was</em> dirt—” I tried to tell him, in haste and some -discomfort.</p> - -<p>He climbed down from the fence on which he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">162</a></span> had been socially -contriving to stick, though his was the “plain” side.</p> - -<p>“There ain’t any girl,” he observed with dignity, “going to call me -dirt, nor call me if-I-was-dirt, either,” and stalked back into the -woodshed.</p> - -<p>I looked after him in the utmost distress. I had been dealing in what I -had considered the amenities, and it had come to this. Already the New -Boy hated me.</p> - -<p>I slipped to the ground and waited, watching through the cracks in the -fence. Ages passed. At length I heard him call his dog and go whistling -down the street. I climbed on the fence and sat looking over in the -deserted garden.</p> - -<p>Round the corner of the house next door somebody came. I saw a long, -gray plaid shawl, with torn and flapping tassels, pinned about a small -figure, with long legs. As she put her hand on the latch, she flashed -me her smile, and it was Mary Elizabeth. She went immediately inside -the shed door, and left me staring. What was she doing there? What -unexpected places I was always seeing her. Why should she go in the -woodshed of the New Family whom we didn’t even know ourselves?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">163</a></span> -After due thought, I dropped to the other side of the fence, and -proceeded to the woodshed door myself. It was unlatched, and as I -peered in, I caught the sweet, moist smell of green wood, like the -cool breath of the wood yard, where I had first seen her. When my -eyes became used to the dimness, I perceived Mary Elizabeth standing -at the end of a pile of wood, of the sort which we used to denominate -“chunks,” which are what folk now call fireplace logs, though they are -not properly fireplace logs at all—only “chunks” for sitting-room -stoves—and trying to look meet to new estates. They were evenly piled, -and they presented a wonderful presence, much more human than a wall.</p> - -<p>“See,” said Mary Elizabeth, absorbedly, “every end of one is pictures. -Here’s a wheel with a wing on, and here’s a griffin eating a lemon.”</p> - -<p>I stared over her shoulder, fascinated. There they were. And there were -grapes and a chandelier and a crooked street....</p> - -<p>Some moments later we were aware that the kitchen door had opened, and -that somebody was standing there. It was the woman of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">164</a></span> New Family, -with a black veil wound round her head and the ends dangling. She shook -a huge purple dust-cloth, and I do not seem to recall that there was -anything else to her, save her face and veil and the cloth.</p> - -<p>“Now then!” she said briskly, and in a tone of dreadful warning. “<em>Now</em> -then!”</p> - -<p>Mary Elizabeth turned in the utmost eagerness and contrition.</p> - -<p>“Oh,” she said, “I come to see about the work.”</p> - -<p>The New Family Woman towered at us from the top of the three steps.</p> - -<p>“How much work,” she inquired with majesty, “do you think I’d get out -of you, young miss, at this rate?”</p> - -<p>Mary Elizabeth drew nearer to her and stood before her, down in the -chips, in the absurd shawl.</p> - -<p>“If you’ll leave me come,” she said earnestly, “I’ll promise not to see -pictures. Well,” she added conscientiously, “I’ll promise not to stop -to look at ’em.”</p> - -<p>How much weight this would have carried, I do not know; but at that -moment the woman chanced to touch with her foot a mouse-trap that -stood on the top step, and it “sprung” and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">165</a></span> shed its cheese. In an -instant Mary Elizabeth had deftly reset and restored it. This made an -impression on the arbiter.</p> - -<p>“You’re kind of a handy little thing, I see,” she said. “And of course -you’re <em>all</em> lazy, for that matter. And I do need somebody. Well, I’ve -got a woman coming for to-day. You can begin in the morning. Dishes, -vegetables, and general cleaning, and anything else I think you can do. -Board and clothes only, mind you—and <em>them</em> only as long as you suit.”</p> - -<p>“Yes’m. No’m. Yes’m.” Mary Elizabeth tried to agree right and left.</p> - -<p>Outside I skipped in the sun.</p> - -<p>“We’re going to be next-yard neighbours,” I cried, and that reminded -me of the New Boy. I told her about him as we went round by the gate, -there being no cross piece for a foothold on that side the fence.</p> - -<p>“Oh,” said Mary Elizabeth, “I know him. He’s drove me home by my -braids. He doesn’t mean anything.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” I said earnestly, “when you get a chance, you tell him that I -wasn’t calling him dirt. I says if he <em>was</em> dirt, how could he tell to -be a potato or an apple.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">166</a></span> -Mary Elizabeth nodded. “Lots of boys pretend mad,” she said -philosophically, “to get you to run after them.”</p> - -<p>This was new to me. Could it be possible that you had to imagine -folks, and what they really meant, as well as tending to all the other -imagining?</p> - -<p>“Can’t you stay over?” I extended hospitality to Mary Elizabeth.</p> - -<p>She could “stay over,” it seemed, and without asking. This freedom of -hers used to fill me with longing. To “stay over” without asking, to go -down town, to eat unexpected offerings of food, to climb a new tree, -as Mary Elizabeth could do, and all without asking! It was almost like -being boys.</p> - -<p>Now that Mary Elizabeth was to be a neighbour, a new footing was -established. This I did not reason about, nor did I wonder why this -footing might not be everybody’s footing. We merely set to work on the -accepted basis.</p> - -<p>This comprised: Name, including middle name, if any, and for whom -named; age, and birthday, and particulars about the recent or -approaching birthday; brothers and sisters, together with their names, -ages, and birthdays;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">167</a></span> birthstones; grade; did we comb our own hair; -voluntary information concerning tastes in flowers, colours, and food; -and finally an examination and trying on of each other’s rings. The -stone had come out of Mary Elizabeth’s ring, and she had found a clear -pink pebble to insert in its place. She had, she said, grated the -pebble on a brick to make it fit and she herself thought that it looked -better than the one that she had lost, “but,” she added modestly, “I -s’pose it can’t be.”</p> - -<p>Then came the revelation. To finish comparing notes we sat down -together in my swing. And partly because, when I made a new friend, I -was nervously eager to give her the best I had and at once, and partly -because I was always wanting to see if somebody <em>would</em> understand, -and chiefly because I never could learn wisdom, I looked up in the -apple tree, now forsaken of all its pink, and fallen in a great green -stillness, and I told her about my lady in the tree. I told her, -expecting now no more than I had received from Delia and the Eversley -girls. But Mary Elizabeth looked up and nodded.</p> - -<p>“I know,” she said. “I’ve seen lots of ’em. They’s a lady in the willow -out in our alley. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">168</a></span> see her when I empty the ashes and I pour ’em so’s -they won’t blow on her.”</p> - -<p>I looked at her speechlessly. To this day I can remember how the little -curls were caught up above Mary Elizabeth’s ear that morning. Struck by -my silence she turned and regarded me. I think I must have blushed and -stammered like a boy.</p> - -<p>“Can <em>you</em> see them too?” I asked. “In trees and places?”</p> - -<p>“Why, yes,” she said in surprise. “Can’t everybody?”</p> - -<p>Suddenly I was filled with a great sense of protection for Mary -Elizabeth. I felt incalculably older. She had not yet found out, and I -must never let her know, that everybody does not see all that there is -to be seen in the world!</p> - -<p>One at a time I brought out my treasures that morning and shared them -with her, as treasures; and she brought out hers as matters of course. -I remember that I told her about the Theys that lived in our house. -They were very friendly and wistful. They never presumed or frightened -one or came in the room when anyone was there. But the minute folk -left the room—ah, then! They slipped out from everywhere and did -their living. I was always trying to catch them. I would leave a room -innocently, and then whirl and fling it open in the hope of surprising -them. But always They were too quick for me. In the times when the -family was in the rooms and They were waiting for us to go, They used -to watch us, still friendly and wistful, but also a little critical. -Sometimes a whole task, or a mood, could be got through pleasantly -because They were looking on.</p> - -<div class="figcenter width400"> -<a name="but" id="but"></a> -<img src="images/i_168fp.jpg" width="400" height="525" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">“<span class="smcap">But the minute folk left the room—ah then!</span>”</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">169</a></span> -Mary Elizabeth nodded. “They like our parlour best,” she said. “They -ain’t any furniture in there. They don’t come much in the kitchen.”</p> - -<p>It was the same at our house. They were always lurking in the curtained -parlour, but the cheery, busy kitchen seldom knew them—except when one -went out for a drink of water late at night. Then They barely escaped -one.</p> - -<p>How she understood! Delia I loved with all the loyalties, but I could -not help remembering a brief conversation that I had once held with her.</p> - -<p>“Do you have Theys at your house?” I had asked her, at the beginning of -our acquaintance.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">170</a></span> -“Yes,” she admitted readily. “Company all this week. From Oregon. They -do their hairs on kids.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t mean them,” I explained. “I mean Theys, that live in between -your rooms.”</p> - -<p>“We don’t let mice get in <em>our</em> house,” she replied loftily. “Only -sometimes one gets in the woodshed. Do you use Choke-’em traps, or -Catch-’em-alive traps and have the cat there?”</p> - -<p>“Catch-them-alive-and-let-them-out-in-the-alley traps,” I told her, and -gave up hope, I remember, and went on grating more sugar-stone for the -mud-pie icing.</p> - -<p>Mary Elizabeth and I made mud pies that morning too, but all the time -we made them we pretended. Not House-keep, or Store, or Bakery, or -Church-sale—none of these pale pretendings to which I had chiefly -been bound, save when I played alone. But now every pie and cake -that we finished we two carried carefully and laid here and there, -under raspberry bushes, in the crotch of the apple tree, on the -wood-chopper’s block.</p> - -<p>“For Them to get afterwards,” we said briefly. We did not explain—I -do not think<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">171</a></span> that we could have explained. And we knew nothing of the -old nights in the motherland when from cottage supper tables scraps of -food were flung through open doors for One Waiting Without. But this -business made an even more excellent thing of mud-pie baking, always a -delectable pastime.</p> - -<p>When the noon whistle was blowing up at the brick yard, a shadow -darkened our pine board. It was the New Boy. One of his cheeks -protruded extravagantly. Silently he held out to me a vast pink -substance of rock-like hardness, impaled on a stick. Then, with an -obvious effort, more spiritual than physical, he extracted from his -pocket a third of the kind, for Mary Elizabeth, on whose presence he -had not counted. We accepted gratefully, I in the full spirit of the -offer. Three minutes later he and I were at our respective dinner -tables, trying, I suppose, to discuss this surreptitious first course -simultaneously with our soup; and Mary Elizabeth, on her way home, was -blissfully partaking of her <em>hors d’œuvre</em>, unviolated by any soup.</p> - -<p>“What are the new children like, I wonder?” said Somebody Grown. “I see -there are two. I don’t know a thing about the people, but we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">172</a></span> can’t -call till the woman at least gets her curtains up.”</p> - -<p>I pondered this. “Why?” I ventured at last.</p> - -<p>“Because she wouldn’t want to see us,” was the reply.</p> - -<p>Were curtains, then, so important that one might neither call nor be -called on without them? What other possible explanation could there be? -Perhaps Mary Elizabeth’s mother had no curtains and that was why our -mothers did not know her.</p> - -<p>“Mary Elizabeth is going to help do the work for the New Family, and -live there,” I said at last. “Won’t it be nice to have her to play -with?”</p> - -<p>“You must be very kind to her,” somebody said.</p> - -<p>“<em>Kind to her!</em>” It was my first horrified look into the depths of the -social condescensions. <em>Kind to her</em>—when I remembered what we shared! -I thought of saying hotly that she was my best friend. But I was -silent. There was, after all, no way to make anybody understand what -had opened to me that morning.</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">173</a></span> -</div> - -<h2><a name="x" id="x"></a>X<br /> -<span>WHAT’S PROPER</span></h2> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Delia</span> and Calista and Margaret Amelia and Betty Rodman I loved with -devotion. And Mary Elizabeth I likewise loved with devotion. Therefore, -the fact that my four friends would not, in the language of the -wise and grown world, “receive” Mary Elizabeth was to me bitter and -unbelievable.</p> - -<p>This astounding situation, more than intimated on the day of the -picnic, had its confirmation a few days after the advent of Mary -Elizabeth in the New Family, when the six of us were seated on the -edge of the board walk before our house. It was the middle of a June -afternoon, a joyous, girlish day, with sun and wind in that feminine -mood which is the frequent inheritance of all created things.</p> - -<p>“I could ’most spread this day on my bread like honey, and eat it -up, and not know the difference,” said Mary Elizabeth, idly. “The -queen’s honey—the queen’s honey—the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">174</a></span> queen’s honey,” she repeated -luxuriously, looking up into the leaves.</p> - -<p>Delia leaned forward. It particularly annoyed her to have Mary -Elizabeth in this mood.</p> - -<p>“One, two, three, four, five of us,” Delia said, deliberately omitting -Mary Elizabeth as, for no reason, she counted us.</p> - -<p>Mary Elizabeth, released from tasks for an hour or two before time to -“help with the supper,” gave no sign that she understood, save that -delicate flush of hers which I knew.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she assented lazily, “one, two, three, four, five of us—” and -she so contrived that five was her own number, and no one could tell -whom of us she had omitted.</p> - -<p>“Let’s play something,” I hurriedly intervened. “Let’s play Banquet.”</p> - -<p>Action might have proved the solvent, but I had made an ill-starred -choice. For having selected the rectangle of lawn where the feast was -to be spread, Mary Elizabeth promptly announced that she had never -heard of a banquet for five people, and that we must have more.</p> - -<p>“We’ve got six,” corrected Delia, unwarily.</p> - -<p>“Five,” Mary Elizabeth persisted tranquilly,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">175</a></span> “and it’s not enough. We -ought to have thirty.”</p> - -<p>“Where you going to get your thirty?” demanded the exasperated Delia.</p> - -<p>“Why,” said Mary Elizabeth, “<em>that’s</em> always easy!” And told us.</p> - -<p>The king would sit at the head, with his prime minister and a -lord or two. At the foot would be the queen with her principal -ladies-in-waiting (at <em>this</em> end, so as to leave room for their -trains). In between would be the fool, the discoverer of the new land, -the people from the other planets, us, and the animals.</p> - -<p>“‘The animals!’” burst out Delia. “Whoever heard of animals at the -table?”</p> - -<p>Oh, but it was the animals that the banquet was for. They were talking -animals, and everyone was scrambling to entertain them, and every place -in which they ate they changed their shapes and their skins.</p> - -<p>“I never heard of such a game,” said Delia, outright, already -sufficiently grown-up to regard this as a reason.</p> - -<p>“Let’s not play it,” said Margaret Amelia Rodman, languidly, and, -though Delia had the most emphasis among us, Margaret Amelia was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">176</a></span> our -leader, and we abandoned the game. I cannot recall why Margaret Amelia -was our leader, unless it was because she had so many hair-ribbons and, -when we had pin fairs, always came with a whole paper, whereas the rest -of us merely had some collected in a box, or else rows torn off. But I -suppose that we must have selected her for some potentiality; or else -it was that a talent for tyranny was hers, since this, like the habit -of creeping on all fours and other survivals of prehistoric man, will -often mark one of the early stages of individual growth.</p> - -<p>This time Calista was peace-maker.</p> - -<p>“Let’s go for a walk,” she said. “We can do that before supper.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll have to be back in time to help <em>get</em> supper, won’t you?” Delia -asked Mary Elizabeth pointedly.</p> - -<p>Again Mary Elizabeth was unperturbed, save for that faint flush.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she said, “I will. So let’s hurry.”</p> - -<p>We ran toward the school ground, by common consent the destination for -short walks, with supper imminent, as Prospect Hill was dedicated to -real walks, with nothing pressing upon us.</p> - -<p>“It says ‘Quick, quick, quick, quick,’” Mary<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">177</a></span> Elizabeth cried, dragging -a stick on the pickets of, so to say, a passing fence.</p> - -<p>“Why, that’s nothing but the stick noise hitting on the fence noise,” -Delia explained loftily.</p> - -<p>“Which makes the loudest noise—the stick or the fence?” Mary Elizabeth -put it to her.</p> - -<p>“Why—” said Delia, and Mary Elizabeth and I both laughed, like little -demons, and made our sticks say, “Quick, quick, quick, quick” as far as -the big post, that was so like a man standing there to stop us.</p> - -<p>“See the poor tree. The walk’s stepping on its feet!” cried Mary -Elizabeth when we passed the Branchett’s great oak, that had forced -up the bricks of the walk. (They must already have been talking of -taking it down, that hundred-year oak, to preserve the dignity of the -side-walk, for they did so shortly after.)</p> - -<p>This time it was Margaret Amelia who revolted.</p> - -<p>“Trees can’t walk,” she said. “There aren’t any <em>feet</em> there.”</p> - -<p>I took a hand. “You don’t know sure,” I reminded her. “When it’s dark, -maybe they do walk. I’ll ask it.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">178</a></span> -By the time I had done whispering to the bark, Delia said she was going -to tell her mother. “Such <em>lies</em>,” she put it bluntly. “You’ll never -write a book, I don’t care what you say. You got to tell the truth to -write books.”</p> - -<p>“Everybody that tells the truth don’t write a book,” I contended—but -sobered. I wanted passionately to write a book. What if this business -of pretending, which Delia called lies should be in the way of truthful -book-writing? But the habit was too strong for me. In that very moment -we came upon a huge new ant-hill.</p> - -<p>“Don’t step on that ant-hill. See all the ants—they say to step over -it!” I cried, and pushed Delia round it with some violence.</p> - -<p>“Well—what makes you always so—<em>religious!</em>” she burst out, at the -end of her patience.</p> - -<p>I was still hotly denying this implication when we entered the school -yard, and broke into running; for no reason, save that entrances and -beginnings always made us want to run and shout.</p> - -<p>The school yard, quite an ordinary place during school hours, became -at the end of school a place no longer to be shunned, but wholly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">179</a></span> -desirable. Next to the wood yard, it was the most mysterious place -that we knew. In the school yard were great cords of wood, suitable -for hiding; a basement door, occasionally left open, from which at any -moment the janitor might appear to drive us away; a band-stand, covered -with names and lacking enough boards so that one might climb up without -use of the steps; a high-board fence on which one always longed to -walk at recess; a high platform from which one had unavailingly pined -to jump; outside banisters down which, in school-time, no one might -slide, trees which no one might climb, corner brick-work affording -excellent steps, which, then, none might scale; broad outside window -ledges on which none might sit, loose bricks in the walks ripe for -the prying-up, but penalty attended; a pump on whose iron handle the -lightest of us might ride save that, in school-time, this was forbidden -too. In school-time this yard, so rich in possibilities, was compact -of restrictions. None of these things might be done. Once a boy had -been expelled for climbing on the schoolhouse roof; and thereupon his -father, a painter by trade, had taken the boy to work with him, and -when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">180</a></span> we saw him in overalls wheeling his father’s cart, we were told -that <em>that</em> was what came of disobedience, although this boy might, -easily no doubt, otherwise have become President of the United States.</p> - -<p>But after school! Toward supper-time, or in vacation-time, we used to -love to linger about the yard and snatch at these forbidden pleasures. -That is, the girls loved it. The boys had long ago had them all, and -were off across the tracks on new adventures unguessed of us.</p> - -<p>If anybody found us here—we were promptly driven off. The principal -did this as a matter of course, but the janitor had the same power -and much more emphasis. If one of the board was seen passing, we hid -behind everything and, as we were never clear just who belonged to the -board, we hid when nearly all grown-folk passed. That the building and -grounds were ours, paid for by our father’s taxes, and that the school -officials and even the tyrannical janitor were town servants to help us -to make good use of our own, no more occurred to us than it occurred -to us to find a ring in the ground, lift it, and descend steps. Nor -as much, for we were always looking for a ring to lift. To be sure, -we might<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">181</a></span> easily fall into serious mischief in this stolen use of our -property; but that it was the function of one of these grown-ups, whom -we were forever dodging, to be there with us, paid by the town to play -with us, was as wild an expectation as that fairies should arrive with -golden hoops and balls and wings. Wilder, for we were always expecting -the fairies and, secretly, the wings.</p> - -<p>That afternoon we did almost all these forbidden things—swings and -seesaws and rings would have done exactly as well, only these had -not been provided—and then we went to rest in the band-stand. Mary -Elizabeth and I were feeling somewhat subdued—neither of us shone much -in feats of skill, and here Delia and Margaret Amelia easily put us in -our proper places. Calista was not daring, but she was a swift runner, -and this entitled her to respect. Mary Elizabeth and I were usually -the first ones caught, and the others were not above explaining to us -frankly that this was why we preferred to play Pretend.</p> - -<p>“Let’s tell a story—you start it, Mary Elizabeth,” I proposed, anxious -for us two to return to standing, for in collaborations of this kind -Mary<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">182</a></span> Elizabeth and I frankly shone—and the wish to shine, like the -wish to cry out, is among the primitive phases of individual growth.</p> - -<p>“Let Margaret Amelia start it,” Delia tried to say, but already the -story was started, Mary Elizabeth leaning far back, and beginning to -braid and unbraid her long hair—not right away to the top of the -braid, which was a serious matter and not to be lightly attempted with -heavy hair, but just near the curling end.</p> - -<p>“Once,” she said, “a big gold sun was going along up in the sky, -wondering what in the world—no, what in All-of-it to do with himself. -For he was all made and done, nice and bright and shiny, and he wanted -a place to be. So he knocked at all the worlds and said, ‘Don’t you -want to hire a sun to do your urrants, take care of your garden, and -behave like a fire and like a lamp?’ But all the worlds didn’t want -him, because they all had engaged a sun first and they could only -use one apiece, account of the climate. So one morning—he <em>knew</em> it -was morning because he was shining, and when it was night he never -shone—one morning....”</p> - -<p>“Now leave somebody else,” Delia suggested restlessly. “Leave Margaret -Amelia tell.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">183</a></span> -So we turned to her. Margaret Amelia considered solemnly—perhaps it -was her faculty for gravity that made us always look up to her—and -took up the tale:</p> - -<p>“One morning he met a witch. And he said, ‘Witch, I wish you -would—would give me something to eat. I’m very hungry.’ So the witch -took him to her kitchen and gave him a bowl of porridge, and it was hot -and burned his mouth, and he asked for a drink of water, and—and—”</p> - -<p>“What was the use of having her a witch if <em>that</em> was all he was going -to ask her?” demanded Mary Elizabeth.</p> - -<p>“They <em>always</em> have witches in the best stories,” Margaret Amelia -contended, “and anyway, that’s all I’m going to tell.”</p> - -<p>Delia took up the tale uninvited.</p> - -<p>“And he got his drink of water, pumped up polite by the witch herself, -and she was going to put a portion in it. But while she was looking in -the top drawer for the portion, the sun went away. And—”</p> - -<p>This time it was I who intervened.</p> - -<p>“‘Portion!’” I said with superiority. “Who ever heard of anybody -drinking a <em>portion</em>? That word is <em>potient</em>.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">184</a></span> -Delia was plainly taken aback.</p> - -<p>“You’re thinking of long division,” she said feebly.</p> - -<p>“I’m thinking of ‘Romeo and Juliet,’” I responded with dignity. “They -had one, in the tomb, where Tybalt, all bloody—”</p> - -<p>“Don’t say that one—don’t say it!” cried Margaret Amelia. “I can see -that one awful after the light is out. Go on, somebody, quick.”</p> - -<p>To take up her share of the story, Betty Rodman refused, point-blank. I -think that her admission to our group must have been principally on the -credentials of sistership to one of us, a basis at once pathetic and -lovely.</p> - -<p>“I never can think of anything to have happen,” Betty complained, “and -if I make something happen, then it ends up the story.”</p> - -<p>Calista had a nail in her shoe, and was too much absorbed in pounding -it down with a stone to be approached; so, when we had all minutely -examined the damage which the nail had wrought, it was my turn to take -up the tale. And then the thing happened which was always happening -to me: I could think of nothing to have the story do. At night, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">185</a></span> -when I was alone, I could dream out the most fascinating adventures, -but with expectant faces—or a clean pad—before me, I was dumb and -powerless.</p> - -<p>“I don’t feel like telling one just now,” said I, the proposer of the -game, and went on digging leaves out of a crevice in the rotting rail. -So Mary Elizabeth serenely took up the tale where she had left it.</p> - -<p>“One morning he looked over a high sky mountain—that’s what suns like -to do best because it is so becoming—and he shone in a room of the sky -where a little black star was sleeping. And he thought he would ask it -what to do. So he said to it, ‘Little Black Star, where shall I be, now -that I am all done and finished, nice and shiny?’ And the Little Black -Star said: ‘You’re not done. What made you think you were done? Hardly -anybody is ever done. I’ll tell you what to be. Be like a carriage -and take all us little dark stars in, and whirl and whirl for about a -million years, and make us all get bright too, and <em>then</em> maybe you’ll -be a true sun—but not all done, even then.’ So that’s what he decided -to do, and he’s up there now, only you can’t see him,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">186</a></span> because he’s so -far, and our sun is so bright, and he’s whirling and whirling, and lots -more like him, getting to be made.”</p> - -<p>Delia followed Mary Elizabeth’s look into the blue.</p> - -<p>“I don’t believe it,” said she. “The sun is biggest and the moon is -next. How could there be any other sun? And it don’t whirl. It don’t -even rise and set. It stands still. Miss Messmore said so.”</p> - -<p>We looked at Mary Elizabeth, probably I alone having any impulse to -defend her. And we became aware that she was quite white and trembling. -In the same moment we understood that we were hearing something which -we had been hearing without knowing that we heard. It was a thin, -wavering strain of singing, in a man’s voice. We scrambled up, and -looked over the edge of the band-stand. Coming unevenly down the broken -brick walk that cut the schoolhouse grounds was Mary Elizabeth’s -father. His hat was gone. It was he who was singing. He looked as he -had looked that first day that I had seen him in the wood yard. We knew -what was the matter. And all of us unconsciously did the cruel thing of -turning and staring at Mary Elizabeth.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">187</a></span> -In a moment she was over the side of the band-stand and running to -him. She took him by the hand, and we saw that she meant to lead him -home. Her little figure looked very tiny beside his gaunt frame, in its -loosely hanging coat. I remember how the sun was pouring over them, and -over the brilliant green beyond where blackbirds were walking. I have -no knowledge of what made me do it—perhaps it was merely an attitude, -created by the afternoon, of standing up for Mary Elizabeth no matter -what befell; or it may have been a child’s crude will to challenge -things; at any rate, without myself really deciding it, I suddenly took -the way that she had taken, and caught up with the two.</p> - -<p>“Mary Elizabeth,” I meant to say, “I’m going.”</p> - -<p>But in fact I said nothing, and only kept along beside her. She looked -at me mutely, and made a motion to me to turn back. When her father -took our hands and stumblingly ran with us, I heartily wished that I -had turned back. But nearly all the way he went peaceably enough. Long -before we reached their home across the tracks, however, I heard the -six o’clock whistles<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">188</a></span> blow, and pictured the wrath of the mistress of -the New Family when Mary Elizabeth had not returned in time to “help -with the supper.” Very likely now they would not let her stay, and this -new companionship of ours would have to end. Mary Elizabeth’s home -was on the extreme edge of the town, and ordinarily I was not allowed -to cross the tracks. Mary Elizabeth might even move away—that had -happened to some of us, and the night had descended upon such as these -and we had never heard of them again: Hattie Schenck, whom I had loved -with unequalled devotion, where, for example, was she? Was it, then, to -be the same with Mary Elizabeth?</p> - -<p>Her mother saw us coming. She hurried down to the gateway—the gate -was detached and lying in the weeds within—and even then I was -struck by the way of maternity with which she led her husband to the -house. I remember her as large-featured, with the two bones of her -arms sharply defined by a hollow running from wrist to elbow, and she -constantly held her face as if the sun were shining in her eyes, but -there was no sun shining there. And somehow, at the gate she had a -way of receiving him, and of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">189</a></span> taking him with her. Hardly anything -was said. The worst of it was that no one had to explain anything. -Two of the little children ran away and hid. Someone dodged behind an -open door. The man’s wife led him to the broken couch, and he lay down -there like a little child. Standing in the doorway of that forlorn, -disordered, ill-smelling room, I first dimly understood what I never -have forgotten: That the man was not poor because he drank, as the -village thought, but that he drank because he was poor. Instead of the -horror at a drunken man which the village had laid it upon me to feel, -I suddenly saw Mary Elizabeth’s father as her mother saw him when she -folded her gingham apron and spread it across his shoulders and said:</p> - -<p>“Poor lad.”</p> - -<p>And when, in a few minutes, Mary Elizabeth and I were out on the street -again, running silently, I remember feeling a great blind rage against -the whole village and against the whole world that couldn’t seem to -think what to do any more than Mary Elizabeth and I could think.</p> - -<p>The man of the New Family was watering the lawn, which meant that -supper was done.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">190</a></span> We slipped in our back gate,—the New Family had -none,—climbed the fence by my play-house, dropped down into the New -Family’s garden, and entered their woodshed. In my own mind I had -settled that I was of small account if I could not give the New Lady -such a picture of what had happened that Mary Elizabeth should not lose -her place, and I should not lose her.</p> - -<p>The kitchen door was ajar. The dish-pan was in the sink, the kettle was -steaming on the stove. And from out the dining-room abruptly appeared -Calista and <em>Delia</em>, bearing plates.</p> - -<p>“Girls!” I cried, but Mary Elizabeth was dumb.</p> - -<p>Delia carefully set down her plate in the dish-pan and addressed me:</p> - -<p>“Well, you needn’t think you’re the only one that knows what’s proper, -miss,” she said.</p> - -<p>Calista was more simple.</p> - -<p>“We wanted to get ’em all done before you got back,” she owned. “We -would, if Margaret Amelia and Betty had of come. They wanted to, but -they wouldn’t let ’em.”</p> - -<p>Back of Delia and Calista appeared the mistress of the house. She had -on her afternoon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">191</a></span> dress, and her curl papers were out, and she actually -smiled at Mary Elizabeth and me.</p> - -<p>“<em>Now</em> then!” she said to us.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>If I could have made a dream for that night, I think it would have been -that ever and ever so many of us were sitting in rows, waiting to be -counted. And a big sun came by, whirling and growing, to take us, and -we thought we couldn’t all get in. But there was room, whether we had -been counted or not.</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">192</a></span> -</div> - -<h2><a name="xi" id="xi"></a>XI<br /> -<span>DOLLS</span></h2> - - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> advent of the New Boy changed the face of the neighbourhood. -Formerly I had been accustomed to peep through cracks in the fence -only to look into a field of corn that grew at the side; or, on the -other side, into raspberry bushes, where at any moment raspberries -might be gathered and dropped over the fence to me. Also, there was -one place in the deep green before those bushes where blue-eyed grass -grew, and I had to watch for that. Then there was a great spotted dog -that sometimes came, and when he had passed, I used to wait long by the -high boards lest he should return and leap at me to whom, so far, he -had never paid the slightest attention. As a child, my mother had once -jumped down into a manger where a great spotted dog was inadvertently -lying and, though from all accounts he was far more frightened than -she, yet I feared his kind more than any other.... The only real -excitement<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">193</a></span> that we had been wont to know in the neighbourhood occurred -whenever there was a Loose Horse. Somebody would give the alarm, and -then we would all make sure that the gates were latched and we would -retire to watch him fearfully, where he was quietly cropping the -roadside grass. But sometimes, too, a Loose Horse would run—and then I -was terrified by the sound of his hoofs galloping on the sidewalk and -striking on the bricks and boards. I was always afraid that a Loose -Horse would see me, and nights, after one had disturbed our peace, I -would dream that he was trying to find me, and that he had come peering -between the dining-room blinds; and though I hid under the red cotton -spread that was used “between-meals,” it never came down far enough, -and he always stood there interminably waiting, and found me, through -the fringe.</p> - -<p>But all these excitements were become as nothing. A new occupation -presented itself. A dozen times a day now I had to watch through the -fence-cracks, or through the knot-hole, or boldly between the pickets -of the front fence, at the fascinating performances of the New Boy -and his troops of friends. At any moment both<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">194</a></span> Mary Elizabeth and I -would abandon what we were doing to go to stare at the unaccountable -activities which were forever agitating them. They were always -producing something from their pockets and examining it, with their -heads together, or manufacturing something or burying something, or -disputing about something unguessed and alluring. Their whole world -was filled with doing, doing, doing, whereas ours was made wholly of -watching things get done.</p> - -<p>On an afternoon Mary Elizabeth and I were playing together in our side -yard. It was the day for Delia’s music lesson, and as she usually did -her whole week’s practising in the time immediately preceding that -event, the entire half day was virtually wasted. We could hear her -going drearily over and over the first and last movements of “At Home,” -which she had memorized and could play like lightning, while the entire -middle of the piece went with infinite deliberation. Calista was, we -understood (because of some matter pertaining to having filled the -bath-tub and waded in it and ruined the dining-room ceiling), spending -the day in her bed. And Margaret Amelia and Betty Rodman were being -kept at home because the family<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">195</a></span> had company; and such was the prestige -of the Rodmans that the two contrived to make this circumstance seem -enviable, and the day before had pictured to us their embroidered white -dresses and blue ribbons, and blue stockings, and the Charlotte Russe -for supper, until we felt left out, and not in the least as if their -company were of a kind with events of the sort familiar to us. Since I -have grown up, I have observed this variety of genius in others. There -is one family which, when it appears in afternoon gowns on occasions -when I have worn a street dress, has power to make me wonder how I -can have failed to do honour to the day; but who, when they wear -street gowns and I am dressed for afternoon, invariably cause me to -feel inexcusably overdressed. It is a kind of genius for the fit, and -we must believe that it actually designates the atmosphere which an -occasion shall breathe.</p> - -<p>Mary Elizabeth and I were playing Dolls. We rarely did this on a -pleasant day in Summer, Dolls being an indoor game, matched with -carpets and furniture and sewing baskets rather than with blue sky and -with the soft brilliance of the grass. But that day we had brought<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">196</a></span> -everything out in the side yard under the little catalpa tree, and my -eleven dolls (counting the one without any face, and Irene Helena, the -home-made one, and the two penny ones) were in a circle on chairs and -boxes and their backs, getting dressed for the tea-party. There was -always going to be a tea-party when you played Dolls—you of course had -to lead up to something, and what else was there to lead up to save -a tea-party? To be sure, there might be an occasional marriage, but -boy-dolls were never very practical; they were invariably smaller than -the bride-doll, and besides we had no mosquito-netting suitable for a -veil. Sometimes we had them go for a walk, and once or twice we had -tried playing that they were house-cleaning; but these operations were -not desirable, because in neither of them could the dolls dress up, and -the desirable part of playing dolls is, as everybody knows, to dress -them in their best. That is the game. That, and the tea-party.</p> - -<p>“Blue or rose-pink?” Mary Elizabeth inquired, indicating the two best -gowns of the doll she was dressing.</p> - -<p>It was a difficult question. We had never been able to decide which -of these two colours we preferred. There was the sky for precedent of -blue, but then rose-pink we loved so to say!</p> - -<div class="figcenter width400"> -<a name="she" id="she"></a> -<img src="images/i_196fp.jpg" width="400" height="585" alt="" /> -<div class="caption"><span class="smcap">She settled everything in that way; she counted -the petals of fennel daisies and blew thistle from dandelions.</span></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">197</a></span> -“If they’s one cloud in the sky, we’ll put on the rose-pink one,” said -Mary Elizabeth. “And if there isn’t any, that’ll mean blue.”</p> - -<p>She settled everything that way—she counted the petals of fennel -daisies, blew the thistle from dandelions, did one thing if she could -find twelve acorns and another if they were lacking. Even then Mary -Elizabeth seemed always to be watching for a guiding hand, to be -listening for a voice to tell her what to do, and trying to find these -in things of Nature.</p> - -<p>We dressed the Eleven in their best frocks, weighing each choice long, -and seated them about a table made of a box covered with a towel. We -sliced a doughnut and with it filled two small baskets for each end of -the table, on which rested my toy castor and such of my dishes as had -survived the necessity which I had felt for going to bed with the full -set, on the night of the day, some years before, when I had acquired -them. We picked all the flowers suitable for doll decorations—clover, -sorrel, candytuft, sweet alyssum. We observed the unities<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">198</a></span> by retiring -for a time sufficient to occupy the tea-party in disposing of the -feast; and then we came back and sat down and stared at them. Irene -Helena, I remember, had slipped under the table in a heap, a proceeding -which always irritated me, as nakedly uncovering the real depths of -our pretence—and I jerked her up and set her down, like some maternal -Nemesis.</p> - -<p>In that moment a wild, I may almost say <em>thick</em>, shriek sounded through -our block, and there came that stimulating thud-thud of feet on earth -that accompanies all the best diversions, and also there came the -cracking of things,—whips, or pistols, or even a punch, which rapidly -operated will do almost as well. And down the yards of the block and -over the fences and over the roof of my play-house came tumbling and -shrieking the New Boy, and in his wake were ten of his kind.</p> - -<p>Usually they raced by with a look in their eyes which we knew well, -though we never could distinguish whether it meant robbers or pirates -or dragons or the enemy. Usually they did not even see us. But that -day something in our elaborate preparation to receive somebody or to -welcome something, and our eternal moment<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">199</a></span> of suspended animation at -which they found us, must have caught the fancy of the New Boy.</p> - -<p>“Halt!” he roared with the force and effect of a steam whistle, and in -a moment they were all stamping and breathing about Mary Elizabeth and -me.</p> - -<p>We sprang up in instant alarm and the vague, pathetic, immemorial -impulse to defence. We need not have feared. The game was still going -forward and we were merely pawns.</p> - -<p>“Who is the lord of this castle?” demanded the New Boy.</p> - -<p>“Bindyliggs,” replied Mary Elizabeth, without a moment’s hesitation, a -name which I believe neither of us to have heard before.</p> - -<p>“Where is this Lord of Bindyliggs?” the New Boy pressed it.</p> - -<p>Mary Elizabeth indicated the woodshed. “At meat,” she added gravely.</p> - -<p>“Forward!” the New Boy instantly commanded, and the whole troop -disappeared in our shed. We heard wood fall, and the clash of meeting -weapons, and the troop reappeared, two by way of the low window.</p> - -<p>“Enough!” cried the New Boy, grandly. “We have spared him, but there is -not a moment to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">200</a></span> lose. You must come with us <em>immediately</em>. What you -got to eat?”</p> - -<p>Raptly, we gave them, from under the wistful noses of Irene Helena and -the doll without the face and the rest, the entire sliced doughnut, and -two more doughnuts, dipped in sugar, which we had been saving so as to -have something to look forward to.</p> - -<p>“Come with us,” said the New Boy, graciously. “To horse! We may reach -the settlement by nightfall—<em>if</em> we escape the Brigands in the Wood. -The Black Wood,” he added.</p> - -<p>Even then, I recall, I was smitten with wonder that he who had shown -so little imagination in that matter of dirt and apples and potatoes -should here be teeming with fancy on his own familiar ground. It was -years before I understood that there are almost as many varieties of -imaginative as of religious experience.</p> - -<p>Fascinated, we dropped everything and followed. The way led, it -appeared, to the Wells’s barn, a huge, red barn in the block, with -doors always invitingly open and chickens pecking about, and doves on a -little platform close to the pointed roof.</p> - -<p>“Aw, say, you ain’t goin’ to take ’em along,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">201</a></span> are you?” demanded one -knight, below his voice. “They’ll spoil everythin’.”</p> - -<p>“You’re <em>rescuin’</em> ’em, you geezer,” the New Boy explained. “You got to -have ’em along till you get ’em rescued, ain’t you? Arrest that man!” -he added. “Put him in double irons with chains and balls on. And gag -him, to make sure.”</p> - -<p>And it was done, with hardly a moment’s loss of time.</p> - -<p>We went round by the walk—a course to which the arrested one had time -to refer in further support of his claim as to our undesirability. -But he was drowned in the important topics that were afoot: the new -cave to be explored where the Branchetts were putting a cellar under -the dining-room, mysterious boxes suspected to contain dynamite being -unloaded into the Wells’s cellar, and the Court of the Seven Kings, to -which, it seemed, we were being conveyed in the red barn.</p> - -<p>“Shall we give ’em the password?” the New Boy asked, <em>sotto voce</em>, as -we approached the rendezvous. And Mary Elizabeth and I trembled as we -realized that he was thinking of sharing the password with us.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">202</a></span> -“<em>Naw!</em>” cried the Arrested One violently. “It’ll be all over town.”</p> - -<p>The New Boy drew himself up—he must have been good to look at, for I -recall his compact little figure and his pink cheeks.</p> - -<p>“Can’t you tell when you’re gagged?” he inquired with majesty. “You’re -playin’ like a girl yourself. I can give the password for ’em, though,” -he added reasonably. So we all filed in the red barn, to the Court of -the Seven Kings, and each boy whispered the password into the first -manger, but Mary Elizabeth and I had it whispered for us.</p> - -<p>What the Court of the Seven Kings might have held for us we were never -to know. At that instant there appeared lumbering down the alley a load -of hay. Seated in the midst was a small figure whom we recognized as -Stitchy Branchett; and he rose and uttered a roar.</p> - -<p>“Come on, fellows!” he said. “We dast ride over to the Glen. I was -lookin’ for you. Father said so.” And Stitchy threw himself on his -back, and lifted and waved his heels.</p> - -<p>Already our liberators were swarming up the hay-rack, which had halted -for them. In a twinkling they were sunk in that fragrance,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">203</a></span> kicking -their heels even as their host. Already they had forgotten Mary -Elizabeth and me, nor did they give us good-bye.</p> - -<p>We two turned and went through the Wells’s yard, back to the street. -Almost at once we were again within range of the sounds of Delia, -practising interminably on her “At Home.”</p> - -<p>“I never rode on a load of hay,” said Mary Elizabeth at length.</p> - -<p>Neither had I, though I almost always walked backward to watch one when -it passed me.</p> - -<p>“What do you <em>s’pose</em> the password was?” said Mary Elizabeth.</p> - -<p>It was days before we gave over wondering. And sometimes in later years -I have caught myself speculating on that lost word.</p> - -<p>“I wonder what we were rescued from,” said Mary Elizabeth when we -passed our woodshed door.</p> - -<p>We stopped and peered within. No Lord of Bindyliggs, though we had -almost expected to see him stretched there, bound and helpless.</p> - -<p>What were we rescued from? <em>We should never know.</em></p> - -<p>We rounded the corner by the side yard. There sat our staring dolls, -drawn up about the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">204</a></span> tea-table, static all. As I looked at them I was -seized and possessed by an unreasoning fury. And I laid hold on Irene -Helena, and had her by the heels, and with all my strength I pounded -her head against the trunk of the catalpa tree.</p> - -<p>Mary Elizabeth understood—when did she not understand?</p> - -<p>“Which one can I—which one can I?” she cried excitedly.</p> - -<p>“All of ’em!” I shouted, and one after another we picked up the Eleven -by their skirts, and we threw them far and wide in the grass, and the -penny dolls we hurled into the potato patch.</p> - -<p>Then Mary Elizabeth looked at me aghast.</p> - -<p>“Your dolls!” she said.</p> - -<p>“I don’t care!” I cried savagely. “I’ll never play ’em again. I hate -’em!” And I turned to Mary Elizabeth with new eyes. “Let’s go down town -after supper,” I whispered.</p> - -<p>“I could,” she said, “but you won’t be let.”</p> - -<p>“I won’t ask,” I said. “I’ll go. When you get done, come on over.”</p> - -<p>I scorned to gather up the dolls. They were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">205</a></span> in the angle below the -parlour windows, and no one saw them. As soon as supper was finished, -I went to my room and put on my best shoes, which I was not allowed to -wear for everyday. Then I tipped my birthday silver dollar out of my -bank and tied it in the corner of my handkerchief. Down in the garden I -waited for Mary Elizabeth.</p> - -<p>It was hardly dusk when she came. We had seen nothing of Delia, and we -guessed that she was to stay in the house for the rest of the day as -penance for having, without doubt, played “At Home” too badly.</p> - -<p>“You better not do it,” Mary Elizabeth whispered. “They might....”</p> - -<p>“Come on,” I said only.</p> - -<p>“Let’s try a June grass,” she begged. “If the seeds all come off in my -teeth, we’ll go. But if they don’t—”</p> - -<p>“Come on,” said I, “I’m not going to monkey with signs any more.”</p> - -<p>We climbed the back fence, partly so that the chain, weighted with a -pail of stones, might not creak, and partly because to do so seemed -more fitting to the business in hand. We ran crouching, thereby -arousing the attention of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">206</a></span> old Mr. Branchett, who was training a -Virginia creeper along his back fence.</p> - -<p>“Hello, hello,” said he. “Pretty good runners for girls, seems to me.”</p> - -<p>Neither of us replied. Our souls were suddenly sickened at this sort of -dealing.</p> - -<p>Wisconsin Street was a blaze of light. The ’buses were on their way -from the “depots” to the hotels—nobody knew who might be in those -’buses. They were the nexus between us and the unguessed world. -Strangers were on the streets. Everything was in motion. Before -Morrison’s grocery they were burning rubbish, some boys from the other -end of town were running unconcernedly through the flames, and the -smell of the smoke set us tingling. At the corner a man was pasting -a circus bill—we stopped a moment to look down the throat of the -hippopotamus. Away up the street a band struck up, and we took hold of -hands again, and ran.</p> - -<p>We crossed the big square by the City Bank, under the hissing arc lamp. -By the post-office a crowd of men and boys was standing, and between -the files young women whom we knew, wearing ribbons and feathers, were -passing in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">207</a></span> and out of the office and laughing. Bard’s jewellery store -was brilliant—it looked lighter than any other store with its window -of dazzling cut glass and its wonderful wall of clocks whose pendulums -never kept pace. In a saloon a piano was playing—we glanced in with a -kind of joyous fear at the green screen beyond the door. We saw Alma -Fremont, whose father kept a grocery store, standing in the store door -with a stick of pink candy thrust in a lemon, and we thought on the -joy of having a father who was a grocer. We longed to stare in the -barber-shop window, and looked away. But our instinctive destination -was the place before the Opera House, where the band was playing. We -reached it, and stood packed in the crowd, close to the blare of the -music, and shivered with delight.</p> - -<p>“If only the fire-engine would come,” Mary Elizabeth breathed in my ear.</p> - -<p>But in a little while the guffaws, the jostling, the proximity of dirty -coats, the odour of stale tobacco must have disturbed us, because -gradually we edged a little away, and stood on the edge of the crowd, -against an iron rail outside a billiard room. The band ceased, and went -up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">208</a></span> into the hall. We had a distinct impulse to do the next thing. What -was there to do next? What was it that the boys did when they went -down town evenings? What else did they do while we were tidying our -play-houses for the night? For here we were, longing for play, if only -we could think what to do.</p> - -<p>I felt a hand beneath my chin, lifting my face. There, in the press, -stood my Father. Over his arm he carried my black jacket with the -Bedford cord.</p> - -<p>“Mother thought you might be cold,” he said.</p> - -<p>I put on the jacket, and he took Mary Elizabeth and me by the hand, and -we walked slowly back down Wisconsin Street.</p> - -<p>“We will see Mary Elizabeth safely home first,” my Father said, and we -accompanied her to the New Family’s door.</p> - -<p>Once in our house, it was I who proposed going to bed, and the -suggestion met with no opposition. Upstairs, I slipped the screen -from my window and leaned out in the dusk. The night, warm, fragrant, -significant, was inviting me to belong to it, was asking me, even as -bright day had asked me, what it had in common with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">209</a></span> the stuffiness and -dulness of forever watching others do things. Something hard touched my -hand. It was my birthday dollar. It had not occurred to me to spend it.</p> - -<p>I saw my Father stroll back down the street, lighting a cigar. Below -stairs I could hear my Mother helping to put away the supper dishes. -A dozen boys raced through the alley, just on their way down town. -So long as they came home at a stated hour at night, and turned up -at table with their hands clean, who asked them where they had been? -“Where have you been?” they said to me, the moment I entered the -house—and to Delia and Calista and Margaret Amelia and Betty. We had -often talked about it. And none of us had even ridden on a load of hay. -We had a vague expectation that it would be different when we grew up. -A sickening thought came to me: <em>Would it be different, or was this to -be forever?</em></p> - -<p>I ran blindly down the stairs where my Mother was helping to put away -the supper dishes—in the magic of the night, helping to put away the -supper dishes.</p> - -<p>“Mother!” I cried, “Mother! Who made it so much harder to be a girl?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">210</a></span> -She turned and looked at me, her face startled, and touched me—I -remember how gently she touched me.</p> - -<p>“Before you die,” she said, “it will be easier.”</p> - -<p>I thought then that she meant that I would grow used to it. Now I know -that she meant what I meant when I woke that night, and remembered my -dolls lying out in the grass and the dew, and was not sorry, but glad: -Glad that the time was almost come—for real playthings.</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">211</a></span> -</div> - -<h2><a name="xii" id="xii"></a>XII<br /> -<span>BIT-BIT</span></h2> - - -<p><span class="smcap">At</span> the Rodmans’, who lived in a huge house on a hill, some of -the rooms had inscriptions in them—or what I should have called -mottoes—cunningly lettered and set about. Some of these were in -Margaret Amelia’s and Betty’s room, above the mirror, the bed, the -window; and there was one downstairs on a panel above the telephone. -The girls said that they had an aunt who had written them “on purpose,” -an aunt who had had stories in print. In my heart I doubted the part -about the printed stories, and so did Mary Elizabeth, but we loved -Margaret Amelia and Betty too well to let this stand between us. Also, -we were caught by the inscriptions. They were these:</p> - -<p class="center mt2 nmb">FOR A CRADLE<a name="FNanchor_A" id="FNanchor_A"></a><a href="#Footnote_A" class="fnanchor">[A]</a></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse"> -<div class="line">I cannot tell you who I am</div> -<div class="line">Nor what I’m going to be.</div> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">212</a></span> -<div class="line">You who are wise and know your ways</div> -<div class="line">Tell me.</div> -</div> -<div class="footnote"> -<p><a name="Footnote_A" id="Footnote_A"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> -Copyright, 1908, by Harper & Brothers.</p> -</div> -</div></div> - -<p class="center mt2 nmb">FOR THE MIRROR</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse"> -<div class="line">Look in the deep of me. What are we going to do?</div> -<div class="line">If I am I, as I am, who in the world are you?</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p class="center mt2 nmb">FOR AN IVORY COMB</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse"> -<div class="line">Use me and think of spirit, and spirit yet to be.</div> -<div class="line">This is the jest: Could soul touch soul if it were not for me?</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p class="center mt2 nmb">FOR THE DOLL’S HOUSE</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse"> -<div class="line">Girl-doll would be a little lamp</div> -<div class="line">And shine like something new.</div> -<div class="line">Boy-doll would be a telephone</div> -<div class="line">And have the world speak through.</div> -<div class="line">The Poet-doll would like to be</div> -<div class="line">A tocsin with a tongue</div> -<div class="line">To other little dolls like bells</div> -<div class="line">Most sensitively rung.</div> -<div class="line">The Baby-doll would be a flower,</div> -<div class="line">The Dinah-doll a star,</div> -<div class="line">And all—how ignominious!</div> -<div class="line">Are only what they are.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">213</a></span></p> -<p class="center mt2 nmb">WHERE THE BOUGHS TOUCH THE WINDOW</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse"> -<div class="line">We lap on the indoor shore—the waves of the leaf mere,</div> -<div class="line">We try to tell you as well as we can: We wonder what you hear?</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p class="center mt2 nmb">FOR ANOTHER WINDOW</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse"> -<div class="line">I see the stones, I see the stars,</div> -<div class="line">I know not what they be.</div> -<div class="line">They always say things to themselves</div> -<div class="line">And now and then to me.</div> -<div class="line">But when I try to look between</div> -<div class="line">Big stones and little stars,</div> -<div class="line">I almost know ... but what I know</div> -<div class="line">Flies through the window-bars.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p class="nmb">And downstairs, on the Telephone:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse"> -<div class="line">I, the absurdity,</div> -<div class="line">Proving what cannot be.</div> -<div class="line">Come, when you talk with me</div> -<div class="line">Does it become you well</div> -<div class="line">To doubt a miracle?</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>We did not understand all of them, but we liked them. And I am sure now -that the inscriptions were partly responsible for the fact<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">214</a></span> that in a -little time, with Mary Elizabeth and me to give them encouragement, -everything, indoors and out, had something to say to us. These things -we did not confide to the others, not even to Margaret Amelia and -Betty who, when we stood still to spell out the inscriptions, waited -a respectful length of time and then plucked at our aprons and said: -“Come on till we show you something,” which was usually merely a crass -excuse to get us away.</p> - -<p>So Mary Elizabeth and I discovered, by comparing notes, that at night -our Clothes on the chair by the bed would say: “We are so tired. Don’t -look at us—we feel so limp.”</p> - -<p>And the Night would say: “What a long time the Day had you, and how he -made you work. Now rest and forget and stop being you, till morning.”</p> - -<p>Sleep would say: “Here I come. Let me in your brain and I will pull -your eyes shut, like little blinds.”</p> - -<p>And in the morning the Stairs would say: “Come! We are all here, -stooping, ready for you to step down on our shoulders.”</p> - -<p>Breakfast would say: “Now I’m going to be you—now I’m going to be you! -And I have to be cross or nice, just as you are.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">215</a></span> -Every fire that warmed us, every tree that shaded us, every path that -we took, all these “answered back” and were familiars. Everything spoke -to us, save only one. And this one thing was Work. Our playthings in -the cupboard would talk to us all day long <em>until</em> the moment that we -were told to put them in order, and then instantly they all fell into -silence. Pulling weeds in the four o’clock bed, straightening books, -tidying the outdoor play-house—it was always the same. Whatever we -worked at kept silent.</p> - -<p>It was on a June morning, when the outdoors was so busy and beautiful -that it was like a golden bee buried in a golden rose, that I finally -refused outright to pick up a brown sunhat and some other things in -the middle of the floor. Everything outdoors and in was smiling and -calling, and to do a task was like going to bed, so far as the joy of -the day was concerned. This I could not explain, but I said that I -would not do the task, and this was high treason.</p> - -<p>Sitting in a straight-backed chair all alone for half an hour -thereafter—the usual capital punishment—was like cutting off the head -of the beautiful Hour that I had meant to have.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">216</a></span> And I tried to think -it out. Why, in an otherwise wonderful world, did Work have to come and -spoil everything?</p> - -<p>I do not recall that I came to any conclusion. How could I, at a time -that was still teaching the Hebraic doctrine that work is a curse, -instead of the new gospel—always dimly divined by children before our -teaching has corrupted them,—that being busy is being alive, and that -all work may be play if only we are shown how to pick out the kind that -is play to us, and that doing nothing is a kind of death.</p> - -<p>And while I sat there alone on that straight-backed chair, I wish that -I, as I am now, might have called in Mary Elizabeth, whom I could see -drearily polishing the New Family’s lamp-chimneys, and that I might -have told the story of Bit-bit.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Bit-bit, the smallest thing in the world, sat on the slipperiest edge -of the highest mountain in the farthest land, weaving a little garment -of sweet-grass. Then out of the valley a great Deev arose and leaned -his elbows on the highest mountain and said what he thought—which is -always a dangerous business.</p> - -<div class="figcenter width400"> -<a name="then" id="then"></a> -<img src="images/i_216fp.jpg" width="400" height="587" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">“<span class="smcap">Then out of the valley a great Deev arose.</span>”</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">217</a></span> -“Bit-bit,” said the Deev, “how dare you make up my sweet-grass so -disgustin’ extravagant?”</p> - -<p>(It is almost impossible for a Deev to say his <em>ing’s</em>.)</p> - -<p>“Deevy dear,” said Bit-bit, without looking up from his work, “I have -to make a garment to help clothe the world. Don’t wrinkle up my plan. -And <em>don’t</em> put your elbows on the table.”</p> - -<p>“About my elbows,” said the Deev, “you are perfectly right, though -Deevs always do that with their elbows. But as to that garment,” he -added, “I’d like to know why you have to help clothe the world?”</p> - -<p>“Deevy dear,” said Bit-bit, still not looking up from his work, “I have -to do so, because it’s this kind of a world. <em>Please</em> don’t wrinkle up -things.”</p> - -<p>“I,” said the Deev, plainly, “will now show you what kind of a world -this really is. And I rather think I’ll destroy you with a great -destruction.”</p> - -<p>Then the Deev took the highest mountain and he tied its streams and -cataracts together to make a harness, and he named the mountain new, -and he drove it all up and down the earth. And he cried behind it:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">218</a></span> -“Ho, Rhumbthumberland, steed of the clouds, trample the world into -trifles and plough it up for play. Bit-bit is being taught his lesson.”</p> - -<p>From dawn he did this until the sky forgot pink and remembered only -blue and until the sun grew so hot that it took even the sky’s -attention, and the Deev himself was ready to drop. And then he pulled -on the reins and Rhumbthumberland, steed of the clouds, stopped -trampling and let the Deev lean his elbows on his back. And there, -right between the Deev’s elbows, sat Bit-bit, weaving his garment of -sweet-grass.</p> - -<p>“Thunders of spring,” cried the Deev, “aren’t you destroyed with a -great destruction?”</p> - -<p>But Bit-bit never looked up, he was so busy.</p> - -<p>“Has anything happened?” he asked politely, however, not wishing to -seem indifferent to the Deev’s agitation—though secretly, in his -little head, he hated having people plunge at him with their eyebrows -up and expect him to act surprised too. When they did that, it always -made him savage-calm.</p> - -<p>“The world is trampled into trifles and ploughed up for play,” said -the exasperated<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">219</a></span> Deev, “<em>that’s</em> what’s happened. How dare you pay no -attention?”</p> - -<p>“Deevy dear,” said Bit-bit, still not looking up from his task, “I -have to work, whether it’s this kind of a world or not. I <em>wish</em> you -wouldn’t wrinkle up things.”</p> - -<p>Then the Deev’s will ran round and round in his own head like a fly -trying to escape from a dark hole—that is the way of the will of all -Deevs—and pretty soon his will got out and went buzzle-buzzle-buzzle, -which is no proper sound for anybody’s will to make. And when it did -that, the Deev went off and got a river, and he climbed up on top of -Rhumbthumberland and he swung the river about his head like a ribbon -and then let it fall from the heights like a lady’s scarf, and then he -held down one end with his great boot and the other end he emptied into -the horizon. From the time of the heat of the sun he did this until -the shadows were set free from the west and lengthened over the land, -shaking their long hair, and then he lifted his foot and let the river -slip and it trailed off into the horizon and flowed each way.</p> - -<p>“<em>Now</em> then!” said the Deev, disgustingly pompous.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">220</a></span> -But when he looked down, there, sitting on his own great foot, high and -dry and pleasant, was Bit-bit, weaving his garment of sweet-grass and -saying:</p> - -<p>“Deevy dear, a river washed me up here and I was so busy I didn’t have -time to get down.”</p> - -<p>The Deev stood still, thinking, and his thoughts flew in and out like -birds, but always they seemed to fly against window-panes in the air, -through which there was no passing. And the Deev said, in his head:</p> - -<p>“Is there nothing in this created cosmos that will stop this little -scrap from working to clothe the world? Or must I play Deev in earnest?”</p> - -<p>And that was what he finally decided to do. So he said things to his -arms, and his arms hardened into stuff like steel, and spread out like -mighty wings. And with these the Deev began to beat the air. And he -beat it and beat it until it frothed. It frothed like white-of-egg and -like cream and like the mid-waters of torrents, frothed a mighty froth, -such as I supposed could never be. And when the froth was stiff enough -to stand alone, the Deev took his steel-wing arm for a ladle, and he -began to spread the froth upon the earth. And he spread and spread -until<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">221</a></span> the whole earth was like an enormous chocolate cake, thick with -white frosting—one layer, two layers, three layers, disgustingly -extravagant, so that the little Deevs, if there had been any, would -never have got the dish scraped. Only there wasn’t any dish, so they -needn’t have minded.</p> - -<p>And when he had it all spread on, the Deev stood up and dropped his -steel arms down—and even they were tired at the elbow, like any true, -egg-beating arm—and he looked down at the great cake he had made. -And there, on the top of the frosting, which was already beginning to -harden, was sitting Bit-bit, weaving his garment of sweet-grass and -talking about the weather:</p> - -<p>“I think there is going to be a storm,” said Bit-bit, “the air around -here has been so disgustingly hard to breathe.”</p> - -<p>Then, very absently, the Deev let the steel out of his arms and made -them get over being wings, and, in a place so deep in his own head that -nothing had ever been thought there before, he <em>thought</em>:</p> - -<p>“There is more to this than I ever knew there is to anything.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">222</a></span> -So he leaned over, all knee-deep in the frosting as he was, and he said:</p> - -<p>“Bit-bit, say a great truth and a real answer: What is the reason that -my little ways don’t bother you? Or kill you? Or keep you from making -your garment of sweet-grass?”</p> - -<p>“Why,” said Bit-bit, in surprise, but never looking up from his work, -“Deevy dear, that’s easy. I’m much, much, <em>much</em> too busy.”</p> - -<p>“Scrap of a thing,” said the Deev, “too busy to mind cataracts and an -earth trampled to trifles and then frosted with all the air there is?”</p> - -<p>“Too busy,” assented Bit-bit, snapping off his thread. “And now I <em>do</em> -hope you are not going to wrinkle up things any more.”</p> - -<p>“No,” said the Deev, with decision, “I ain’t.” (Deevs are always -ungrammatical when you take them by surprise.) And he added very -shrewdly, for he was a keen Deev and if he saw that he could learn, -he was willing to learn, which is three parts of all wisdom: “Little -scrap, teach me to do a witchcraft. Teach me to work.”</p> - -<p>At that Bit-bit laid down his task in a minute.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">223</a></span> -“What do you want to make?” he asked.</p> - -<p>The Deev thought for a moment.</p> - -<p>“I want to make a palace and a garden and a moat for <em>me</em>,” said he. -“I’m tired campin’ around in the air.”</p> - -<p>“If that’s all,” said Bit-bit, “I’m afraid I can’t help you. I thought -you wanted to work. Out of all the work there is in the world I should -think of another one if I were you, Deevy.”</p> - -<p>“Well, then, I want to make a golden court dress for <em>me</em>, all -embroidered and flowered and buttoned and gored and spliced,” said the -Deev, or whatever these things are called in the clothing of Deevs; -“I want to make one. I’m tired goin’ around in rompers.” (It wasn’t -rompers, really, but it was what Deevs wear instead, and you wouldn’t -know the name, even if I told you.)</p> - -<p>“Excuse me,” said Bit-bit, frankly, “I won’t waste time like that. -Don’t you want to <em>work</em>?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said the Deev, “I do. Maybe I don’t know what work is.”</p> - -<p>“Maybe you don’t,” agreed Bit-bit. “But I can fix that. I’m going for a -walk now, and there’s just room for you. Come along.”</p> - -<p>So they started off, and it was good walking, for by now the sun had -dried up all the frosting;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">224</a></span> and the Deev trotted at Bit-bit’s heels, -and they made a very funny pair. So funny that Almost Everything -watched them go by, and couldn’t leave off watching them go by, and so -followed them all the way. Which was what Bit-bit had <em>thought</em> would -happen. And when he got to a good place, Bit-bit stood still and told -the Deev to turn round. And there they were, staring face to face with -Almost Everything: Deserts and towns and men and women and children and -laws and governments and railroads and factories and forests and food -and drink.</p> - -<p>“There’s your work,” said Bit-bit, carelessly.</p> - -<p>“Where?” asked the Deev, just like other folks.</p> - -<p>“<em>Where?</em>” repeated Bit-bit, nearly peevish. “Look at this desert -that’s come along behind us. Why don’t you swing a river over your -head—you <em>could</em> do that, couldn’t you, Deevy?—and make things grow -on that desert, and let people live on it, and turn ’em into folks? Why -don’t you?”</p> - -<p>“It ain’t amusin’ enough,” said the Deev.</p> - -<p>(Deevs are often ungrammatical when they don’t take pains; and this -Deev wasn’t taking <em>any</em> pains.)</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">225</a></span> -“Well,” said Bit-bit, “then look at this town that has come along -behind us, full of dirt and disease and laziness and worse. Why -don’t you harness up a mountain—you <em>could</em> do that, couldn’t you, -Deevy?—and plough up the earth and trample it down and let people live -as they were meant to live, and turn them into folks? Why don’t you?”</p> - -<p>“It couldn’t be done that way,” said the Deev, very much excited and -disgustingly certain.</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Bit-bit, “then look at the men and women and children that -have come along behind us. What about them—what about <em>them</em>? Why -don’t you make your arms steel and act as if you had wings, and beat -the world into a better place for them to live, instead of making a -cake of it. You could do it, Deevy—<em>anybody</em> could do that.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said the Deev, “I could do that. But it don’t appeal to me.”</p> - -<p>(Deevs are always ungrammatical when they are being emphatic, and now -the Deev was being very emphatic. He was a keen Deev, but he would only -learn what he wanted to learn.)</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">226</a></span> -“Deevy <em>dear</em>,” cried Bit-bit, in distress because the Deev was such a -disgusting creature, “then at least do get some sweet-grass and make a -little garment to help clothe the world?”</p> - -<p>“What’s the use?” said the Deev. “Let it go naked. It’s always been -that way.”</p> - -<p>So, since the Deev would not learn the work witchcraft, Bit-bit, -very sorrowful, stood up and said a great truth and made a real -answer—which is always a dangerous business.</p> - -<p>“You will, you will, you will do these things,” he cried, “because it’s -that kind of a world.”</p> - -<p>And then the Deev, who had all along been getting more and more -annoyed, pieced together his will and his ideas and his annoyance, and -they all went buzzle-buzzle-buzzle together till they made an act. And -the act was that he stepped sidewise into space, and he picked up the -earth and put it between his knees, and he cracked it hard enough so -that it should have fallen into uncountable bits.</p> - -<p>“It’s my nut,” said the Deev, “and now I’m going to eat it up.”</p> - -<p>But lo, from the old shell there came out a fair new kernel of a world, -so lustrous and lovely that the Deev was blinded and hid his eyes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">227</a></span> -Only first he had seen how the deserts were flowing with rivers and -the towns were grown fair under willing hands for men and women and -children to live there. And there, with Almost Everything, sat Bit-bit -in his place, weaving a little garment of sweet-grass to clothe some -mite of the world.</p> - -<p>“Now this time try not to wrinkle things all up, Deev,” said Bit-bit. -“I must say, you’ve been doing things disgustingly inhuman.”</p> - -<p>So after that the Deev was left camping about in the air, trying to -make for himself new witchcrafts. And there he is to this day, being -a disgusting creature generally, and <em>only</em> those who are as busy as -Bit-bit are safe from him.</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">228</a></span> -</div> - -<h2><a name="xiii" id="xiii"></a>XIII<br /> -<span>WHY</span></h2> - - -<p><span class="smcap">There</span> was a day when Mary Elizabeth and Delia and Calista and Betty -and I sat under the Eating Apple tree and had no spirit to enter upon -anything. Margaret Amelia was not with us, and her absence left us -relaxed and without initiative; for it was not as if she had gone to -the City, or to have her dress tried on, or her hair washed, or as if -she were absorbed in any real occupation. Her absence was due to none -of these things. Margaret Amelia was in disgrace. She was, in fact, -confined in her room with every expectation of remaining there until -supper time.</p> - -<p>“What’d she do?” we had breathlessly inquired of Betty when she had -appeared alone with her tidings.</p> - -<p>“Well,” replied Betty, “it’s her paper dolls and her button-house. She -always leaves ’em around. She set up her button-house all over the rug -in the parlour—you know,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">229</a></span> the rug that its patterns make rooms? An’ -she had her paper dolls living in it. That was this morning—and we -forgot ’em. And after dinner, while we’re outdoors, the minister came. -And he walked into the buttons and onto the glass dangler off the lamp -that we used for a folding-doors. And he slid a long ways on it. And he -scrushed it,” Betty concluded -<a name="resentfully" id="resentfully"></a><ins title="Original omits period/fullstop">resentfully.</ins> -“And now she’s in her room.”</p> - -<p>We pondered it. There was justice there, we saw that. But shut Margaret -Amelia in a room! It was as ignominious as caging a captain.</p> - -<p>“Did she cry?” we indelicately demanded.</p> - -<p>“Awful,” said Betty. “She wouldn’t of cared if it had only been -raining,” she added.</p> - -<p>We looked hard at the sky. We should have been willing to have it rain -to make lighter Margaret Amelia’s durance, and sympathy could go no -further. But there was not a cloud.</p> - -<p>It was Mary Elizabeth who questioned the whole matter.</p> - -<p>“How,” said she, “does it do any good to shut her up in her room?”</p> - -<p>We had never thought of this. We stared<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">230</a></span> wonderingly at Mary Elizabeth. -Being shut in your room was a part of the state of not being grown up. -When you grew up, you shut others in their rooms or let them out, as -you ruled the occasion to require. There was Grandmother Beers, for -instance, coming out the door with scissors in her hands and going -toward her sweet-pea bed. Once she must have shut Mother in her room. -Mother!</p> - -<p>Delia was incurably a defender of things as they are. Whenever I am -tempted to feel that guardians of an out-worn order must know better -than they seem to know, I remember Delia. Delia was born reactionary, -even as she was born brunette.</p> - -<p>“Why,” said she with finality, “that’s the way they punish you.”</p> - -<p>Taken as a fact and not as a philosophy, there was no question about -this.</p> - -<p>“I was shut in one for pinching Frankie Ames,” I acknowledged.</p> - -<p>“I was in one for getting iron-rust on my skirt,” said Calista, “and -for being awful cross when my bath was, and for putting sugar on the -stove to get the nice smell.”</p> - -<p>“I was in one for telling a lie,” Betty admitted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">231</a></span> reluctantly. “And -Margaret Amelia was in one for wading in the creek. She was in a -downstairs one. And I took a chair round outside to help her out—but -she wouldn’t do it.”</p> - -<p>“Pooh! I was in one lots of times,” Delia capped it. And, as usual, -we looked at her with respect as having experiences far transcending -our own. “I’ll be in one again if I don’t go home and take care of my -canary,” she added. “Mamma said I would.”</p> - -<p>“Putting sugar on the stove isn’t as wicked as telling a lie, is it?” -Mary Elizabeth inquired.</p> - -<p>We weighed it. On the whole, we were inclined to think that it was not -so wicked, “though,” Delia put in, “you do notice the sugar more.”</p> - -<p>“Why do they shut you in the same way for the different wickeds?” Mary -Elizabeth demanded.</p> - -<p>None of us knew, but it was Delia who had the theory.</p> - -<p>“Well,” she said, “you’ve <em>got</em> to know you’re wicked. It don’t make -any difference how wicked. Because you stop anyhow.”</p> - -<p>“No, you don’t,” Betty said decidedly,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">232</a></span> “you’re always getting a new -thing to be shut in about. Before you mean to,” she added perplexedly.</p> - -<p>Mary Elizabeth looked away at Grandmother Beers, snipping sweet-peas. -Abruptly, Mary Elizabeth threw herself on the grass and stared up -through the branches of the Eating Apple tree, and then laid her arms -straight along her sides, and began luxuriously to roll down a little -slope. The inquiry was too complex to continue.</p> - -<p>“Let’s go see if the horse-tail hair is a snake yet,” she proposed, -sitting up at the foot of the slope.</p> - -<p>“I’ll have to do my canary,” said Delia, but she sprang up with the -rest of us, and we went round to the rain-water barrel.</p> - -<p>The rain-water barrel stood at the corner of the house, and reflected -your face most satisfyingly, save that the eaves-spout got in the way. -Also, you always inadvertently joggled the side with your knee, which -set the water wavering and wrinkled away the image. At the bottom of -this barrel invisibly rested sundry little “doll” pie-tins of clay, -a bottle, a broken window-catch, a stray key, and the bowl of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">233</a></span> -soap-bubble pipe, cast in at odd intervals, for no reason. There were a -penny doll and a marble down there too, thrown in for sheer bravado and -bitterly regretted.</p> - -<p>Into this dark water there had now been dropped, two days ago, a long -black hair from the tail of Mr. Branchett’s horse, Fanny. We had been -credibly informed that if you did this to a hair from a horse’s tail -and left it untouched for twenty-four hours or, to be <em>perfectly</em> safe, -for forty-eight hours, the result would inevitably be a black snake. -We had gone to the Branchetts’ barn for the raw material and, finding -none available on the floor, we were about to risk jerking it from the -source when Delia had perceived what we needed caught in a crack of the -stall. We had abstracted the hair, and duly immersed it. Why we wished -to create a black snake, or what we purposed doing with him when we -got him created, I cannot now recall. I believe the intention to have -been primarily to see whether or not they had told us the truth—“they” -standing for the universe at large. For my part, I was still smarting -from having been detected sitting in patience with a handful of salt, -by the mouse-hole<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">234</a></span> in the shed, in pursuance of another recipe which I -had picked up and trusted. Now if this new test failed....</p> - -<p>We got an old axe-handle from the barn wherewith to probe the water. -If, however, the black snake were indeed down there, our weapon, -offensive and defensive, would hardly be long enough; so we substituted -the clothes-prop. Then we drew cuts to see who should wield it, and -the lot fell to Betty. Gentle little Betty turned quite pale with the -responsibility, but she resolutely seized the clothes-prop, and Delia -stood behind her with the axe-handle.</p> - -<p>“Now if he comes out,” said Betty, “run for your lives. He might be a -blue racer.”</p> - -<p>None of us knew what a blue racer might be, but we had always heard of -it as the fastest of all the creatures. A black snake, it seemed, might -easily be a blue racer. As Betty raised the clothes-prop, I, who had -instigated the experiment, weakened.</p> - -<p>“Maybe he won’t be ready yet,” I conceded.</p> - -<p>“If he isn’t there, I’ll never believe anything anybody tells me -again—ever,” said Delia firmly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">235</a></span> -The clothes-prop Betty plunged to the bottom, and lifted. No struggling -black shape writhed about it. She repeated the movement, and this time -we all cried out, for she brought up the dark discoloured rag of a -sash of the penny doll, the penny doll clinging to it and immediately -dropping sullenly back again. Grown brave, Betty stirred the water, and -Delia, advancing, did the same with her axe-handle. Again and again -these were lifted, revealing nothing. At last we faced it: No snake was -there.</p> - -<p>“So that’s a lie, too,” said Delia, brutally.</p> - -<p>We stared at one another. I, as the one chiefly disappointed, looked -away. I looked down the street: Mr. Branchett was hoeing in his garden. -Delivery wagons were rattling by. The butter-man came whistling round -the house. Everybody seemed so busy and so <em>sure</em>. They looked as if -they knew why everything was. And to us, truth and justice and reason -and the results to be expected in this grown-up world were all a -confusion and a thorn.</p> - -<p>As we went round the house, talking of what had happened, our eyes were -caught by a picture<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">236</a></span> which should have been, and was not, of quite -casual and domestic import. On the side-porch of Delia’s house appeared -her mother, hanging out Delia’s canary.</p> - -<p>“Good-bye,” said Delia, briefly, and fared from us, running.</p> - -<p>We lingered for a little in the front yard. In five minutes the -curtains in Delia’s room stirred, and we saw her face appear, and -vanish. She had not waved to us—there was no need. It had overtaken -her. She, too, was “in her room.”</p> - -<p>Delicacy dictated that we withdraw from sight, and we returned to the -back yard. As we went, Mary Elizabeth was asking:</p> - -<p>“Is telling a lie and not feeding your canary as wicked as each other?”</p> - -<p>It seemed incredible, and we said so.</p> - -<p>“Well, you get shut up just as hard for both of ’em,” Mary Elizabeth -reminded us.</p> - -<p>“Then I don’t believe any of ’em’s wicked,” said I, flatly. On which we -came back to the garden and met Grandmother Beers, with a great bunch -of sweet-peas in her hand, coming to the house.</p> - -<p>“Wicked?” she said, in her way of soft<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">237</a></span> surprise. “I didn’t know you -knew such a word.”</p> - -<p>“It’s a word you learn at Sunday school,” I explained importantly.</p> - -<p>“Come over here and tell me about it,” she invited, and led the way -toward the Eating Apple tree. And she sat down in the swing! Of course -whatever difference of condition exists between your grandmother and -yourself vanishes when she sits down casually in your swing.</p> - -<p>My Grandmother Beers was a little woman, whose years, in England, in -“New York state,” and in her adopted Middle West, had brought her -only peace within, though much had beset her from without. She loved -Four-o’clocks, and royal purple. When she said “royal purple,” it was -as if the words were queens. She was among the few who sympathized -with my longing to own a blue or red or green jar from a drug store -window. We had first understood each other in a matter of window-sill -food: This would be a crust, or a bit of baked apple, or a cracker -which I used to lay behind the dining-room window-shutter—the -closed one. For in the house at evening it was warm and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">238</a></span> light and -Just-had-your-supper, while outside it was dark and damp and big, and I -conceived that it must be lonely and hungry. The Dark was like a great -helpless something, filling the air and not wanting particularly to -be there. Surely It would much rather be light, with voices and three -meals, than the Dark, with nobody and no food. So I used to set out a -little offering, and once my Grandmother Beers had caught me paying -tribute.</p> - -<p>“Once something <em>did</em> come and get it,” I defended myself over my -shoulder, and before she could say a word.</p> - -<p>“Likely enough, likely enough, child,” she assented, and did not chide -me.</p> - -<p>Neither did she chide me when once she surprised me into mentioning the -Little Things, who had the use of my playthings when I was not there. -It was one dusk when she had come upon me setting my toy cupboard to -rights, and had commended me. And I had explained that it was so the -Little Things could find the toys when they came, that night and every -night, to play with them. I remember that all she did was to squeeze my -hand; but I felt that I was wholly understood.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">239</a></span> -What child of us—of Us Who Were—will ever forget the joy of having -an older one enter into our games? I used to sit in church and tell -off the grown folk by this possibility in them—“She’d play with -you—she wouldn’t—she would—he would—they wouldn’t”—an ancient -declension of the human race, perfectly recognized by children, but -never given its proper due.... I shall never forget the out-door romps -with my Father, when he stooped, with his hands on his knees, and then -ran <em>at</em> me; or when he held me while I walked the picket fence; or -set me in the Eating Apple tree; nor can I forget the delight of the -play-house that he built for me, <em>with a shelf around</em>.... And always I -shall remember, too, how my Mother would play “Lost.” We used to curl -on the sofa, taking with us some small store of fruit and cookies, -wrap up in blankets and shawls, put up an umbrella—possibly two of -them—and there we were, lost in the deep woods. We had been crossing -the forest—night had overtaken us—we had climbed in a thick-leaved -tree—it was raining—the woods were infested by bears and wolves—we -had a little food, possibly enough to stave off starvation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">240</a></span> till -daylight. Then came by the beasts of the forest, wonderful, human -beasts, who passed at the foot of our tree, and with whom we talked -long and friendly—and differently for each one—and ended by sharing -with them our food. We scraped acquaintance with birds in neighbouring -nests, the stars were only across a street of sky, the Dark did its -part by hiding us. Sometimes, yet, when I see a fat, idle sofa in, say, -an hotel corridor, I cannot help thinking as I pass: “What a wonderful -place to play Lost.” I daresay that some day I shall put up my umbrella -and sit down and play it.</p> - -<p>Well—Grandmother Beers was one who knew how to play with us, and I was -always half expecting her to propose a new game. But that day, as she -sat in the swing, her eyes were not twinkling at the corners.</p> - -<p>“What does it mean?” she asked us. “What does ‘wicked’ mean?”</p> - -<p>“It’s what you aren’t to be,” I took the brunt of the reply, because I -was the relative of the questioner.</p> - -<p>“Why not?” asked Grandmother.</p> - -<p>Why not? Oh, we all knew that. We<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">241</a></span> responded instantly, and out came -the results of the training of all the families.</p> - -<p>“Because your mother and father say you can’t,” said Betty Rodman.</p> - -<p>“Because it makes your mother feel bad,” said Calista.</p> - -<p>“Because God don’t want us to,” said I.</p> - -<p>“Delia says,” Betty added, “it’s because, if you are, when you grow up -people won’t think anything of you.”</p> - -<p>Grandmother Beers held her sweet-peas to her face.</p> - -<p>“If,” she said after a moment, “you wanted to do something wicked more -than you ever wanted to do anything in the world—as much as you’d want -a drink to-morrow if you hadn’t had one to-day—and if nobody ever -knew—would any of those reasons keep you from doing it?”</p> - -<p>We consulted one another’s look, and shifted. We knew how thirsty that -would be. Already we were thirsty, in thinking about it.</p> - -<p>“If I were in your places,” Grandmother said, “I’m not sure those -reasons would keep me. I rather think they wouldn’t,—always.”</p> - -<p>We stared at her. It was true that they didn’t<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">242</a></span> always keep us. Were -not two of us “in our rooms” even now?</p> - -<p>Grandmother leaned forward—I know how the shadows of the apple leaves -fell on her black lace cap and how the pink sweet-peas were reflected -in her delicate face.</p> - -<p>“Suppose,” she said, “that instead of any of those reasons, somebody -gave you this reason: That the earth is a great flower—a flower that -has never <em>really</em> blossomed yet. And that when it blossoms, life is -going to be more beautiful than we have ever dreamed, or than fairy -stories have ever pretended. And suppose our doing one way, and not -another, makes the flower come a little nearer to blossoming. But our -doing the other way puts back the time when it can blossom. <em>Then</em> -which would you want to do?”</p> - -<p>Oh, make it grow, make it grow, we all cried—and I felt a secret -relief: Grandmother was playing a game with us, after all.</p> - -<p>“And suppose that everything made a difference to it,” she went on, -“every little thing—from telling a lie, on down to going to get a -drink for somebody and drinking first yourself out in the kitchen. -Suppose that everything<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">243</a></span> made a difference, from hurting somebody on -purpose, down to making up the bed and pulling the bed-spread tight so -that the wrinkles in the blanket won’t show....”</p> - -<p>At this we looked at one another in some consternation. How did -Grandmother know....</p> - -<p>“Until after a while,” she said, “you should find out that -everything—loving, going to school, playing, working, bathing, -sleeping, were all just to make this flower grow. Wouldn’t it be fun to -help?”</p> - -<p>Yes. Oh, yes, we were all agreed about that. It would be great fun to -help.</p> - -<p>“Well, then suppose,” said Grandmother, “that as you helped, you found -out something else: That in each of you, say, where your heart is, or -where your breath is, there was a flower trying to blossom too! And -that only as you helped the earth flower to blossom could your flower -blossom. And that your doing one way would make your flower droop its -head and grow dark and shrivel up. But your doing the other way would -make it grow, and turn beautiful colours—so that bye and bye every one -of your bodies would be just a sheath for this flower. Which way <em>then</em> -would you rather do?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">244</a></span> -Oh, make it grow, make it grow, we said again.</p> - -<p>And Mary Elizabeth added longingly:—</p> - -<p>“Wouldn’t it be fun if it was true?”</p> - -<p>“It is true,” said Grandmother Beers.</p> - -<p>She sat there, softly smiling over her pink sweet-peas. We looked at -her silently. Then I remembered that her face had always seemed to me -to be somehow <em>light within</em>. Maybe it was her flower showing through!</p> - -<p>“Grandmother!” I cried, “is it true—is it true?”</p> - -<p>“It is true,” she repeated. “And whether the earth flower and other -people’s flowers and your flower are to bloom or not is what living is -about. And everything makes a difference. Isn’t that a good reason for -not being ‘wicked’?”</p> - -<p>We all looked up in her face, something in us leaping and answering to -what she said. And I know that we understood.</p> - -<p>“Oh,” Mary Elizabeth whispered presently to Betty, “hurry home and tell -Margaret Amelia. It’ll make it so much easier when she comes out to her -supper.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>That night, on the porch alone with Mother<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">245</a></span> and Father, I inquired into -something that still was not clear.</p> - -<p>“But how can you <em>tell</em> which things are wicked? And which ones are -wrong and which things are right?”</p> - -<p>Father put out his hand and touched my hand. He was looking at me with -a look that I knew—and his smile for me is like no other smile that I -have ever known.</p> - -<p>“Something will tell you,” he said, “always.”</p> - -<p>“Always?” I doubted.</p> - -<p>“Always,” he said. “There will be other voices. But if you listen, -something will tell you always. And it is all you need.”</p> - -<p>I looked at Mother. And by her nod and her quiet look I perceived that -all this had been known about for a long time.</p> - -<p>“That is why Grandma Bard is coming to live with us,” she said, “not -just because we wanted her, but because—<em>that</em> said so.”</p> - -<p>In us all a flower—and something saying something! And the earth -flower trying to blossom.... I looked down the street: At Mr. Branchett -walking in his garden, at the lights shining from windows, at the -folk sauntering on the sidewalk, and toward town where<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">246</a></span> the band -was playing. We all knew about this together then. <em>This</em> was why -everything was! And there were years and years to make it come true.</p> - -<p>What if I, alone among them all, had never found out?</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">247</a></span> -</div> - -<h2><a name="xiv" id="xiv"></a>XIV<br /> -<span>KING</span></h2> - - -<p><span class="smcap">There</span> was a certain white sugar bear and a red candy strawberry which -we had been charged not to eat, because the strawberry was a nameless -scarlet and the bear, left from Christmas, was a very soiled bear. We -had all looked at these two things longingly, had even on occasion -nibbled them a bit. There came a day when I crept under my bed and ate -them both.</p> - -<p>It was a bed with slats. In the slat immediately above my head there -was a knot-hole. Knot-hole, slat, the pattern of the ticking on the -mattress, all remain graven on the moment. It was the first time that -I had actually been conscious of—indeed, had almost <em>heard</em>—the -fighting going on within me.</p> - -<p>Something was saying: “Oh, eat it, eat it. What do you care? It won’t -kill you. It may not even make you sick. It is good. Eat it.”</p> - -<p>And something else, something gentle, insistent, steady, kept saying -over and over in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">248</a></span> exactly the same tone, and so that I did not know -whether the warning came from within or without:—</p> - -<p>“It must not be eaten. It must not be eaten. It must not be eaten.”</p> - -<p>But after a little, as I ate, this voice ceased.</p> - -<p>Nobody knew that I had eaten the forbidden bear and strawberry. -Grandmother Beers squeezed my hand just the same. Mother was as tender -as always. And Father—his kind eyes and some little jest with me were -almost more than I could bear. I remember spending the evening near -them, with something sore about the whole time. From the moment that it -began to get dark the presence of bear and strawberry came and fastened -themselves upon me, so that I delayed bed-going even more than usual, -and interminably prolonged undressing.</p> - -<p>Then there came the moment when Mother sat beside me.</p> - -<p>“Don’t ask God for anything,” she always said to me. “Just shut -your eyes and think of his lovingness being here, close, close, -close—breathing with you like your breath. Don’t ask him for anything.”</p> - -<p>But that night I scrambled into bed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">249</a></span> -“Not to-night, Mother,” I said.</p> - -<p>She never said anything when I said that. She kissed me and went away.</p> - -<p><em>Then!</em></p> - -<p>There I was, face to face with it at last. What was it that had told me -to eat the bear and the strawberry? What was it that had told me that -these must not be eaten? What had made me obey one and not the other? -Who was it that spoke to me like that?</p> - -<p>I shut my eyes and thought of the voice that had told me to eat, and it -felt like the sore feeling in me and like the lump in my throat, and -like unhappiness.</p> - -<p>I thought of the other gentle voice that had spoken and had kept -speaking and at last had gone away—and suddenly, with my eyes shut, I -was thinking of something like lovingness, close, close, breathing with -me like my breath.</p> - -<p>So now I have made a story for that night. It is late, I know. But -perhaps it is not too late.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Once upon a time a beautiful present was given to a little boy named -Hazen. It was not a tent or a launch or a tree-top house or a pretend -aeroplane, but it was a little glass casket. And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">250</a></span> it was the most -wonderful little casket of all the kinds of caskets that there are.</p> - -<p>For in the casket was a little live thing, somewhat like a fairy and -somewhat like a spirit, and so beautiful that everyone wanted one too.</p> - -<p>Now the little fairy (that was like a spirit) was held fast in the -casket, which was tightly sealed. And when the casket was given to -Hazen, the Giver said:—</p> - -<p>“Hazen dear, until you get that little spirit free, you cannot be wise -or really good or loved or beautiful. But after you get her free you -shall be all four. And nobody can free her but you yourself, though you -may ask anybody and everybody to tell you how.”</p> - -<p>Now Hazen’s father was a king. And it chanced that while Hazen was yet -a little boy, the king of a neighbour country came and took Hazen’s -father’s kingdom, and killed all the court—for that was the way -neighbour countries did in those days, not knowing that neighbours are -nearly one’s own family. They took little Hazen prisoner and carried -him to the conquering king’s court, and they did it in such a hurry -that he had not time to take anything with him. All his belongings—his -tops, his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">251</a></span> football, his books, and his bank, had to be left behind, -and among the things that were left was Hazen’s little glass casket, -forgotten on a closet shelf, upstairs in the castle. And the castle -was shut up and left as it was, because the conquering king thought -that maybe he might like sometime to give to his little daughter, -the Princess Vista, this castle, which stood on the very summit of a -sovereign mountain and commanded a great deal of the world.</p> - -<p>In the court of the conquering king poor little Hazen grew up, and he -was not wise or <em>really</em> good or loved or beautiful, and he forgot -about the casket or thought of it only as a dream, and he did not know -that he was a prince. He was a poor little furnace boy and kitchen-fire -builder in the king’s palace, and he slept in the basement and did -nothing from morning till night but attend to drafts and dampers. He -did not see the king at all, and he had never even caught a glimpse of -the king’s little daughter, the Princess Vista.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>One morning before daylight Hazen was awakened by the alarm-in-a-basin -at the head of his cot—for he was always so tired that just an alarm -never wakened him at all, but set in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">252</a></span> a brazen basin an alarm would -waken <em>anybody</em>. He dressed and hurried through the long, dim passages -that led to the kitchens, and there he kindled the fires and tended the -drafts and shovelled the coal that should cook the king’s breakfast.</p> - -<p>Suddenly a Thought spoke to him. It said:—</p> - -<p>“Hazen, you are not wise, or <em>really</em> good, or loved, or beautiful. Why -don’t you become so?”</p> - -<p>“I,” Hazen thought back sadly, “<em>I</em> become these things? Impossible!” -and he went on shovelling coal.</p> - -<p>But still the Thought spoke to him, and said the same thing over and -over so many times that at last he was obliged to listen and even to -answer.</p> - -<p>“What would I do to be like that?” he asked almost impatiently.</p> - -<p>“First go up in the king’s library,” said the Thought.</p> - -<p>So when the fires were roaring and the dampers were right, Hazen went -softly up the stair and through the quiet lower rooms of the palace, -for it was very early in the morning, and no one was stirring. Hazen -had been so seldom<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">253</a></span> above stairs that he did not even know where the -library was and by mistake he opened successively the doors to the -great banquet room, the state drawing rooms, a morning room, and even -the king’s audience chamber before at last he chanced on the door of -the library.</p> - -<p>The king’s library was a room as wide as a lawn and as high as a tree, -and it was filled with books, and the shelves were thrown out to make -alcoves, so that the books were as thick as leaves on branches, and the -whole room was pleasant, like something good to do. It was impossible -for little Hazen, furnace boy though he was, to be in that great place -of books without taking one down. So he took at random a big leather -book with a picture on the cover, and he went toward a deep window-seat.</p> - -<p>Nothing could have exceeded his surprise and terror when he perceived -the window-seat to be occupied. And nothing could have exceeded his -wonder and delight when he saw who occupied it. She was a little girl -of barely his own age, and her lovely waving hair fell over her soft -blue gown from which her little blue slippers were peeping. She, too, -had a great book in her arms, and over the top of this she was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">254</a></span> looking -straight at Hazen in extreme disapproval.</p> - -<p>“Will you have the goodness,” she said—speaking very slowly and most -<em>freezing</em> cold—“to ’splain what you are doing in my father’s library?”</p> - -<p>At these words Hazen’s little knees should have shaken, for he -understood that this was the Princess Vista herself. But instead, he -was so possessed by the beauty and charm of the little princess that -there was no room for fear. Though he had never in his life been taught -to bow, yet the blood of his father the king, and of <em>his</em> father the -king, and of <em>his</em> father the king, and so on, over and over, stirred -in him and he bowed like the prince he was-but-didn’t-know-it.</p> - -<p>“Oh, princess,” he said, “I want to be wise and <em>really</em> good and loved -and beautiful, and I have come to the king’s library to find out how to -do it.”</p> - -<p>“Who are you, that want so many ’surd things?” asked the princess, -curiously.</p> - -<p>“I am the furnace boy,” said the poor prince, “and my other name is -Hazen.”</p> - -<p>At this the princess laughed aloud—for when he had bowed she had -fancied that he might be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">255</a></span> at least the servant to some nobleman at the -court, too poor to keep his foot-page in livery.</p> - -<p>“The furnace boy indeed!” she cried. “And handling my father’s books. -If you had what you ’serve, you’d be put in pwison.”</p> - -<p>At that Hazen bowed again very sadly, and was about to put back his -book when footsteps sounded in the hall, and nursery governesses and -chamberlains and foot-pages and lackeys and many whose names are as -dust came running down the stairs, all looking for the princess. And -the princess, who was not frightened, was suddenly sorry for little -Hazen, who was.</p> - -<p>“Listen,” she said, “you bow so nicely that you may hide in that alcove -and I will not tell them that you are there. But don’t you come here -to-morrow morning when I come to read my book, or I can’t tell <em>what</em> -will happen.”</p> - -<p>Hazen had just time to slip in the alcove when all the nursery -governesses, chamberlains, foot-pages, and those whose names are as -dust burst in the room.</p> - -<p>“I was just coming,” said the princess, haughtily.</p> - -<p>But when she was gone, Hazen, in his safe alcove, did not once look at -his big leather book.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">256</a></span> He did not even open it. Instead he sat staring -at the floor, and thinking and thinking and thinking of the princess. -And it was as if his mind were opened, and as if all the princess -thoughts in the world were running in, one after another.</p> - -<p>Presently, when it was time for the palace to be awake, he stirred -and rose and returned the book to its place, and in the midst of his -princess thoughts he found himself face to face with a great mirror. -And there he saw that, not only was he not beautiful, but that his -cheek and his clothes were all blackened from the coal. And then he -thought that he would die of shame; first, because the princess had -seen him looking so, and second, because he looked so, whether she had -seen him or not.</p> - -<p>He went back to the palace kitchen, and waited only to turn off the -biggest drafts and the longest dampers before he began to wash his -face and give dainty care to his hands. In fact, he did this all day -long and sat up half the night trying to think how he could be as -exquisitely neat as the little princess. And at last when daylight came -and he had put coal in the kitchen ranges and had left the drafts right -and had taken another bath after, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">257</a></span> dressed himself in his poor best -which he had most carefully brushed, and he ran straight back up the -stair and into the king’s library.</p> - -<p>The Princess Vista was not there. But it was very, very early this time -and the sun was still playing about outside, and so he set himself to -wait, looking up at the window-seat where he had first seen her. As -soon as the sun began to slant in the latticed windows in earnest, the -door opened and the princess entered, her waving hair falling on her -blue gown, and the little blue slippers peeping.</p> - -<p>When she saw Hazen, she stood still and spoke most <em>freezing</em> cold.</p> - -<p>“Didn’t I tell you on no ’count to come here this morning?” she wished -to know.</p> - -<p>Generations of kings for ages back bowed in a body in little Hazen.</p> - -<p>“Did your Highness not know that I would come?” he asked simply.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said the princess to that, and sat down on the window-seat. “I -will punish you,” said she, “but you bow so nicely that I will help you -first. Why do you wish to be wise?”</p> - -<p>“I thought that I had another reason,” said Hazen, “but it is because -you are wise.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">258</a></span> -“I’m not so very wise,” said the princess, modestly. “But I could make -you as wise as I am,” she suggested graciously. “What do you want to -know?”</p> - -<p>There was so much that he wanted to know! Down in the dark furnace room -he had been forever wondering about the fires that he kindled, about -the light that he did not have, about everything. He threw out his arms.</p> - -<p>“I want to know about the whole world!” he cried.</p> - -<p>The princess considered.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps they haven’t teached me everything yet,” she said. “What do -you want to know about the world?”</p> - -<p>Hazen looked out the window and across the palace garden, lying all -golden-green in the slow opening light, with fountains and flowers and -parks and goldfish everywhere.</p> - -<p>“What makes it get day?” he asked. For since he had been a furnace boy, -Hazen had been taught nothing at all.</p> - -<p>“Why, the sun comes,” answered the princess.</p> - -<p>“Is it the same sun every day?” Hazen asked.</p> - -<p>“I don’t think so,” said the princess. “No—sometimes it is a red sun. -Sometimes it is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">259</a></span> a hot sun. Sometimes it is big, big, when it goes -down. Oh, no. I am quite sure a different sun comes up every day.”</p> - -<p>“Where do they get ’em all?” Hazen asked wonderingly.</p> - -<p>“Well,” the princess said thoughtfully, “suns must be like cwort (she -never could say “court”) processions. I think they always have them -ready somewheres. What else do you want to know about?”</p> - -<p>“About the Spring,” said Hazen. “Where does that come from? Where do -they get it?”</p> - -<p>“They never teached me that,” said the princess, “but <em>I</em> think Summer -is the mother, and Winter the father, and Autumn is the noisy little -boy, and Spring is the little girl, with violets on.”</p> - -<p>“Of course,” cried Hazen, joyfully. “I never thought of that. Why can’t -they talk?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“They ’most can,” said the princess. “Some day maybe I can teach you -what they say. What else do you want to know?”</p> - -<p>“About people,” said Hazen. “Why are some folks good and some folks -bad? Why is the king kind and the cook cross?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">260</a></span> -“Oh, they never teached me that!” the princess cried, impatiently. -“What a lot of things you ask!”</p> - -<p>“One more question, your Highness,” said Hazen, instantly. “Why are you -so beautiful?”</p> - -<p>The princess smiled. “Now I’ll teach you my picture-book through,” she -said.</p> - -<p>She opened the picture-book and showed him pictures of castles and -beasts and lawns and towers and ladies and mountains and bright birds -and pillars and cataracts and wild white horses and, last, a picture of -a prince setting forth on a quest. “Prince Living sets out to make his -fortune,” it said under the picture, and Hazen stared at it.</p> - -<p>“Why shouldn’t I set out to make <em>my</em> fortune?” he cried.</p> - -<p>The princess laughed.</p> - -<p>“You are a furnace boy,” she explained. “<em>They</em> don’t make fortunes. -Who would mind the furnace if they did?”</p> - -<p>Hazen sprang to his feet.</p> - -<p>“That can’t be the way the world is!” he cried. “Not when it’s so -pretty and all stuck full of goldfish and fountains and flowers and -parks. If I went, I <em>would</em> make my fortune!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">261</a></span> -The princess crossed her little slippered feet and looked at him. And -when he met her eyes, he was ashamed of his anger, though not of his -earnestness, and he bowed again; and all the kings of all the courts of -his ancestors were in the bow.</p> - -<p>“After all,” said the princess, “we don’t have the furnace in Summer. -And you bow so nicely that I b’lieve I will help you to make your -fortune. <em>Anyhow</em>, I can help you to set out.”</p> - -<p>Hazen was in the greatest joy. The princess bade him wait where he was, -and she ran away and found somewhere a cast-off page boy’s dress and -a cap with a plume and a little silver horn and a wallet, with some -bread. These she brought to Hazen just as footsteps sounded on the -stairs, and nursery governesses and chamberlains and foot-pages and -many whose names are as dust came running pell-mell down the stairs, -all looking for the princess.</p> - -<p>“Hide in that alcove,” said the princess, “till I am gone. Then put on -this dress and go out at the east gate which no one can lock. And as -you go by the east wing, do not look up at my window or I will wave my -hand and somebody may see you going. Now good-bye.”</p> - -<p>But at that Hazen was suddenly wretched.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">262</a></span> -“I can’t leave <em>you!</em>” he said. “How can I leave <em>you</em>?”</p> - -<p>“People always leave people,” said the princess, with superiority. -“Play that’s one of the things I teached you.”</p> - -<p>At this Hazen suddenly dropped on one knee—the kings, his fathers, -did that for him too—and kissed the princess’s little hand. And as -suddenly she wished very much that she had something to give him.</p> - -<p>“Here,” she said, “here’s my picture-book. Take it with you and learn -it through. <em>Now</em> good-bye.”</p> - -<p>And Hazen had just time to slip in the alcove when all the n. g.’s, -c.’s, f. p.’s, and l.’s, whom there wasn’t time to spell out, as well -as all those whose names are now dust, burst in the room.</p> - -<p>“I was just coming,” said the princess, and went.</p> - -<p>Hazen dressed himself in the foot-page’s livery and fastened the -wallet at one side and the little silver horn at the other, and put on -the cap with a plume; and he stole into the king’s garden, with the -picture-book of the princess fast in his hand.</p> - -<p>He had not been in a garden since he had left<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">263</a></span> his father’s garden, -which he could just remember, and to be outdoors now seemed as -wonderful as bathing in the ocean, or standing on a high mountain, -or seeing the dawn. He hastened along between the flowering shrubs -and hollyhocks; he heard the fountains plashing and the song-sparrows -singing and the village bells faintly sounding; he saw the goldfish and -the water-lilies gleam in the pool and the horses cantering about the -paddock. And all at once it seemed that the day was his, to do with -what he would, and he felt as if already that were a kind of fortune in -his hand. So he hurried round the east wing of the palace and looked -up eagerly toward the princess’s window. And there stood the Princess -Vista, watching, with her hair partly brushed.</p> - -<p>When she saw him, she leaned far out.</p> - -<p>“I told you not to look,” she said. “Somebody will see you going.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t care if anyone does,” cried Hazen. “I <em>had</em> to!”</p> - -<p>“How fine you look now,” the princess could not help saying.</p> - -<p>“You are beautiful as the whole picture-book!” he could not help saying -back.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">264</a></span> -“<em>Now</em>, good-bye!” she called softly, and waved her hand.</p> - -<p>“Good-bye—oh, good-bye!” he cried, and waved his plumed cap.</p> - -<p>And then he left her, looking after him with her hair partly brushed, -and he ran out the east gate which was never locked, and fared as fast -as he could along the king’s highway, in all haste to grow wise and -<em>really</em> good and loved and beautiful.</p> - -<p>Hazen went a day’s journey in the dust of the highway, and toward -nightfall he came to a deep wood. To him the wood seemed like a great -hospitable house, with open doors between the trees and many rooms -through which he might wander at will, the whole fair in the light of -the setting sun. And he entered the gloom as he might have entered a -palace, expecting to meet someone.</p> - -<p>Immediately he was aware of an old man seated under a plane tree, and -the old man addressed him with:—</p> - -<p>“Good even, little lad. Do you travel far?”</p> - -<p>“Not very, sir,” Hazen replied. “I am only going to find my fortune and -to become wise, <em>really</em> good, beautiful, and loved.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">265</a></span> -“So!” said the old man. “Rest here a little and let us talk about it.”</p> - -<p>Hazen sat beside him and they talked about it. Now, I wish very much -that I might tell you all that they said, but the old man was so old -and wise that his thoughts came chiefly as pictures, or in other form -without words, so that it was not so much what he said that held his -meaning as what he made Hazen feel by merely being with him. Indeed, I -do not know whether he talked about the stars or the earth or the ways -of men, but he made little Hazen somehow know fascinating things about -them all. And when time had passed and the dusk was nearly upon them, -the old man lightly touched Hazen’s forehead:—</p> - -<p>“Little lad,” he said, “have you ever looked in there?”</p> - -<p>“In my own head?” said Hazen, staring.</p> - -<p>“Even so,” said the old man. “No? But that might well be a pleasant -thing to do. Will you not do that, for a little while?”</p> - -<p>This was the strangest thing that ever Hazen had heard. But next -moment, under the old man’s guidance, he found himself, as it were, -turned about and seeing things that he had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">266</a></span> never seen, and looking -back into his own head as if there were a window that way. And he did -it with no great surprise, for it seemed quite natural to him, and he -wondered why he had never done it before.</p> - -<p>Of the actual construction of things in there Hazen was not more -conscious than he would have been of the bricks and mortar of a palace -filled with wonderful music and voices and with all sorts of surprises. -Here there were both surprises and voices. For instantly he could see -a company of little people, <em>every one of whom looked almost like -himself</em>. And it was as it is when one stands between two mirrors set -opposite, and the reflections reflect the reflections until one is -dizzy; only now it was as if all the reflections were suddenly to be -free of the mirror and be little living selves, ready to say different -things.</p> - -<p>One little Self had just made a small opening in things, and several -Selves were peering into it. Hazen looked too, and he saw to his -amazement that it was a kind of picture of his plans for making his -fortune. There were cities, seas, ships, men, forests, water-falls, -leaping animals, glittering things, all the adventures that he had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">267</a></span> -been imagining. And the Selves were talking it over.</p> - -<p>“Consider the work it will be,” one was distinctly grumbling, “before -we can get anything. <em>Is</em> it worth it?”</p> - -<p>He was a discouraged, discontented-looking Self, and though he had -Hazen’s mouth, it was drooping, and though he had Hazen’s forehead, it -was frowning.</p> - -<p>A breezy little Self, all merry and fluffy and light as lace, -answered:—</p> - -<p>“O-o-o-o!” it breathed. “I think it will be fun. That’s all I care -about it—it will be fun and <em>nothing else</em>.”</p> - -<p>Then a strange, fascinating Self, from whom Hazen could not easily look -away, spoke, half singing.</p> - -<p>“Remember the beauty that we shall see as we go—as we go,” he chanted. -“We can live for the beauty everywhere and for <em>nothing else</em>.”</p> - -<p>“Think of the things we shall learn!” cried another Self. -“Knowledge—knowledge all the way—and <em>nothing else</em>.”</p> - -<p>Then a soft voice spoke, which was sweeter than any voice that Hazen -had ever heard, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">268</a></span> the Self to whom it belonged looked like Hazen -when he was asleep.</p> - -<p>“Nay,” it said sighing, “there are many dangers. But to meet dangers -bravely and to overcome them finely is the way to grow strong.”</p> - -<p>At this a little voice laughed and cracked as it laughed, so that it -sounded like something being broken which could never be mended.</p> - -<p>“Being strong and wise don’t mean making one’s fortune,” it said. “Just -one thing means fortune, and that is being rich. To be rich—rich! -That’s what we want and it is all we want. And I am ready to fight with -everyone of you to get riches.”</p> - -<p>Hazen looked where the voice sounded, and to his horror he saw a little -Self made in his own image, but hideously bent and distorted, so that -he knew exactly how he would look if he were a dwarf.</p> - -<p>“Not me!” cried the breezy little Fun Self then. “You wouldn’t fight -me!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I would,” said the dwarf. “I’d fight everybody, and when we were -rich, you’d thank me for it.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, no,” said the Knowledge Self. “I am the only proper ruler in this -fortune affair.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">269</a></span> Knowledge is enough for us to have. Knowledge is what -we want.”</p> - -<p>“Beauty is all you need!” cried the fascinating Beauty Self. “I am the -one who should rule you all.”</p> - -<p>“Well, rich, rich, rich! Do I not say so? Will not riches bring beauty -and fun and leisure for knowledge?” said the dwarf. “Riches do it all. -Do as I say. Take me for your guide.”</p> - -<p>“Strength is the thing!” said a great voice, suddenly. “We want to be -big and strong and <em>nothing else</em>. I am going to rule in this.” And the -voice of the Strong Self seemed to be everywhere.</p> - -<p>“Not without me ... not without me!” said the Wise Self. But it spoke -faintly, and could hardly be heard in the clamour of all the others who -now all began talking at once, with the little Fun Self dancing among -them and crying, “I’m the one—you all want me to rule, <em>really</em>, but -you don’t know it.”</p> - -<p>And suddenly, in the midst of all this, Hazen began to see strange -little shadows appearing and lurking about, somewhat slyly, and often -running away, but always coming back. They were tiny and faintly -outlined—less like reflections<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">270</a></span> in a mirror than like reflections -which had not yet found a mirror for their home. And they spoke in thin -little voices which Hazen could hear, and said:—</p> - -<p>“We’ll help you, Rich! We’ll help you, Strength! We’ll help you, Fun! -Only let us be one of you and we’ll help you win, and you shall reign. -Here are Envy Self and Lying Self and Hate Self and Cruel Self—we’ll -help, if you’ll let us in!”</p> - -<p>And when he heard this, Hazen suddenly called out, with all his might:—</p> - -<p>“Stop!” he cried, “I’m the ruler here! I’m Hazen!”</p> - -<p>And of course he was the ruler—because it was the inside of his own -head.</p> - -<p>Instantly there was complete silence there, as when a bell is suddenly -struck in the midst of whisperings. And all the Selves shrank back.</p> - -<p>“Hazen!” they said, “we didn’t know you were listening. You be king. -We’ll help—we’ll help.”</p> - -<p>“As long as I live,” said little Hazen then, “not one of you shall rule -in here without me. I shall want many of you to help me, but only as -much as I tell you to, and no more. I’m<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">271</a></span> only a furnace boy, but I tell -you that I am king of the inside of my own head, and I’m going to rule -here and nobody else!”</p> - -<p>Then, nearer than any of the rest—and he could not tell just where it -came from, but he knew how near it was—another voice spoke to him. And -somewhat it was like the Thought that had spoken to him in the king’s -kitchen and bidden him go up to the king’s library—but yet it was -nearer than that had been.</p> - -<p>“Bravely done, Hazen,” it said. “Be king—be king, even as you have -said!”</p> - -<p>With the voice came everywhere sweet music, sounding all about Hazen -and in him and through him; and everywhere was air of dreams—he -could hardly tell whether he was watching these or was really among -them. There were sweet voices, dim figures, gestures of dancing, -soft colours, lights, wavy, wonderful lines, little stars suddenly -appearing, flowers, kindly faces, and then one face—the exquisite, -watching face of the Princess Vista at the window, with her hair partly -brushed ... and then darkness....</p> - -<p>... When he woke, it was early morning. The sun was pricking through -the leaves of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">272</a></span> the forest, the birds were singing so sweetly and -swiftly that it was as if their notes overlapped and made one sound on -which everything was threaded like curious and beautiful beads on a -silver cord. The old man was gone; and before Hazen, the way, empty and -green, led on with promise of surprise.</p> - -<p>And now as he went forward, eating his bread and gathering berries, -Hazen had never felt so able to make his future. It was as if he were -not one boy but many boys in one, and they all ready to do his bidding. -Surely, he thought, his fortune must lie at the first turn of the path!</p> - -<p>But at the first turn of the path he met a little lad no older than -himself, who was drawing a handcart filled with something covered, and -he was singing merrily.</p> - -<p>“Hello,” said the Merry Lad. “Where are <em>you</em> going?”</p> - -<p>“Nowhere in particular,” said Hazen. And though he had readily confided -to the old man what he was hoping to find, someway Hazen felt that if -he told the Merry Lad, he would laugh at him. And that no one likes, -though it is never a thing to fear.</p> - -<p>“Come on with me,” said the Merry Lad. “I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">273</a></span> am going in the town to sell -my images. There will be great sport.”</p> - -<p>And, without stopping to think whether his fortune lay that way, Hazen, -whose blood leapt at the idea of the town and its sports, turned and -went with him.</p> - -<p>The Merry Lad was very merry. He told Hazen more games and riddles -than ever he had heard. He sang him songs, did little dances for him -in the open glades, raced with him, and when they reached the dusty -highway, got him in happy talk with the other wayfarers. And by the -time they gained the town, they were a gay little company. There the -Merry Lad took his images to the market-place and spread them under a -tree—little figures made to represent Mirth, Merriment, Laughter, Fun, -Fellowship, and Delight—no end there was to the variety and charm of -the little images, and no end to all that the Merry Lad did to attract -the people to them. He sang and danced and whistled and even stood on -his head, and everyone crowded about him and was charmed.</p> - -<p>“Pass my cap about,” he said, while he danced, to Hazen. “They will -give us money.”</p> - -<p>So Hazen passed the Merry Lad’s cap, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">274</a></span> the people gave them money. -They filled the cap, indeed, with clinking coins, and went away -carrying the images. And by nightfall the Merry Lad and Hazen had more -money than they knew how to use.</p> - -<p>“Oh,” the Merry Lad cried, “we shall have a glorious time. Come!”</p> - -<p>Now Hazen had never been in the town at night, and he had never been -in any town at any time without some of the king’s servants for whom -he had had to fetch and carry. To him the streets were strange and -wonderful, blazing with lights, filled with gayly dressed folk, and -sounding now and again to strains of music. But the Merry Lad seemed -wholly at home, and he went here and there like a painted moth, -belonging to the night and a part of it. They feasted and jested and -joyed, and most of all they spent the money that they had earned, and -they spent it on themselves. I cannot tell you the things that they -bought. They bought a wonderful, tropical, talking bird; they bought a -little pony on which they both could ride, with the bird on the pony’s -neck; they bought a tiny trick monkey and a suit of Indian clothes with -fringed leggings and head-feathers; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">275</a></span> a music-box that played like -a whole band. And when the evening with its lights and pantomimes was -over, they pitched their tent on the edge of the town, picketed the -pony outside, brought the other things safely within, and lay down to -sleep.</p> - -<p>Now, since they had no pillows, Hazen took the picture-book which -the princess had given him and made his pillow of that. And as soon -as everything was quiet, and the Merry Lad and the talking bird -were asleep and the pony was dozing at its picket, the princess’s -picture-book began to talk to Hazen. I do not mean that it said -words—it is a great mistake to think that everything that is said must -be said in words—but it talked to him none the less, and better than -with words. It showed him the princess in her blue gown sitting in the -window-seat with her little blue slippers crossed. It showed him her -face as she taught him about the sun and the world, and taught him -her picture-book through. It reminded him that his page-boy’s dress -was worn because, in his heart, he was her page. It brought back the -picture of her standing at the window, with her hair partly brushed, -to wave him a good-bye—“<em>Now</em>, good-bye,” he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">276</a></span> could hear her little -voice. He remembered now that he had started out to find his fortune -and to become wise, <em>really</em> good, loved, and beautiful. And lo, all -this that he had done all day with the Merry Lad—was it helping him to -any of these?</p> - -<p>As soon as he knew this, he rose softly and, emptying his pockets of -his share of the money earned that day, he laid it near the Merry Lad’s -pillow, took the picture-book, and slipped away.</p> - -<p>The Merry Lad did not wake, but the talking bird stirred on his perch -and called after him: “Stay where you are! Stay where you are!” And -the words seemed to echo in Hazen’s head and were repeated there as if -another voice had said them, and while he hesitated at the door of the -tent, he knew what that other voice was: It was within his head indeed, -and it was the voice of that breezy little Self, all merry and fluffy -and light as lace—the Fun Self itself!</p> - -<p>And then he knew that all day long that was the voice that he had been -obeying when he went with the Merry Lad, and all day long that Self had -been guiding him, and had been his ruler. And he himself had not been -king of the Selves at all!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">277</a></span> -Hazen slipped out into the night and ran as fast as he could. Nearly -all that night he travelled without stopping, lest when day came the -Merry Lad should overtake him. And when day did come, Hazen found -himself far away, and passing the gate of a garden where, in the dawn, -a youth was walking, reading a book. Him Hazen asked if he might come -in the garden and rest for a little.</p> - -<p>This Bookman, who was pleasant and gentle and seemed half dreaming, -welcomed him in, and gave him fruit to eat, and Hazen fell asleep in -the arbour. When he awoke, the Bookman sat beside him, still reading, -and seeing that the boy was awake, he began reading to him.</p> - -<p>He read a wonderful story about the elements of which everything -in the world is made. He read that they are a great family of more -than seventy, and so magically arranged that they make a music, done -in octaves like the white keys of a piano. So that a man, if he is -skilful, can play with these octaves as he might with octaves of sound, -and with a thousand variations can make what he will, and almost play -for himself a strain of the heavenly harmony in which things began. You -see what wonderful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">278</a></span> music that would be? Hazen saw, and he could not -listen enough.</p> - -<p>Until dark he was in the garden, eating fruit and listening; and the -Bookman, seeing how he loved to listen, asked him if he would not stay -on in the garden, and live there awhile. And without stopping to think -whether his fortune lay that way, Hazen said that he would stay.</p> - -<p>Everything that the Bookman read to him was like magic, and it taught -Hazen to do wonderful things. For example, he learned marvellous ways -with sentences and with words. The Bookman showed him how to get inside -of words, as if they had doors, so that Hazen could look from out the -words that were spoken almost as if they had been little boxes, and he -inside. The Bookman showed him how to look behind the words on a page -and to see how different they seemed that way. He would say a sentence, -and instantly it would become solid, and he would set it up, and Hazen -could hang to it, or turn upon it like a turning-bar. It was all great -sport. For sentences were not the only things with which he could -juggle. He showed Hazen how to think a thing and have <em>that</em> become -solid in the air, too. Just as one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">279</a></span> might think, “Now I will plant my -garden,” and presently there the garden is, solid; or, “Now I will get -my lesson,” and presently, sure enough, there the lesson <em>is</em>, in one’s -head, <em>so</em> the Bookman taught Hazen to do with nearly all his thoughts, -making many and many of them into actions or else into a solid, so that -it could be handled as a garden can.</p> - -<p>And at last, one night, Hazen thought of the Princess Vista, hoping -that that thought would become solid too, and that the princess would -be there before him, for he wished very much to see her. But it did not -do so, and he asked the Bookman the reason.</p> - -<p>“Why does not my thought about the Princess Vista become solid, and the -princess be here beside me?” he asked wistfully.</p> - -<p>“Some thoughts take a very long time to become solid,” said the -Bookman, gently, “and sometimes we have to travel a long way to make -them so. If you think of the princess long and hard enough, I daresay -that you will go to her some day—and there she will be, solid.”</p> - -<p>But of course as soon as Hazen began thinking of the princess long and -hard, he wanted, more than anything else in the world, to be doing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">280</a></span> -something that should hasten the time of seeing her, which could not -well be until he had made his fortune. So thereupon he told the Bookman -that he must be leaving the garden.</p> - -<p>“I knew that the day must come,” said the Bookman, sadly. “<em>Could</em> you -not stay?”</p> - -<p>And when he said that, Hazen wanted so very much to stay there in the -enchantment of the place, that it seemed as if a voice in his own -head were echoing the words. And while he hesitated at the gate of -the garden, he knew what that other voice was! It was within his head -indeed, and it was the voice of that strange, fascinating Self from -which he had found that he could hardly look away—the Knowledge Self -itself. And then he knew that all this time in this garden, it was -this voice that he had been obeying and it had been guiding him. He -himself had not been king of the Selves at all. So when he knew that, -he hesitated not a moment, for he saw that although the Bookman was -far finer than the Merry Lad, still neither must be king, but only he -himself must be king.</p> - -<p>“Alas!” he cried, as he left the garden, “I am not nearer to making my -fortune now than I was at the beginning!”</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">281</a></span> -</div> - -<h2><a name="xv" id="xv"></a>XV<br /> -<span>KING (<em>continued</em>)</span></h2> - - -<p><span class="smcap">So</span> Hazen left the garden and the gentle Bookman, who was loath to let -him go, and hurried out into the world again.</p> - -<p>He travelled now for many days, hearing often of far countries which -held what he sought, but never reaching any of them. Always he did -what tasks came to his hand, for this seemed -<a name="a" id="a"></a><ins title="Original has duplicate 'a'">a</ins> good way -toward fortune. But sometimes the Envy Self and the Discontented Self -spoke loudly in his head so that he thought that it was he himself who -was speaking, and he obeyed them, and stopped his work, and until the -chance to finish it was lost, he did not know that it was these Selves -who had made him cease his task and lose his chance and be that much -farther from fortune. For that was the way of all the Selves—they had -a clever fashion of making Hazen think that their voices were his own -voice, and sometimes he could hardly tell the difference.</p> - -<p class="nmb">At last, one night, he came to a hill, sloping<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">282</a></span> gently as if something -beautiful were overflowing. Its trees looked laid upon the mellow -west beyond. The turf was like some Titan woman’s embroidery, sheared -and flowered. Hazen looked at it all, and at the great sky and the -welcoming distance, and before he knew whether it came as a thought or -as a song, he had made a little rhyme:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse"> -<div class="line">Do you wish you had a world of gold</div> -<div class="line">With a turquoise roof on high,</div> -<div class="line">And a coral east and a ruby west</div> -<div class="line">And diamonds in the sky?</div> -</div> -<div class="verse"> -<div class="line">Do you wish there were little doors of air</div> -<div class="line">That a child might open wide,</div> -<div class="line">Where were emerald chairs and a tourmaline rug</div> -<div class="line">And a moonstone moon beside?</div> -</div> -<div class="verse"> -<div class="line">Do you wish the lakes were silver plates</div> -<div class="line">And the sea a sapphire dish?</div> -<div class="line">What a wonderful, wonderful world it is—</div> -<div class="line">For haven’t you got your wish?</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>He liked to sing this, and he loved the hill and the evening. He lay -there a long time, making<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">283</a></span> little rhymes and loving everything. Next -day he wandered away in the woods, and asked for food at a hut, and -offered the bewildered woman a rhyme in payment, and at night he -returned to his hill, and there he lived for days, playing that he -was living all alone in the world—that there was not another person -anywhere on the earth.</p> - -<p>But one night when he was lying on the hillside, composing a song to -the Littlest Leaf in the Wood, suddenly the voice of his song was not -so loud as a voice within him which seemed to say how much he delighted -to be singing. And then he knew the voice—that it was the voice of the -Beauty Self in his own head, that it was that voice that had made him -linger on the hillside and had commanded him to sing about the beauty -in the world <em>and to do nothing else</em>. And all this time it had been -king of the Selves, and not he!</p> - -<p>He rose and fled down the hillside, and for days he wandered alone, -sick at heart because this fair Beauty Self had tricked him into -following her <em>and no other</em>, even as the Fun Self and the Knowledge -Self had done. But even while he wandered, grieving, again and again -the Idle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">284</a></span> Self, the Strong Self, the Discontented Self, deceived him -for a little while and succeeded in making their own voices heard, and -now and again the little shadowy Selves—the Malice and Cruel and Envy -Selves drew very near him and tried to speak for him. And they all -fought to keep him from being king and to deceive him into thinking -that they spoke for him.</p> - -<p>One brooding noonday, as Hazen was travelling, alone and tired, on the -highroad, a carriage overtook him, and the gentleman within, looking -sharply at him, ordered the carriage stopped, and asked him courteously -if he was not the poet whose songs he had sometimes heard, and of whose -knowledge and good-fellowship others had told him. It proved that it -was no other than Hazen whom he meant, and he took him with him in -his carriage to a great, wonderful house overlooking the valley, and -commanding a sovereign mountain on whose very summit stood a deserted -castle. It seemed as if merely looking on that wonderful prospect would -help one to be wise and <em>really</em> good and beautiful and worthy to be -loved.</p> - -<p>At once Hazen’s host, the Gentleman of the Carriage, began showing -him his treasures and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">285</a></span> all that made life for him. The house was -filled with curious and beautiful things, pictures, ivories, marbles, -and tapestries, and with many friends. In the evenings there were -always festivities; mirth and laughter were everywhere, and Hazen -was laden with gifts of these and other things, and delighted in the -entertainment. But by day, in a high-ceiled library and a cool study, -the two spent hours pouring over letters and science, finding out -the secrets of the world, getting on the other side of words, saying -sentences, and thinking thoughts that became solid; or they would -wander on the hillsides and carry rare books and dream of the beauty in -the world and weave little songs. Now they would be idle, now absorbed -in feats of strength, and now they would descend into the town and -there delight in its great sport. And in all this Hazen had some part -and earned his own way, because of his cleverness and willingness to -enter in the life and belong to it.</p> - -<p>One day, standing on a balcony of the beautiful house, looking across -at the mountain and the deserted castle, Hazen said aloud:—</p> - -<p>“This is the true life. This is fortune. For now I hear all the voices -of all my Selves, and I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">286</a></span> give good things to each, and I am king of -them all!”</p> - -<p>But even as he spoke he heard another voice sounding within his own, -and it laughed, and cracked as it laughed, so that it sounded like -something being broken that could never be mended.</p> - -<p>“I told you so, Hazen! I told you so!” it cried. “Being loved and -<em>really</em> good do not mean making our fortune. Just one thing means -fortune, and that is being rich. To be rich, <em>rich</em>, means good times -and learning and beauty and idleness. I’ve fought -<a name="every_one" id="every_one"></a><ins title="Original has 'everyone'">every one</ins> -of the others, and now you’ve got all that they had to offer, because -you have let me be king—<em>me and no other</em>.”</p> - -<p>To his horror, Hazen recognized the voice of the dwarf, the Riches -Self, and knew that he was deceived again, that he himself was ruler of -nothing, and that the dwarf was now king of all his Selves.</p> - -<p>When he realized this, it seemed to Hazen that his heart was pierced -and that he could not live any longer. Suppose—ah, suppose that he did -get back to the Princess Vista now—what had he to take to her? Could -he give her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">287</a></span> himself—a Self of which not he but the dwarf was the -owner?</p> - -<p>Somehow, in spite of their protestations and persuadings, Hazen said -good-bye to them all, to his host and to those who had detained him, -and he was off down into the valley alone—not knowing where he was -going or what he was going to do, or what hope now remained that he -should ever be any nearer the fortune for which he had so hopefully set -out.</p> - -<p>It was bright moonlight when he came to the edge of a fair, green, -valley meadow. The whiteness was flooding the world, as if it would -wash away everything that had ever been and would begin it all over -again. And in the centre of the meadow, all the brightness seemed to -gather and thicken and glitter, as if something mysterious were there. -It drew Hazen to itself, as if it were so pure that it must be what -he was seeking, and he broke through the hedge and stepped among the -flowers of the lush grass, and he stood before it.</p> - -<p>It was a fountain of water, greater than any fountain that Hazen had -ever seen or conceived. It rose from the green in pure strands of -exquisite firmness, in almost the slim lines and spirals<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">288</a></span> of a stair; -and its high, curving spray and its plash and murmur made it rather -like a gigantic white tree, with music in its boughs—the tree of life -itself.</p> - -<p>Hazen could no more have helped leaping in the fountain than he could -have helped his joy in its beauty. He sprang in the soft waters as -if he were springing into arms, and it drew him to itself as if he -belonged to it. The waters flowed over him, and he felt purified, and -as if a healing light had shone through him, body and mind.</p> - -<p>But to his amazement, he did not remain in the fountain’s basin. -Gently, as if he were upborne by unseen hands, he mounted with the rise -of the fountain, in its slim lines and spirals, until he found himself -high above the meadow in a silvery tower that was thrown out from the -fountain itself. And there, alone in that lofty silence, it was as if -he were face to face with himself and could see his own heart.</p> - -<p>Then the Thought spoke to him which had spoken to him long ago that -morning in the king’s kitchen, and again on that first night in the -wood.</p> - -<p>“Hazen!” it said, “you are not wise or <em>really</em><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">289</a></span> good or loved or -beautiful. Why don’t you become so?”</p> - -<p>“I!” said Hazen, sadly. “I have lost my chance. I came out to find my -fortune and I have thrown it away.”</p> - -<p>But still the Thought spoke to him, and said the same thing over and -over so many times that at last he answered:—</p> - -<p>“What, then, must I do?” he asked.</p> - -<p>And then he listened, there in the night and the stillness, to hear -what it was that he must do. And this was the first time that ever he -had listened like this, or questioned carefully his course. Always -before he had done what seemed to him the thing that he wished to do, -without questioning whether his fortune lay that way.</p> - -<p>“Bravely spoken, Hazen,” said the Thought, then. “Someone near is in -great need. Find him and help -<a name="him" id="him"></a><ins title="Original omits closing quotation mark">him.”</ins></p> - -<p>Instantly Hazen leaped lightly to the ground, and ran away through -the moonlit meadow, and he sought as never in his life had he sought -anything before, for the one near, in great need, whom he was to find -and help. All through the night he sought, and with the setting of -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">290</a></span> moon he was struggling up the mountain, because it seemed to him -that he must do some hard thing, and this was hard. In the early dawn -he stood on the mountain’s very summit, and knocked at the gate of the -deserted castle there. And it was the forsaken castle of his father, -the king, whom the Princess Vista’s father had conquered; but this -Hazen did not know.</p> - -<p>No sound answered his summons, so he swung the heavy gate on its broken -hinges and stepped within. The court yard was vacant and echoing and -grass-grown. Rabbits scuttled away at his approach, and about the -sightless eyes of the windows, bats were clinging and moving. The clock -in the tower was still and pointed to an hour long-spent. The whole -place breathed of things forgotten and of those who, having loved them, -were forgotten too.</p> - -<p>Hazen mounted the broad, mossy steps leading to the portals, and he -found one door slightly ajar. Wondering greatly, he touched it open, -and the groined hall appeared like a grim face from behind a mask. -On the stone floor, not far beyond the threshold, lay an old man, -motionless. And when, uttering a little cry of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">291</a></span> pity and amazement, -Hazen stooped over him, he knew him at once to be that old man who had -greeted him at the entrance to the wood on the evening of the day on -which he himself had left the king’s palace.</p> - -<p>What with bringing him water and bathing his face and chafing his -hands, Hazen at last enabled the old man to speak, and found that he -had been nearly all his life-time the keeper of the castle and for -some years its only occupant. He was not ill, but he had fallen and -was hurt, and he had lain for several days without food. So Hazen, who -knew well how to do it, kindled a fire of fagots in the great, echoing -castle kitchen, and, from the scanty store which he found there, -prepared broth and eggs, and then helped the old man to his bed in the -little room which had once been a king’s cabinet.</p> - -<p>“Lad, lad!” said the old man, when he had remembered Hazen. “And -have you found your fortune? And are you by now wise, <em>really</em> good, -beautiful, and loved?”</p> - -<p>“Alas!” said Hazen, only, and could say no more.</p> - -<p>The old man nodded. “I know, I know,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">292</a></span> he said sadly. “The little -Selves have been about, ruling here and ruling there. Is it not so? Sit -here a little, and let us talk about it.”</p> - -<p>Then Hazen told him all that had befallen since that night when they -sat together in the wood. And though his adventures seemed to Hazen -very wonderful, the old man merely nodded, as if he were not hearing -but only remembering.</p> - -<p>“Ay,” he said, at the last, “I have met them all—the Merry Lad, the -Bookman, and all the rest, and have dwelt a space with some. And I, -too, have come to the fountain in the night, and have asked what it was -that I should do.”</p> - -<p>“But tell me, sir,” said Hazen, eagerly, “how was it that I was told at -the fountain that there was one near in great need. Did the fountain -know you? Or did my Thought? And how could that be?”</p> - -<p>“Nay, lad,” said the old man, “but always, for everyone, there is -someone near in need—yet. One has only to look.”</p> - -<p>Then he talked to Hazen more about his fortune, and again the old man’s -meaning was in his mere presence, so that whether he talked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">293</a></span> about the -stars or the earth or the ways of men, he made Hazen know fascinating -things about them all. And now Hazen listened far differently from the -way that he had listened that other time when they had talked, and it -was as if the words had grown, and as if they meant more than once they -had meant.</p> - -<p>Now, whoever has stood for the first time in a great, empty castle -knows that there is one thing that he longs to do above all other -things, and this is to explore. And when the afternoon lay brooding -upon the air, and slanting sun fell through the dusty lattices, Hazen -asked the old man eagerly if he might wander through the rooms.</p> - -<p>“As freely,” answered the old man, willingly, “as if you were the -castle’s prince.”</p> - -<p>Thus it chanced that, after all the years, Hazen, though he was far -from dreaming the truth, was once more roaming through the rooms of his -birthplace and treading the floors that had once echoed the step of his -father, the king.</p> - -<p>It was a wonderful place, the like of which Hazen thought he had never -seen before, save only in the palace of the father of the princess.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">294</a></span> -Above stairs the rooms had hardly been disturbed since that old day of -the hurried flight of all his father’s court. There was a great room -of books, as rich in precious volumes as the king’s library which he -already knew, and there, though this he could not guess, his own father -had been wont to sit late in the night, consulting learned writers and -dreaming of the future of his little son. There was the chapel, where -they had brought Hazen himself to be christened, in the presence of all -the court; there the long banqueting room to which he had once been -carried so that the nobles might pledge him their fealty, the arched -roof echoing their shouts. The throne room, the council room, the state -drawing rooms—through all these, with their dim, dusty hangings and -rich, faded furnishings, Hazen footed; and at last, up another stair, -he came to the private apartments of the king and queen themselves.</p> - -<p>Breathing the life of another time the rooms lay, as if partly -remembering and partly expecting. In the king’s room was the hunting -suit that he had thrown off just before the attack, the book that he -had been reading, the chart that he had consulted. In the queen’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">295</a></span> -room were tarnished golden toilet articles and ornaments, and in her -wardrobe her very robes hung, dusty and mouldering, the gold thread and -gold fringes showing black and sad.</p> - -<p>And then Hazen entered a room which seemed to have been a child’s -room—and it was his room, of his first babyhood. Something in him -stirred and kindled, almost as if his body remembered, though his mind -could not do so. Toys lay scattered about—tops, a football, books, and -a bank. The pillow of the small white bed was indented as if from the -pressure of a little head, and a pair of tiny shoes, one upright, one -overturned, were on the floor. Hazen picked up one little shoe and held -it for a minute in his hand. He wondered if some of the little garments -of the child, whoever he was, might not be in the hanging room. And he -opened the closed door.</p> - -<p>The door led to a closet and, as he had guessed, little garments were -hanging there. But it was not these that caught his eye and held him -breathless and spellbound on the threshold. On the high shelf of the -closet stood a small glass casket. And in the casket was a little bit -of live thing that fluttered piteously, as if begging<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">296</a></span> to be released, -and frantic with joy at the coming of light from without.</p> - -<p>Hazen’s heart beat as he took the casket in his hand. It was the most -wonderful little box that ever he had seen. And the little living thing -was something like a fairy and something like a spirit and so beautiful -that it seemed to Hazen that he must have it for his own. Something -stirred and kindled in his mind so that it was almost a memory, and he -said to himself:—</p> - -<p>“I have seen a casket like this. I have <em>had</em> a casket like this. Nay, -but the very earliest thing that ever I can remember is a casket like -this from which no one knew how to release this little living spirit.”</p> - -<p>For the little spirit was fast in the crystal prison, and if one broke -the casket, one would almost certainly harm the spirit—but what other -way was there to do?</p> - -<p>With the casket in his hand and the little spirit fluttering within, -Hazen ran back below stairs to the old man.</p> - -<p>“Look!” Hazen cried. “This casket! It is from the closet shelf of some -child’s room. I remember a casket such as this, and within it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">297</a></span> a little -living spirit. I have <em>had</em> a casket such as this! What does it mean?”</p> - -<p>Then the old man, who had been keeper there when the castle was taken, -trembled and peered into Hazen’s face.</p> - -<p>“Who are you?” the old man cried. “Who are you—and what is your name?”</p> - -<p>“Alas,” said Hazen, sadly, “I was but the furnace boy to the king of a -neighbouring country, and who I am I do not know. But as for my name, -that is Hazen, and I know not what else.”</p> - -<p>Then the old man cried out, and tried to bow himself, and to kiss -Hazen’s hand.</p> - -<p>“Prince Hazen!” cried he. “You are no other. Ah, God be praised. You -are the son of my own beloved king.”</p> - -<p>As well as he could for his joy and agitation, the old man told Hazen -everything: how the castle had been taken by that king of a neighbour -country—who did <em>not</em> know that neighbours are nearly one’s own -family—how Hazen had been made prisoner, and how he was really heir -to this kingdom and to all its ample lands. And how the magic casket, -which after all these years the old man now remembered, was to make -Hazen, and no other, wise and <em>really</em> good and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">298</a></span> loved and beautiful, -if only the little spirit could be freed.</p> - -<p>“But how am I to do that?” Hazen cried. “For to break the casket would -be to harm the spirit. And what other way is there to do?”</p> - -<p>“Alas,” answered the old man, “that I do not know. I think that this -you must do alone. As for me, my life is almost spent. And now that I -have seen you, my prince, the son of my dear sovereign, there is left -to me but to die in peace.”</p> - -<p>At this, Hazen, remembering how much he owed the wonderful old man for -that enchanted talk in the wood, when he had taught him fascinating -things about the stars and the earth and the ways of men, and had shown -him the inside of his own head and all those Selves of his and he their -king if he would be so—remembering all these things Hazen longed to do -something for him in return. But what could he do for him, he the heir -of a conquered kingdom and a desolate palace? Yet the old man had been -his father’s servant; and it was he whom the Thought at the fountain -had bidden him to help; but chiefly Hazen’s heart overflowed with -simple pity and tenderness for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">299</a></span> helpless one. And in that pity the -Thought spoke again:—</p> - -<p>“Give him the casket,” it said.</p> - -<p>Hazen hesitated—and in an instant his head was a chaos of voices. It -was as if all the little Selves, even those which had now long been -silent, were listening, were suddenly fighting among themselves in open -combat to see what they could make Hazen do.</p> - -<p>“That beautiful thing!” cried the Beauty Self. “Keep it—keep it, -Hazen!”</p> - -<p>“You will never have another chance at a fortune if you give it up!” -cried the Discontented Self.</p> - -<p>“If you throw away your chance at a fortune, your life will be a life -of hard work—and where will your good time come in?” cried the little -Fun Self, anxiously.</p> - -<p>“You will have only labour and no leisure for learning—” warned the -Knowledge Self.</p> - -<p>“What of the Princess Vista? Do you not owe it to her to keep the -casket? And is it not <em>right</em> that you should keep the casket and grow -wise and <em>really</em> good and loved and beautiful?” they all argued in -turn. And above them all sounded the terrible, cracked voice of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">300</a></span> the -dwarf, not laughing now, but fighting for his life:—</p> - -<p>“Fool! Nothing counts but your chance at fortune. If you part with the -casket, you part with <em>me!</em>”</p> - -<p>But sweet and clear through the clamour sounded the solemn insisting of -the Thought:—</p> - -<p>“Give him the casket—give him the casket, Hazen.”</p> - -<p>Quickly Hazen knelt beside the old man, and placed the magic casket in -his hands.</p> - -<p>“Lo,” said Prince Hazen, “I have nothing to give you, save only this. -But it may be that we can yet find some way to release the spirit and -that then you can have the good fortune that this will give. Take the -casket—it is yours.”</p> - -<p>In an instant, and noiselessly, the magic casket fell in pieces in -Hazen’s hands, and vanished. And with a soft sound of escaping wings -the little spirit rose joyously and fluttered toward Hazen, and -alighted on his breast. There were sudden sweetness and light in all -the place, and a happiness that bewildered Hazen—and when he looked -again, the little spirit had disappeared—but his own breast was filled -with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">301</a></span> something new and marvellous, as if strange doors to himself had -opened, and as if the spirit had found lodging there forever.</p> - -<p>In the clear silence following upon the babel of the little voices -of all the mean and petty Selves, Hazen was aware of a voice echoing -within him like music; and he knew the Thought now better than he knew -himself, who had so many Selves, and he knew that when it spoke to him -softly, softly, he would always hear.</p> - -<p>“If you had kept the magic casket for yourself,” it said, “the spirit -would have drooped and died. <em>It was only by giving the casket away -that the spirit could ever be free.</em> It was only when the spirit became -yours that you could hope to be wise and good and beautiful and worthy -to be loved. And now where is the Princess Vista’s picture-book?”</p> - -<p>All this time Hazen had not lost the picture-book of the princess, -and now it was lying on the floor near where he was that night -to have slept. He caught it up and turned the pages, and the old -familiar pictures which the princess had shown him that morning in the -window-seat made him long, as he had not longed since he had left the -palace, to see her again.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">302</a></span> -He turned to the old man.</p> - -<p>“There is a certain princess—” he began.</p> - -<p>“Ay,” said the old man, gently, “so there is always, my prince. Go to -her.”</p> - -<p>The mere exquisite presence of that spirit in the room seemed to have -healed and invigorated the old man, and he had risen to his feet, -clothed with a new strength. He set about searching in the king’s -wardrobe for suitable garments for his young prince, and in a cedar -chest he found vestments of somewhat ancient pattern, but of so rich -material and so delicately made that the ancient style did but add to -their beauty.</p> - -<p>When he had made Hazen ready, there was never a fairer prince in the -world. Then the old man led him below stairs and showed him in a -forgotten room, of which he himself only had the key, a box containing -the jewels of the queen, his mother. So, bearing these, save one with -which he purchased a horse for his needs, Prince Hazen set out for the -palace of the princess.</p> - -<p>It chanced that it was early morning when Prince Hazen entered the -palace grounds which he had left as a furnace boy. And you must<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">303</a></span> know -that, since his leaving, years had elapsed; for though he had believed -himself to have stayed with the Merry Lad but one day, and with the -Bookman but a few days, and but a little time on the hills singing -songs, and in byways listening to the voices of Idleness, Strength, and -the rest, and lingering in that fair home where the Dwarf had sent him, -yet in reality with each one he had spent a year and more, so that now -he was like someone else.</p> - -<p>But the princess’s father’s palace garden was just the same, and Hazen -entered by the east gate, which still no one could lock; and to be back -within the garden was as wonderful as bathing in the ocean or standing -on a high mountain or seeing the dawn. His horse bore him along between -the flowering shrubs and the hollyhocks; he heard the fountains -plashing and the song-sparrows singing and the village bells faintly -sounding; he saw the goldfish and the water-lilies gleam in the pool, -and the horses cantering about the paddock. And all at once it seemed -to him that the day was his and the world was his, to do with them what -he would.</p> - -<p>So he galloped round the east wing of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">304</a></span> palace, and looked up -eagerly and longingly toward the princess’s window. And there stood the -Princess Vista, watching. But when she saw him, she drew far back as if -she were afraid. And Prince Hazen, as he bowed low in his saddle, could -think of no word to say to her that seemed a word to be said. He could -only cry up to her:—</p> - -<p>“Oh, Princess Vista. Come down! Come down! Come down—and teach me -about the whole world.”</p> - -<p>He galloped straight to the great entrance way, and leaped from his -horse, and no one questioned him, for they all knew by his look that he -came with great authority. And he went to the king’s library, to that -room which was as wide as a lawn and as high as a tree, and filled with -mystery, and waited for her, knowing that she would come.</p> - -<p>She entered the room almost timidly, as, once upon a time, the little -furnace boy had entered. And when she saw him waiting for her before -the window-seat, nothing could have exceeded her terror and her wonder -and her delight. And now her eyes were looking down, and she did <em>not</em> -ask him what he was doing there.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">305</a></span> -“Oh, Princess Vista,” he said softly, “I love you. I want to be loved!”</p> - -<p>“Who are you—that want so much?” the princess asked—but her eyes -knew, and her smile knew.</p> - -<p>“Someone who has brought back your picture-book,” said Prince Hazen. “I -pray you, teach it to me again.”</p> - -<p>“Nay,” said the princess, softly, “I have taught you a wrong thing. For -I have taught you that there are many suns. And instead there is only -one sun, and it brings only one day—and that day is this day!”</p> - -<p>It was so that she welcomed him back.</p> - -<p>They went to the king, her father, and told him everything. And when he -knew that his daughter loved Prince Hazen, he restored his kingdom to -him, and named him his own successor. And Hazen was crowned king, with -much magnificence, and his father’s courtiers, who were living, were -returned to his court, and that wise, wonderful old man, who had shown -him the inside of his own head, was given a place of honour near the -king.</p> - -<p>But on the day of the coronation, louder than the shouts of the people, -and nearer even than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">306</a></span> the voice of his queen, sounded that voice of the -wise and good Self, which was but the Thought, deep within the soul of -the king:—</p> - -<p>“Hail to Hazen—King of All His Selves!”</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">307</a></span> -</div> - -<h2><a name="xvi" id="xvi"></a>XVI<br /> -<span>THE WALK</span></h2> - - -<p>“<span class="smcap">What’s</span> the latest you ever stayed up?” Delia demanded of Mary -Elizabeth and me.</p> - -<p>“I sat up till ten o’clock once when my aunt was coming,” I boasted.</p> - -<p>“Once I was on a train that got in at twelve o’clock,” said Mary -Elizabeth, thoughtfully, “but I was asleep till the train got in. Would -you call that sitting up till twelve o’clock?”</p> - -<p>On the whole, Delia and I decided that you could not impartially call -it so, and Mary Elizabeth conceded the point. Her next best experience -was dated at only half past nine.</p> - -<p>“I was up till eleven o’clock lots of times.” Delia threw out -carelessly.</p> - -<p>We regarded her with awe. Here was another glory for her list. Already -we knew that she had slept in a sleeping car, patted an elephant, and -swum four strokes.</p> - -<p>“What’s the earliest you ever got up?” Delia pursued.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">308</a></span> -Here, too, we proved to have nothing to compete with the order of -Delia’s risings. However, this might yet be mended. There seemed never -to be the same household ban on getting up early that there was on -staying up late.</p> - -<p>“Let’s get up some morning before four o’clock and take a walk,” I -suggested.</p> - -<p>“My brother got up at half past three once,” Mary Elizabeth announced.</p> - -<p>“Well,” I said, “let’s get up at half past three. Let’s do it to-morrow -morning.”</p> - -<p>Mary Elizabeth and I had stretched a string from a little bell at -the head of her bed to a little bell at the head of my bed. This the -authorities permitted us to ring so long as there was discernible a -light, or any other fixed signal, at the two windows; and also after -seven o’clock in the morning. But of course the time when we both -longed most frantically to pull the cord was when either woke at night -and lay alone in the darkness. In the night I used to put my hand on -the string and think how, by a touch, I could waken Mary Elizabeth, -just as if she were in my room, just as if we were hand in hand. I -used to think what joy it would be if all little children on the same -side<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">309</a></span> of the ocean were similarly provided, and if no one interfered. -A little code of signals arose in my mind, a kind of secret code which -should be heard by nobody save those for whom they were intended—for -sick children, for frightened children, for children just having a bad -dream, for motherless children, for cold or tired or lonely children, -for all children sleepless for any cause. I used to wish that little -signals like this could be rung for all unhappy children, night or day. -Why, with all their inventions, had not grown people invented this? Of -course they would never make things any harder for us than they could -help (we thought). But why had they not done this thing to make things -easier?</p> - -<p>The half past three proposal was unanimously vetoed within doors: We -might rise at five o’clock, no earlier. This somewhat took edge from -the adventure, but we accepted it as next best. Delia was to be waked -by an alarm clock. Mary Elizabeth and I felt that, by some mysterious -means, we could waken ourselves; and we two agreed to call each other, -so to say, by the bells.</p> - -<p>When I did waken, it was still quite dark, and when I had found light -and a clock, I saw that it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">310</a></span> was only a little after three. As I had -gone to bed at seven, I was wide awake at three; and it occurred to me -that I would stay up till time to call Mary Elizabeth. This would be -at half past four. Besides, stopping up then presented an undoubted -advantage: It enabled me to skip my bath. Clearly I could not, with -courtesy, risk rousing the household with many waters.</p> - -<p>I dressed in the dark, braided my own hair in the dark—by now I could -do this save that the plait, when I brought it over my shoulder, still -would assume a jog—and sat down by the open window. It was one of the -large nights ... for some nights are undeniably larger than others. -When I was on the street with my hand in a grown-up hand, the night -was invariably bounded by trees, fences, houses, lawns, horse-blocks, -and the like. But when I stepped to the door alone at night, I always -noticed that it stretched endlessly away. So it was now. I could slip -out the screen, as I had discovered earlier in the season when I had -felt the need of feeding a nest of house-wrens in the bird-house below -my sill—and I took out the screen now, and leaned out in the darkness. -The stars seemed very near—I am always glad that I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">311</a></span> did not know how -far away they are, for they looked so friendly near. If only, I used -to think, the clouds would form <em>behind</em> the stars and leave them all -shiny and blurry bright in the rain. What were they? How came they to -be in our world’s sky?</p> - -<p>I suppose that I had been ten minutes at the window that morning when -I saw a light briefly flash in Mary Elizabeth’s window. Instantly, I -softly pulled my bell. She answered, and then I could see her, dim in -the window once more dark.</p> - -<p>“It isn’t time yet!” she called softly—our houses were very near.</p> - -<p>“Not yet,” I answered, “but I’m going to stay up.”</p> - -<p>Mary Elizabeth briefly considered this.</p> - -<p>“What for?” she propounded.</p> - -<p>I had not thought what for.</p> - -<p>“To—why to be up early,” I answered confidently. “I’m all dressed.”</p> - -<p>The defence must have carried conviction.</p> - -<p>“I will, too,” Mary Elizabeth concluded.</p> - -<p>She disappeared and, after a suitable time, reappeared at the window, -presumably fully clothed. I detached the bell from my bed and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">312</a></span> sat with -it in my hand, and I found afterward that she had done the same. From -time to time we each gave the cord a slight, ecstatic pull. The whole -mystery of the great night lay in those gentle signals.</p> - -<p>It is unfortunate to have to confess that, after a time, the mystery -palled. But it did. Stars, wide, dark, moonless lawn, empty street, -all these blurred and merged in a single impression. This was one of -chilliness. Even calling through the night at intervals, and at the -imminent risk of being heard, lost its charm, because after a little -while there was nothing left to call. “How still it is!” and “Nobody -but us is up in town,” and “Won’t Delia be mad?” lose their edge when -repeated for about the third time each. Moreover, I was obliged to face -a new foe: I was getting sleepy.</p> - -<p>Without undue disturbance of the cord, I managed to consult the clock -once more. It was five minutes of four. There remained more than an -hour to wait! It was I who capitulated.</p> - -<p>“Mary Elizabeth,” I said waveringly, “would you care very much if I was -to lay down just a little to rest my eyes?”</p> - -<p>“No, I wouldn’t care,” came with significant alacrity. “I will, too.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">313</a></span> -I lay down on the covers and pulled a comforter about me. As I drifted -off I remember wondering how the dark ever kept awake all night. For it -was awake. To know that one had only to listen.</p> - -<p>We all had a signal which we called a “trill,” made by tongue and -teeth, with almost the force of a boy and a blade of grass. This, -produced furiously beneath my window, was what wakened me. Delia stood -between the two houses, engaged with such absorption in manufacturing -this sound that she failed to see me at the window. A moment after -I had hailed her, Mary Elizabeth appeared at her window, looking -distinctly distraught.</p> - -<p>Seeing us fully dressed, Delia’s indignation increased.</p> - -<p>“Why didn’t you leave me know you were up?” she demanded shrilly. “It’s -a quarter past five. I been out here fifteen minutes.”</p> - -<p>We were assuring her guiltily that we would be right down when there -came an interruption.</p> - -<p>“<em>Delia!</em>”</p> - -<p>Delia’s father, in a gray bath-robe, stood at an upper window of their -house across the street.</p> - -<p>“What do you mean by waking up the whole<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">314</a></span> neighbourhood?” he inquired, -not without reason. “Now I want you to come home.”</p> - -<p>“We were going walking,” Delia reminded him.</p> - -<p>“You are coming home at once after this proceeding,” Delia’s father -assured her. “No more words please, Delia.”</p> - -<p>He disappeared from the window. Delia moved reluctantly across the -street. As she went, she threw a resentful glance at Mary Elizabeth and -me, each.</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry, Delia!” we called softly in chorus. She made no reply. Mary -Elizabeth and I were left staring at each other down our bell-rope, -no longer taut, but limp, as we had left it earlier.... Even in that -stress, the unearthly sweetness of the morning smote me—the early sun, -the early shadows. It all looked so exactly as if it had expected you -not to be looking. This is the look of outdoors that, <em>now</em>, will most -quickly take me back.</p> - -<p>“It wouldn’t be fair to go walking without Delia,” said Mary Elizabeth, -abruptly and positively.</p> - -<p>“No,” I agreed, with equal decision. Then, “We might as well go back to -bed,” I pursued the subject further.</p> - -<p>“Let’s,” said Mary Elizabeth.</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">315</a></span> -</div> - -<h2><a name="xvii" id="xvii"></a>XVII<br /> -<span>THE GREAT BLACK HUSH</span></h2> - - -<p><span class="smcap">On</span> that special night, which somehow I remember with tenderness, I -sometimes think now—all these years after—that I should like to have -been with those solitary, sleepy little figures, trying so hard to get -near to mystery. I should think that a Star Story must have come in -anybody’s head to tell them. Like this:—</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Once, when it didn’t matter to anybody whether you were late or early, -or quick or slow, not only because there wasn’t anybody and there -wasn’t any you, but because it was back in the beginning when there -were no lates and earlies and quicks and slows, <em>then</em> things began to -happen in the middle of the Great Black Hush which was all there was to -everything.</p> - -<p>The Great Black Hush reached all the way around the Universe and in -directions without any names, and it was huge and humble and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">316</a></span> superior -and helpless and mighty and in other ways it was very much indeed like -a man. And as there was nothing to do, the Great Black Hush was bored -past extinction and almost to creation. For there wasn’t anything else -about save only the Wind, and the Wind would have nothing whatever to -do with him and always blew right by.</p> - -<p>Now, inasmuch as everything that is now was then going to be created, -it was all waiting somewhere to be created; and nothing is clearer than -that. Lines and colours and musics and tops and blocks and flame and -Noah’s arks and mechanical toys and mountains and paints and planets -and air and water and alphabets and jumping-jacks, all, all, were -waiting to be created, and among them waited people. I cannot tell you -where they waited, because there was no where; but they were waiting, -as anybody can see, for time to be begun.</p> - -<p>Among the people who were waiting about was one special baby, who was -just big enough to reach out after everything and to try to put it in -his mouth, and they had an awful time with him. He put his little hands -on coloured things and on flame things and on air and on water and on -musics, and he wanted to know what they all were, and he tried to put -them in his mouth. And his mother was perfectly distracted, and she -told him so, openly.</p> - -<div class="figcenter width400"> -<a name="to" id="to"></a> -<img src="images/i_316fp.jpg" width="400" height="532" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">“<span class="smcap">To see what running away is really like.</span>”</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">317</a></span> -“Special Baby,” she said to him openly, “I don’t see why every hair -in my head is not pure white. And if you don’t stop making so much -trouble, I’ll run away.”</p> - -<p>“Run away,” thought the Special Baby. “Now what thing is that?”</p> - -<p>And he stretched out his little hand to see, but there wasn’t anything -there, and he couldn’t put it in his mouth; so without letting anybody -know, he started off all by himself to see what running away is really -like.</p> - -<p>He ran and he ran, past lines and colours and blocks and flame and -music and paint and planets, all waiting about to begin, till he began -to notice the Great Black Hush, where it lay all humble and important, -and bored past extinction and almost to creation.</p> - -<p>“What thing is that?” thought the Special Baby, and put out his little -hand to get it and put it in his mouth.</p> - -<p>So he touched the Great Black Hush, and under the little hand the Great -Black Hush felt as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">318</a></span> never he had felt before. For the Special Baby’s -hand was soft and wandering and most clinging—any General Baby’s hand -will give you the idea if you care to try. And it made it seem as if -there were something to do.</p> - -<p>All through his huge, helpless, superior, and mighty being the Great -Black Hush was stirred, and when the Special Baby was frightened and -would have gone back, the Great Black Hush did the most astonishing -things to try to keep him. He plaited the darkness up like a ruffle -and waved it like a flag and opened it like a flower and shut it like -a door and poured it about like water, all to keep the Special Baby -amused. But though the Special Baby tried to put most of these and -<em>all</em> the dark in his mouth, still on the whole he was badly frightened -and wanted his mother, and he began to cry to show how much he wanted -her. And then the Great Black Hush was at his wits’ end.</p> - -<p>“Now, who is there to be the mother of this Special Baby?” he cried in -despair, for there wasn’t anything else anywhere around, save only the -Wind, and the Wind always blew right by. But the blowing by must have -been because the Great Black Hush had never spoken before,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">319</a></span> for these -were the first words that ever he had said; and the Wind, on hearing -them, stopped still as a stone, and listened.</p> - -<p>“Would I do?” the Wind asked, and the Great Black Hush was so -astonished that he almost dropped the Special Baby.</p> - -<p>“Would I do?” asked the Wind again, and made the dark like blown -garments and like long, blown hair and tender motions, such as women -make. And she took the Special Baby in her arms and rocked him as -gently as boughs, so that he laughed with delight and tried to put the -wind in his mouth and finally went to sleep, with his beads on.</p> - -<p>“<em>Now</em> what’ll we do?” said the Great Black Hush, hanging about, all -helpless and mighty.</p> - -<p>“We can get along without a cradle,” said the Wind, “because I will -rock him to sleep in my arms.” (This was before time began and before -they laid them down to go to sleep alone in a dark room.) “But we -ought, we <em>ought</em>,” she added, “to have something for him to play with -when he wakes up.” (This was before time began and before anybody ate. -But they always played. That came first.)</p> - -<p>“If he had something to play with, what would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">320</a></span> that look like?” asked -the Great Black Hush, all helpless.</p> - -<p>“It musn’t have points like scissors, or ends like string, and the -paint mustn’t come off. I think,” said the Wind, “it ought to look like -a shining ball.”</p> - -<p>“By my distance,” said the Great Black Hush, all mighty, “that’s what -it shall look like.”</p> - -<p>Then he began to make a plaything, and he worked all over him and all -over everywhere at the fashioning. I don’t know how he did it, because -I wasn’t there, and I can’t reckon how long it took him, because there -wasn’t any time, but I know some things about it all, and one is that -he finally got it done.</p> - -<p>“Look!” the Great Black Hush cried to the Wind,—for she paid more -attention to the Special Baby now than she did to him. And when she -looked, there hung in the sky, a great, enormous, shining ball.</p> - -<p>“That’s big enough so he can’t get it in his mouth,” she said -approvingly. “It’s really ginginatic.”</p> - -<p>“You mean gigantic, dear,” said the Great Black Hush, all superior. But -the Wind didn’t care because words hadn’t been used long enough<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">321</a></span> to fit -closely, and besides he had said “dear” and she knew what <em>that</em> meant. -“Dear” came before “gigantic.”</p> - -<p>“Now wake him up,” said the Great Black Hush, “to play with it.”</p> - -<p>But this the Wind would by no means do. She said the Special Baby must -have his sleep out or he’d be cross. And the Great Black Hush wondered -however she knew that, and he went away, all humble, and amused himself -making more playthings till the baby woke up. And all the playthings -looked like shining balls, because that was the only kind of plaything -the Wind had told him to make and he didn’t know whether anything -else would do. So he made them by the thousands and started them all -swinging because he thought the Special Baby would like them to do that.</p> - -<p>By-and-by—there was always by-and-by before there was any time, and -that is why so many people prefer it—when he couldn’t stay any longer, -he went back where the Wind waited, cuddling the Special Baby close.</p> - -<p>“Sh-h-h-h,” said the Wind, but she was too late, and the Special Baby -woke up, with wide eyes and a smile in them.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">322</a></span> -But he wasn’t cross. For the minute he opened his eyes he saw all -the thousands of shining balls hanging in the darkness and swinging, -swinging, and he crowed with delight and stretched out his little hands -for them, but they were so big he couldn’t put them in his mouth and so -he might reach out all he pleased.</p> - -<p>“<em>Ho</em>,” said the Great Black Hush, “now everything is as it never was -before.”</p> - -<p>But the Wind sighed a little.</p> - -<p>“I wish everything were more so,” she said. “I ought to have a place to -take the Special Baby and make his clothes and mend his socks and tie -on his shoes and rub his little back. Also, I want to learn a lullaby, -and this is so public.”</p> - -<p>Then the Great Black Hush thought and thought, and remembered that away -back on the Outermost Way and beneath the Wild Wing of Things, there -was a tidy little place that might be just the thing. It was <em>not</em> up -to date, because there wasn’t any date, but still he thought it might -be just the thing.</p> - -<p>“By the welkin,” he said, “I know a place that is the place. I’ll go -and sweep it out.”</p> - -<p>“Not so fast,” said the Wind, gently. “I go<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">323</a></span> also. I want to be sure -that there are enough closets—” or whatever would have corresponded to -that before there was any Modern at all.</p> - -<p>So the three went away together and groped about on the Outermost Way -and beneath the Wild Wing of Things, and there the Wind swept it out -tidily and there they made their home. And when it was all done,—which -took a great while because the Wind kept wanting additions put -on,—they came out and sat at the door of the place, the Great Black -Hush and the Wind and the Special Baby between.</p> - -<p>And as they did that a wonderful thing was true. For now that the -Great Black Hush had withdrawn to his new home, lo, all the swinging -plaything balls were shining through space, and there was light. And -the man and the woman and the child at the door of the first home -looked in one another’s faces. And the man and the woman were afraid of -the light and their look clung each to the other’s in that fear; but -the Special Baby stretched out his little hands and tried to put the -light in his mouth.</p> - -<p>“Don’t, dear,” said the woman, and her voice sounded quite natural.</p> - -<p>“Pay attention to me and not to the Baby,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">324</a></span> said the man, and <em>his</em> -voice sounded quite natural, and very mighty, so that the woman -obeyed—until the Special Baby wanted her again.</p> - -<p>And that was when she made her lullaby, and it was the first song:—</p> - -<p class="center nmb">WIND SONG<a name="FNanchor_B" id="FNanchor_B"></a><a href="#Footnote_B" class="fnanchor">[B]</a></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse"> -<div class="line">Horn of the morning!</div> -<div class="line">And the little night pipings fail.</div> -<div class="line">The day is launched like a hollow ship</div> -<div class="line">With the sun for a sail.</div> -<div class="line">The way is wide and blue and lone</div> -<div class="line">With all its miles inviolate</div> -<div class="line">Save for the swinging stars we’ve sown</div> -<div class="line">And a thistle of cloud remote and blown.</div> -<div class="line">Oh, I passion for something nearer than these!</div> -<div class="line">How shall I know that this live thing is I</div> -<div class="line">With only the morning for proof and the sky?</div> -<div class="line">I long for a music more soft to its keys,</div> -<div class="line">For a touch that shall teach me the new sureties.</div> -<div class="line">Give me some griefs and some loyalties</div> -<div class="line">And a child’s mouth on my own!</div> -</div> -<div class="verse"> -<div class="line">Lullaby, lullaby,</div> -<div class="line">Babe of the world, swing high,</div> -<div class="line">Swing low.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">325</a></span> -<div class="line">I am a mother you never may know,</div> -<div class="line">But oh</div> -<div class="line">And oh, how long the wind will know you,</div> -<div class="line">With lullabies for the dead night through.</div> -<div class="line">Babe of the earth, as I blow ...</div> -<div class="line">Swing high,</div> -<div class="line">To touch at the sky,</div> -<div class="line">And at last lie low.</div> -<div class="line">Lullaby....</div> -</div> -<div class="footnote"> -<a name="Footnote_B" id="Footnote_B"></a><a href="#FNanchor_B"><span class="label">[B]</span></a> -Reproduced by permission of <em>The Craftsman</em>. -</div> -</div></div> - - -<p>But meanwhile the Special Baby’s real mother—the one who had told him -about running away—was hunting and hunting and <em>hunting</em> for him and -going nearly distracted and expecting every hair in her head to turn -pure white. She went about among all the rest, asking and calling and -wanting to know, and finally she made up her mind that she would not -stay where she was, but that she would run away and hunt for him. And -she did. And when all the things that were waiting to be born heard -about it, there was no holding them back either. So out they came, -lines and colours and musics and tops and blocks and flame and Noah’s -arks and mechanical toys and mountains and planets and paints and air -and water and alphabets<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">326</a></span> and jumping-jacks, all, all came out in the -wake of the lost Special Baby. And some came early and some came late, -some hurried and some hung back. And among all these came people, and -many and many of the to-be-born things were hidden in peoples’ hearts -and did not appear till long after; and this was true of some things -which I have not mentioned at all, and of some that have not appeared -even yet. But some people did not bring anything in their hearts, and -they merely observed that it was a shameful waste, so many shining -balls swinging about and only the Special Baby to play with them, and -<em>he</em> evidently eternally lost.</p> - -<p>But the Special Baby’s real mother didn’t say a word. She only ran and -ran on, asking and calling and wanting to know. And at last she came -to the Outermost Way and near the Wild Wing of Things, and the Special -Baby heard her coming. And when he heard that, he made his choicest -coo-noise in his throat and he stretched out his arms to his real -mother that he was used to.</p> - -<p>And when his real mother heard the coo-noise, she brushed aside the -Wild Wing of Things and took him in her arms—and she never saw the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">327</a></span> -Wind and the Great Black Hush at all, because they are that kind. So -she carried the Special Baby off, kicking and crowing and catching at -the swinging, shining balls—but they were too big to put in his mouth -so there was no danger—and <em>she</em> hunted up a place where she could -make his clothes and mend his socks and tie on his shoes and rub his -little back. But about them all things were going on, and everybody -else was doing the same thing, so nobody noticed.</p> - -<p>Then, all alone before their home on the Outermost Way and beneath the -Wild Wing of Things that was all brushed aside, the Great Black Hush -and the Wind looked at each other. And their look clung, as when they -had first found light, and they were afraid. For now all space was -glowing and shining with swinging balls, and all the things were being -born and making homes, and time was rushing by so fast that it awed -them who had never seen such a thing before.</p> - -<p>“<em>What</em> have we done?” demanded the Great Black Hush.</p> - -<p>But the Wind was not so much concerned with that. She only grieved and -grieved for the Special Baby. And the Great Black Hush<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">328</a></span> comforted her, -and I think he comforts her unto this day.</p> - -<p>Only at night. Then, as you know, the Great Black Hush comes from the -Outermost Way and fills the air, and with him often and often comes the -Wind. And together they wander among all the shining balls—you will -know this, if you listen, on many a night—and together they look for -the Special Baby. But <em>he</em> has grown up, long and long ago, only he -still stretches out his hands to everything, for he is the way he was -made.</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">329</a></span> -</div> - -<h2><a name="xviii" id="xviii"></a>XVIII<br /> -<span>THE DECORATION OF INDEPENDENCE</span></h2> - - -<p><span class="smcap">That</span> year we celebrated Fourth of July in the Wood Yard.</p> - -<p>The town had decided not to have a celebration, though we did not know -who had done the actual deciding, and this we used to talk about.</p> - -<p>“How can the <em>town</em> decide anything?” Delia asked sceptically. “When -does it do it?”</p> - -<p>“Why,” said Margaret Amelia—to whom, her father being a judge, we -always turned to explain matters of state, “its principal folks say so.”</p> - -<p>“Who are its principal folks?” I demanded.</p> - -<p>“Why,” said Margaret Amelia, “I should think you could tell that. They -have the stores and offices and live in the residence part.”</p> - -<p>I pondered this, for most of the folk in the little town did neither of -these things.</p> - -<p>“Why don’t they have another Fourth of July for the rest, then,” I -suggested, “and leave them settle on their own celebration?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">330</a></span> -Margaret Amelia looked shocked.</p> - -<p>“I guess you don’t know much about the Decoration of Independence,” -said she.</p> - -<p>The Decoration of Independence—we all called it this—was, then, to go -by without attention because the Town said so.</p> - -<p>“The Town,” said Mary Elizabeth, dreamily, “the Town. It sounds like -somebody tall, very high, and pointed at the top, with the rest of her -dark and long and flowy—don’t it?”</p> - -<p>“City,” she and I were agreed, sounded like somebody light and sitting -down with her skirts spread out.</p> - -<p>“Village” sounded like a little soft hollow, not much of any colour, -with a steeple to it.</p> - -<p>“I like ‘Town’ best,” Mary Elizabeth said. “It sounds more like a -mother-woman. ‘City’ sounds like a lady-woman. And ‘Village’ sounds -like a grandma-woman. I like ‘Town’ best.”</p> - -<p>“What I want to do,” Margaret Amelia said restlessly, “is to spend -my Fourth of July dollar. I had a Fourth of July dollar ever since -Christmas. It’s no fun spending it with no folks and bands and wagons.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve got my birthday dollar yet,” I contributed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">331</a></span> “If I spent it for -Fourth of July, I’d be glad of it, but if I spend it for anything else, -I’ll want it back.”</p> - -<p>“I had a dollar,” said Calista, gloomily, “but I used a quarter of -it up on the circus. Now I’m glad I did. I wish’t I’d stayed to the -sideshow.”</p> - -<p>“Stitchy Branchitt says,” Betty offered, “that the boys are all going -to Poynette and spend their money there. Poynette’s got exercises.”</p> - -<p>Oh, the boys would get a Fourth. Trust them. But what about us? We -could not go to Poynette. We could not rise at three <span class="smcap">A.M.</span> and -fire off fire-crackers. No fascinating itinerant hucksters would come -the way of a town that held no celebration. We had nowhere to spend our -substance, and to do that was to us what Fourth of July implied.</p> - -<p>The New Boy came wandering by, eating something. Boys were always -eating something that looked better than anything we saw in the -candy-shop. Where did they get it? This that he had was soft and pink -and chewy, and it rapidly disappeared as he approached us.</p> - -<p>Margaret Amelia Rodman threw back her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">332</a></span> curls and flashed a sudden -radiant smile at the New Boy. She became quite another person from the -judicious, somewhat haughty creature whom we knew.</p> - -<p>“Let’s us get up a Fourth of July celebration,” she said.</p> - -<p>We held our breath. It never would have occurred to us. But now that -she suggested it, why not?</p> - -<p>The New Boy leaped up on a gate-post and sat looking down at us, -chewing.</p> - -<p>“How?” he inquired.</p> - -<p>“Get up a partition,” said Margaret Amelia. “Circulate it like for -take-a-walk at school or teacher’s present, and all sign.”</p> - -<p>“And take it to who?” asked the New Boy.</p> - -<p>Margaret Amelia considered.</p> - -<p>“My father,” she proposed.</p> - -<p>The scope of the idea was enormous. Her father was a judge and wore -very black clothes every day, and never spoke to any of us. Therefore -he must be a great man. Doubtless he could do anything.</p> - -<p>Boys, as we knew them, usually flouted everything that we -said, but—possibly because of Margaret Amelia’s manner of -presentation—this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">333</a></span> suggestion seemed to strike the New Boy favourably. -Afterward we learned that this was probably partly owing to the fact -that the fare to Poynette was going to eat distressingly into the boys’ -Fourth money, unless they walked the ten miles.</p> - -<p>By common consent we had Margaret Amelia and the New Boy draw up the -“partition.” But we all spent a long time on it, and at length it -read:—</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“We the Undersigned want there should be a July 4 this year. -We the Undersigned would like a big one. But if it can’t be so -very big account of no money, We the Undersigned would like one -anyway, and hereby respectfully partition about this in the -name of the Decoration of Independence.”</p></blockquote> - -<p>There was some doubt whether or not to close this document with “Always -sincerely” but we decided to add only the names, and these we set out -to secure, the New Boy carrying one copy and Margaret Amelia another. I -remember that, to honour the occasion, she put on a pale blue crocheted -shawl of her mother’s and we all trailed in her wake, worshipfully.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">334</a></span> -The lists grew amazingly. Long before noon we had to get new papers. By -night we had every child that we knew, save Stitchy Branchitt. He had a -railroad pass to Poynette, and he favoured the out-of-town celebration. -But the personal considerations of economic conditions were as usual -sufficient to swing the event, and the next morning I suppose that -twenty-five or thirty of us, bearing the names of three or four times -as many, marched into Judge Rodman’s office.</p> - -<p>On the stairs Margaret Amelia had a thought.</p> - -<p>“Does your father pay taxes?” she inquired of Mary Elizabeth—who was -with us, having been sent down town for starch.</p> - -<p>“On his watch—he used to,” said Mary Elizabeth, doubtfully. “But he -hasn’t got that any more.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I don’t know,” said Margaret Amelia, “whether we’d really -ought to of put down any names that their fathers don’t pay taxes. It -may make a difference. I guess you’re the only one we got that their -fathers don’t—that he ain’t—”</p> - -<p>I fancy that what Margaret Amelia had in mind was that Mary Elizabeth’s -father was the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">335</a></span> only one who lived meanly; for many of the others must -have gone untaxed, but they lived in trim, rented houses, and we knew -no difference.</p> - -<p>Mary Elizabeth was visibly disturbed.</p> - -<p>“I never thought of that,” she said. “Maybe I better scratch me off.”</p> - -<p>But there seemed to me to be something indefinably the matter with this.</p> - -<p>“The Fourth of July is for everybody, isn’t it?” I said. “Didn’t the -whole country think of it?”</p> - -<p>“I think it’s like a town though,” said Margaret Amelia. “The principal -folks decided it, I’m sure. And they <em>always</em> pay taxes.”</p> - -<p>We appealed to the New Boy, as authority superior even to Margaret -Amelia. How was this—did the Decoration of Independence mean -everybody, or not? Could Mary Elizabeth sign the partition since her -father paid no taxes?</p> - -<p>“Well,” said the New Boy, “it <em>says</em> everybody, don’t it? But nobody -ever gets to ride in the parade but distinguished citizens—it always -says them, you know. I s’pose maybe it meant the folks that pays the -taxes, only it didn’t like to put it in.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">336</a></span> -“I better take my name off,” said Mary Elizabeth, decidedly. “It might -hurt.”</p> - -<p>So the New Boy produced a stump of pencil, and we found the right -paper, and held it up against the wall of the stairway, and Mary -Elizabeth scratched her name off.</p> - -<p>“I won’t come up, then,” she whispered to me, and made her way down the -stairs, her head held very high.</p> - -<p>Judge Rodman was in his office—he makes, I find, my eternal picture -of “judge,” short, thick, frock-coated, bearded, bald, spectacled, -square-toed, and with his hands full of loose papers and his -watch-chain shining.</p> - -<p>“Bless us,” he said, too, as a judge should.</p> - -<p>Margaret Amelia was ahead,—still in the pale blue crocheted -shawl,—and she and the New Boy laid down the papers, and the judge -picked them up, and read. His big pink face flushed the more, and -he took off his spectacles and brushed his eyes, and he cleared his -throat, and beamed down on us, and stood nodding.... I remember that he -had an editorial in his paper the next night called “A Lesson to the -Community,” and another, later, “Out of the Mouths of Babes”—for Judge -Rodman was a very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">337</a></span> great man, and owned the newspaper and the brewery -and the principal department store, and had been to the legislature; -and his newspaper was always thick with editorials about honouring the -flag and reverencing authority and the beauties of home life—Miss -Messmore used to cut them out and read them to us at General Exercises.</p> - -<p>So Judge Rodman called a Town meeting in the Engine House, and we all -hung about the door downstairs, because they said that if children -went to the meeting, they would scrape their feet on the bare floor -so that nobody could hear a sound; and so we waited outside until we -heard hands clapped and the Doxology sung, and then we knew that it had -passed.</p> - -<p>We were having a new Court House that year, so the Court House yard -was not available for exercises: and the school grounds had been sown -with grass seed in the beginning of vacation, and the market-place was -nothing but a small vacant lot. So there was only one place to have -the exercises: the Wood Yard. And as there was very little money to -do anything with, it was voted to ask the women to take charge of the -celebration and arrange<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">338</a></span> something “tasty, up-to-date, and patriotic,” -as Judge Rodman put it. They set themselves to do it. And none of -us who were the children then will ever forget that Fourth of July -celebration—yet this is not because of what the women planned, nor of -anything that the committee of which Judge Rodman was chairman thought -to do for the sake of the day.</p> - -<p>Our discussion of their plans was not without pessimism.</p> - -<p>“Of course what they get up won’t be any <em>real</em> good,” the New Boy -advanced. “They’ll stick the school organ up on the platform, and -that sounds awful skimpy outdoors. And the church choirs’ll sing. And -somebody’ll stand up and scold and go on about nothing. But it’ll get -folks here, and balloon men, and stuff to sell, and a band; so I s’pose -we can stand the other doin’s.”</p> - -<p>“And there’s fireworks on the canal bank in the evening,” we reminded -him.</p> - -<p>Fourth of July morning began as usual before it dawned. The New Boy and -the ten of his tribe assembled at half past three on the lawn between -our house and that of the New Family, and, at a rough estimate, each -fired off the cost<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">339</a></span> of his fare to Poynette and return. Mary Elizabeth -and I awoke and listened, giving occasional ecstatic pulls at our bell. -Then we rose and watched the boys go ramping on toward other fields, -and, we breathed the dim beauty of the hour, and, I think, wondered if -it knew that it was Fourth of July, and we went back to bed, conscious -that we were missing a good sixth of the day, a treasure which, as -usual, the boys were sharing.</p> - -<p>After her work was done, Mary Elizabeth and I took our bags of -torpedoes and popped them off on the front bricks. Delia was allowed -to have fire-crackers if she did not shoot them off by herself, and -she was ardently absorbed in them on their horse-block, with her -father. Calista had brothers, and had put her seventy-five cents in -with their money on condition that she be allowed to stay with them -through the day. Margaret Amelia and Betty always stopped at home until -annual giant crackers were fired from before their piazza, with Judge -Rodman officiating in his shirt-sleeves, and Mrs. Rodman watching in -a starched white “wrapper” on the veranda and uttering little cries, -all under the largest flag that there was in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">340</a></span> town, floating from -the highest flagpole. Mary Elizabeth and I had glimpses of them all in -a general survey which we made, resulting in satisfactory proof that -the expected merry-go-round, the pop-corn wagon, a chocolate cart, an -ice-cream cone man, and a balloon man and woman were already posted -expectantly about.</p> - -<p>“If it wasn’t for them, though,” observed Mary Elizabeth to me, “the -town wouldn’t be really acting like Fourth of July, do you think so? It -just kind of lazes along, like a holiday.”</p> - -<p>We looked critically at the sunswept street. The general aspect of the -time was that people had seized upon it to do a little extra watering, -or some postponed weeding, or to tinker at the screens.</p> - -<p>“How could it act, though?” I inquired.</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Mary Elizabeth, “a river flows, don’t it? And I s’pose a -mountain towers. And the sea keeps a-coming in ... and they all act -like themselves. Only just a Town don’t take any notice of itself—even -on the Fourth.”</p> - -<p>That afternoon we were all dressed in our white dresses—“Mine used -to have a sprig in it,” said Mary Elizabeth, “but it’s so faded out -anybody’d ’most say it was white, don’t you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">341</a></span> think so?”—and we -children met at the Rodmans’—where Margaret Amelia and Betty appeared -in white embroidered dresses and blue ribbons and blue stockings, and -we marched down the hill, behind the band, to the Wood Yard. The Wood -Yard had great flags and poles set at intervals, with bunting festooned -between, and the platform was covered with bunting, and the great -open space of the yard was laid with board benches. Place in front -was reserved for us, and already the rest of the town packed the Yard -and hung about the fences. Stitchy Branchitt had given up his journey -to Poynette after all, and had established a lemonade stand at the -Wood Yard gate—“a fool thing to do,” the New Boy observed plainly. -“He knows we’ve spent all we had, and the big folks never think -your stuff’s clean.” But Stitchy was enormously enjoying himself by -deafeningly shouting:—</p> - -<p>“Here’s what you get—here’s what you get—here’s what you get. -Cheap—cheap—<em>cheap!</em>”</p> - -<p>“Quit cheepin’ like some kind o’ bir-r-rd,” said the New Boy, out of -one corner of his mouth, as he passed him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">342</a></span> -Just inside the Wood Yard gate I saw, with something of a shock, Mary -Elizabeth’s father standing. He was leaning against the fence, with -his arms folded, and as he caught the look of Mary Elizabeth, who was -walking with me, he smiled, and I was further surprised to see how -kind his eyes were. They were almost like my own father’s eyes. This -seemed to me somehow a very curious thing, and I turned and looked at -Mary Elizabeth, and thought: “Why, it’s her <em>father</em>—just the same as -mine.” It surprised me, too, to see him there. When I came to think of -it, I had never before seen him where folk were. Always, unless Mary -Elizabeth were with him, he had been walking alone, or sitting down -where other people never sat.</p> - -<p>Judge Rodman was on the platform, and as soon as the band and the -choirs would let him—he made several false starts at rhetorical pauses -in the music—he introduced a clergyman who had always lived in the -town and who prayed for the continuance of peace and the safe conquest -of all our enemies. Then Judge Rodman himself made the address, having -generously consented to do so when it was proposed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">343</a></span> to keep the money -in the town by hiring a local speaker. He began with the Norsemen and -descended through Queen Isabella and Columbus and the Colonies, making -a détour of Sir Walter Raleigh and his cloak, Benedict Arnold, Israel -Putnam and Pocahontas, and so by way of Valley Forge and the Delaware -to Faneuil Hall and the spirit of 1776. It was a grand flight, filled -with what were afterward freely referred to as magnificent passages -about the storm, the glory of war, and the love of our fellow-men.</p> - -<p>(“Supposing you happen to love the enemy,” said Mary Elizabeth, -afterward.</p> - -<p>“Well, a pretty thing that would be to do,” said the New Boy, shocked.</p> - -<p>“We had it in the Sunday school lesson,” Mary Elizabeth maintained.</p> - -<p>“Oh, well,” said the New Boy. “I don’t mean about such things. I mean -about what you <em>do</em>.”</p> - -<p>But I remember that Mary Elizabeth still looked puzzled.)</p> - -<p>Especially was Judge Rodman’s final sentence generally repeated for -days afterward:—</p> - -<p>“At Faneuil Hall,” said the judge, “the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">344</a></span> hour at last had struck. The -hands on the face of the clock stood still. ‘The force of Nature could -no further go.’ The supreme thing had been accomplished. Henceforth -we were embalmed in the everlasting and unchangeable essence of -freedom—freedom—<em>freedom</em>.”</p> - -<p>Indeed, he held our attention from the first, both because he did not -read what he said, and because the ice in the pitcher at his elbow had -melted before he began and did not require watching.</p> - -<p>Then came the moment when, having completed his address, he took up -the Decoration of Independence, to read it; and began the hunt for his -spectacles. We watched him go through his pockets, but we did so with -an interest which somewhat abated when he began the second round.</p> - -<p>“What <em>is</em> the Decoration of Independence, anyhow?” I whispered to Mary -Elizabeth, our acquaintance with it having been limited to learning it -“by heart” in school.</p> - -<p>“Why, don’t you know?” Mary Elizabeth returned. “It’s that thing Miss -Messmore can say so fast. It’s when we was the British.”</p> - -<p>“Who decorated it?” I wanted to know.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">345</a></span> -“George Washington,” replied Mary Elizabeth.</p> - -<p>“How?” I pressed it. “How’d he do it?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know—but I think that’s what he wanted of the cherry -blossoms,” said she.</p> - -<p>At this point Judge Rodman gave up the search.</p> - -<p>“I deeply regret,” said he, “that I shall be obliged to forego my -reading of our national document which, next to the Constitution -itself, best embodies our unchanging principles.”</p> - -<p>And then he added something which smote the front rows suddenly -breathless:—</p> - -<p>“However, it occurs to me, since this is preeminently the children’s -celebration and since I am given to understand that our public schools -now bestow due and proper attention upon the teaching of civil -government, that it will be a fitting thing, a moving thing even, to -hear these words of our great foundation spoken in childish tones. Miss -Messmore, can you, as teacher of the city schools, in the grades where -the idea of our celebration so fittingly originated, among the tender -young, can you recommend, madam, perhaps, one of your bright pupils -to repeat for us these undying utterances whose<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">346</a></span> commitment has now -become, as I understand it, a part of our public school curriculum?”</p> - -<p>There was an instant’s pause, and then I heard Margaret Amelia Rodman’s -name spoken. Miss Messmore had uttered it. Judge Rodman was repeating -it, smiling blandly down with a pleased diffidence.</p> - -<p>“There can be no one more fitted to do this, Judge Rodman,” Miss -Messmore had promptly said, “than your daughter, Margaret Amelia, at -whose suggestion this celebration, indeed, has come about.”</p> - -<p>Poor Margaret Amelia. In spite of her embroidered gown, her blue -ribbons, and her blue stockings, I have seldom seen anyone look so -wretched as did she when they made her mount that platform. To give her -courage her father met her, and took her hand. And then, in his pride -and confidence, something else occurred to him.</p> - -<p>“Tell us, Margaret Amelia,” he said with a gesture infinitely paternal, -“how came the children to think of demanding of us wise-heads that we -give observance to this day which we had already voted to let slip past -unattended? What spirit moved the children to this act?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">347</a></span> -At first Margaret Amelia merely twisted, and fingered her sash at -the side. Margaret Amelia was always called on for visitors’ days, -and the like. She could usually command her faculties and give a -straightforward answer, not so much because of what she knew as because -of her unfailing self-confidence. Of this her father was serenely -aware; but, aware also that the situation made unusual demands, he -concluded to help her somewhat.</p> - -<p>“How came the children,” he encouragingly put it, “to think of making -this fine effort to save our National holiday this year?”</p> - -<p>Margaret Amelia straightened slightly. She faced her audience with -something of her native confidence, and told them:—</p> - -<p>“Why,” she said, “we all had some Fourth of July money, and there -wasn’t going to be any way to spend it.”</p> - -<p>A ripple of laughter ran round, and Judge Rodman’s placid pink turned -to purple.</p> - -<p>“I fear,” he observed gravely, “that the immediate nature of the event -has somewhat obscured the real significance of the children’s most -superior movement. Now, my child! Miss Messmore thinks that you should -recite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">348</a></span> for us at least a portion of the Declaration of Independence. -Will you do so?”</p> - -<p>Margaret Amelia looked at him, down at us, away toward the waiting Wood -Yard, and then at Miss Messmore.</p> - -<p>“Is it that about ‘The shades of night were falling fast’?” she -demanded.</p> - -<p>In the roar of laughter that followed, Margaret Amelia ran down, poor -child, and sobbed on Miss Messmore’s shoulder. I never think of that -moment without something of a return of my swelling sympathy for her -who suffered this species of martyrdom, and so needlessly. I have seen, -out of schools and out of certain of our superstitions, many martyrdoms -result, but never one that has touched me more.</p> - -<p>I do not know whether something of this feeling was in the voice that -we next heard speaking, or whether that which animated it was only its -own bitterness. That voice sounded, clear and low-pitched, through the -time’s confusion.</p> - -<p>“I will read the Declaration of Independence,” it said.</p> - -<p>And making his way through the crowd, and mounting the platform steps, -we saw Mary Elizabeth’s father.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">349</a></span> -Instinctively I put out my hand to her. But he was wholly himself, -and this I think that she knew from the first. He was neatly dressed, -and he laid his shabby hat on the table and picked up the book with a -tranquil air of command. I remember how frail he looked as he buttoned -his worn coat, and began to read.</p> - -<p>“‘We, the people of the United States—’”</p> - -<p>It was the first time that I had ever thought of Mary Elizabeth’s -father as to be classed with anybody. He had never had employment, he -belonged to no business, to no church, to no class of any sort. He -merely lived over across the tracks, and he went and came alone. And -here he was saying “<em>We</em>, the people of the United States,” just as if -he belonged.</p> - -<p>When my vague fear had subsided lest they might stop his reading -because he was not a taxpayer, I listened for the first time in my life -to what he read. To be sure, I had—more or less—learned it. Now I -listened.</p> - -<p>“Free and equal,” I heard him say, and I wondered what this meant. -“Free and equal.” But there were Mary Elizabeth and I, were we equal? -Perhaps, though, it didn’t mean little girls—only grown-ups. But there -were Mary<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">350</a></span> Elizabeth’s father and mother, and all the other fathers -and mothers, they were grown up, and were they equal? And what were -they free from, I wondered. Perhaps, though, I didn’t know what these -words meant. “Free and equal” sounded like fairies, but folks I was -accustomed to think of as burdened, and as different from one another, -as Judge Rodman was different from Mary Elizabeth’s father. This, -however, was the first time that ever I had caught the word right: Not -Decoration, but Declaration of Independence, it seemed!</p> - -<p>Mary Elizabeth’s father finished, and closed the book, and stood for -a moment looking over the Wood Yard. He was very tall and pale, and -seeing him with something of dignity in his carriage I realized with -astonishment that, if he were “dressed up,” he would look just like -the men in the choir, just like the minister himself. Then suddenly -he smiled round at us all, and even broke into a moment of soft and -pleasant laughter.</p> - -<p>“It has been a long time,” he said, “since I have had occasion to -remember the Declaration of Independence. I am glad to have had it -called to my attention. We are in danger of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">351</a></span> forgetting about it—some -of us. May I venture to suggest that, when it is taught in the schools, -it be made quite clear to whom this document refers. And for the rest, -my friends, God bless us all—some day.”</p> - -<p>“Bless us,” was what Judge Rodman had said. I remember wondering if -they meant the same thing.</p> - -<p>He turned and went down the steps, and at the foot he staggered a -little, and I saw with something of pride that it was my father who -went to him and led him away.</p> - -<p>At once the band struck gayly into a patriotic air, and the people on -all the benches got to their feet, and the men took off their hats. And -above the music I heard Stitchy Branchitt beginning to shout again:—</p> - -<p>“Here’s what you get—here’s what you get—here’s what you get! -Something cheap—cheap—<em>cheap!</em>”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>When I came home from the fireworks with Delia’s family and Mary -Elizabeth, my father and mother were sitting on the veranda.</p> - -<p>“It’s we who are to blame,” I heard my father saying, “though we’re -fine at glossing it over.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">352</a></span> -I wondered what had happened, and I sat down on the top step and began -to untie my last torpedo from the corner of my handkerchief. Mary -Elizabeth had one left, too, and we had agreed to throw them on the -stone window-sills of our rooms as a final salute.</p> - -<p>“Let’s ask her now,” said father.</p> - -<p>Mother leaned toward me.</p> - -<p>“Dear,” she said, “father has been having a talk with Mary Elizabeth’s -father and mother. And—when her father isn’t here any more—which may -not be long now, we think ... would you like us to have Mary Elizabeth -come and live here?”</p> - -<p>“With us?” I cried. “<em>With us?</em>”</p> - -<p>Yes, they meant with us.</p> - -<p>“To work?” I demanded.</p> - -<p>“To be,” mother said.</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, <em>yes!</em>” I welcomed it. “But her father—where will he be?”</p> - -<p>“In a little while now,” father said, “he will be free—and perhaps -even equal.”</p> - -<p>I did not understand this wholly. Besides, there was far too much to -think about. I turned toward the house of the New Family. A light -glowed in Mary Elizabeth’s room. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">353</a></span> brought down my torpedo on the -brick walk, and it exploded merrily, and from Mary Elizabeth’s window -came an answering pop.</p> - -<p>“Then Mary Elizabeth will get free and equal too!” I cried joyously.</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">354</a></span> -</div> - -<h2><a name="xix" id="xix"></a>XIX<br /> -<span>EARTH-MOTHER</span></h2> - - -<p><span class="smcap">And</span> for that day and that night, and for all the days and all the -nights, I should like to tell a story about the Earth, and about some -of the things that it keeps expecting.</p> - -<p>And if it were Sometime Far Away—say 1950—or 2050—or 3050—I should -like to meet some Children of Then, and tell them this story about Now, -and hear them all talk of what a curious place the earth must have been -long ago, and of how many things it did not yet do.</p> - -<p>And their Long Ago is our Now!</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>For ages and ages (I should say to the Children of Then) the Earth was -a great round place of land and water, with trees, fields, cities, -mountains, and the like dotted about on it in a pattern; and it spun -and spun, out in space, like an enormous engraved ball tossed up in the -air from somewhere. And many people thought that this was all there was -to know about it,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">355</a></span> and after school they shut up their geographies and -went about engraving new trees, fields, cities, and such things on the -outside of the earth. And they truly thought that this was All, and -they kept on doing it, rather tired but very independent.</p> - -<p>Now the Earth had a friend and companion whom nobody thought much -about. It was Earth’s Shadow, cast by the sun in the way that any other -shadow is cast, but it was such a big shadow that of course it fell -far, far out in space. And as Earth went round, naturally its Shadow -went round, and if one could have looked down, one would have seen the -Shadow sticking out and out, so that the Earth and its Shadow-handle -would have seemed almost like a huge saucepan filled with cities and -people, all being held out over the sun, to get them done.</p> - -<p>Among the cities was one very beautiful City. She wore robes of -green or of white, delicately embroidered with streets in a free and -exquisite pattern, and her hair was like a flowing river, and at night -she put on many glorious jewels. And she had the power to change -herself at will into a woman. This was a power, however, which she had -never yet used,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">356</a></span> and indeed she did not yet know wholly that she had -this power, but she used to dream about it, and sometimes she used to -sing about the dream, softly, to herself. Men thought that this song -was the roar of the City’s traffic, but it was not so.</p> - -<p>Now the Earth was most anxious for this City to become a woman because, -although the Earth whirled like an enormous engraved ball and seemed -like a saucepan held over the sun, still all the time it was really -just the Earth, and it was very human and tired and discouraged, and -it needed a woman to rest it and to sing to it and to work with it, in -her way. But there were none, because all the ordinary women were busy -with <em>their</em> children. So the only way seemed to be for the City to be -a woman, as she knew how to be; and the Earth was most anxious to have -this happen. And it tried to see how it could bring this about.</p> - -<p>I think that the Earth may have asked the Moon, because she is a woman -and might be expected to know something about it. But the Moon, as -usual, was asleep on the sky, with a fine mosquito-netting of mist all -about her, and she said not a word. (If you look at the Moon,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">357</a></span> you -can see how like a beautiful, sleeping face she seems.) I think that -the Earth may have asked Mars, too, because he is so very near that -it would be only polite to consult him. But he said: “I’m only a few -million years old yet. Don’t expect me to understand either cities or -people.” And finally the Earth asked its Shadow.</p> - -<p>“Shadow, dear,” it said, “you are pretty deep. Can’t you tell me how to -make this City turn into a woman? For I want her to work with me, in -<em>her</em> way.”</p> - -<p>The Shadow, who did nothing but run to keep up with the Earth, let a -few thousand miles sweep by, and then it said:—</p> - -<p>“Really, I wouldn’t know. I’m not up on much but travel.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said the Earth, “then please just ask the Uttermost Spaces. You -continually pass by that way and somebody ought to know something.”</p> - -<p>So the Shadow swept along the Uttermost Spaces and made an -abyss-to-abyss canvass.</p> - -<p>“The Uttermost Spaces want to know,” the Shadow reported next day, -“whether in all that City there is a child. They said if there is, it -could probably do what you want.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">358</a></span> -“A child,” said the Earth. “Well, sea caves and firmaments. Of course -there is. What do the Uttermost Spaces think I’m in the Earth business -for if it isn’t for the Children?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know,” said its Shadow, rather sulkily. “I’m only telling you -what I heard. If you’re cross with me, I won’t keep up with you. I’m -about tired of it anyway.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I beg your pardon,” said the Earth, “You mustn’t mind me. I’m -always a little sunstruck. A thousand thanks. Come along, do.”</p> - -<p>“A child,” thought the Earth, “a child. How could a child change a City -into a woman? And <em>what</em> child?”</p> - -<p>But it was a very wise old Earth, and to its mind all children are -valuable. So after a time it concluded that one child in that City -would be as good as another, and perhaps any child could work the -miracle. So it said: “I choose to work the miracle that child who is -thinking about the most beautiful thing in the world.”</p> - -<p>Then it listened.</p> - -<p>Now, since the feet of people are pressed all day long to earth, it -is true that the Earth can talk with everyone and, by listening, can<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">359</a></span> -know what is in each heart. When it listened this time, it chanced that -it was the middle of the night, when nearly every little child was -sleeping and dreaming. But there was one little girl lying wide awake -and staring out her bedroom window up at the stars, and as soon as the -Earth listened to her thoughts, it knew that she was the one.</p> - -<p>Of what do you suppose she was thinking? She was thinking of her -mother, who had died before she could remember her, and wondering -where she was; and she was picturing what her mother had looked like, -and what her mother would have said to her, and how her mother’s -arms would have felt about her, and her mother’s good-night kiss; -and she was wondering how it would be to wake in the night, a little -frightened, and turn and stretch out her arms and find her mother -breathing there beside her, ready to wake her and give her an -in-the-middle-of-the-night kiss and send her back to sleep again. And -she thought about it all so longingly that her little heart was like -nothing in the world so much as the one word “Mother.”</p> - -<p>“It will be you,” said the Earth.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">360</a></span> -So the Earth spoke to its Shadow who was, of course, just then fastened -to that same side, it being night.</p> - -<p>“Shadow, dear,” Earth said, like a prescription, “fold closely about -her and drop out a dream or two. But do not let her forget.”</p> - -<p>So Shadow folded about her and dropped out a dream or two. And all -night Earth lapped her in its silences, but they did not let her -forget. And Shadow left word with Morning, telling Morning what to do, -and she kissed the little girl’s eyelids so that the first thing she -thought when she waked was how wonderful it would be to be kissed awake -by her mother. And her little heart beat <em>Mother</em> in her breast.</p> - -<p>As soon as she was dressed (“Muvvers wouldn’t pinch your feet with the -button-hook, or tie your ribbon too tight, or get your laxtixs short -so’s they pull,” she thought), as soon as she was dressed, and had -pressed her feet to Earth, Earth began to talk to her.</p> - -<p>“Go out and find a mother,” it said to her.</p> - -<p>“My muvver is dead,” thought the little girl.</p> - -<p>Earth said: “I am covered with mothers and with those who ought to be -mothers. Go to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">361</a></span> them. Tell them you haven’t any mother. Wouldn’t one of -those be next best?”</p> - -<p>And the Earth said so much, and the little girl’s heart so strongly -beat <em>Mother</em>, that she could not help going to see.</p> - -<p>On the street she looked very little and she felt—oh, <em>much</em> littler -than in the house with furniture. For the street seemed to be merely a -world of Skirts—skirts everywhere and also the bottoms of men’s coats -with impersonal Legs below. And these said nothing. Away up above were -Voices, talking very fast, and to one another, and entirely leaving -her out. She was out of the conversations and out of account, and it -felt far more lonely than it did with just furniture. Now and then -another child would pass who would look at her as if she really were -there; but everyone was hanging on its mother’s hand or her Skirt, or -else, if the child were alone, a Voice from ahead or behind was saying: -“Hurry, dear. Mother won’t wait. Come and see what’s in <em>this</em> window.” -Littlegirl thought how wonderful that would be, to have somebody ahead -looking back for her, and she waited on purpose, by a hydrant, and -pretended that she was going to hear somebody saying: “<em>Do</em> come<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">362</a></span> on, -dear. Mother’ll be late for her fitting.” But nobody said anything. -Only an automobile stood close by the hydrant and in it was a little -yellow-haired girl, and just at that moment a lady came from a shop and -got in the automobile and handed the little girl a white tissue-paper -parcel and said: “Sit farther over—there’s a dear. Now, that’s for -you, but don’t open it till we get home.” <em>What</em> was in the parcel, -Littlegirl wondered, and stood looking after the automobile until it -was lost. One little boy passed her, holding tightly to his mother’s -hand, and she stooping over him and he <em>crying</em>. Littlegirl tried to -think what could be bad enough to cry about when you had hold of your -mother’s hand and she was bending over you. A stone in your shoe? Or -a pin in your neck? Or because you’d lost your locket? But would any -of those things matter enough to cry when your mother had hold of your -hand? She looked up at the place beside her where her own mother would -be walking and tried to see where her face would be.</p> - -<p>And as she looked up, she saw the tops of the high buildings across -the street, and below them the windows hung thick as pictures on a -wall,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">363</a></span> and thicker. The shop doors were open like doors to wonderful, -mysterious palaces where you went in with your mother and she picked -out your dresses and said: “Wouldn’t you like this one, dear? Mother -used to have one like this when <em>she</em> was a little girl.” And -Littlegirl saw, too, one of the side streets, and how it was all lined -with homes, whose doors were shut, like closed lips with nothing to say -to anybody save those who lived there—the children who were promised -Christmas trees—and <em>got</em> them, too. And between shops and homes was -the world of Skirts and Voices, mothers whose little girls were at -home, daddys who would run up the front steps at night and cry: “Come -here, Puss. Did you grow any since morning?” Or, “<em>Where’s my son?</em>” -(Littlegirl knew how it went—she had heard them.) Shops and homes and -crowds—a City! A City for everybody but her.</p> - -<p>When the Earth—who all this time was listening—heard her think that, -it made to flow up into her little heart the longing to belong to -somebody. And Littlegirl ran straight up to a lady in blue linen, who -was passing.</p> - -<p>“Are you somebody’s muvver?” she asked.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">364</a></span> -The lady looked down in the little face and stood still.</p> - -<p>“No,” she said soberly.</p> - -<p>Littlegirl slipped her hand in her white glove.</p> - -<p>“I aren’t anybody’s little girl,” she said. “Let’s trade each other.”</p> - -<p>And the Earth, who was listening, made to flow in the lady’s heart an -old longing.</p> - -<p>“Let’s go in here, at any rate,” said the Lady, “and talk it over.”</p> - -<p>So they went in a wonderful place, all made of mirrors, and jars of -bonbons, and long trays, as big as doll cradles, and filled with -bonbons too. And they sat at a cool table, under a whirry fan, and had -before them thick, foamy, frozen chocolate. And the Blue Linen Lady -said:—</p> - -<p>“But whose little girl are you, really?”</p> - -<p>“I’m <em>my</em> little girl, I think,” said Littlegirl. “I don’t know who -else’s.”</p> - -<p>“With whom do you live?” asked the Lady.</p> - -<p>“Some peoples,” said Littlegirl, “that’s other people’s muvvers. Don’t -let’s say about them.”</p> - -<p>“What shall we say about?” asked the Lady, smiling.</p> - -<p>“Let’s pretend you was my muvver,” said Littlegirl.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">365</a></span> -The lady looked startled, but she nodded slowly.</p> - -<p>“Very well,” she said. “I’ll play that. How do you play it?”</p> - -<p>Littlegirl hesitated and looked down in her chocolate.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know berry well,” she said soberly. “<em>You</em> say how.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said the Lady, “if you were my little girl, I should probably -be saying to you, ‘Do you like this, dear? Don’t eat it fast. And take -little bits of bites.’ And you would say, ‘Yes, mother.’ And then what?”</p> - -<p>Littlegirl looked deep down her chocolate. She was making a cave in one -side of it, with the foamy part on top for snow. And while she looked -the snow suddenly seemed to melt and brim over, and she looked at the -lady mutely.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know how,” she said; “I don’t know how!”</p> - -<p>“Never mind!” said the Lady, very quickly and a little unsteadily, -“I’ll tell you a story instead—shall I?”</p> - -<p>So the Blue Linen Lady told her a really wonderful story. It was about -a dwarf who was made of gold, all but his heart, and about what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">366</a></span> a -terrible time he had trying to pretend that he was a truly, flesh and -blood person. It made him so unhappy to have to pretend all the time -that he got <em>scandalous</em> cross to everybody, and nothing could please -him. His gold kept getting harder and harder till he could move only -with the greatest difficulty, and it looked as if his heart were going -golden too. And if it did, of course he would die. But one night, just -as the soft outside edges of his heart began to take on a shining -tinge, a little boy ran out in the road where the dwarf was passing, -and in the dark mistook him for his father, and jumped up and threw -his arms about the dwarf’s neck and hugged him. And of a sudden the -dwarf’s heart began to beat, and when he got in the house, he saw that -he wasn’t gold any more, and he wasn’t a dwarf—but he was straight -and strong and real. “And so,” the Lady ended it, “you must love every -grown-up you can, because maybe their hearts are turning into gold and -you can stop it that way.”</p> - -<p>“An’ must <em>you</em> love every children?” asked Littlegirl, very low.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said the Lady, “I must.”</p> - -<p>“An’ will you love me an’ be my muvver?” asked Littlegirl.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">367</a></span> -The Blue Linen Lady sighed.</p> - -<p>“You dear little thing,” she said, “I’d love it—I’d love it. But I -truly haven’t any place for you to live—or any time to give you. -Come now—I’m going to get you some candy and take you back where you -belong—<em>in an automobile</em>. Won’t that be fun?”</p> - -<p>But when she turned for the candy, Littlegirl slipped out the door and -ran and ran as fast as she could. (She had thanked the lady, first -thing, for the thick, frozen, foamy chocolate, so <em>that</em> part was -all right.) And Littlegirl went round a corner and lost herself in a -crowd—in which it is far easier to lose yourself than in the woods. -And there she was again, worse off than before, because she had felt -how it would feel to feel that she had a mother.</p> - -<p>The Earth—who would have shaken its head if it could without -disarranging everything on it—said things instead to its Shadow—who -was by now on the other side of the world from the City.</p> - -<p>“Shadow, dear,” said the Earth, “what <em>do</em> you think of that?”</p> - -<p>“The very Uttermost Spaces are ashamed for her,” said the Shadow.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">368</a></span> -But of course the Blue Linen Lady had no idea that the Earth and its -Shadow and the Uttermost Spaces had been watching to see what she did.</p> - -<p>Littlegirl ran on, many a weary block, and though she met -mother-looking women she dared speak to none of them for fear they -would offer to take her back in an automobile, with some candy, to the -people with whom she lived-without-belonging. And of late, these people -had said things in her presence about the many mouths to feed, and she -had heard, and had understood, and it had made her heart beat <em>Mother</em>, -as it had when she wakened that day.</p> - -<p>At last, when she was most particularly tired, she came to the park -where it was large and cool and woodsy and wonderful. But in the park -the un-motherness of things was worse than ever. To be sure, there -were no mothers there, only nurse-maids. But the nurse-maids and the -children and the covers-to-baby-carriages were all so ruffly or lacy -or embroidery or starchy and so white that <em>mother</em> was written all -over them. Nobody else could have cared to have them like that. How -wonderful it would be, Littlegirl thought, to be paid attention to as -if<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">369</a></span> you were a really person and not just hanging on the edges. Even -the squirrels were coaxed and beckoned. She sat down on the edge of -a bench on which an old gentleman was feeding peanuts to a squirrel -perched on his knee, and she thought it would be next best to having -a Christmas tree to be a squirrel and have somebody taking pains like -that to keep her near by.</p> - -<p>“Where’s your nurse, my dear?” the old gentleman asked her finally, and -she ran away so that he should not guess that she was her own little -girl and nobody else’s.</p> - -<p>Wherever she saw a policeman, she lingered beside a group of children -so that he would think that she belonged to them. And once, for a long -way, she trotted behind two nurses and five children, pretending that -she belonged. Once a thin, stooped youth in spectacles called her and -gave her an orange. He was sitting alone on a bench with his chin in -his chest, and he looked ill and unhappy. Littlegirl wondered if this -was because he didn’t have any mother either, and she longed to ask -him; but she was afraid he would not want to own to not having any, in -a world where nearly everyone seemed to have one. So she played through -the long hours<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">370</a></span> of the morning. So, having lunched on the orange, she -played through the long hours of the afternoon. And then Dusk began to -come—and Dusk meant that Earth’s Shadow had run round again, and was -coming on the side where the City lay.</p> - -<p>And when the Shadow reached the park, there, on a knoll beside a -barberry bush, he found Littlegirl lying fast asleep.</p> - -<p>In a great flutter he questioned the Earth.</p> - -<p>“Listen,” said Shadow, “what <em>are</em> you thinking of? Here is the child -who was to work the miracle and make the City turn into a woman. And -she is lying alone in the park. And I’m coming on and I’ll have to make -it all dark and frighten her. What does this mean?”</p> - -<p>But the Earth, who is closer to people than is its Shadow, merely -said:—</p> - -<p>“Wait, Shadow. I am listening. I can hear the speeding of many feet. -And I think that the miracle has begun.”</p> - -<p>It was true that all through the City there was the speeding of many -feet, and on one errand. Wires and messengers were busy, automobiles -were busy, blue-coated men were busy, and all of them were doing the -same thing: Looking for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">371</a></span> Littlegirl. Busiest of all was the Blue Linen -Lady, who felt herself and nobody else responsible for Littlegirl’s -loss.</p> - -<p>“It is too dreadful,” she kept saying over and over, “I had her with -me. She gave me my chance, and I didn’t take it. If anything has -happened to her, I shall never forgive myself.”</p> - -<p>“That’s the way people always talk <em>afterward</em>,” said the Earth’s -Shadow. “Why don’t they ever talk that way before? I’d ask the -Uttermost Spaces, but I know they don’t know.”</p> - -<p>But the wise Earth only listened and made to flow to the Blue Linen -Lady’s heart an old longing. And when they had traced Littlegirl as far -as the park—for it seemed that many of the busy Skirts and Coats and -Voices had noticed her, only they were so very busy—the Blue Linen -Lady herself went into the park, and it was the light of her automobile -that flashed white on the glimmering frock of Littlegirl.</p> - -<p>Littlegirl was wakened, as never before within her memory she had been -wakened, by tender arms about her, lifting her, and soft lips kissing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">372</a></span> -her, many and many a time. And waking so, in the strange, great Dark, -with the new shapes of trees above her and tenderness wrapping her -round, and an in-the-middle-of-the-night kiss on her lips, Littlegirl -could think of but one thing that had happened:—</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’m <em>glad</em> I died—I’m <em>glad</em> I died!” she said.</p> - -<p>“You haven’t died, you little thing!” cried the Blue Linen Lady. -“You’re alive—and if they’ll let you stay, you’re never going to leave -me. I’ve made up my mind to <em>that</em>. Come—come, dear.”</p> - -<p>Littlegirl lay quite still, too happy to speak or think. For somebody -had said “dear,” had even said “Come, dear.” And it didn’t mean a -little girl away ahead, or away back, or in an automobile. <em>It meant -her.</em></p> - -<p>The Earth’s Shadow brooded over the two and helped them to be very near.</p> - -<p>“It’s worth keeping up with you all this time,” Shadow said to the -Earth, “to see things like this. Even the Uttermost Spaces are touched.”</p> - -<p>But the Earth was silent, listening. For the City, the beautiful, -green-robed City lying in her glorious night jewels, knew what was -happening<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">373</a></span> too. And when the Lady lifted Littlegirl, to carry her -away, it was as if something had happened which had touched the life -of the City herself. She listened, as the Earth was listening, and the -soft crooning which men thought was the roar of her traffic was really -her song about what she heard. For the story of Littlegirl spread and -echoed, and other children’s stories like hers were in the song, and it -was one of the times when the heart of the City was stirred to a great, -new measure. At last the City understood the homelessness of children, -and their labour, and their suffering, and the waste of them; and she -brooded above them like a mother.... And suddenly she knew herself, -that she <em>was</em> the mother of all little children, and that she must -care for them like a mother <em>if she was to keep herself alive</em>. And if -they were to grow up to be her Family, and not just her pretend family, -with nobody looking out for anybody else—as no true family would do.</p> - -<p>“Is it well?” asked the Shadow, softly, of the Earth.</p> - -<p>“It is well,” said the Earth, in deep content. “Don’t you hear the -human voices beginning<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">374</a></span> to sing with her? Don’t you see the other -Cities watching? Oh, it is well indeed.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll go and mention it to the Uttermost Spaces,” said the Shadow.</p> - -<p>And, in time, so he did.</p> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="divider" /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">375</a></span> -</div> - -<h2><a name="xx" id="xx"></a>XX<br /> -<span>THREE TO MAKE READY</span></h2> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Red</span> mosquito-netting, preferably from peach baskets, was best for -bottles of pink water. You soaked the netting for a time depending in -length on the shade of pink you desired—light, deep, or plain. A very -little red ink produced a beautiful red water, likewise of a superior -tint. Violet ink, diluted, remained true to type. Cold coffee gave the -browns and yellows. Green tissue paper dissolved into somewhat dull -emerald. Pure blue and orange, however, had been almost impossible to -obtain save by recourse to our paint boxes, too choice to be used in -this fashion, or to a chance artificial flower on an accessible hat—of -which we were not at all too choice, but whose utilization might be -followed, not to say attended, by consequences.</p> - -<p>That August afternoon we were at work on a grand scale. At the Rodmans, -who lived on the top of the hill overlooking the town and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">376</a></span> peaceful -westward-lying valley of the river, we had chosen to set up a great -Soda Fountain, the like of which had never been.</p> - -<p>“It’s the kind of a fountain,” Margaret Amelia Rodman explained, “that -knights used to drink at. That kind.”</p> - -<p>We classified it instantly.</p> - -<p>“Now,” she went on, “us damsels are getting this thing up for the -knights that are tourmeying. If the king knew it, he wouldn’t leave -us do it, because he’d think it’s beneath our dignity. But he don’t -know it. He’s off. He’s to the chase. But all the king’s household is -inside the palace, and us damsels have to be secret, getting up our -preparations. Now we must divide up the—er—responsibility.”</p> - -<p>I listened, spellbound.</p> - -<p>“I thought you and Betty didn’t like to play Pretend,” I was surprised -into saying.</p> - -<p>“Why, we’ll pretend if there’s anything to pretend <em>about</em> that’s -real,” said Margaret Amelia, haughtily.</p> - -<p>They told us where in the palace the various ingredients were likely to -be found. Red mosquito-netting, perhaps, in the cellar—at this time -of day fairly safe. Red and violet ink<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">377</a></span> in the library—very dangerous -indeed at this hour. Cold coffee—almost unobtainable. Green tissue -paper, to be taken from the flower-pots in the dining-room—exceedingly -dangerous. Blue and orange, if discoverable at all, then in the -Christmas tree box in the trunk room—attended by few perils as to -meetings en route, but in respect to appropriating what was desired, by -the greatest perils of all.</p> - -<p>This last adventure the Rodmans themselves heroically undertook. It was -also conceded that, on their return from their quest—provided they -ever did return alive—it would be theirs to procure the necessary -cold coffee. The other adventures were distributed, and Mary Elizabeth -and I were told off together to penetrate the cellar in search of red -mosquito-netting. The bottles had already been collected, and these -little Harold Rodman was left to guard and luxuriously to fill with -water and luxuriously to empty.</p> - -<p>There was an outside cellar door, and it was closed. This invited -Mary Elizabeth and me to an expedition or two before we even entered. -We slid from the top to the bottom, sitting, standing, and backward. -Then, since Harold was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">378</a></span> beginning to observe us with some attention, we -lifted the ring—<em>the ring</em>—in the door and descended.</p> - -<p>“Aladdin immediately beheld bags of inexhaustible riches,” said Mary -Elizabeth, almost reverently.</p> - -<p>First, there was a long, narrow passage lined with ash barrels, a -derelict coal scuttle, starch boxes, mummies of brooms, and the like. -But at this point if we had chanced on the red mosquito-netting, we -should have felt distinctly cheated of some right. A little farther on, -however, the passage branched, and we stood in delighted uncertainty. -If the giant lived one way and the gorgon the other, which was our way?</p> - -<p>The way that we did choose led into a small round cellar, lighted -by a narrow, dusty window, now closed. Formless things stood -everywhere—crates, tubs, shelves whose ghostly contents were shrouded -by newspapers. It occurred to me that I had never yet told Mary -Elizabeth about our cellar. I decided to do so then and there. She -backed up against the wall to listen, manifestly so that there should -be nothing over her shoulder.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">379</a></span> -Our cellar was a round, bricked-in place under the dining-room. -Sometimes I had been down there while they had been selecting preserves -by candle-light. And I had long ago settled that the curved walls -were set with little sealed doors behind each of which <em>He</em> sat. -These <em>He’s</em> were not in the least unfriendly—they merely sat there -close to the wall, square shouldered and very still, looking neither -to right nor left, waiting. Probably, I thought, it might happen -some day—whatever they waited for; and then they would all go away. -Meanwhile, there they were; and they evidently knew that I knew they -were there, but they evidently did not expect me to mention it; for -once, when I did so, they all stopped doing nothing and looked at me, -all together, as if something used their eyes for them at a signal. -It was to Mary Gilbraith that I had spoken, while she was at our -house-cleaning, and the moment I had chosen was when she was down in -the cellar without a candle and I was lying flat on the floor above -her, peering down the trap doorway.</p> - -<p>“Mary,” I said, “they’s a big row of <em>He’s</em> sitting close together -inside the wall. They’ve got big foreheads. Bang on the wall and see -if<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">380</a></span> they’ll answer—” for I had always longed to bang and had never -quite dared.</p> - -<p>“Oh, my great Scotland!” said Mary Gilbraith, and was up the ladder -in a second. That was when they looked at me, and then I knew that I -should not have spoken to her about them, and I began to see that there -are some things that must not be said. And I felt a kind of shame, too, -when Mary turned on me. “You little Miss,” she said wrathfully, “with -your big eyes. An’ myself bitin’ on my own nerves for fear of picking -up a lizard for a potato. Go play.”</p> - -<p>“I <em>was</em> playing,” I tried to explain.</p> - -<p>“Play playthings, then, and not ha’nts,” said Mary.</p> - -<p>So I never said anything more to her, save about plates and fritters -and such things.</p> - -<p>To this recital Mary Elizabeth listened sympathetically.</p> - -<p>“There’s just one great big one lives down in our cellar,” she confided -in turn. “Not in the wall—but out loose. When the apples and stuff go -down there, I always think how glad he is.”</p> - -<p>“Are you afraid of him?” I asked.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">381</a></span> -“Afraid!” Mary Elizabeth repeated. “Why, no. Once, when I was down -there, I tried to pretend there wasn’t anything lived there—and <em>then</em> -it was frightening and I was scared.”</p> - -<p>I understood. It would indeed be a great, lonely, terrifying world if -these little friendly folk did not live in cellars, walls, attics, -stair-closets and the like. Of course they were friendly. Why should -they be otherwise?</p> - -<p>“R-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-t,” something went, close by Mary Elizabeth’s head.</p> - -<p>We looked up. The dimness of the ceiling was miles deep. We could not -see a ceiling.</p> - -<p>“St-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t,” it went again. And this time it did not stop, and -it began to be accompanied by a rumbling sound as from the very cave -inside the world.</p> - -<p>Mary Elizabeth and I took hold of hands and ran. We scrambled up the -steps and escaped to the sultry welcome of bright day. Out there -everything was as before. Little Harold was crossing the lawn carrying -a flower-pot of water which was running steadily from the hole in the -bottom. With the maternal importance of little girls, we got the jar -from him and undertook to bring him more water. And when he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">382</a></span> led us to -the source of supply, this was a faucet in the side of the house just -beyond a narrow, dusty, cellar window. When he turned the faucet, we -were, so to speak, face to face with that R-s-t-t-t-t-t.</p> - -<p>Mary Elizabeth and I looked at each other and looked away. Then we -looked back and braved it through.</p> - -<p>“Anyway,” she said, “we were afraid of a truly thing, and not of a -pretend thing.”</p> - -<p>There seemed to us, I recall, a certain loyalty in this as to a creed.</p> - -<p>Already Delia had returned from the library. The authorities refused -the ink. One might come in there and write with it, but one must -not take it from the table. Calista arrived from the dining-room. A -waiting-woman to the queen, she reported, was engaged in dusting the -sideboard and she herself had advanced no farther than the pantry door. -It remained only for Margaret Amelia and Betty to come from their -farther quest bearing a green handbill which they thought might take -the place of Calista’s quarry if she returned empty-handed; but we were -no nearer than before to blue and orange materials, or to any other.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">383</a></span> -We took counsel and came to a certain ancient conclusion that in union -there is strength. We must, we thought we saw, act the aggressor. We -moved on the stronghold together. Armed with a spoon and two bottles, -we found a keeper of properties within who spooned us out the necessary -ink; tea was promised to take the place of coffee if we would keep out -of the house and not bother anybody any more, indefinitely; shoe-polish -was conceded in a limited quantity, briefly, and under inspection; and -we all descended into Aladdin’s cave and easily found baskets to which -red mosquito-netting was clinging in sufficient measure. Then we sat in -the shade of the side lawn and proceeded to colour many waters.</p> - -<p>It was a delicate task to cloud the clear liquid to this tint and that, -to watch it change expression under our hands, pale, deepen, vary to -our touch; in its heart to set jewels and to light fires. We worked -with deep deliberation, testing by old standards of taste set up by -at least two or three previous experiences, consulting one another’s -soberest judgment, occasionally inventing a new liquid. I remember that -it was on that day that we first thought of bluing.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">384</a></span> Common washing -bluing, the one substance really intended for colouring water, had so -far escaped our notice.</p> - -<p>“Somebody,” observed Margaret Amelia, as we worked, “ought to keep -keeping a look-out to see if they’re coming back.”</p> - -<p>Delia, who was our man of action, ran to the clothes-reel, which stood -on the highest land of the castle grounds, and looked away over the -valley.</p> - -<p>“There’s a cloud of dust on the horizon,” she reported, “but I think -it’s Mr. Wells getting home from Caledonia.”</p> - -<p>“Wouldn’t they blare their horns before they got here?” Mary Elizabeth -wanted to know.</p> - -<p>“What was a knight <em>for</em>, anyway?” Delia demanded.</p> - -<p>“<em>For?</em>” Margaret Amelia repeated, in a kind of personal indignation. -“Why, to—to—to right wrongs, of course.”</p> - -<p>Delia surveyed the surrounding scene through the diluted red ink in a -glass-stoppered bottle.</p> - -<p>“I guess I know that,” she said. “But I mean, what was his job?”</p> - -<p>We had never thought of that. Did one, then, have to have a job other -than righting wrongs?</p> - -<p>Margaret Amelia undertook to explain.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">385</a></span> -“Why,” she said, “it was this way: Knights liberated damsels and razed -down strongholds and took robber chieftains and got into adventures. -And they lived off the king and off hermits.”</p> - -<p>“But what was the end of ’em?” Delia wanted to know. “They never -married and lived happily ever after. They married and just kept right -on going.”</p> - -<p>“That was on account of the Holy Grail,” said Mary Elizabeth. It -was wonderful, as I look back, to remember how her face would light -sometimes; as just then, and as when somebody came to school with the -first violets.</p> - -<p>“The what?” said Delia.</p> - -<p>“They woke up in the night sometimes,” Mary Elizabeth recited softly, -“and they saw it, in light, right there inside their dark cell. And -they looked and looked, and it was all shiny and near-to. And when -they saw it, they knew about all the principal things. And those that -never woke up and saw it, always kept trying to, because they knew they -weren’t <em>really</em> ones till they saw. Most everybody wasn’t really, -because only a few saw it. Most of them died and never saw it at all.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">386</a></span> -“What did it look like?” demanded Delia.</p> - -<p>“Hush!” said Calista, with a shocked glance, having somewhere picked up -the impression that very sacred things, like very wicked things, must -never be mentioned. But Mary Elizabeth did not heed her.</p> - -<p>“It was all shining and near to,” she repeated. “It was in a great, -dark sky, with great, bright worlds falling all around it, but it was -in the centre and it didn’t fall. It was all still, and brighter than -anything; and when you saw it, you never forgot.”</p> - -<p>There was a moment’s pause, which Delia broke.</p> - -<p>“How do you know?” she demanded.</p> - -<p>Mary Elizabeth was clouding red mosquito-netting water by shaking soap -in it, an effect much to be desired. She went on shaking the corked -bottle, and looking away toward the sun slanting to late afternoon.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know how I know,” she said in manifest surprise. “But I know.”</p> - -<p>We sat silent for a minute.</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m going back to see if they’re coming home from the hunt -<em>now</em>,” said Delia, scrambling up.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">387</a></span> -“From the <em>chase</em>,” Margaret Amelia corrected her loftily, “and from -the tourmey. I b’lieve,” she corrected herself conscientiously, “that -had ought to be tourmament.”</p> - -<p>This time Delia thought that she saw them coming, the king and his -knights, with pennons and plumes, just entering Conant Street down by -the Brices. As we must be ready by the time the party dismounted, there -was need for the greatest haste. But we found that the clothes-reel, -which was to be the fountain, must have a rug and should have flowing -curtains if it were to grace a castle courtyard; so, matters having -been further delayed by the discovery of Harold about to drink the -vanilla water, we concluded that we had been mistaken about the -approach of the knights; and that they were by now only on the bridge.</p> - -<p>A journey to the attic for the rug and curtains resulted in delays, -the sight of some cast-off garments imperatively suggesting the -fitness of our dressing for the rôle we were to assume. This took some -time and was accompanied by the selection of new names all around. -At last, however, we were back in the yard with the rugs and the -muslin curtains in place, and the array<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">388</a></span> of coloured bottles set up -in rows at the top of the carpeted steps. Then we arranged ourselves -behind these delicacies, in our bravery of old veils and scarves and -tattered sequins. Harold was below, as a page, in a red sash. “A little -foot-page,” Margaret Amelia had wanted him called, but this he himself -vetoed.</p> - -<p>“Mine feet <em>big</em> feet,” he defended himself.</p> - -<p>Then we waited.</p> - -<p>We waited, chatted amiably, as court ladies will. Occasionally we rose -and scanned the street, and reported that they were almost here. Then -we resumed our seats and waited. This business had distinctly palled on -us all when Delia faced it.</p> - -<p>“Let’s have them get here if they’re going to,” she said.</p> - -<p>So we sat and told each other that they were entering the yard, that -they were approaching the dais, that they were kneeling at our feet. -But it was unconvincing. None of us really wanted them to kneel or -knew what to do with them when they did kneel. The whole pretence was -lacking in action, and very pale.</p> - -<p>“It was lots more fun getting ready than this is,” said Calista, -somewhat brutally.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">389</a></span> -We stared in one another’s faces, feeling guilty of a kind of -disloyalty, yet compelled to acknowledge this great truth. In our -hearts we remembered to have noticed this thing before: That getting -ready for a thing was more fun than doing that thing.</p> - -<p>“Why couldn’t we get a quest?” inquired Margaret Amelia. “Then it -wouldn’t have to stop. It’d last every day.”</p> - -<p>That was the obvious solution: We would get a quest.</p> - -<p>“Girls can’t quest, can they?” Betty suggested doubtfully.</p> - -<p>We looked in one another’s faces. Could it be true? Did the damsels sit -at home? Was it only the knights who quested?</p> - -<p>Delia was a free soul. Forthwith she made a precedent.</p> - -<p>“Well,” she said, “I don’t know whether they did quest. But they can -quest. So let’s do it.”</p> - -<p>The reason in this appealed to us all. Immediately we confronted the -problem: What should we quest for?</p> - -<p>We stared off over the valley through which the little river ran -shining and slipped beyond our horizon.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">390</a></span> -“I wonder,” said Mary Elizabeth, “if it would be wrong to quest for the -Holy Grail <em>now</em>.”</p> - -<p>We stood there against the west, where bright doors seemed opening in -the pouring gold of the sun, thick with shining dust. The glory seemed -very near. Why not do something beautiful? Why not—why not....</p> - - - -<div class="section"> -<hr class="divider" /> - -<div class="box"> -<p class="noi"><span class="dropcap">T</span>HE following pages contain advertisements of Macmillan books by the -same author, and new fiction</p> -</div> -</div> - - - -<div class="section"> -<div class="books"> -<p class="noi p120"><i>By the Same Author</i></p> - - -<p class="center p140">Christmas</p> - -<p class="center p120"><span class="smcap">By</span> ZONA GALE</p> - -<blockquote> -<p class="noi">Author of “Mothers to Men,” “The Loves of Pelleas and Etarre.” -Illustrated in colors by <span class="smcap">Leon Solon</span>.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p class="right"><i>Decorated cloth, 12mo, $1.30 net; postpaid, $1.42</i></p> - -<p>A town in the Middle West, pinched with poverty, decides that it will -have no Christmas, as no one can afford to buy gifts. They perhaps -foolishly reckon that the heart-burnings and the disappointments of -the children will be obviated by passing the holiday season over with -no observance. How this was found to be simply and wholly impossible, -how the Christmas joys and Christmas spirit crept into the little town -and into the hearts of its most positive objectors, and how Christmas -cannot be arbitrated about, make up the basis of a more than ordinarily -appealing novel. Incidentally it is a little boy who really makes -possible a delightful outcome. A thread of romance runs through it all -with something of the meaning of Christmas for the individual human -being and for the race.</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>“A fine story of Yuletide impulses in Miss Gale’s best -style.”—<cite>N. Y. World.</cite></p> - -<p>“No living writer more thoroughly understands the true spirit -of Christmas than does Zona Gale.”—<cite>Chicago Record-Herald.</cite></p> - -<p>“‘Christmas’ is that rare thing, a Yuletide tale, with a touch -of originality about it.”—<cite>N. Y. Press.</cite></p> - -<p>“The book is just the thing for a gift.”—<cite>Chicago Tribune.</cite></p> -</blockquote> -</div></div> - - -<div class="section"> -<hr class="divider2" /> -<div class="books"> - -<p class="center p120"><i>The Other Books of Miss Gale</i></p> - - -<p class="noi p140">Mothers to Men</p> - -<p class="right"><i>Decorated cloth, 12mo, $1.50 net; by mail, $1.62 net</i></p> - -<p>The author is singularly successful in detaching herself from all -the wear and tear of modern life and has produced a book filled with -sweetness, beautiful in ideas, charming in characterizations, highly -contemplative, and evidencing a philosophy of life all her own.</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>“One of the most widely read of our writers of short fiction.”—<cite>The -Bookman.</cite></p> -</blockquote> - -<p class="noi p140">Friendship Village</p> - -<p class="right"><i>Cloth, 12mo, $1.50 net</i></p> - -<blockquote> -<p>“As charming as an April day, all showers and sunshine, and sometimes -both together, so that the delighted reader hardly knows whether -laughter or tears are fittest.”—<cite>The New York Times.</cite></p> -</blockquote> - -<p class="center p140">The Loves of Pelleas and Etarre</p> - -<p class="right"><i>Cloth, 12mo, $1.50 net</i></p> - -<p class="center p120"><i>Macmillan Fiction Library</i></p> - -<p class="right"><i>12mo, $.50 net</i></p> - -<blockquote> -<p>“It contains the sort of message that seems to set the world right for -even the most depressed, and can be depended upon to sweeten every -moment spent over it.”—<cite>San Francisco Chronicle.</cite></p> -</blockquote> - -<p class="center p140">Friendship Village Love Stories</p> - -<p class="right"><i>Decorated cloth, gilt top, 12mo, $1.50 net</i></p> - -<p>Miss Gale’s pleasant and highly individual outlook upon life has never -been revealed to better advantage than in these charming stories of the -heart affairs of the young people of Friendship Village.</p> -</div></div> - - -<div class="section"> -<hr class="divider2" /> -<div class="books"> - -<p class="noi p120"><i>New Macmillan Fiction</i></p> - -<p class="center">MRS. WATTS’S NEW NOVEL</p> - -<p class="center p140">Van Cleve</p> - -<p class="center p120"><span class="smcap">By</span> MARY S. WATTS</p> - -<p class="center">Author of “Nathan Burke,” “The Legacy,” etc.</p> - -<p class="right"><i>Cloth, 12mo.</i></p> - -<p>Never has the author of “Nathan Burke” and “The Legacy” written more -convincingly or appealingly than in this story of modern life. Those -who have enjoyed the intense realism of Mrs. Watts’s earlier work, the -settings of which have largely been of the past, will welcome this -book of the present in which she demonstrates that her skill is no -less in handling scenes and types of people with which we are familiar -than in the so-called “historical” novel. “Van Cleve” is about a young -man who, while still in his early twenties, is obliged to support a -family of foolish, good-hearted, ill-balanced women, and one shiftless, -pompous old man, his grandmother, aunt, cousin, and uncle. Van Cleve -proves himself equal to the obligation—and equal, too, to many other -severe tests that are put upon him by his friends. Besides him there -is one character which it is doubtful whether the reader will ever -forget—Bob. His life not only shapes Van Cleve’s to a large extent, -but that of several other people, notably his sister, the girl whom Van -Cleve loves in his patient way.</p> -</div></div> - - -<div class="section"> -<div class="books"> -<p class="center p140">The Valley of the Moon</p> - -<p class="center p120"><span class="smcap">By</span> JACK LONDON</p> - -<p class="center">With Frontispiece in Colors by <span class="smcap">George Harper</span></p> - -<p class="right"><i>Decorated cloth, 12mo, $1.35 net</i></p> - -<p>A love story in Mr. London’s most powerful style, strikingly -contrasted against a background of present-day economic problems—that -is what “The Valley of the Moon” is. The hero, teamster, -prize-fighter, adventurer, man of affairs, is one of Mr. London’s -<a name="unforgettable" id="unforgettable"></a><ins title="Original has 'unforgetable'">unforgettable</ins> -big men. The romance which develops out -of his meeting with a charming girl and which does not end with their -marriage is absorbingly told. The action of the plot is most rapid, one -event following another in a fashion which does not allow the reader to -lose interest even temporarily. “The Valley of the Moon” is, in other -words, an old-fashioned London novel, with all of the entertainment -that such a description implies.</p> - -<p class="center p140">Robin Hood’s Barn</p> - -<p class="center p120"><span class="smcap">By</span> ALICE BROWN</p> - -<p class="center">Author of “Vanishing Points,” “The Secret of the Clan,” “The Country -Road,” etc.</p> - -<p class="center">With Illustrations in Colors and in Black and White by <span class="smcap">H. M. -Carpenter</span></p> - -<p class="right"><i>Decorated cloth, 12mo,</i> -<a name="price" id="price"></a><ins title="Original price of 0 dollars has been retained"><i>$0.00</i></ins><i> net</i></p> - -<p>Miss Brown’s previous books have given her a distinguished reputation -as an interpreter of New England life. The idealism, the quaint humor, -the skill in character drawing, and the dramatic force which have -always marked her work are evident in this charming story of a dream -that came true. The illustrations, the frontispiece being in colors, -the others in black and white, are by Mr. Horace Carpenter, whose -sympathetic craftsmanship is widely known and appreciated.</p> -</div></div> - - -<div class="section"> -<div class="books"> -<p class="center p140">Deering at Princeton</p> - -<p class="center p120"><span class="smcap">By</span> LATTA GRISWOLD</p> - -<p class="center">Author of “Deering of Deal”</p> - -<p class="center">With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">E. C. Caswell</span></p> - -<p class="right"><i>Decorated cloth, 12mo; preparing</i></p> - -<p>This is a college story that reads as a college story should. Here Mr. -Griswold tells of Deering’s Princeton years from his freshman days -to his graduation. A hazing adventure of far-reaching importance, a -football game or two in which Deering has a hand, a reform in the -eating club system, the fraternity régime of Princeton, initiated by -Deering and carried through at the sacrifice of much that he values, -a touch of sentiment centering around a pretty girl who later marries -Deering’s roommate, besides many lively college happenings which only -one familiar with the life could have chronicled, go to the making of -an intensely interesting tale.</p> - -<p class="center p140">Tide Marks</p> - -<p class="center p120"><span class="smcap">By</span> MARGARET WESTRUP</p> - -<p class="right"><i>Decorated cloth, 12mo; preparing</i></p> - -<p>A novel of unusual interest and power told in a style both convincing -and distinctive. Margaret Westrup promises to be one of the literary -finds of the season.</p> - -<p class="center p140">The Will to Live</p> - -<p class="center p120"><span class="smcap">By</span> M. P. WILLCOCKS</p> - -<p class="center">Author of “The Wingless Victory,” etc.</p> - -<p class="right"><i>Cloth, 12mo; preparing</i></p> - -<p>In description, in vividness of character depiction, in cleverness of -dialogue, and in skill of plot construction, Miss Willcocks’ previous -books have displayed her rare ability. “The Will to Live” is perhaps -her most mature work; it is a story with which one is sure to be -satisfied when the last page is turned.</p> - -<hr class="divider2" /> - -<p class="center p130">THE MACMILLAN COMPANY</p> -<p class="center"> -<span class="float-left">Publishers</span> -64–66 Fifth Avenue -<span class="float-right">New York</span> -</p> -</div></div> - - -<div class="section"> -<hr class="divider" /> -<div class="tn"> -<p class="center">Transcriber’s Note:</p> - -<p class="noi">In the advertisements at the end of the book, the price of -<a href="#price">$0.00</a> is as published.</p> - -<p class="noi">Variations in spelling, hyphenation and punctuation have been retained -as they appear in the original publication except as follows:</p> - -<ul> -<li>Page 145<br /> -“<em>We are all alike, all of us who live!</em> <i>changed to</i><br /> -<em><a href="#quote">We</a> are all alike, all of us who live!</em></li> - -<li>Page 229<br /> -resentfully “And now she’s in her <i>changed to</i><br /> -<a href="#resentfully">resentfully.</a> “And now she’s in her</li> - -<li>Page 281<br /> -for this seemed a a good way <i>changed to</i><br /> -for this seemed <a href="#a">a</a> good way</li> - -<li>Page 286<br /> -I’ve fought everyone of <i>changed to</i><br /> -I’ve fought <a href="#every_one">every one</a> of</li> - -<li>Page 289<br /> -him and help him. <i>changed to</i><br /> -him and help <a href="#him">him.”</a></li> - -<li>Page 396<br /> -London’s unforgetable big men <i>changed to</i><br /> -London’s <a href="#unforgettable">unforgettable</a> big men</li> -</ul> -</div></div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of When I Was a Little Girl, by Zona Gale - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHEN I WAS A LITTLE GIRL *** - -***** This file should be named 60457-h.htm or 60457-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/4/5/60457/ - -Produced by Tim Lindell and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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