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diff --git a/old/8qcrt10.zip b/old/8qcrt10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..3fe227c --- /dev/null +++ b/old/8qcrt10.zip diff --git a/old/9490-h.htm.2021-01-26 b/old/9490-h.htm.2021-01-26 new file mode 100644 index 0000000..54b45be --- /dev/null +++ b/old/9490-h.htm.2021-01-26 @@ -0,0 +1,8391 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Quaint Courtships, by Various + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Quaint Courtships, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Quaint Courtships + +Author: Various + +Editor: William Dean Howells + Henry Mills Alden + +Release Date: December, 2005 [EBook #9490] +This file was first posted on October 5, 2003 +Last Updated: February 25, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK QUAINT COURTSHIPS *** + + + + +Produced by Stan Goodman, David Widger, and Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + QUAINT COURTSHIPS + </h1> + <h4> + Harper's Novelettes + </h4> + <h3> + Edited By William Dean Howells and Henry Mills Alden <br /> + </h3> + <h3> + 1906 + </h3> + + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_INTR"> INTRODUCTION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> AN ENCORE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> A ROMANCE OF WHOOPING HARBOR </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> HYACINTHUS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> JANE'S GRAY EYES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> A STIFF CONDITION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> IN THE INTERESTS OF CHRISTOPHER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> THE WRONG DOOR </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> BRAYBRIDGE'S OFFER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> THE RUBAIYAT AND THE LINER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> THE MINISTER </a> + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_INTR" id="link2H_INTR"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + INTRODUCTION + </h2> + <p> + To the perverse all courtships probably are quaint; but if ever human + nature may be allowed the full range of originality, it may very well be + in the exciting and very personal moments of making love. Our own peculiar + social structure, in which the sexes have so much innocent freedom, and + youth is left almost entirely to its own devices in the arrangement of + double happiness, is so favorable to the expression of character at these + supreme moments, that it is wonderful there is so little which is + idiosyncratic in our wooings. They tend rather to a type, very simple, + very normal, and most people get married for the reason that they are in + love, as if it were the most matter-of-course affair of life. They find + the fact of being in love so entirely satisfying to the ideal, that they + seek nothing adventitious from circumstance to heighten their tremendous + consciousness. + </p> + <p> + Yet, here and there people, even American people, are so placed that they + take from the situation a color of eccentricity, if they impart none to + it, and the old, old story, which we all wish to have end well, zigzags to + a fortunate close past juts and angles of individuality which the heroes + and heroines have not willingly or wittingly thrown out. They would have + chosen to arrive smoothly and uneventfully at the goal, as by far the + greater majority do; and probably if they are aware of looking quaint to + others in their progress, they do not like it. But it is this peculiar + difference which renders them interesting and charming to the spectator. + If we all love a lover, as Emerson says, it is not because of his selfish + happiness, but because of the odd and unexpected chances which for the + time exalt him above our experience, and endear him to our eager + sympathies. In life one cannot perhaps have too little romance in affairs + of the heart, or in literature too much; and in either one may be as + quaint as one pleases in such affairs without being ridiculous. + </p> + <h3> + W.D.H. + </h3> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AN ENCORE + </h2> + <h3> + BY MARGARET DELAND + </h3> + <p> + According to Old Chester, to be romantic was just one shade less + reprehensible than to put on airs. Captain Alfred Price, in all his + seventy years, had never been guilty of airs, but certainly he had + something to answer for in the way of romance. + </p> + <p> + However, in the days when we children used to see him pounding up the + street from the post-office, reading, as he walked, a newspaper held at + arm's length in front of him, he was far enough from romance. He was + seventy years old, he weighed over two hundred pounds, his big head was + covered with a shock of grizzled red hair; his pleasures consisted in + polishing his old sextant and playing on a small mouth-harmonicon. As to + his vices, it was no secret that he kept a fat black bottle in the + chimney-closet in his own room; added to this, he swore strange oaths + about his grandmother's nightcap. “He used to blaspheme,” his + daughter-in-law said, “but I said, 'Not in my presence, if you please!' So + now he just says this foolish thing about a nightcap.” Mrs. Drayton said + that this reform would be one of the jewels in Mrs. Cyrus Price's crown; + and added that she prayed that some day the Captain would give up tobacco + and <i>rum</i>. “I am a poor, feeble creature,” said Mrs. Drayton; “I + cannot do much for my fellow men in active mission-work. But I give my + prayers.” However, neither Mrs. Drayton's prayers nor Mrs. Cyrus's active + mission-work had done more than mitigate the blasphemy; the “rum” (which + was good Monongahela whiskey) was still on hand; and as for tobacco, + except when sleeping, eating, playing on his harmonicon, or dozing through + one of Dr. Lavendar's sermons, the Captain smoked every moment, the ashes + of his pipe or cigar falling unheeded on a vast and wrinkled expanse of + waistcoat. + </p> + <p> + No; he was not a romantic object. But we girls, watching him stump past + the schoolroom window to the post-office, used to whisper to each other, + “Just think! <i>he eloped</i>.” + </p> + <p> + There was romance for you! + </p> + <p> + To be sure, the elopement had not quite come off, but, except for the very + end, it was all as perfect as a story. Indeed, the failure at the end made + it all the better: angry parents, broken hearts,—only, the worst of + it was, the hearts did not stay broken! He went and married somebody else; + and so did she. You would have supposed she would have died. I am sure, in + her place, any one of us would have died. And yet, as Lydia Wright said, + “How could a young lady die for a young gentleman with ashes all over his + waistcoat?” + </p> + <p> + However, when Alfred Price fell in love with Miss Letty Morris, he was not + indifferent to his waistcoat, nor did he weigh two hundred pounds. He was + slender and ruddy-cheeked, with tossing red-brown curls. If he swore, it + was not by his grandmother nor her nightcap; if he drank, it was hard + cider (which can often accomplish as much as “rum”); if he smoked, it was + in secret, behind the stable. He wore a stock, and (on Sunday) a ruffled + shirt; a high-waisted coat with two brass buttons behind, and very tight + pantaloons. At that time he attended the Seminary for Youths in Upper + Chester. Upper Chester was then, as in our time, the seat of learning in + the township, the Female Academy being there, too. Both were + boarding-schools, but the young people came home to spend Sunday; and + their weekly returns, all together in the stage, were responsible for more + than one Old Chester match.... + </p> + <p> + “The air,” says Miss, sniffing genteelly as the coach jolts past the + blossoming May orchards, “is most agreeably perfumed. And how fair is the + prospect from this hilltop!” + </p> + <p> + “Fair indeed!” responded her companion, staring boldly. + </p> + <p> + Miss bridles and bites her lip. + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> was not observing the landscape,” the other explains, carefully. + </p> + <p> + In those days (Miss Letty was born in 1804, and was eighteen when she and + the ruddy Alfred sat on the back seat of the coach)—in those days + the conversation of Old Chester youth was more elegant than in our time. + We, who went to Miss Bailey's school, were sad degenerates in the way of + manners and language; at least so our elders told us. When Lydia Wright + said, “Oh my, what an awful snow-storm!” dear Miss Ellen was displeased. + “Lydia,” said she, “is there anything 'awe'-inspiring in this display of + the elements?” + </p> + <p> + “No, 'm,” faltered poor Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said Miss Bailey, gravely, “your statement that the storm is + 'awful' is a falsehood. I do not suppose, my dear, that you intentionally + told an untruth; it was an exaggeration. But an exaggeration, though not + perhaps a falsehood, is unladylike, and should be avoided by persons of + refinement.” Just here the question arises: what would Miss Ellen (now in + heaven) say if she could hear Lydia's Lydia, just home from college, + remark—But no: Miss Ellen's precepts shall protect these pages. + </p> + <p> + But in the days when Letty Morris looked out of the coach window, and + young Alfred murmured that the prospect was fair indeed, conversation was + perfectly correct. And it was still decorous even when it got beyond the + coach period and reached a point where Old Chester began to take notice. + At first it was young Old Chester which giggled. Later old Old Chester + made some comments; it was then that Alfred's mother mentioned the matter + to Alfred's father. “He is young, and, of course, foolish,” Mrs. Price + explained. And Mr. Price said that though folly was incidental to Alfred's + years, it must be checked. + </p> + <p> + “Just check it,” said Mr. Price. + </p> + <p> + Then Miss Letty's mother awoke to the situation, and said, “Fy, fy, + Letitia.” + </p> + <p> + So it was that these two young persons were plunged in grief. Oh, glorious + grief of thwarted love! When they met now, they did not talk of the + landscape. Their conversation, though no doubt as genteel as before, was + all of broken hearts. But again Letty's mother found out, and went in + wrath to call on Alfred's family. It was decided between them that the + young man should be sent away from home. “To save him,” says the father. + “To protect my daughter,” says Mrs. Morris. + </p> + <p> + But Alfred and Letty had something to say.... It was in December; there + was a snow-storm—a storm which Lydia Wright would certainly have + called “awful”; but it did not interfere with true love; these two + children met in the graveyard to swear undying constancy. Alfred's lantern + came twinkling through the flakes, as he threaded his way across the + hillside among the tombstones, and found Letty just inside the entrance, + standing with her black serving-woman under a tulip-tree. The negress, + chattering with cold and fright, kept plucking at the girl's pelisse; but + once Alfred was at her side, Letty was indifferent to storm and ghosts. As + for Alfred, he was too cast down to think of them. + </p> + <p> + “Letty, they will part us.” + </p> + <p> + “No, my dear Alfred, no!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Yes, they will. Oh, if you were only mine!” + </p> + <p> + Miss Letty sighed. + </p> + <p> + “Will you be true to me, Letty? I am to go on a sailing-vessel to China, + to be gone two years. Will you wait for me?” + </p> + <p> + Letty gave a little cry; two years! Her black woman twitched her sleeve. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Let, it's gittin' cole, honey.” + </p> + <p> + “(Don't, Flora.)—Alfred, <i>two years!</i> Oh, Alfred, that is an + eternity. Why, I should be—I should be twenty!” + </p> + <p> + The lantern, set on a tombstone beside them, blinked in a snowy gust. + Alfred covered his face with his hands, he was shaken to his soul; the + little, gay creature beside him thrilled at a sound from behind those + hands. + </p> + <p> + “Alfred,”—she said, faintly; then she hid her face against his arm; + “my dear Alfred, I will, if you desire it—fly with you!” + </p> + <p> + Alfred, with a gasp, lifted his head and stared at her. His slower mind + had seen nothing but separation and despair; but the moment the word was + said he was aflame. What! Would she? Could she? Adorable creature! + </p> + <p> + “Miss Let, my feet done get cole—” + </p> + <p> + (“Flora, be still!)—Yes, Alfred, yes. I am thine.” + </p> + <p> + The boy caught her in his arms. “But I am to be sent away on Monday! My + angel, could you—fly, <i>to-morrow</i>?” + </p> + <p> + And Letty, her face still hidden against his shoulder, nodded. + </p> + <p> + Then, while the shivering Flora stamped, and beat her arms, and the + lantern flared and sizzled, Alfred made their plans, which were simple to + the point of childishness. “My own!” he said, when it was all arranged; + then he held the lantern up and looked into her face, blushing and + determined, with snowflakes gleaming on the curls that pushed out from + under her big hood. “You will meet me at the minister's?” he said, + passionately. “You will not fail me?” + </p> + <p> + “I will not fail you!” she said; and laughed joyously; but the young man's + face was white. + </p> + <p> + She kept her word; and with the assistance of Flora, romantic again when + her feet were warm, all went as they planned. Clothes were packed, + savings-banks opened, and a chaise abstracted from the Price stable. + </p> + <p> + “It is my intention,” said the youth, “to return to my father the value of + the vehicle and nag, as soon as I can secure a position which will enable + me to support my Lefty in comfort and fashion.” + </p> + <p> + On the night of the elopement the two children met at the minister's + house. (Yes, the very old Rectory to which we Old Chester children went + every Saturday afternoon to Dr. Lavendar's Collect class. But of course + there was no Dr. Lavendar there in those days.) + </p> + <p> + Well; Alfred requested this minister to pronounce them man and wife; but + he coughed and poked the fire. “I am of age,” Alfred insisted; “I am + twenty-two.” Then Mr. Smith said he must go and put on his bands and + surplice first; and Alfred said, “If you please, sir.” And off went Mr. + Smith—<i>and sent a note to Alfred's father and Letty's mother!</i> + </p> + <p> + We girls used to wonder what the lovers talked about while they waited for + the traitor. Ellen Dale always said they were foolish to wait. “Why didn't + they go right off?” said Ellen. “If I were going to elope, I shouldn't + bother to get married. But, oh, think of how they felt when in walked + those cruel parents!” + </p> + <p> + The story was that they were torn weeping from each other's arms; that + Letty was sent to bed for two days on bread and water; that Alfred was + packed off to Philadelphia the very next morning, and sailed in less than + a week. They did not see each other again. + </p> + <p> + But the end of the story was not romantic at all. Letty, although she + crept about for a while in deep disgrace, and brooded upon death—that + interesting impossibility, so dear to youth,—<i>married</i>, if you + please! when she was twenty, and went away to live. When Alfred came back, + seven years later, he got married, too. He married a Miss Barkley. He used + to go away on long voyages, so perhaps he wasn't really fond of her. We + tried to think so, for we liked Captain Price. + </p> + <p> + In our day Captain Price was a widower. He had given up the sea, and + settled down to live in Old Chester; his son, Cyrus, lived with him, and + his languid daughter-in-law—a young lady of dominant feebleness, who + ruled the two men with that most powerful domestic rod—foolish + weakness. This combination in a woman will cause a mountain (a masculine + mountain) to fly from its firm base; while kindness, justice, and good + sense leave it upon unshaken foundations of selfishness. Mrs. Cyrus was a + Goliath of silliness; when billowing black clouds heaped themselves in the + west on a hot afternoon, she turned pale with apprehension, and the + Captain and Cyrus ran for four tumblers, into which they put the legs of + her bed, where, cowering among the feathers, she lay cold with fear and + perspiration. Every night the Captain screwed down all the windows on the + lower floor; in the morning Cyrus pulled the screws out. Cyrus had a + pretty taste in horseflesh, but Gussie cried so when he once bought a + trotter that he had long ago resigned himself to a friendly beast of + twenty-seven years, who could not go much out of a walk because he had + string-halt in both hind legs. + </p> + <p> + But one must not be too hard on Mrs. Cyrus. In the first place, she was + not born in Old Chester. But, added to that, just think of her name! The + effect of names upon character is not considered as it should be. If one + is called Gussie for thirty years, it is almost impossible not to become + gussie after a while. Mrs. Cyrus could not be Augusta; few women can; but + it was easy to be gussie—irresponsible, silly, selfish. She had a + vague, flat laugh, she ate a great deal of candy, and she was afraid of—But + one cannot catalogue Mrs. Cyrus's fears. They were as the sands of the sea + for number. And these two men were governed by them. Only when the secrets + of all hearts shall be revealed will it be understood why a man loves a + fool; but why he obeys her is obvious enough: Fear is the greatest power + in the world; Gussie was afraid of thunder-storms, or what not; but the + Captain and Cyrus were afraid of Gussie! A hint of tears in her pale eyes, + and her husband would sigh with anxiety and Captain Price slip his pipe in + his pocket and sneak out of the room. Doubtless Cyrus would often have + been glad to follow him, but the old gentleman glared when his son showed + a desire for his company. + </p> + <p> + “Want to come and smoke with me? 'Your granny was Murray!'—you're + sojering. You're first mate; you belong on the bridge in storms. I'm + before the mast. Tend to your business!” + </p> + <p> + It was forty-eight years before Letty and Alfred saw each other again—or + at least before persons calling themselves by those old names saw each + other. Were they Letty and Alfred—this tousled, tangled, + good-humored old man, ruddy and cowed, and this small, bright-eyed old + lady, led about by a devoted daughter? Certainly these two persons bore no + resemblance to the boy and girl torn from each other's arms that cold + December night. Alfred had been mild and slow; Captain Price (except when + his daughter-in-law raised her finger) was a pleasant old roaring lion. + Letty had been a gay, high-spirited little creature, not as retiring, + perhaps, as a young female should be, and certainly self-willed; Mrs. + North was completely under the thumb of her daughter Mary. Not that “under + the thumb” means unhappiness; Mary North desired only her mother's + welfare, and lived fiercely for that single purpose. From morning until + night (and, indeed, until morning again, for she rose often from her bed + to see that there was no draught from the crack of the open window), all + through the twenty-four hours she was on duty. + </p> + <p> + When this excellent daughter appeared in Old Chester and said she was + going to hire a house, and bring her mother back to end her days in the + home of her girlhood, Old Chester displayed a friendly interest; when she + decided upon a house on Main Street, directly opposite Captain Price's, it + began to recall the romance of that thwarted elopement. + </p> + <p> + “Do you suppose she knows that story about old Alfred Price and her + mother?” said Old Chester; and it looked sidewise at Miss North with + polite curiosity. This was not altogether because of her mother's romantic + past, but because of her own manners and clothes. With painful exactness, + Miss North endeavored to follow the fashion; but she looked as if articles + of clothing had been thrown at her and some had stuck. As to her manners, + Old Chester was divided. Mrs. Barkley said she hadn't any. Dr. Lavendar + said she was shy. But, as Mrs. Drayton said, that was just like Dr. + Lavendar, always making excuses for wrong-doing!—“Which,” said Mrs. + Drayton, “is a strange thing for a minister to do. For my part, I cannot + understand impoliteness in a <i>Christian</i> female. But we must not + judge,” Mrs. Drayton ended, with what Willy King called her “holy look.” + Without wishing to “judge,” it may be said that, in the matter of manners, + Miss Mary North, palpitatingly anxious to be polite, told the truth. She + said things that other people only thought. When Mrs. Willy King remarked + that, though she did not pretend to be a good housekeeper, she had the + backs of her pictures dusted every other day, Miss North, her chin + trembling with shyness, said, with a panting smile: + </p> + <p> + “That's not good for housekeeping; it's foolish waste of time.” Which was + very rude, of course—though Old Chester was not as displeased as you + might have supposed. + </p> + <p> + While Miss North, timorous and truthful (and determined to be polite), was + putting the house in order before sending for her mother, Old Chester + invited her to tea, and asked her many questions about Letty and the late + Mr. North. But nobody asked whether she knew that her opposite neighbor, + Captain Price, might have been her father;—at least that was the way + Miss Ellen's girls expressed it. Captain Price himself did not enlighten + the daughter he did not have; but he went rolling across the street, and + pulling off his big shabby felt hat, stood at the foot of the steps, and + roared out: “Morning! Anything I can do for you?” Miss North, indoors, + hanging window-curtains, her mouth full of tacks, shook her head. Then she + removed the tacks and came to the front door. + </p> + <p> + “Do you smoke, sir?” + </p> + <p> + Captain Price removed his pipe from his mouth and looked at it. “Why! I + believe I do, sometimes,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I inquired,” said Miss North, smiling tremulously, her hands gripped hard + together, “because, if you do, I will ask you to desist when passing our + windows.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Price was so dumbfounded that for a moment words failed him. Then + he said, meekly, “Does your mother object to tobacco smoke, ma'am?” + </p> + <p> + “It is injurious to all ladies' throats,” said Miss North, her voice + quivering and determined. + </p> + <p> + “Does your mother resemble you, madam?” said Captain Price, slowly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh no! my mother is pretty. She has my eyes, but that's all.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't mean in looks,” said the old man; “she did not look in the least + like you; not in the least! I mean in her views?” + </p> + <p> + “Her views? I don't think my mother has any particular views,” Miss North + answered, hesitatingly; “I spare her all thought,” she ended, and her thin + face bloomed suddenly with love. + </p> + <p> + Old Chester rocked with the Captain's report of his call; and Mrs. Cyrus + told her husband that she only wished this lady would stop his father's + smoking. + </p> + <p> + “Just look at his ashes,” said Gussie; “I put saucers round everywhere to + catch 'em, but he shakes 'em off anywhere—right on the carpet! And + if you say anything, he just says, 'Oh, they'll keep the moths away!' I + worry so for fear he'll set the house on fire.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Cyrus was so moved by Miss North's active mission-work that the very + next day she wandered across the street to call. “I hope I'm not + interrupting you,” she began, “but I thought I'd just—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; you are,” said Miss North; “but never mind; stay, if you want to.” + She tried to smile, but she looked at the duster which she had put down + upon Mrs. Cyrus's entrance. + </p> + <p> + Gussie wavered as to whether to take offence, but decided not to;—at + least not until she could make the remark which was buzzing in her small + mind. It seemed strange, she said, that Mrs. North should come, not only + to Old Chester, but right across the street from Captain Price! + </p> + <p> + “Why?” said Mary North, briefly. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Why</i>?” said Mrs. Cyrus, with faint animation. “Why, don't you know + about your mother and my father-in-law?” + </p> + <p> + “Your father-in-law?—my mother?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you know,” said Mrs. Cyrus, with her light cackle, “your mother was + a little romantic when she was young. No doubt she has conquered it now. + But she tried to elope with my father-in-law.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, bygones should be bygones,” Mrs. Cyrus said, soothingly; “forgive and + forget, you know. If there's anything I can do to assist you, ma'am, I'll + send my husband over;” and then she lounged away, leaving poor Mary North + silent with indignation. But that night at tea Gussie said that she + thought strong-minded ladies were very unladylike; “they say she's + strong-minded,” she added, languidly. + </p> + <p> + “Lady!” said the Captain. “She's a man-o'-war's man in petticoats.” + </p> + <p> + Gussie giggled. + </p> + <p> + “She's as thin as a lath,” the Captain declared; “if it hadn't been for + her face, I wouldn't have known whether she was coming bow or stern on.” + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said Mrs. Cyrus, “that that woman has some motive in bringing + her mother back here; and <i>right across the street</i>, too!” + </p> + <p> + “What motive?” said Cyrus. + </p> + <p> + But Augusta waited for conjugal privacy to explain herself: “Cyrus, I + worry so, because I'm sure that woman thinks she can catch your father + again.—Oh, just listen to that harmonicon downstairs! It sets my + teeth on edge!” + </p> + <p> + Then Cyrus, the silent, servile first mate, broke out: “Gussie, you're a + fool!” + </p> + <p> + And Augusta cried all night, and showed herself at the breakfast-table + lantern-jawed and sunken-eyed; and her father-in-law judged it wise to + sprinkle his cigar ashes behind the stable. + </p> + <p> + The day that Mrs. North arrived in Old Chester, Mrs. Cyrus commanded the + situation; she saw the daughter get out of the stage, and hurry into the + house for a chair so that the mother might descend more easily. She also + saw a little, white-haired old lady take that opportunity to leap nimbly, + and quite unaided, from the swinging step. + </p> + <p> + “Now, mother!” expostulated Mary North, chair in hand, and breathless, + “you might have broken your limb! Here, take my arm.” + </p> + <p> + Meekly, after her moment of freedom, the little lady put her hand on that + gaunt arm, and tripped up the path and into the house, where, alas! + Augusta Price lost sight of them. Yet even she, with all her disapproval + of strong-minded ladies, must have admired the tenderness of the + man-o'-war's man. Miss North put her mother into a big chair, and hurried + to bring a dish of curds. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not hungry,” protested Mrs. North. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind. It will do you good.” + </p> + <p> + With a sigh the little old lady ate the curds, looking about her with + curious eyes. “Why, we're right across the street from the old Price + house!” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Did you know them, mother?” demanded Miss North. + </p> + <p> + “Dear me, yes,” said Mrs. North, twinkling; “why, I'd forgotten all about + it, but the eldest boy—Now, what was his name? Al—something. + Alfred,—Albert; no, Alfred. He was a beau of mine.” + </p> + <p> + “Mother! I don't think it's refined to use such a word.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he wanted me to elope with him,” Mrs. North said, gayly; “if that + isn't being a beau, I don't know what is. I haven't thought of it for + years.” + </p> + <p> + “If you've finished your curds you must lie down,” said Miss North. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'll just look about—” + </p> + <p> + “No; you are tired. You must lie down.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is that stout old gentleman going into the Price house?” Mrs. North + said, lingering at the window. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's your Alfred Price,” her daughter answered; and added that she + hoped her mother would be pleased with the house. “We have boarded so + long, I think you'll enjoy a home of your own.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed I shall!” cried Mrs. North, her eyes snapping with delight. “Mary, + I'll wash the breakfast dishes, as my mother used to do!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no,” Mary North protested; “it would tire you. I mean to take every + care from your mind.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” Mrs. North pleaded, “you have so much to do; and—” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind about me,” said the daughter, earnestly; “you are my first + consideration.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it, my dear,” said Mrs. North, meekly. And when Old Chester came + to make its call, one of the first things she said was that her Mary was + such a good daughter. Miss North, her anxious face red with determination, + bore out the assertion by constantly interrupting the conversation to + bring a footstool, or shut a window, or put a shawl over her mother's + knees. “My mother's limb troubles her,” she explained to visitors (in + point of modesty, Mary North did not leave her mother a leg to stand on); + then she added, breathlessly, with her tremulous smile, that she wished + they would please not talk too much. “Conversation tires her,” she + explained. At which the little, pretty old lady opened and closed her + hands, and protested that she was not tired at all. But the callers + departed. As the door closed behind them, Mrs. North was ready to cry. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Mary, really!” she began. + </p> + <p> + “Mother, I don't care! I don't like to say things like that, though I'm + sure I always try to say them politely. But to save you I would say + anything!” + </p> + <p> + “But I enjoy seeing people, and—” + </p> + <p> + “It is bad for you to be tired,” Mary said, her thin face quivering still + with the effort she had made; “and they sha'n't tire you while I am here + to protect you.” And her protection never flagged. When Captain Price + called, she asked him to please converse in a low tone, as noise was bad + for her mother. “He had been here a good while before I came in,” she + defended herself to Mrs. North, afterwards; “and I'm sure I spoke + politely.” + </p> + <p> + The fact was, the day the Captain came, Miss North was out. Her mother had + seen him pounding up the street, and hurrying to the door, called out, + gayly, in her little, old, piping voice, “Alfred—Alfred Price!” + </p> + <p> + The Captain turned and looked at her. There was just one moment's pause; + perhaps be tried to bridge the years, and to believe that it was Letty who + spoke to him—Letty, whom he had last seen that wintry night, pale + and weeping, in the slender green sheath of a fur-trimmed pelisse. If so, + he gave it up; this plump, white-haired, bright-eyed old lady, in a + wide-spreading, rustling black silk dress, was not Letty. It was Mrs. + North. + </p> + <p> + The Captain came across the street, waving his newspaper, and saying, “So + you've cast anchor in the old port, ma'am?” + </p> + <p> + “My daughter is not at home; do come in,” she said, smiling and nodding. + Captain Price hesitated; then he put his pipe in his pocket and followed + her into the parlor. “Sit down,” she cried, gayly. “Well, <i>Alfred!</i>” + </p> + <p> + “Well,—<i>Mrs. North!</i>” he said; and then they both laughed, and + she began to ask questions: Who was dead? Who had so and so married? + “There are not many of us left,” she said. “The two Ferris girls and + Theophilus Morrison and Johnny Gordon—he came to see me yesterday. + And Matty Dilworth; she was younger than I,—oh, by ten years. She + married the oldest Barkley boy, didn't she? I hear he didn't turn out + well. You married his sister, didn't you? Was it the oldest girl or the + second sister?” + </p> + <p> + “It was the second—Jane. Yes, poor Jane. I lost her in fifty-five.” + </p> + <p> + “You have children?” she said, sympathetically. + </p> + <p> + “I've got a boy,” he said; “but he's married.” + </p> + <p> + “My girl has never married; she's a good daughter,”—Mrs. North broke + off with a nervous laugh; “here she is, now!” + </p> + <p> + Mary North, who had suddenly appeared in the doorway, gave a questioning + sniff, and the Captain's hand sought his guilty pocket; but Miss North + only said: “How do you do, sir? Now, mother, don't talk too much and get + tired.” She stopped and tried to smile, but the painful color came into + her face. “And—if you please, Captain Price, will you speak in a low + tone? Large, noisy persons exhaust the oxygen in the air, and—” + </p> + <p> + <i>“Mary!”</i> cried poor Mrs. North; but the Captain, clutching his old + felt hat, began to hoist himself up from the sofa, scattering ashes about + as he did so. Mary North compressed her lips. + </p> + <p> + “I tell my daughter-in-law they'll keep the moths away,” the old gentleman + said, sheepishly. + </p> + <p> + “I use camphor,” said Miss North. “Flora must bring a dust-pan.” + </p> + <p> + “Flora?” Alfred Price said. “Now, what's my association with that name?” + </p> + <p> + “She was our old cook,” Mrs. North explained; “this Flora is her daughter. + But you never saw old Flora?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, I did,” the old man said, slowly. “Yes. I remember Flora. Well, + good-by,—Mrs. North.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-by, Alfred. Come again,” she said, cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + “Mother, here's your beef tea,” said a brief voice. + </p> + <p> + Alfred Price fled. He met his son just as he was entering his own house, + and burst into a confidence: “Cy, my boy, come aft and splice the + main-brace. Cyrus, what a female! She knocked me higher than Gilroy's + kite. And her mother was as sweet a girl as you ever saw!” He drew his son + into a little, low-browed, dingy room at the end of the hall. Its grimy + untidiness matched the old Captain's clothes, but it was his one spot of + refuge in his own house; here he could scatter his tobacco ashes almost + unrebuked, and play on his harmonicon without seeing Gussie wince and draw + in her breath; for Mrs. Cyrus rarely entered the “cabin.” “I worry so + about its disorderliness that I won't go in,” she used to say, in a + resigned way. And the Captain accepted her decision with resignation of + his own. “Crafts of your bottom can't navigate in these waters,” he + agreed, earnestly; and, indeed, the room was so cluttered with his + belongings that voluminous hoop-skirts could not get steerageway. “He has + so much rubbish,” Gussie complained; but it was precious rubbish to the + old man. His chest was behind the door; a blowfish, stuffed and varnished, + hung from the ceiling; two colored prints of the “Barque <i>Letty M</i>., + 800 tons,” decorated the walls; his sextant, polished daily by his big, + clumsy hands, hung over the mantelpiece, on which were many dusty + treasures—the mahogany spoke of an old steering-wheel; a whale's + tooth; two Chinese wrestlers, in ivory; a fan of spreading white coral; a + conch-shell, its beautiful red lip serving to hold a loose bunch of + cigars. In the chimney-breast was a little door, and the Captain, pulling + his son into the room after that call on Mrs. North, fumbled in his + pockets for the key. “Here,” he said; (“as the Governor of North Carolina + said to the Governor of South Carolina)—Cyrus, she gave her mother + <i>beef tea!</i>” + </p> + <p> + But Cyrus was to receive still further enlightenment on the subject of his + opposite neighbor: + </p> + <p> + “She called him in. I heard her, with my own ears! 'Alfred,' she said, + 'come in.' Cyrus, she has designs; oh, I worry so about it! He ought to be + protected. He is very old, and, of course, foolish. You ought to check it + at once.” + </p> + <p> + “Gussie, I don't like you to talk that way about my father,” Cyrus began. + </p> + <p> + “You'll like it less later on. He'll go and see her to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Why shouldn't he go and see her to-morrow?” Cyrus said, and added a + modest bad word; which made Gussie cry. And yet, in spite of what his wife + called his “blasphemy,” Cyrus began to be vaguely uncomfortable whenever + he saw his father put his pipe in his pocket and go across the street. And + as the winter brightened into spring, the Captain went quite often. So, + for that matter, did other old friends of Mrs. North's generation, who by + and by began to smile at each other, and say, “Well, Alfred and Letty are + great friends!” For, because Captain Price lived right across the street, + he went most of all. At least, that was what Miss North said to herself + with obvious common sense—until Mrs. Cyrus put her on the right + track.... + </p> + <p> + “What!” gasped Mary North. “But it's impossible!” + </p> + <p> + “It would be very unbecoming, considering their years,” said Gussie; “but + I worry so, because, you know, nothing is impossible when people are + foolish; and of course, at their age, they are apt to be foolish.” + </p> + <p> + So the seed was dropped. Certainly he did come very often. Certainly her + mother seemed very glad to see him. Certainly they had very long talks. + Mary North shivered with apprehension. But it was not until a week later + that this miserable suspicion grew strong enough to find words. It was + after tea, and the two ladies were sitting before a little fire. Mary + North had wrapped a shawl about her mother, and given her a footstool, and + pushed her chair nearer the fire, and then pulled it away, and opened and + shut the parlor door three times to regulate the draught. Then she sat + down in the corner of the sofa, exhausted but alert. + </p> + <p> + “If there's anything you want, mother, you'll be sure and tell me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I'd better put another shawl over your limbs?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no, indeed!” + </p> + <p> + “Are you <i>sure</i> you don't feel a draught?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Mary; and it wouldn't hurt me if I did!” + </p> + <p> + “I was only trying to make you comfortable,—” + </p> + <p> + “I know that, my dear; you are a very good daughter. Mary, I think it + would be nice if I made a cake. So many people call, and—” + </p> + <p> + “I'll make it to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'll make it myself,” Mrs. North protested, eagerly; “I'd really + enjoy—” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mother!</i> Tire yourself out in the kitchen? No, indeed! Flora and I + will see to it.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. North sighed. + </p> + <p> + Her daughter sighed too; then suddenly burst out: “Old Captain Price comes + here pretty often.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. North nodded, pleasantly. “That daughter-in-law doesn't half take + care of him. His clothes are dreadfully shabby. There was a button off his + coat to-day. And she's a foolish creature.” + </p> + <p> + “Foolish? she's an unladylike person!” cried Miss North, with so much + feeling that her mother looked at her in mild astonishment. “And coarse, + too,” said Mary North; “I think married ladies are apt to be coarse. From + association with men, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “What has she done?” demanded Mrs. North, much interested. + </p> + <p> + “She hinted that he—that you—” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “That he came here to—to see you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, who else would he come to see? Not you!” said her mother. + </p> + <p> + “She hinted that he might want to—to marry you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,—upon my word! I knew she was a ridiculous creature, but + really—!” + </p> + <p> + Mary's face softened with relief. “Of course she is foolish; but—” + </p> + <p> + “Poor Alfred! What has he ever done to have such a daughter-in-law? Mary, + the Lord gives us our children; but <i>Somebody Else</i> gives us our + in-laws!” + </p> + <p> + “Mother!” said Mary North, horrified, “you do say such things! But really + he oughtn't to come so often. I'll—I'll take you away from Old + Chester rather than have him bother you.” + </p> + <p> + “Mary, you are just as foolish as his daughter-in-law,” said Mrs. North, + impatiently. + </p> + <p> + And, somehow, poor Mary North's heart sank. + </p> + <p> + Nor was she the only perturbed person in town that night. Mrs. Cyrus had a + headache, so it was necessary for Cyrus to hold her hand and assure her + that Willy King said a headache did not mean brain fever. + </p> + <p> + “Willy King doesn't know everything. If he had headaches like mine, he + wouldn't be so sure. I am always worrying about things, and I believe my + brain can't stand it. And now I've got your father to worry about!” + </p> + <p> + “Better try and sleep, Gussie. I'll put some Kaliston on your head.” + </p> + <p> + “Kaliston! Kaliston won't keep me from worrying.—Oh, listen to that + harmonicon!” + </p> + <p> + “Gussie, I'm sure he isn't thinking of Mrs. North.” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. North is thinking of him, which is a great deal more dangerous. + Cyrus, you <i>must</i> ask Dr. Lavendar to interfere.” + </p> + <p> + As this was at least the twentieth assault upon poor Cyrus's common sense, + the citadel trembled. + </p> + <p> + “Do you wish me to go into brain fever before your eyes, just from worry?” + Gussie demanded. “You <i>must</i> go!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, maybe, perhaps, to-morrow—” + </p> + <p> + “To-night—to-night,” said Augusta, faintly. + </p> + <p> + And Cyrus surrendered. + </p> + <p> + “Look under the bed before you go,” Gussie murmured. + </p> + <p> + Cyrus looked. “Nobody there,” he said, reassuringly; and went on tiptoe + out of the darkened, cologne-scented room. But as he passed along the + hall, and saw his father in his little cabin of a room, smoking placidly, + and polishing his sextant with loving hands, Cyrus's heart reproached him. + </p> + <p> + “How's her head, Cy?” the Captain called out. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, better, I guess,” Cyrus said.—(“I'll be hanged if I speak to + Dr. Lavendar!”) + </p> + <p> + “That's good,” said the Captain, beginning to hoist himself up out of his + chair. “Going out? Hold hard, and I'll go 'long. I want to call on Mrs. + North.” + </p> + <p> + Cyrus stiffened. “Cold night, sir,” he remonstrated. + </p> + <p> + “'Your granny was Murray, and wore a black nightcap!'” said the Captain; + “you are getting delicate in your old age, Cy.” He got up, and plunged + into his coat, and tramped out, slamming the door heartily behind him; for + which, later, poor Cyrus got the credit. “Where you bound?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh—down-street,” said Cyrus, vaguely. + </p> + <p> + “Sealed orders?” said the Captain, with never a bit of curiosity in his + big, kind voice; and Cyrus felt as small as he was. But when he left the + old man at Mrs. North's door, he was uneasy again. Maybe Gussie was right! + Women are keener about those things than men. And his uneasiness actually + carried him to Dr. Lavendar's study, where he tried to appear at ease by + patting Danny. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter with you, Cyrus?” said Dr. Lavendar, looking at him + over his spectacles. (Dr. Lavendar, in his wicked old heart, always wanted + to call this young man Cipher; but, so far, grace had been given him to + withstand temptation.) “What's wrong?” he said. + </p> + <p> + And Cyrus, somehow, told his troubles. + </p> + <p> + At first Dr. Lavendar chuckled; then he frowned. “Gussie put you up to + this, Cy—<i>rus</i>?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Well, my wife's a woman,” Cyrus began, “and they're keener on such + matters than men; and she said perhaps you would—would—” + </p> + <p> + <i>“What?”</i> Dr. Lavendar rapped on the table with the bowl of his pipe, + so loudly that Danny opened one eye. “Would what?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” Cyrus stammered, “you know, Dr. Lavendar, as Gussie says, 'there's + no fo—'” + </p> + <p> + “You needn't finish it,” Dr. Lavendar interrupted, dryly; “I've heard it + before. Gussie didn't say anything about a young fool, did she?” Then he + eyed Cyrus. “Or a middle-aged one? I've seen middle-aged fools that could + beat us old fellows hollow.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but Mrs. North is far beyond middle age,” said Cyrus, earnestly. + </p> + <p> + Dr. Lavendar shook his head. “Well, well!” he said. “To think that Alfred + Price should have such a—And yet he is as sensible a man as I know!” + </p> + <p> + “Until now,” Cyrus amended. “But Gussie thought you'd better caution him. + We don't want him, at his time of life, to make a mistake.” + </p> + <p> + “It's much more to the point that I should caution you not to make a + mistake,” said Dr. Lavendar; and then he rapped on the table again, + sharply. “The Captain has no such idea—unless Gussie has given it to + him. Cyrus, my advice to you is to go home and tell your wife not to be a + goose. I'll tell her, if you want me to?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no, no!” said Cyrus, very much frightened. “I'm afraid you'd hurt her + feelings.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid I should,” said Dr. Lavendar. + </p> + <p> + He was so plainly out of temper that Cyrus finally slunk off, uncomforted + and afraid to meet Gussie's eye, even under its bandage of a + cologne-scented handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + However, he had to meet it, and he tried to make the best of his own + humiliation by saying that Dr. Lavendar was shocked at such an idea. “He + said father had always been so sensible; he didn't believe he would think + of such a dreadful thing. And neither do I, Gussie, honestly,” Cyrus said. + </p> + <p> + “But Mrs. North isn't sensible,” Gussie protested, “and she'll—” + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Lavendar said 'there was no fool like a middle-aged fool,'” Cyrus + agreed. + </p> + <p> + “Middle-aged! She's as old as Methuselah!” + </p> + <p> + “That's what I told him,” said Cyrus. + </p> + <p> + By the end of April Old Chester smiled. How could it help it? Gussie + worried so that she took frequent occasion to point out possibilities; and + after the first gasp of incredulity, one could hear a faint echo of the + giggles of forty-eight years before. Mary North heard it, and her heart + burned within her. + </p> + <p> + “It's got to stop,” she said to herself, passionately; “I must speak to + his son.” + </p> + <p> + But her throat was dry at the thought. It seemed as if it would kill her + to speak to a man on such a subject—even to such a man as Cyrus. + But, poor, shy tigress! to save her mother, what would she not do? In her + pain and fright she said to Mrs. North that if that old man kept on making + her uncomfortable and conspicuous, they would leave Old Chester! + </p> + <p> + Mrs. North twinkled with amusement when Mary, in her strained and + quivering voice, began, but her jaw dropped at those last words; Mary was + capable of carrying her off at a day's notice! The little old lady + trembled with distressed reassurances; but Captain Price continued to + call. + </p> + <p> + And that was how it came about that this devoted daughter, after days of + exasperation and nights of anxiety, reached a point of tense + determination. She would go and see the man's son, and say ... that + afternoon, as she stood before the swinging glass on her high bureau, + tying her bonnet-strings, she tried to think what she would say. She hoped + God would give her words—polite words; “for I <i>must</i> be + polite,” she reminded herself desperately. When she started across the + street her paisley shawl had slipped from one shoulder, so that the point + dragged on the flagstones; she had split her right glove up the back, and + her bonnet was jolted over sidewise; but the thick Chantilly veil hid the + quiver of her chin. + </p> + <p> + Gussie met her with effusion, and Mary, striving to be polite, smiled + painfully, and said, + </p> + <p> + “I don't want to see you; I want to see your husband.” + </p> + <p> + Gussie tossed her head; but she made haste to call Cyrus, who came + shambling along the hall from the cabin. The parlor was dark; for though + it was a day of sunshine and merry May wind, Gussie kept the shutters + bowed, but Cyrus could see the pale intensity of his visitor's face. There + was a moment's silence, broken by a distant harmonicon. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Price,” said Mary North, with pale, courageous lips, “you must stop + your father.” + </p> + <p> + Cyrus opened his weak mouth to ask an explanation, but Gussie rushed in. + </p> + <p> + “You are quite right, ma'am. Cyrus worries so about it (of course we know + what you refer to). And Cyrus says it ought to be checked immediately, to + save the old gentleman!” + </p> + <p> + “You must stop him,” said Mary North, “for my mother's sake.” + </p> + <p> + “Well—” Cyrus began. + </p> + <p> + “Have you cautioned your mother?” Gussie demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Miss North said, briefly. To talk to this woman of her mother made + her wince, but it had to be done. “Will you speak to your father, Mr. + Price?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I—” + </p> + <p> + “Of course he will!” Gussie broke in; “Cyrus, he is in the cabin now.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, to-morrow I—” Cyrus got up and sidled towards the door. + “Anyhow, I don't believe he's thinking of such a thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss North,” said Gussie, rising “<i>I</i> will do it.” + </p> + <p> + “What, <i>now?</i>” faltered Mary North. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Mrs. Cyrus, firmly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Miss North, “I—I think I will go home. Gentlemen, when + they are crossed, speak so—so earnestly.” + </p> + <p> + Gussie nodded. The joy of action and of combat entered suddenly into her + little soul; she never looked less vulgar than at that moment. Cyrus had + disappeared. + </p> + <p> + Mary North, white and trembling, hurried out. A wheezing strain from the + harmonicon followed her into the May sunshine, then ended, abruptly;—Mrs. + Price had begun! On her own door-step Miss North stopped and listened, + holding her breath for an outburst.... It came. A roar of laughter. Then + silence. Mary North stood, motionless, in her own parlor; her shawl, + hanging from one elbow, trailed behind her; her other glove had split; her + bonnet was blown back and over one ear; her heart was pounding in her + throat. She was perfectly aware that she had done an unheard-of thing. + “But,” she said, aloud, “I'd do it again. I'd do anything to protect her. + But I hope I was polite?” Then she thought how courageous Mrs. Cyrus was. + “She's as brave as a lion!” said Mary North. Yet had Miss North been able + to stand at the Captain's door, she would have witnessed cowardice. + </p> + <p> + “Gussie, I wouldn't cry. Confound that female, coming over and stirring + you up! Now don't, Gussie! Why, I never thought of—Gussie, I + wouldn't cry—” + </p> + <p> + “I have worried almost to death. Pro-promise!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, your granny was Mur—Gussie, my dear, now <i>don't</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Lavendar said you'd always been so sensible; he said he didn't see + how you could think of such a dreadful thing.” + </p> + <p> + “What! Lavendar? I'll thank Lavendar to mind his business!” Captain Price + forgot Gussie; he spoke “earnestly.” “Dog-gone these people that pry into—Oh, + now, Gussie, <i>don't!</i>” + </p> + <p> + “I've worried so awfully,” said Mrs. Cyrus. “Everybody is talking about + you. And Dr. Lavendar is so—so angry about it; and now the daughter + has charged on me as though it is my fault!—Of course, she is queer, + but—” + </p> + <p> + “Queer? she's queer as Dick's hatband! Why do you listen to her? Gussie, + such an idea never entered my head,—or Mrs. North's either.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, it has! Her daughter said that she had had to speak to her—” + </p> + <p> + Captain Price, dumbfounded, forgot his fear and burst out: “You're a pack + of fools, the whole caboodle! I swear I—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, <i>don't</i> blaspheme!” said Gussie, faintly, and staggered a + little, so that all the Captain's terror returned. <i>If she fainted!</i> + </p> + <p> + “Hi, there, Cyrus! Come aft, will you? Gussie's getting white around the + gills—Cyrus!” + </p> + <p> + Cyrus came, running, and between them they get the swooning Gussie to her + room. Afterwards, when Cyrus tiptoed down-stairs, he found the Captain at + the cabin door. The old man beckoned mysteriously. + </p> + <p> + “Cy, my boy, come in here;”—he hunted about in his pocket for the + key of the cupboard;—“Cyrus, I'll tell you what happened: that + female across the street came in, and told poor Gussie some cock-and-bull + story about her mother and me!” The Captain chuckled, and picked up his + harmonicon. “It scared the life out of Gussie,” he said; then, with sudden + angry gravity,—“These people that poke their noses into other + people's business ought to be thrashed. Well, I'm going over to see Mrs. + North.” And off he stumped, leaving Cyrus staring after him, open-mouthed. + </p> + <p> + If Mary North had been at home, she would have met him with all the + agonized courage of shyness and a good conscience. But she had fled out of + the house, and down along the River Road, to be alone and regain her + self-control. + </p> + <p> + The Captain, however, was not seeking Miss North. He opened the front + door, and advancing to the foot of the stairs, called up: “Ahoy, there! + Mrs. North!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. North came trotting out to answer the summons. “Why, Alfred!” she + exclaimed, looking over the banisters, “when did you come in? I didn't + hear the bell ring. I'll come right down.” + </p> + <p> + “It didn't ring; I walked in,” said the Captain. And Mrs. North came + downstairs, perhaps a little stiffly, but as pretty an old lady as you + ever saw. Her white curls lay against faintly pink cheeks, and her lace + cap had a pink bow on it. But she looked anxious and uncomfortable. + </p> + <p> + (“Oh,” she was saying to herself, “I do hope Mary's out!)—Well, + Alfred?” she said; but her voice was frightened. + </p> + <p> + The Captain stumped along in front of her into the parlor, and motioned + her to a seat. “Mrs. North,” he said, his face red, his eye hard, “some + jack-donkeys have been poking their noses (of course they're females) into + our affairs; and—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Alfred, isn't it horrid in them?” + </p> + <p> + “Darn 'em!” said the Captain. + </p> + <p> + “It makes me mad!” cried Mrs. North; then her spirit wavered. “Mary is so + foolish; she says she'll—she'll take me away from Old Chester. I + laughed at first, it was so foolish. But when she said that-oh <i>dear!</i>” + </p> + <p> + “Well, but, my dear madam, say you won't go. Ain't you skipper?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I'm not,” she said, dolefully. “Mary brought me here, and she'll take + me away, if she thinks it best. Best for <i>me</i>, you know. Mary is a + good daughter, Alfred. I don't want you to think she isn't. But she's + foolish. Unmarried women are apt to be foolish.” + </p> + <p> + The Captain thought of Gussie, and sighed. “Well,” he said, with the + simple candor of the sea, “I guess there ain't much difference in 'em, + married or unmarried.” + </p> + <p> + “It's the interference makes me mad,” Mrs. North declared, hotly. + </p> + <p> + “Damn the whole crew!” said the Captain; and the old lady laughed + delightedly. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Alfred!” + </p> + <p> + “My daughter-in-law is crying her eyes out,” the Captain sighed. + </p> + <p> + “Tck!” said Mrs. North; “Alfred, you have no sense. Let her cry. It's good + for her!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no,” said the Captain, shocked. + </p> + <p> + “You're a perfect slave to her,” cried Mrs. North. + </p> + <p> + “No more than you are to your daughter,” Captain Price defended himself; + and Mrs. North sighed. + </p> + <p> + “We are just real foolish, Alfred, to listen to 'em. As if we didn't know + what was good for us.” + </p> + <p> + “People have interfered with us a good deal, first and last,” the Captain + said, grimly. + </p> + <p> + The faint color in Mrs. North's cheeks suddenly deepened. “So they have,” + she said. + </p> + <p> + The Captain shook his head in a discouraged way; he took his pipe out of + his pocket and looked at it absent-mindedly. “I suppose I can stay at + home, and let 'em get over it?” + </p> + <p> + “Stay at home? Why, you'd far better—” + </p> + <p> + “What?” said the Captain, dolefully. + </p> + <p> + “Come oftener!” cried the old lady. “Let 'em get over it by getting used + to it.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Price looked doubtful. “But how about your daughter?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. North quailed. “I forgot Mary,” she admitted. + </p> + <p> + “I don't bother you, coming to see you, do I?” the Captain said, + anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Alfred, I love to see you. If our children would just let us alone!” + </p> + <p> + “First it was our parents,” said Captain Price. He frowned heavily. + “According to other people, first we were too young to have sense; and now + we're too old.” He took out his worn old pouch, plugged some shag into his + pipe, and struck a match under the mantelpiece. He sighed, with deep + discouragement. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. North sighed too. Neither of them spoke for a moment; then the little + old lady drew a quick breath and flashed a look at him; opened her lips; + closed them with a snap; then regarded the toe of her slipper fixedly. + </p> + <p> + The Captain, staring hopelessly, suddenly blinked; then his honest red + face slowly broadened into beaming astonishment and satisfaction. <i>“Mrs. + North—”</i> + </p> + <p> + “Captain Price!” she parried, breathlessly. + </p> + <p> + “So long as our affectionate children have suggested it!” + </p> + <p> + “Suggested—what?” + </p> + <p> + “Let's give 'em something to cry about!” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Alfred!</i>” + </p> + <p> + “Look here: we are two old fools; so they say, anyway. Let's live up to + their opinion. I'll get a house for Cyrus and Gussie,—and your girl + can live with 'em, if she wants to!” The Captain's bitterness showed then. + </p> + <p> + “She could live here,” murmured Mrs. North. + </p> + <p> + “What do you say?” + </p> + <p> + The little old lady laughed excitedly, and shook her head; the tears stood + in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Do you want to leave Old Chester?” the Captain demanded. + </p> + <p> + “You know I don't,” she said, sighing. + </p> + <p> + “She'd take you away <i>to-morrow</i>,” he threatened, “if she knew I had—I + had—” + </p> + <p> + “She sha'n't know it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, we've got to get spliced to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Alfred, no! I don't believe Dr. Lavendar would—” + </p> + <p> + “I'll have no dealings with Lavendar,” the Captain said, with sudden + stiffness; “he's like all the rest of 'em. I'll get a license in Upper + Chester, and we'll go to some parson there.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. North's eyes snapped; “Oh, no, no!” she protested; but in another + minute they were shaking hands on it. + </p> + <p> + “Cyrus and Gussie can live by themselves,” said the Captain, joyously, + “and I'll get that hold cleaned out; she's kept the ports shut ever since + she married Cyrus.” + </p> + <p> + “And I'll make a cake! And I'll take care of your clothes; you really are + dreadfully shabby;” she turned him round to the light, and brushed off + some ashes. The Captain beamed. “Poor Alfred! and there's a button off! + that daughter-in-law of yours can't sew any more than a cat (and she <i>is</i> + a cat!). But I love to mend. Mary has saved me all that. She's such a good + daughter—poor Mary. But she's unmarried, poor child.” + </p> + <p> + However, it was not to-morrow. It was two or three days later that Dr. + Lavendar and Danny, jogging along behind Goliath under the buttonwoods on + the road to Upper Chester, were somewhat inconvenienced by the dust of a + buggy that crawled up and down the hills just a little ahead. The hood of + this buggy was up, upon which fact—it being a May morning of + rollicking wind and sunshine—Dr. Lavendar speculated to his + companion: “Daniel, the man in that vehicle is either blind and deaf, or + else he has something on his conscience; in either case he won't mind our + dust, so we'll cut in ahead at the watering-trough. G'on, Goliath!” + </p> + <p> + But Goliath had views of his own about the watering-trough, and instead of + passing the hooded buggy, which had stopped there, he insisted upon + drawing up beside it. “Now, look here,” Dr. Lavendar remonstrated, “you + know you're not thirsty.” But Goliath plunged his nose down into the cool + depths of the great iron caldron, into which, from a hollow log, ran a + musical drip of water. Dr. Lavendar and Danny, awaiting his pleasure, + could hear a murmur of voices from the depths of the eccentric vehicle + which put up a hood on such a day; when suddenly Dr. Lavendar's eye fell + on the hind legs of the other horse. “That's Cipher's trotter,” he said to + himself, and leaning out, cried: “Hi! Cy?” At which the other horse was + drawn in with a jerk, and Captain Price's agitated face peered out from + under the hood. + </p> + <p> + “Where! Where's Cyrus?” Then he caught sight of Dr. Lavendar. “'<i>The + devil and Tom Walker!</i>'” said the Captain with a groan. The buggy + backed erratically. + </p> + <p> + “Look out!” said Dr. Lavendar,—but the wheels locked. + </p> + <p> + Of course there was nothing for Dr. Lavendar to do but get out and take + Goliath by the head, grumbling, as he did so, that Cyrus “shouldn't own + such a spirited beast.” + </p> + <p> + “I am somewhat hurried,” said Captain Price, stiffly. + </p> + <p> + The old minister looked at him over his spectacles; then he glanced at the + small, embarrassed figure shrinking into the depths of the buggy. + </p> + <p> + (“Hullo, hullo, hullo!” he said, softly. “Well, Gussie's done it.) You'd + better back a little, Captain,” he advised. + </p> + <p> + “I can manage,” said the Captain. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't say 'go back,'” Dr. Lavendar said, mildly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” murmured a small voice from within the buggy. + </p> + <p> + “I expect you need me, don't you, Alfred?” said Dr. Lavendar. + </p> + <p> + “What?” said the Captain, frowning. + </p> + <p> + “Captain,” said Dr. Lavendar, simply, “if I can be of any service to you + and Mrs. North, I shall be glad.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Price looked at him. “Now, look here, Lavendar, we're going to do + it this time, if all the parsons in—well, in the church, try to stop + us!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not going to try to stop you.” + </p> + <p> + “But Gussie said you said—” + </p> + <p> + “Alfred, at your time of life, are you beginning to quote Gussie?” + </p> + <p> + “But she said you said it would be—” + </p> + <p> + “Captain Price, I do not express my opinion of your conduct to your + daughter-in-law. You ought to have sense enough to know that.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, why did you talk to her about it?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't talk to her about it. But,” said Dr. Lavendar, thrusting out his + lower lip, “I should like to.” + </p> + <p> + “We were going to hunt up a parson in Upper Chester,” said the Captain, + sheepishly. + </p> + <p> + Dr. Lavendar looked about, up and down the silent, shady road, then + through the bordering elderberries into an orchard. “If you have your + license,” he said, “I have my prayer-book. Let's go into the orchard. + There are two men working there we can get for witnesses,—Danny + isn't quite enough, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + The Captain turned to Mrs. North. “What do you say, ma'am?” he said. She + nodded, and gathered up her skirts to get out of the buggy. The two old + men led their horses to the side of the road and hitched them to the rail + fence; then the Captain helped Mrs. North through the elder-bushes, and + shouted out to the men ploughing at the other side of the orchard. They + came,—big, kindly young fellows, and stood gaping at the three old + people standing under the apple-tree in the sunshine. Dr. Lavendar + explained that they were to be witnesses, and the boys took off their + hats. + </p> + <p> + There was a little silence, and then, in the white shadows and perfume of + the orchard, with its sunshine, and drift of petals falling in the gay + wind, Dr. Lavendar began.... When he came to “Let no man put asunder—” + Captain Price growled in his grizzled red beard, “Nor woman, either!” But + only Mrs. North smiled. + </p> + <p> + When it was over, Captain Price drew a deep breath of relief. “Well, this + time we made a sure thing of it, Mrs. North!” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mrs. North?</i>” said Dr. Lavendar; and then he did chuckle. + </p> + <p> + “Oh—” said Captain Price, and roared at the joke. + </p> + <p> + “You'll have to call me Letty,” said the pretty old lady, smiling and + blushing. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said the Captain; then he hesitated. “Well, now, if you don't mind, + I—I guess I won't call you Lefty; I'll call you Letitia?” + </p> + <p> + “Call me anything you want to,” said Mrs. Price, gayly. + </p> + <p> + Then they all shook hands with each other, and with the witnesses, who + found something left in their palms that gave them great satisfaction, and + went back to climb into their respective buggies. + </p> + <p> + “We have shore leave,” the Captain explained; “we won't go back to Old + Chester for a few days. You may tell 'em, Lavendar.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, may I?” said Dr. Lavendar, blankly. “Well, good-by, and good luck!” + </p> + <p> + He watched the other buggy tug on ahead, and then he leaned down to catch + Danny by the scruff of the neck. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Daniel,” he said, “'<i>if at first you don't succeed</i>'—” + </p> + <p> + And Danny was pulled into the buggy. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A ROMANCE OF WHOOPING HARBOR + </h2> + <h3> + BY NORMAN DUNCAN + </h3> + <p> + The trader <i>Good Samaritan</i>—they called her the <i>Cheap and + Nasty</i> on the Shore; God knows why! for she was dealing fairly for the + fish, if something smartly—was wind-bound at Heart's Ease Cove, + riding safe in the lee of the Giant's Hand: champing her anchor chain; + nodding to the swell, which swept through the tickle and spent itself in + the landlocked water, collapsing to quiet. It was late of a dirty night, + but the schooner lay in shelter from the roaring wind; and the forecastle + lamp was alight, the bogie snoring, the crew sprawling at case, purring in + the light and warmth and security of the hour.... By and by, when the + skipper's allowance of tea and hard biscuit had fulfilled its destiny, + Tumm, the clerk, told the tale of Whooping Harbor, wherein the maid met + Fate in the person of the fool from Thunder Arm; and I came down from the + deck—from the black, wet wind of the open, changed to a wrathful + flutter by the eternal barrier—in time to hear. And I was glad, for + we know little enough of love, being blind of soul, perverse and proud; + and love is strange past all things: wayward, accounting not, of infinite + aspects—radiant to our vision, colorless; sombre, black as hell; but + of unfailing beauty, we may be sure, had we but the eyes to see, the heart + to interpret.... + </p> + <p> + “We was reachin' up t' Whoopin' Harbor,” said Tumm, “t' give the <i>White + Lily</i> a night's lodgin', it bein' a wonderful windish night; clear + enough, the moon sailin' a cloudy sky, but with a bank o' fog sneakin' + round Cape Muggy like a fish-thief. An' we wasn't in no haste, anyhow, t' + make Sinners' Tickle, for we was the first schooner down the Labrador that + season, an' 'twas pick an' choose your berth for we, with a clean bill t' + every head from Starvation Cove t' the Settin' Hen, so quick as the fish + struck. So the skipper he says we'll hang the ol girl up t' Whoopin' + Harbor 'til dawn; an' we'll all have a watch below, says he, with a cup o' + tea, says he, if the cook can bile the water 'ithout burnin' it. Which was + wonderful hard for the cook t' manage, look you! as the skipper, which + knowed nothin' about feelin's, would never stop tellin' un: the cook bein' + from Thunder Arm, a half-witted, glossy-eyed lumpfish o' the name o' Moses + Shoos, born by chance and brung up likewise, as desperate a cook as ever + tartured a stummick, but meanin' so wonderful well that we loved un, + though he were like t' finish us off, every man jack, by the slow p'ison + o' dirt. + </p> + <p> + “'Cook, you dunderhead!' says the skipper, with a wink t' the crew. 'You + been an' scarched the water agin.' + </p> + <p> + “Shoos he looked like he'd give up for good on the spot—just like he + <i>knowed</i> he was a fool, an' <i>had</i> knowed it for a long, long + time,—sort o' like he was sorry for we an' sick of hisself. + </p> + <p> + “'Cook,' says the skipper, 'you went an' done it agin. Yes, you did! Don't + you go denyin' of it. You'll kill us, cook,' says he, 'if you goes on like + this. They isn't nothin' worse for the system,' says he, 'than this here + burned water. The alamnacs,' says he, shakin' his finger at the poor cook, + ''ll tell you <i>that!</i>' + </p> + <p> + “'I 'low I did burn that water, skipper,' says the cook, 'if you says so. + But I isn't got all my wits,' says he, the cry-baby; 'an' God knows I'm + doin' my best!' + </p> + <p> + “'I always did allow, cook,' says the skipper, 'that God knowed more'n I + ever thunk.' + </p> + <p> + “'An' I never <i>did</i> burn no water,' blubbers the cook, 'afore I + shipped along o' you in this here dam' ol' flour-sieve of a <i>White Lily</i>.' + </p> + <p> + “'This here <i>what</i>?' snaps the skipper. + </p> + <p> + “'This here dam' ol' basket.' + </p> + <p> + “'Basket!' says the skipper. Then he hummed a bit o' 'Fishin' for the Maid + I Loves,' 'ithout thinkin' much about the toon. 'Cook,' says he, 'I loves + you. You is on'y a half-witted chance-child,' says he, 'but I loves you + like a brother.' + </p> + <p> + “'Does you, skipper?' says the cook, with a grin, like the fool he was. 'I + isn't by no means hatin' you, skipper,' says he. 'But I can't <i>help</i> + burnin' the water,' says he, 'an' I 'low I don't want no blame for it. I'm + sorry for you an' the crew,' says he, 'an' I wisht I hadn't took the + berth. But when I shipped along o' you,' says he, 'I 'lowed I <i>could</i> + cook. I knows I isn't able for it now,' says he, 'for you says so, + skipper; but I'm doin' my best, an' I 'low if the water gets scarched,' + says he, 'the galley fire's bewitched.' + </p> + <p> + “'Basket!' says the skipper. 'Ay, ay, cook,' says he. 'I just <i>loves</i> + you.' + </p> + <p> + “They wasn't a man o' the crew liked t' hear the skipper say that; for, + look you! the skipper didn't know nothin' about feelin's, an' the cook had + more feelin's 'n a fool can make handy use of aboard a Labrador + fishin'-craft. No, zur; the skipper didn't know nothin' about feelin's. + I'm not wantin' t' say it about that there man, nor about no other man; + for they isn't nothin' harder t' be spoke. But he <i>didn't;</i> an' + they's nothin' else <i>to</i> it. There sits the ol' man, smoothin' his + big red beard, singin', 'I'm Fishin' for the Maid I Loves,' while he looks + at the poor cook, which was washin' up the dishes, for we was through with + the mug-up. An' the devil was in his eyes—the devil was fair + grinnin' in them little blue eyes. Lord! it made me sad t' see it; for I + knowed the cook was in for bad weather, an' he wasn't no sort o' craft t' + be out o' harbor in a gale o' wind like that. + </p> + <p> + “'Cook,' says the skipper. + </p> + <p> + “'Ay, zur?' says the cook. + </p> + <p> + “'Cook,' says the skipper, 'you ought t' get married.' + </p> + <p> + “'I on'y wisht I could,' says the cook. + </p> + <p> + “'You ought t' try, cook,' says the skipper, 'for the sake o' the crew. + We'll all die,' says he, 'afore we sights of Bully Dick agin,' says he, + 'if you keeps on burnin' the water. You <i>got</i> t' get married, cook, + t' the first likely maid you sees on the Labrador,' says he, 't' save the + crew. She'd do the cookin' for you. It 'll be the loss o' all hands,' says + he, 'an you don't, This here burned water,' says he, 'will be the end of + us, cook, an you keeps it up.' + </p> + <p> + “'I'd be wonderful glad t' 'blige you, skipper,' says the cook, 'an' I'd + like t' 'blige all hands. 'Twon't be by my wish,' says he, 'that + anybody'll die o' the grub they gets.' + </p> + <p> + “'Cook,' says the skipper, 'shake! I knows a <i>man</i>,' says he, 'when I + sees one. Any man,' says he, 'that would put on the irons o' matrimony,' + says he, 't' 'blige a shipmate,' says he, 'is a better man 'n me, an' I + loves un like a brother.' + </p> + <p> + “Which cheered the cook up considerable. + </p> + <p> + “'Cook,' says the skipper, 'I 'pologize. Yes, I do, cook,' says he, 'I + 'pologize.' + </p> + <p> + “'I isn't got no feelin' agin' matrimony,' says the cook. 'But I isn't + able t' get took. I been tryin' every maid t' Thunder Arm,' says he, 'an' + they isn't one,' says he, 'will wed a fool.' + </p> + <p> + “'Not one?' says the skipper. + </p> + <p> + “'Nar a one,' says the cook. + </p> + <p> + “'I'm s'prised,' says the skipper. + </p> + <p> + “'Nar a maid t' Thunder Arm,' says the cook, 'will wed a fool, an' I 'low + they isn't one,' says he, 'on the Labrador.' + </p> + <p> + “'It's been done afore, cook,' says the skipper, 'an' I 'low 'twill be + done agin, if the world don't come to an end t' oncet. Cook,' says he, 'I + <i>knows</i> the maid t' do it.' + </p> + <p> + “The poor cook begun t' grin. 'Does you, skipper?' says he. 'Ah, skipper, + no, you doesn't!' And he sort o' chuckled, like the fool he was. 'Ah, now, + skipper,' says he, '<i>you</i> doesn't know no maid would marry me!” + </p> + <p> + “'Ay, b'y,' says the skipper, 'I got the girl for <i>you</i>. An' she + isn't a thousand miles,' says he, 'from where that dam' ol' basket of a <i>White + Lily</i> lies at anchor,' says he, 'in Whoopin' Harbor. She isn't what + you'd call handsome an' tell no lie,' says he, 'but—' + </p> + <p> + “'Never you mind about that, skipper.' + </p> + <p> + “'No,' says the skipper, 'she isn't handsome, as handsome goes, even in + these parts, but—' + </p> + <p> + “'Never you mind, skipper,' says the cook. 'If 'tis anything in the shape + o' woman,' says he, ''twill do.' + </p> + <p> + “'I 'low that Liz Jones would take you, cook,' says the skipper. 'You + ain't much on wits, but you got a good-lookin' hull; an' I 'low she'd be + more'n willin' t' skipper a craft like you. You better go ashore, cook, + when you gets cleaned up, an' see what she says. Tumm,' says he, 'is sort + o' shipmates with Liz,' says he, 'an' I 'low he'll see you through the + worst of it.' + </p> + <p> + “'Will you, Tumm?' says the cook. + </p> + <p> + “'Well,' says I, 'I'll see. + </p> + <p> + “I knowed Liz Jones from the time I fished Whoopin' Harbor with Skipper + Bill Topsail in the <i>Love the Wind</i>, bein' cotched by the measles + thereabouts, which she nursed me through; an' I 'lowed she <i>would</i> + wed the cook if he asked her, so, thinks I, I'll go ashore with the fool + t' see that she don't. No; she wasn't handsome—not Liz. I'm + wonderful fond o' yarnin' o' good-lookin' maids; but I can't say much o' + Liz; for Liz was so far t' l'eward o' beauty that many a time, lyin' sick + there in the fo'c's'le o' the <i>Love the Wind</i>, I wished the poor girl + would turn inside out, for, thinks I, the pattern might be a sight better + on the other side. I <i>will</i> say she was big and well-muscled; an' + muscles, t' my mind, courts enough t' make up for black eyes, but not for + cross-eyes, much less for fuzzy whiskers. It ain't in my heart t' make + sport o' Liz, lads; but I <i>will</i> say she had a club foot, for she was + born in a gale, I'm told, when the <i>Preacher</i> was hangin' on off a + lee shore 'long about Cape Harrigan, an' the sea was raisin' the devil. + An', well—I hates t' say it, but—well, they called her 'Walrus + Liz.' No; she wasn't handsome, she didn't have no good looks; but once you + got a look into whichever one o' them cross-eyes you was able to cotch, + you seen a deal more'n your own face; an' she <i>was</i> well-muscled, an' + I 'low I'm goin' t' tell you so, for I wants t' name her good p'ints so + well as her bad. Whatever— + </p> + <p> + “'Cook,' says I, 'I'll go along o' you.' + </p> + <p> + “With that the cook fell to on the dishes, an' 'twasn't long afore he was + ready to clean hisself; which done, he was ready for the courtin'. But + first he got out his dunny-bag, an' he fished in there 'til he pulled out + a blue stockin', tied in a hard knot; an' from the toe o' that there blue + stockin' he took a brass ring. 'I 'low,' says he, talkin' to hisself, in + the half-witted way he had, 'it won't do no hurt t' give her mother's + ring.' Then he begun t' cry. “Moses,” says mother, “you better take the + ring off my finger. It isn't no weddin'-ring,” says she, “for I never was + what you might call wed,” says she, “but I got it from the Jew t' make + believe I was; for it didn't do nobody no hurt, an' it sort o' pleased me. + You better take it, Moses, b'y,” says she, “for the dirt o' the grave + would only spile it,” says she, “an' I'm not wantin' it no more. Don't + wear it at the fishin', dear,” says she, “for the fishin' is wonderful + hard,” says she, “an' joolery don't stand much wear an' tear.” 'Oh, + mother!' says the cook, 'I done what you wanted!' Then the poor fool + sighed an' looked up at the skipper. 'I 'low, skipper,' says he, ''t + wouldn't do no hurt t' give the ring to a man's wife, would it? For mother + wouldn't mind, would she?' + </p> + <p> + “The skipper didn't answer that. + </p> + <p> + “'Come, cook,' says I, 'leave us get under way,' for I couldn't stand it + no longer. + </p> + <p> + “So the cook an' me put out in the punt t' land at Whoopin' Harbor, with + the crew wishin' the poor cook well with their lips, but thinkin', God + knows what! in their hearts. An' he was in a wonderful state o' fright. I + never <i>seed</i> a man so took by scare afore. For, look you! he thunk + she wouldn't have un, an' he thunk she would, an' he wisht she would, an' + he wisht she wouldn't; an' by an' by he 'lowed he'd stand by, whatever + come of it, 'for,' says he, 'the crew's g-g-got t' have better c-c-cookin' + if I c-c-can g-g-get it. Lord! Tumm,' says he, ''tis a c-c-cold night,' + says he, 'but I'm sweatin' like a p-p-porp-us!' I cheered un up so well as + I could; an' by an' by we was on the path t' Liz Jones's house, up on Gray + Hill, where she lived alone, her mother bein' dead an' her father shipped + on a barque from St. Johns t' the West Indies. An' we found Liz sittin' on + a rock at the turn o' the road, lookin' down from the hill at the <i>White + Lily:</i> all alone—sittin' there in the moonlight, all alone—thinkin' + o' God knows what! + </p> + <p> + “'Hello, Liz!' says I. + </p> + <p> + “'Hello, Tumm!' says she. 'What vethel'th that?' + </p> + <p> + “'That's the <i>White Lily,</i> Liz,' says I. An' here's the cook o' that + there craft,' says I, 'come up the hill t' speak t' you.' + </p> + <p> + “'That's right,' says the cook. 'Tumm, you're right.' + </p> + <p> + “'T' thpeak t' <i>me!</i>' says she. + </p> + <p> + “I wisht she hadn't spoke quite that way. Lord! it wasn't nice. It makes a + man feel bad t' see a woman hit her buzzom for a little thing like that. + </p> + <p> + “'Ay, Liz,' says I, 't' speak t' you. An' I'm thinkin', Liz,' says I, + 'he'll say things no man ever said afore—t' you.' + </p> + <p> + “'That's right, Tumm,' says the cook. 'I wants t' speak as man t' man,' + says he, 't' stand by what I says,' says he, meanin' it afore G-g-god!' + </p> + <p> + “Liz got off the rock. Then she begun t' kick at the path; an' she was + lookin' down, but I 'lowed she had an eye on the cook all the time. 'For,' + thinks I, 'she's sensed the thing out, like all the women.' + </p> + <p> + “'I'm thinkin',' says I, 'I'll go up the road a bit.' + </p> + <p> + “'Oh no, you won't, Tumm,' says she. 'You thtay right here. Whath the cook + wantin' o' me?' + </p> + <p> + “'Well,' says the cook, 'I 'low I wants t' get married.' + </p> + <p> + “'T' get married!' says she. + </p> + <p> + “'That's right,' says he. 'Damme! Tumm,' says he, 'she got it right. T' + get married,' says he, 'an' I 'low you'll do.' + </p> + <p> + “'Me?' says she. + </p> + <p> + “'You, Liz,' says he. 'I got t' get me a wife right away,' says he, 'an' + they isn't nothin' else I've heared tell of in the neighborhood.' + </p> + <p> + “She begun to blow like a whale; an' she hit her buzzom with her fists, + an' shivered. I 'lowed she was goin' t' fall in a fit. But she looked away + t' the moon, an' somehow that righted her. + </p> + <p> + “'You better thee me in daylight,' says she. + </p> + <p> + “'Don't you mind about that,' says he. 'You're a woman, an' a big one,' + says he, 'an' that's all I'm askin' for.' + </p> + <p> + “She put a finger under his chin an' tipped his face t' the light. + </p> + <p> + “'You ithn't got all your thentheth, ith you?' says she. + </p> + <p> + “'Well,' says he, 'bein' born on Hollow eve,' says he, 'I isn't quite all + there. But,' says he, 'I wisht I was. An' I can't do no more.' + </p> + <p> + “'An' you wanth t' wed me?' says she. 'Ith you sure you doth?' + </p> + <p> + “'I got mother's ring,' says the cook, 't' prove it.' + </p> + <p> + “'Tumm,' says Liz t' me, '<i>you</i> ithn't wantin' t' get married, ith + you?' + </p> + <p> + “'No, Liz,' says I. 'Not,' says I, 't' you.' + </p> + <p> + “'No,' says she. 'Not—t' me' She took me round the turn in the road. + 'Tumm,' says she, 'I 'low I'll wed that man. I wanth t' get away from + here,' says she, lookin' over the hills. 'I wanth t' get t' the Thouthern + outporth, where there'th life. They ithn't no life here. An' I'm tho + wonderful tired o' all thith! Tumm,' says she, 'no man ever afore athked + me t' marry un, an' I 'low I better take thith one. He'th on'y a fool,' + says she, 'but not even a fool ever come courtin' me, an' I 'low nobody + but a fool would. On'y a fool, Tumm!' says she. 'But <i>I</i> ithn't got + nothin' t' boatht of. God made me,' says she, 'an' I ithn't mad that He + done it. I 'low He meant me t' take the firth man that come, an' be + content. I 'low <i>I</i> ithn't got no right t' thtick up my nothe at a + fool. For, Tumm,' says she, 'God made that fool, too. An', Tumm,' says + she, 'I wanth thomethin' elthe. Oh, I wanth thomethin' elthe! I hateth t' + tell you, Tumm,' says she, 'what it ith. But all the other maidth hath un, + Tumm, an' I wanth one, too. I 'low they ithn't no woman happy without one, + Tumm. An' I ithn't never had no chanth afore. No chanth, Tumm, though God + knowth they ithn't nothin' I wouldn't do,' says she, 't' get what I wanth! + I'll wed the fool,' says she. 'It ithn't a man I wanth tho much; no, it + ithn't a man. Ith—' + </p> + <p> + “'What you wantin', Liz?' says I. + </p> + <p> + “'It ithn't a man, Tumm,' says she. + </p> + <p> + “'No?' says I. 'What is it, Liz?' + </p> + <p> + “'Ith a baby,' says she. + </p> + <p> + “God! I felt bad when she told me that....” + </p> + <p> + Tumm stopped, sighed, picked at a knot in the table. There was silence in + the forecastle. The <i>Good Samaritan</i> was still nodding to the swell—lying + safe at anchor in Heart's Ease Cove. We heard the gusts scamper over the + deck and shake the rigging; we caught, in the intervals, the deep-throated + roar of breakers, far off—all the noises of the gale. And Tumm + picked at the knot with his clasp-knife; and we sat watching, silent, + all.... And I felt bad, too, because of the maid at Whooping Harbor—a + rolling waste of rock, with the moonlight lying on it, stretching from the + whispering mystery of the sea to the greater desolation beyond; and an + uncomely maid, wishing, without hope, for that which the hearts of women + must ever desire.... + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” Tumm drawled, “it made me feel bad t' think o' what she'd been + wantin' all them years; an' then I wished I'd been kinder t' Liz.... An', + 'Tumm,' thinks I, 'you went an' come ashore t' stop this here thing; but + you better let the skipper have his little joke, for t'will on'y s'prise + him, an' it won't do nobody else no hurt. Here's this fool,' thinks I, + 'wantin' a wife; an' he won't never have another chance. An' here's this + maid,' thinks I, 'wantin' a baby; an' <i>she</i> won't never have another + chance. 'Tis plain t' see,' thinks I, 'that God A'mighty, who made un, + crossed their courses; an' I 'low, ecod!' thinks I, 'that 'twasn't a bad + idea He had. If He's got to get out of it somehow,' thinks I, 'why, <i>I</i> + don't know no better way. Tumm,' thinks I, 'you sheer off. Let Nature,' + thinks I, 'have doo course an' be glorified.' So I looks Liz in the eye—an' + says nothin'. + </p> + <p> + “'Tumm,' says she, 'doth you think he—' + </p> + <p> + “'Don't you be scared o' nothin',' says I. 'He's a lad o' good feelin's,' + says I, 'an' he'll treat you the best he knows how. Is you goin' t' take + un?' + </p> + <p> + “'I wathn't thinkin' o' that,' says she. 'I wathn't thinkin' o' <i>not</i>. + I wath jutht,' says she, 'wonderin'.' + </p> + <p> + “'They isn't no sense in that, Liz,' says I. 'You just wait an' find out.' + </p> + <p> + “'What'th hith name?' says she. + </p> + <p> + “'Shoos,' says I. 'Moses Shoos.' + </p> + <p> + “With that she up with her pinny an' begun t' cry like a young swile. + </p> + <p> + “'What you cryin' for, Liz?' says I. + </p> + <p> + “I 'low I couldn't tell what 'twas all about. But she was like all the + women. Lord! 'tis the little things that makes un weep when it comes t' + the weddin'. + </p> + <p> + “'Come, Liz,' says I, 'what you cryin' about?' + </p> + <p> + “'I lithp,' says she. + </p> + <p> + “'I knows you does, Liz,' says I; 'but it ain't nothin' t' cry about.' + </p> + <p> + “'I can't thay Joneth,' says she. + </p> + <p> + “'No,' says I; 'but you'll be changin' your name,' says I, 'an' it won't + matter no more.' + </p> + <p> + “'An' if I can't say Joneth,' says she, 'I can't thay—' + </p> + <p> + “'Can't say what?' says I. + </p> + <p> + “'Can't thay Thooth!' says she. + </p> + <p> + “Lord! No more she could. An' t' say Moses Shoos! An' t' say M'issus Moses + Shoos! Lord! It give me a pain in the tongue, t' think of it. + </p> + <p> + “'Jutht my luck,' says she; 'but I'll do my betht.' + </p> + <p> + “So we went back an' told the cook that he didn't have t' worry no more + about gettin' a wife; an' he said he was more glad than sorry, an', says + he, she'd better get her bonnet, t' go aboard an' get married right away. + An' she 'lowed she didn't want no bonnet, but <i>would</i> like to change + her pinny. So we said we'd as lief wait a spell, though a clean pinny + wasn't <i>needed</i>. An' when she got back, the cook said he 'lowed the + skipper could marry un well enough 'til we over-hauled a real parson; an' + she thought so, too, for, says she, 'twouldn't be longer than fall, an' + any sort of a weddin', says she, would do 'til then. An' aboard we went, + the cook an' me pullin' the punt, an' she steerin'; an' the cook he crowed + an' cackled all the way, like a half-witted rooster; but the maid didn't + even cluck, for she was too wonderful solemn t' do anything but look at + the moon. + </p> + <p> + “'Skipper,' said the cook, when we got in the fo'c's'le, 'here she is. <i>I</i> + isn't afeared,' says he, 'and <i>she</i> isn't afeared; an' now I 'low + we'll have you marry us.' + </p> + <p> + “Up jumps the skipper; but he was too much s'prised t' say a word. + </p> + <p> + “'An' I'm thinkin',' says the cook, with a nasty little wink, 'that they + isn't a man in this here fo'c's'le,' says he, 'will <i>say</i> I'm + afeared.' + </p> + <p> + “'Cook,' says the skipper, takin' the cook's hand, 'shake! I never knowed + a man like you afore,' says he. 'T' my knowledge, you're the on'y man in + the Labrador fleet would do it. I'm proud,' says he, 't' take the hand o' + the man with nerve enough t' marry Walrus Liz o' Whoopin' Harbor.' + </p> + <p> + “The devil got in the eyes o' the cook—a jumpin' little brimstone + devil, ecod! + </p> + <p> + “'Ay, lad,' says the skipper, 'I'm proud t' know the man that isn't + afeared o' Walrus—' + </p> + <p> + “'Don't you call her that!' says the cook. 'Don't you do it, skipper!' + </p> + <p> + “I was lookin' at Liz. She was grinnin' in a holy sort o' way. Never seed + nothin' like that afore—no, lads, not in all my life. + </p> + <p> + “'An' why not, cook?' says the skipper. + </p> + <p> + “'It ain't her name,' says the cook. + </p> + <p> + “'It ain't?' says the skipper. 'But I been sailin' the Labrador for twenty + year,' says he, 'an' I ain't never heared her called nothin' but Walrus—' + </p> + <p> + “The devil got into the cook's hands then. I seed his fingers clawin' the + air in a hungry sort o' way. An' it looked t' me like squally weather for + the skipper. + </p> + <p> + “'Don't you do it no more, skipper,' says the cook. 'I isn't got no wits,' + says he, 'an' I'm feelin' wonderful queer!' + </p> + <p> + “The skipper took a look ahead into the cook's eyes. 'Well, cook,' says + he, I 'low,' says he, 'I won't.' + </p> + <p> + “Liz laughed—an' got close t' the fool from Thunder Arm. An' I seed + her touch his coat-tail, like as if she loved it, but didn't dast do no + more. + </p> + <p> + “'What you two goin' t' do?' says the skipper. + </p> + <p> + “'We 'lowed you'd marry us,' says the cook, ''til we come across a + parson.' + </p> + <p> + “'I will,' says the skipper. 'Stand up here,' says he. 'All hands stand + up!' says he. 'Tumm,' says he, 'get me the first Book you comes across.' + </p> + <p> + “I got un a Book. + </p> + <p> + “'Now, Liz,' says he, 'can you cook?' + </p> + <p> + “'Fair t' middlin',' says she. 'I won't lie.' + </p> + <p> + “''Twill do,' says he. 'An' does you want t' get married t' this here dam' + fool?' + </p> + <p> + “'An it pleathe you,' says she. + </p> + <p> + “'Shoos,' says the skipper, 'will you let this woman do the cookin'?' + </p> + <p> + “'Well, skipper,' says the cook, 'I will; for I don't want nobody t' die + o' my cookin' on this here v'y'ge.' + </p> + <p> + “'An' will you keep out o' the galley?' “'I 'low I'll <i>have</i> to.' + </p> + <p> + “'An', look you! cook, is you sure—is you <i>sure</i>,' says the + skipper, with a shudder, lookin' at the roof, 'that you wants t' marry + this here—' + </p> + <p> + “'Don't you do it, skipper!' says the cook. 'Don't you say that no more! + By God!' says he, 'I'll kill you if you does!' + </p> + <p> + “'Is you sure,' says the skipper, 'that you wants t' marry this here—woman?' + </p> + <p> + “'I will.' + </p> + <p> + “'Well,' says the skipper, kissin' the Book, 'I'low me an' the crew don't + care; an' we can't help it, anyhow.' + </p> + <p> + “'What about mother's ring?' says the cook. 'She might's well have that,' + says he, 'if she's careful about the wear an' tear. For joolery,' says he + t' Liz, 'don't stand it.' + </p> + <p> + “'It can't do no harm,' says the skipper. + </p> + <p> + “'Ith we married, thkipper?' says Liz, when she got the ring on. + </p> + <p> + “'Well,' says the skipper, 'I 'low that knot 'll hold 'til fall. For,' + says he, 'I got a rope's end an' a belayin'-pin t' make it hold,' says he, + 'til we gets long-side of a parson that knows more about matrimonial knots + 'n me. We'll pick up your goods. Liz,' says he, 'on the s'uthard v'y'ge. + An' I hopes, ol girl,' says he, 'that you'll be able t' boil the water + 'ithout burnin' it.' + </p> + <p> + “'Ay, Liz. I been makin' a awful fist o' b'ilin' the water o' late.' + </p> + <p> + “She gave him one look—an' put her clean pinny to her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “'What you cryin' about?' says the cook. + </p> + <p> + “'I don't know,' says she; 'but I 'low 'tith becauthe now I knowth you <i>ith</i> + a fool!' + </p> + <p> + “'She's right, Tumm,' says the cook. 'She's got it right! Bein' born on + Hollow eve,' says he, 'I couldn't be nothin' else. But, Liz,' says he, + 'I'm glad I got you, fool or no fool.' + </p> + <p> + “So she wiped her eyes, an' blowed her nose, an' give a little sniff, an' + looked up, an' smiled. + </p> + <p> + “'I isn't good enough for you,' says the poor cook. 'But, Liz,' says he, + 'if you kissed me,' says he, 'I wouldn't mind a bit. An' they isn't a man + in this here fo'c's'le,' says he, lookin' around, 'that'll <i>say</i> I'd + mind. Not one,' says he, with the little devil jumpin' in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Then she stopped cryin' for good. + </p> + <p> + “'Go ahead, Liz!' says he. 'I ain't afeared. Come on! Give us a kiss!' + </p> + <p> + “'Motheth Thooth,' says she, 'you're the firtht man ever athked me t' give + un a kith!' + </p> + <p> + “She kissed un. 'Twas like a pistol-shot. An', Lord! her poor face was + shinin'....” + </p> + <p> + In the forecastle of the <i>Good Samaritan</i> we listened to the wind as + it scampered over the deck; and we watched Tumm pick at the knot in the + table. + </p> + <p> + “Was she happy?” I asked, at last. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he answered, with a laugh, “she sort o' got what she was wantin'. + More'n she was lookin' for, I 'low. Seven o' them. An' all straight an' + hearty. Ecod! sir, you never <i>seed</i> such a likely litter o' young + uns. Spick an' span, ecod! from stem t' stern. Smellin' clean an' sweet; + decks as white as snow; an' every nail an' knob polished 'til it made you + blink t' see it. An' when I was down Thunder Arm way, last season, they + was some talk <i>o' one o' them bein' raised for a parson!</i>” + </p> + <p> + I went on deck. The night was still black; but beyond—high over the + open sea, hung in the depths of the mystery of night and space—there + was a star. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + HYACINTHUS + </h2> + <h3> + BY MARY E. WILKINS FREEMAN + </h3> + <p> + The group was seated on the flat door-stone and the gravel walk in front + of it, which crossed the green square of the Lynn front yard. On the wide + flat stone, in two chairs, sat Mrs. Rufus Lynn and her opposite neighbor, + Mrs. Wilford Biggs. On a chair on the gravel walk sat Mr. John Mangam, + Mrs. Biggs's brother—an elderly unmarried man who lived in the + village. On the step itself sat Mrs. Samson, an old lady of eighty-five, + as straight as if she were sixteen, and by her side, her long body bent + gracefully, her elbows resting on her knees, her chin resting in the cup + of her two hands, Sarah Lynn, her great-granddaughter. Sarah Lynn was + often spoken of as “pretty if she wasn't so slouchy,” in Adams, the + village in which she had been born and bred. Adams people were not, + generally speaking, of the kind who understand the grace which may exist + in utter freedom of attitude and motion. + </p> + <p> + It was a very hot evening of one of the hottest days of July, and Mrs. + Rufus Lynn wore in deference to the climate a gown of white cambric with a + little black sprig thereon, but nothing could excel the smoothly boned fit + of it. And she did not lean back in her chair, but was as erect as the + very old lady on the door-step, who was her grandmother, and who was also + stiffly gowned, in a black cashmere as straightly made as if it had been + armor. The influence of heredity showed strongly in the two, but in Sarah + showed the intervening generation. + </p> + <p> + Sarah was a great beauty with no honor in her own country. Her long softly + curved figure was surmounted by a head wound with braids of the purest + flax color, and a face like a cameo. She was very fair, with the fairness + of alabaster. Her mother's face had a hard blondness, pink and white, but + fixed, and her great-grandmother had the same. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Samson often glanced disapprovingly at her great-granddaughter, + seated by her side in her utterly lax attitude. “Don't set so hunched up,” + she whispered to her in a sharp hiss. She did not want Mr. John Mangam, + whom she regarded as a suitor of Sarah's, to have his attention called to + the girl's defects. + </p> + <p> + But Sarah had laughed softly, and replied, quite aloud, in a languid, + sweet voice, “Oh, it is so hot, grandma!” + </p> + <p> + “What if it is hot?” said the old woman. “You ain't no hotter settin' up + than you be slouchin'.” She still spoke in a whisper, and Sarah had only + laughed and said nothing more. + </p> + <p> + As for Mrs. Wilford Biggs and her brother, Mr. John Mangam, they + maintained, as always, silence. Neither of the two ever spoke, as a rule, + unless spoken to. John was called a very rich man in Adams. He had gone to + the far West in his youth and made money in cattle. + </p> + <p> + “And how in creation he ever made any money in cattle, a man that don't + talk no more than he does, beats me,” Mrs. Samson often said to her + granddaughter, Mrs. Lynn. She was quite out-spoken to her about John + Mangam, although never to Sarah. “It does seem as if a man would have to + say somethin', to manage critters,” said the old woman. + </p> + <p> + Mr. John Mangam and Mrs. Wilford Biggs grated on her nerves. She privately + considered it an outrage for Mrs. Biggs to come over nearly every evening + and sit and rock and say nothing, and often fall asleep, and for Mr. + Mangam to do the same. It was not so much the silence as the attitude of + almost injured expectancy which irritated. Both gave the effect of waiting + for other people to talk to them, to tell them interesting bits of news, + to ask them questions—to set them going, as it were. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Lynn and her grandmother tried to fulfil their duty in this + direction, but Sarah did not trouble herself in the least. She continued + to sit bent over like a lily limp with the heat, and she stared with her + two great blue eyes in her cameo face forth at the wonders of the summer + night, and she had apparently very little consciousness of the people + around her. Her loose white gown fell loosely around her; her white elbows + were quite visible from the position in which she held her arms. Her + lovely hair hung in soft loops over her ears. She was the only one who + paid the slightest attention to the beauty of the night. She was filling + her whole soul with it. + </p> + <p> + It was a wonderful night, and Adams was a village in which to see a + wonderful night. It was flanked by a river, upon the opposite bank of + which rose a gentle mountain. Above the mountain the moon was appearing + with the beauty of revelation, and the tall trees made superb shadow + effects. The night also was not without its voices and its fragrances. + Katydids were shrilling from every thicket, and over somewhere near the + river a whippoorwill was persistently calling. As for the fragrances, they + were those of the dark, damp skirts and wings of the night, the evidences + as loud as voices of green shrubs and flowers blooming in low wet places; + but dominant above all was the scent of the lilies. One breathed in lilies + to that extent that one's thought seemed fairly scented with them. It was + easy enough, by looking toward the left, to see where the fragrance came + from. There was evident, on the other side of a low hedge, a pale + florescence of the flowers. Beyond them rose, pale likewise, the great + Ware house, the largest in the village, and the oldest. Hyacinthus Ware + was the sole representative of the old family known to be living. + Presently the group on the Lynn door-step began to talk about him, leading + up to the subject from the fragrance of the lilies. + </p> + <p> + “Them lilies is so sweet they are sickish,” said the old grandmother. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, they be dreadful sickish,” said Mrs. Lynn. Mrs. Wilford Biggs and + Mr. Mangam, as usual, said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Hyacinthus is home, I see,” said Mrs. Lynn. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I see him on the street t'other day,” said the old woman, in her + thick dialect. She sat straighter than ever as she gazed across at the + garden of lilies and the great Ware house, and the cold step-stone seemed + to pierce her old spinal column like a rod of steel; but she never + flinched. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Wilford Biggs and Mr. John Mangam said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “He is the handsomest man I ever saw,” said Sarah Lynn, unexpectedly, in + an odd, shamed, almost awed voice, as if she were speaking of a divinity. + </p> + <p> + Then for the first time Mr. John Mangam gave evidence of life. He did not + speak, but he made an inarticulate noise between a grunt and a sniff. + </p> + <p> + “Well, if you call that man good-lookin',” said Mrs. Lynn, “you don't see + the way I do, that's all.” She looked straight at Mr. John Mangam as she + spoke. + </p> + <p> + “I don't call him good-looking at all,” said the old woman; “dreadful + white-livered.” + </p> + <p> + Sarah said nothing at all, but the face of the man, Hyacinthus Ware, was + before her eyes still, as beautiful and grand as the face of a god. + </p> + <p> + “Never heerd such a name, either,” said the old woman. “His mother was + dreadful flowery. She had some outlandish blood. I don't know whether she + was Eyetalian or Dutch.” + </p> + <p> + “Her mother was Greek, I always heard,” said Mrs. Lynn. “I dun'no' as I + ever heard of any other Greek round these parts. I guess they don't + emigrate much.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess it was Greek, now you speak of it,” said the old woman. “I knew + she was outlandish on one side, anyhow. An' as fur callin' him + good-lookin'—” She looked aggressively at her great-granddaughter, + whose beautiful face was turned toward the moonlit night. + </p> + <p> + It was a long time that they sat there. It had been a very hot day, and + the cool was grateful. Hardly a remark was made, except one from Mrs. Lynn + that it was a blessing there were so few mosquitoes and they could sit + outdoors such a night. + </p> + <p> + “I ain't heerd but one all the time I've been settin' here,” said the old + woman, “and I ketched him.” + </p> + <p> + Sarah, the girl, continued to drink, to eat, to imbibe, to assimilate, + toward her spiritual growth, the beauty of the night, the gentle slope of + the mountain, the wavering wings of the shadows, the song of the river, + the calls of the whippoorwill and the katydids, the perfume of the unseen + green things in the wet places, and the overmastering sweetness of the + lilies. + </p> + <p> + At last Mrs. Wilford Biggs arose to go, and also John Mangam. Both said + they must be goin', they guessed, and that was the first remark that had + been made by either of them. Mrs. Biggs moved with loose flops down the + front walk, and John Mangam walked stiffly behind her. She had merely to + cross the road; he had half a mile to walk to his bachelor abode. + </p> + <p> + “I should think he must be lonesome, poor man, with only that no-account + housekeeper to home,” said the old woman, as she also rose, with pain, of + which she resolutely gave no evidence. Her poor old joints seemed to stab + her, but she fought off the pain angrily. Instead she pitied with meaning + John Mangam. + </p> + <p> + “It must be pretty hard for him,” assented Mrs. Lynn. She also thought it + would be a very good thing for her daughter to marry John Mangam. + </p> + <p> + Sarah said nothing. The old woman, after saying, like the others, that she + guessed she must be goin', crept off alone across the field to her little + house. She would have resented any offer to accompany her, and Mrs. Lynn + arose to enter the house. + </p> + <p> + “Well, be you goin' to set there all night?” she asked, rather sharply, of + Sarah. It had seemed to her that Sarah might have made a little effort to + entertain Mr. John Mangam. + </p> + <p> + “No. I am coming in, mother,” Sarah said. Sarah spoke differently from the + others. She had had, as they expressed it in Adams, “advantages.” She had, + in fact, graduated from a girls' school of considerable repute. Her father + had insisted upon it. Mrs. Lynn had rather rebelled against the outlay on + Sarah's education. She had John Mangam in mind, and she thought that a + course at the high school in Adams would fit her admirably for her life. + However, she deferred to Rufus Lynn, and Sarah had her education. + </p> + <p> + The Lynn house was a large story-and-a-half cottage, the prevalent type of + house in Adams. Mrs. Lynn slept in the room she had always occupied on the + second floor. In hot weather Sarah slept in the bedroom opening out of the + best parlor, because the other second-floor room was hot. Mrs. Lynn went + up-stairs with her lamp and left Sarah to go to bed in the bedroom out of + the parlor. Sarah went in there with her own little lamp, but even that + room seemed stuffy. The heat of the day seemed to have become confined in + the house. Sarah stood irresolute for a moment. She looked at the high + mound of feather bed, at the small window at the foot, whence came + scarcely a whiff of the blessed night air. Them she went back out on the + door-step and again seated herself. As she sat there the scent of the + lilies came more strongly than ever, and now with a curious effect. It was + to the girl as if the fragrance were twining and winding about her and + impelling her like leashes. All at once an impulse of yielding which was + really freedom came to her. Why in the world should she not cross the + little north yard, step over the low hedge, and go into that lily-garden? + She knew that it would be beautiful there. She looked forth into the + crystalline light and the soft plumy shade,—she would go over into + the Ware garden. With all this, there was no ulterior motive. She had seen + the man who lived in the house, and she admired him as one from afar, but + she was a girl innocent not only in fact, but in dreams. Of course she had + thought of a possible lover and husband, and that some day he might come, + and she resented the supposition that John Mangam might be he, but she + held even her imagination in a curious respect. While she dreamed of love, + she worshipped at the same time. + </p> + <p> + When she had stepped lightly over the hedge and was moving among the + lilies in the strange garden where she had no right, she was beautiful as + any nymph. Now that she was in the midst of the lilies, it was as if their + fragrance were a chorus sung with a violence of sweet breath in her very + face. She felt exhilarated, even intoxicated, by it. She felt as if she + were drawing the lilies so into herself that her own personality waned. + She seemed to realize what it would be to bloom with that pale glory and + exhale such sweetness for a few days. There were other flowers than lilies + in the garden, but the lilies were very plentiful. There were white + day-lilies, and tiger-lilies which were not sweet at all, and marvellous + pink freckled ones which glistened as with drops of silver and were very + fragrant. There were also low-growing spider-lilies, but those were not + evident at this time of night, and the lilies-of-the-valley, of course, + were all gone. There were, however, many other flowers of the + old-fashioned varieties—verbenas sweet-williams, phlox, hollyhocks, + mignonette, and the like. There was also a quantity of box. The garden was + divided into rooms by the box, and in each room bloomed the flowers. + </p> + <p> + Sarah moved along at her will through the garden. Moving from enclosure to + enclosure of box, she came, before she knew it, to the house itself. It + loomed up before her a pale massiveness, with no lights in any of the + windows, but on the back porch sat the owner. He sat in a high-back chair, + with his head tilted back, and his eyes were closed and he seemed to be + asleep, but Sarah was not quite sure. She stopped short. She became all at + once horribly ashamed and shocked at what she was doing. What would he + think of a girl roaming around his garden so late at night—a girl to + whom he had never spoken? She was standing against a background of + blooming hollyhocks. Her slender height shrank delicately away; she was + like a nymph poised for flight, but she dared not even fly lest she wake + the man on the porch if he were asleep, or arouse his attention were he + awake. + </p> + <p> + She dared do nothing but remain perfectly still—as still as one of + the tall hollyhocks behind her which were crowded with white and yellow + rosettes of bloom. She had her long dress wound around her, holding it up + with one hand, and the other hand and arm hung whitely at her side in the + folds. She stood perfectly still and looked at the man in the porch, on + whose face the moon was shining. He looked more than ever to her like + something wonderful beyond common. The man had really a wonderful beauty. + He was not very young, but no years could affect the classic outlines of + his face, and his colorless skin was as clear and smooth as a boys. And + more than anything to be remarked was the majestic serenity of his + expression. He looked like a man who all his life had dominated not only + other men, but himself. And there was, besides the appearance of the man, + a certain fascination of mystery attached to him. Nobody in Adams knew + just how or where he had spent his life. The old Ware house had been + occupied for many years only by an old caretaker, who still remained. This + caretaker was a man, but with all the housekeeping ability of a woman. He + was never seen by Adams people except when he made his marketing + expeditions. He was said to keep the house in immaculate order, and he + also took care of the garden. He had always been in the Ware household, + and there was a tradition that in his youth he had been a very handsome + man. “As handsome as any handsome woman you ever saw,” the old inhabitants + said. He had come not very long before Joseph Ware, the father of + Hyacinthus, had died. Joseph's wife had survived him several years. She + died quite suddenly of pneumonia when still a comparatively young woman + and when Hyacinthus was a boy. Then a maternal uncle had come and taken + the boy away with him, to live nobody knew where nor how, until his return + a few months since. + </p> + <p> + There was, of course, much curiosity in Adams concerning him, and the + curiosity was not, generally speaking, of a complimentary tendency. Some + young and marriageable girls esteemed him very handsome, but the majority + of the people said that he was odd and stuck up, as his mother had been + before him. He led a quiet life with his books, and he had a room on the + ground-floor fitted up as a studio. In there he made things of clay and + plaster, as the Adams people said, and curious-looking boxes were sent + away by express. It was rumored that a statue by him had been exhibited in + New York. + </p> + <p> + Some faces show more plainly in the moonlight, or one imagines so. + Hyacinthus Ware's showed as clearly as if carved in marble. He in reality + looked so like a statue that the girl standing in the enclosure of box + with the background of hollyhocks had for a moment imagined that he might + be one of his own statues. The eyes, either closed in sleep or appearing + to be, heightened the effect. + </p> + <p> + But the girl was not now in a position to do more than tremble at the + plight into which she had gotten herself. It seemed to her that no girl, + certainly no girl in Adams, had ever done such a thing. Her freedom of + mind now failed her. Another heredity asserted itself. She felt very much + as her mother or her great-grandmother might have felt in a similar + predicament. It was as horrible as dreams she had sometimes had of walking + into church in her nightgear. She was sure that she must not move, and the + more so because at a very slight motion of hers there had been a motion as + if in response from the man on the porch. Then there was another drawback. + Some roses grew behind the hollyhocks, and her skirt was caught. She had + felt a little pull at her skirt when she essayed a slight tentative + motion. Therefore, in order to fly she could not merely slip away; she + would have to make extra motions to disentangle her dress. She therefore + remained perfectly still in the attitude of shrinking and flight. She + thought that her only course until the man should wake and enter the + house; then she could slip away. She had not much fear of being discovered + unless by motion; she stood in shadow. Besides, the man had no reason + whatever to apprehend the presence of a girl in his garden at that hour, + and would not be looking for her. She had an intuitive feeling that unless + she moved he would not perceive her. Cramps began to assail even her + untrammelled limbs. To maintain one pose so long was almost an impossible + feat. She kept hoping that he would wake, that he must wake. It did not + seem possible that he could sit there much longer and not wake; and yet + the night was so hot—hot, probably, even in the great square rooms + of the old Ware house. It was quite natural that he should prefer sleeping + there in the cool out-of-door if he could, but an unreasoning rage seized + upon her that he should. She rebelled against the very freedom in another + which she had always coveted for herself. + </p> + <p> + And still he sat there, as white and beautiful and motionless as a statue, + and still she kept her enforced attitude. She suffered tortures, but she + said to herself that she would not yield, that she would not move. Rather + than have that man discover her at that hour in his garden, she would + suffer everything. It did not occur to her that possibly this suffering + might have consequences which she did not foresee. All that she considered + was a simple question of endurance; but all at once her head swam, and she + sank down at the feet of the hollyhocks like a broken flower herself. She + had completely lost consciousness. + </p> + <p> + When she came to herself she was lying on the back porch of the old Ware + house and a pile of pillows was under her head, and she had a confused + impression of vanishing woman draperies, which later on she thought she + must have been mistaken about, as she knew, of course, that there was no + woman there. Hyacinthus Ware himself was bending over her and fanning her + with a great fan of peacock feathers, and the old caretaker had a little + glass of wine on a tray. The first thing Sarah heard was Hyacinthus's + voice, evenly modulated, with a curious stillness about it. + </p> + <p> + “I think if you can drink a little of this wine,” he said, “you will feel + better.” + </p> + <p> + Sarah looked up at the face looking down at her, and all at once a + conviction seized upon her that he had not been asleep at all; that he had + pretended to be so, and had been enjoying himself at her expense, simply + waiting to see how long she would stand there. He probably thought that + she—she, Sarah Lynn—had come into his garden at midnight to + see him. A sudden fury seized upon her, but when she tried to raise + herself she found that she could not. Then she reached out her hand for + the wine, and drank it with a fierce gulp, spilling some of it over her + dress. It affected her almost instantly. She raised herself, the wine + giving her strength, and she looked with a haughty anger at the man, whose + expression seemed something between compassion and mocking. + </p> + <p> + “You saw me all the time,” she said. “You did, I know you did, and you let + me think you were asleep to see how long I would stand still there, and + you think—you think—I was sitting on my door-step—I live + in the next house—and it was very warm in the house, so I came out + again and I smelled the lilies over the hedge, and—and—I did + not think of you at all.” She was quite on her feet then, and she looked + at him with her head thrown back with an air of challenge. “I thought I + would like to come over here in the garden,” she continued, in the same + angrily excusing tone, “and I did not dream of seeing any one. It was so + late, I thought the house would be closed, and when I saw you I thought + you were asleep.” + </p> + <p> + The man began to look genuinely compassionate; the half-smile faded from + his lips. “I understand,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “And I thought if I moved you would wake and see me, and you were awake + all the time. You knew all the time, and you waited for me to stand there + and feel as I did. I never dreamed a man could be so cruel.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon with all my heart,” began Hyacinthus Ware. + </p> + <p> + But the girl was gone. She staggered a little as she ran, leaping over the + box borders. When she was at last in her own home, with the door softly + closed and locked behind her, and she was in the parlor bedroom, she could + not believe that she was herself. She began to look at things differently. + The influence of the intergeneration waned. She thought how her mother + would never have done such a thing when she was a girl, how shocked she + would be if she knew, and she herself was as shocked as her mother would + have been. + </p> + <p> + It was only a week from the night of the garden episode that Mr. Ware came + to make a call, and he came with the minister, who had been an old friend + of his father's. + </p> + <p> + She lay awake a long time that night, thinking with angry humiliation how + her mother wanted her to marry John Mangam, and she thought of Mr. + Hyacinthus Ware and his polished, gentle manner, which was yet strong. + Then all at once a feeling which she had never known before came over her. + She saw quite plainly before her, in the moonlit dusk of the room, + Hyacinthus Ware's face, and she felt that she could go down on her knees + before him and worship him. + </p> + <p> + “Never was such a man,” she said to herself. “Never was a man so beautiful + and so good. He is not like other men.” + </p> + <p> + It was not so much love as devotion which possessed her. She looked out of + her little window opposite the bed, at the moonlit night, for the storm + had cleared the air. She had the window open and a cool wind was blowing + through the room. She looked out at the silver-lit immensity of the sky, + and a feeling of exaltation came over her. She thought of Hyacinthus as + she might have thought of a divinity. Love and marriage were hardly within + her imagination in connection with him. But they came later. + </p> + <p> + Ware quite often called at the Lynn house. He often joined the group on + the door-step in the summer nights. He often came when John Mangam + occupied his usual chair in his usual place, and his graceful urbanity on + such occasions seemed to make more evident the other man's stolid or + stupid silence. Hyacinthus and Sarah usually had the most of the + conversation to themselves, as even Mrs. Lynn and the old woman, who were + not backward in speech, were at a loss to discuss many of the topics + introduced. One evening, after they had all gone home, Mrs. Lynn looked + fiercely at her daughter as she turned, holding her little lamp, which + cast a glorifying reflection upon her face, into the parlor whence led her + little bedroom. + </p> + <p> + “You are a good-for-nothin' girl,” she said. “You ought to be ashamed of + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, mother?” asked Sarah. She stood fair and white, + confronting her mother, who was burning and coarse with wrath. + </p> + <p> + “You talk about things you and him know that the rest of us can't talk + about. You take advantage because your father and me sent you to school + where you could learn more than we could. It wasn't my fault I didn't go + to school, and 'twa'n't his fault, poor man. He had to go to work and get + all that money he has.” By the last masculine pronoun Mrs. Lynn meant John + Mangam. + </p> + <p> + Sarah had a spirit of her own, and she turned upon her mother, and for the + time the two faces looked alike, being swayed with one emotion. “If,” she + said, “Mr. Ware and I had to regulate our conversation in order to enable + Mr. Mangam to talk with us, I am sure I don't know what we could say. Mr. + Mangam never talks, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “It ain't always the folks that talks that knows the most and is the + best,” said Mrs. Lynn. Then her face upon her daughter's turned + malevolent, triumphant, and cruel. “I wa'n't goin' to tell you what I + heard when I was in Mis' Ketchum's this afternoon,” she said. “I thought + at first I wouldn't, but now I'm goin' to.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, mother?” asked Sarah, in an angry voice; but she + quailed. + </p> + <p> + “I thought at first I wouldn't,” her mother continued, pitilessly, “but I + see to-night how things are goin'.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by that, mother?” + </p> + <p> + “I see that you are fool enough to get to likin' a man that has got the + gift of the gab, and that you think is good-lookin', and that wears + clothes made in the city, better than a good honest feller that we have + all known about ever since he was born, and that ain't got no outlandish + blood in him, neither.” + </p> + <p> + “Mother!” + </p> + <p> + “You needn't say mother that way. I ain't a fool, if I haven't been to + school like some folks, and I see the way you two looked at each other + to-night right before that poor man that has been comin' here steady and + means honorable.” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody asked or wanted him to come,” said Sarah. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe you'll change your mind when you hear what I've got to tell you. + And I'm goin' to tell you. <i>Hyacinthus Ware has got a woman livin' over + there in that house.</i>” Sarah turned ghastly pale, but she spoke firmly. + “You mean he is married?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I dun'no' whether he is married or not, but there is a woman livin' + there.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe a word of it.” + </p> + <p> + “It don't make no odds whether you believe it or not, she's there.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe it.” + </p> + <p> + “She's been seed.” + </p> + <p> + “Who has seen her.” + </p> + <p> + “Abby Jane Ketchum herself, when she went round to the back door day + before yesterday afternoon to ask if Mr. Ware would buy some of her soap. + You know she's sellin' soap to get a prize.” + </p> + <p> + “Where was the woman?” + </p> + <p> + “She was sittin' on the back porch with Mr. Ware, and she up and run when + she see Abby Jane, and Mr. Ware turned as white as a sheet, and he bought + all the soap Abby Jane had left to git out of it, so she's got enough to + get a sideboard for a prize. And Abby Jane she kept her eyes open and she + see a blind close in the southwest chamber, and that's where the woman + sleeps.” + </p> + <p> + “What kind of a looking woman was she?” asked Sarah, in a strange voice. + </p> + <p> + “As handsome as a picture, Abby Jane said, and she had on an awful stylish + dress. Now if you want to have men like that comin' here to see you, and + want to make more of them than you do of a man that you know is all right + and is good and honest, you can.” + </p> + <p> + There was something about the girl's face, as she turned away without a + word, that smote her mother's heart. “I felt as if I had to tell you, + Sarah,” she said, in a voice which was suddenly changed to pity and + apology. + </p> + <p> + “You did perfectly right to tell me, mother,” said Sarah. When at last she + got in her little bedroom she scarcely knew her own face in the glass. + Hyacinthus Ware had kissed that face the night before, and ever since the + memory of it had seemed like a lamp in her heart. She had met him when she + was coming home from the post-office after dark, and he had kissed her at + the gate and told her he loved her, and she expected, of course, to marry + him. Even now she could not bring herself to entirely doubt him. “Suppose + there is a woman there,” she said to herself, “what does it prove?” But + she felt in her inmost heart that it did prove a good deal. + </p> + <p> + She remembered just how Hyacinthus looked when he spoke to her; there had + been something almost childlike in his face. She could not believe, and + yet in the face of all this evidence! If there was a woman living in the + house with him, why had he kept it secret? Suddenly it occurred to her + that she could go over in the garden and see for herself. It was a bright + moonlight night and not yet late. If the woman was there, if she inhabited + the southwest chamber, there might be some sign of her. Sarah placed her + lamp on her bureau, gathered her skirts around her, and ran swiftly out + into the night. She hurried stealthily through the garden. The lilies were + gone, but there was still a strong breath of sweetness, a bouquet, as it + were, of mignonette and verbena and sweet thyme and other fragrant + blossoms, and the hollyhocks still bloomed. She went very carefully when + she reached the last enclosure of box; she peeped through the tall file of + hollyhocks, and there was Hyacinthus on the porch and there was a woman + beside him. In fact, the woman was sitting in the old chair and Hyacinthus + was at her feet, on the step, with his head in her lap. The moon shone on + them; they looked as if they were carved with marble. + </p> + <p> + Sarah never knew how she got home, but she was back there in her little + room and nobody knew that she had been in the Ware garden except herself. + The next morning she had a talk with her mother. “Mother,” said she, “if + Mr. John Mangam wants to marry me why doesn't he say so?” She was fairly + brutal in her manner of putting the question. She did not change color in + the least. She was very pale that morning, and she stood more like her + mother and her great-grandmother than herself. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Lynn looked at her, and she was almost shocked. “Why, Sarah Lynn!” + she gasped. + </p> + <p> + “I mean just what I say,” said Sarah, firmly. “I want to know. John Mangam + has been coming here steadily for nearly two years, and he never even says + a word, much less asks me to marry him. Does he expect me to do it?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose he thinks you might at least meet him half-way,” said her + mother, confusedly. + </p> + <p> + That afternoon she went over to Mrs. Wilford Biggs's, and the next night, + it being John Mangam's night to call, Mrs. Biggs waylaid him as he was + just about to cross the street to the Lynn house. + </p> + <p> + After a short conversation Mrs. Biggs and her brother crossed the street + together, and it was not long before Mrs. Lynn asked Mrs. Biggs and the + old grandmother, who had also come over, to go in the house and see her + new black silk dress. Then it was that John Mangam mumbled something + inarticulate, which Sarah translated into an offer of marriage. “Very + well, I will marry you if you want me to, Mr. Mangam,” she said. “I don't + love you at all, but if you don't mind about that—” + </p> + <p> + John Mangam said nothing at all. + </p> + <p> + “If you don't mind that, I will marry you,” said Sarah, and nobody would + have known her voice. It was a voice to be ashamed of, full of despair and + shame and pride, so wronged and mangled that her very spirit seemed + violated. John Mangam said nothing then. She and the man sat there quite + still, when Hyacinthus came stepping over the hedge. + </p> + <p> + Sarah found a voice when she saw him. She turned to him. “Good evening, + Mr. Ware,” she said, clearly. “I would like to announce my engagement to + Mr. Mangam.” + </p> + <p> + Hyacinthus stood staring at her. Sarah repeated her announcement. Then + Hyacinthus Ware disregarded John Mangam as much as if he had been a post + of the white fence that enclosed the Lynn yard. “What does it mean?” he + cried. + </p> + <p> + “You have no right to ask,” said she, also disregarding John Mangam, who + sat perfectly still in his chair. + </p> + <p> + “No right to ask after—Sarah, what do you mean? Why have I no right + to ask, after what we told each other?—and I intended to see your + mother to-night. I only waited because—” + </p> + <p> + “Because you had a guest in the house,” said Sarah, in a cold, low voice. + Then John Mangam looked up with some show of animation. He had heard the + gossip. + </p> + <p> + Hyacinthus looked at her a moment, speechless, then he left her without + another word and went home across the hedge. + </p> + <p> + It was soon told in Adams that Sarah Lynn and John Mangam were to be + married. Everybody agreed that it was a good match and that Sarah was a + lucky girl. She went on with her wedding preparations. John Mangam came as + usual and sat silently. Sometimes when Sarah looked at him and reflected + that she would have to pass her life with this automaton a sort of madness + seized her. + </p> + <p> + Hyacinthus she almost never saw. Once in a great while she met him on the + street, and he bowed, raising his hat silently. He never made the + slightest attempt at explanation. + </p> + <p> + One night, after supper, Sarah and her mother sat on the front door-step, + and by and by the old grandmother came across the fields, and Mrs. Wilford + Biggs across the street, and Mr. John Mangam from his own house farther + down. He looked preoccupied and worried that night, and while he was as + silent as ever, yet his silence had the effect of speech. + </p> + <p> + They sat in their customary places: Mrs. Lynn and Mrs. Biggs in the chairs + on the broad step-stone, Sarah and the old woman on the step, and Mr. John + Mangam in his chair on the gravel path,—when a strange lady came + stepping across the hedge from the Ware garden. She was not so very young, + although she was undeniably very handsome, and her clothes were of a + fashion never seen in Adams. She went straight up to the group on the + door-step, and although she had too much poise of manner to appear + agitated, it was evident that she was very eager and very much in earnest. + Mrs. Lynn half arose, with an idea of giving her a chair, but there was no + time, the lady began talking so at once. + </p> + <p> + “You are Miss Sarah Lynn, are you not?” she asked of Sarah, and she did + not wait for a reply, “and you are going to be married to him?” and there + was an unmistakable emphasis of scorn. + </p> + <p> + “I have just returned,” said the lady; “I have not been in the house half + an hour, and my father told me. You do not know, but the gentleman who has + lived so long in the Ware house, the caretaker, is my father, and—and + my mother was Hyacinthus's mother; her second marriage was secret, and he + would never tell. My father and my mother were cousins. Hyacinthus never + told.” She turned to Sarah. “He would not even tell you, when he knew that + you must have seen or heard something that made you believe otherwise, + because—because of our mother. No, he would not even tell you.” + </p> + <p> + She spoke again with a great impetuosity which made her seem very young, + although she was not so very young. “I have been kept away all my life,” + she said, “all my life from here, that the memory of our mother should not + suffer, and now I come to tell, myself, and you will marry my brother, + whom you must love better than that gentleman. You must. Will you not? + Tell me that you will,” said she, “for Hyacinthus is breaking his heart, + and he loves you.” + </p> + <p> + Before anything further could be said John Mangam rose, and walked rapidly + down the gravel walk out of the yard and down the street. + </p> + <p> + Sarah felt dizzy. She bent lower as she sat and held her head in her two + hands, and the strange lady came on the other side of her, and she was + enveloped in a fragrance of some foreign perfume. + </p> + <p> + “My brother has been almost mad,” she whispered in her ear, “and I have + just found out what the trouble was. He would not tell on account of our + mother, but poor mother is dead and gone.” + </p> + <p> + Then the old woman on the other side raised her voice unexpectedly, and + she spoke to her granddaughter, Mrs. Lynn. “You are a fool,” said she, “if + you wouldn't rather hev Serrah merry a man like Hyacinthus Ware, with all + his money and livin' in the biggest house in Adams, than a man like John + Mangam, who sets an' sets an' sets the hull evenin' and never opens his + mouth to say boo to a goose, and beside bein' threatened with a suit for + breach.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't care who she marries, as long as she is happy,” said Sarah's + mother. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm goin',” said the old woman. “I left my winders open, and I + think there's a shower comin' up.” + </p> + <p> + She rose, and Mrs. Wilford Biggs at the same time. Sarah's mother went + into the house. + </p> + <p> + “Won't you?” whispered the strange lady, and it was as if a rose whispered + in Sarah's ear. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know that he—I thought—” stammered Sarah. + </p> + <p> + Sarah did not exactly know when the lady left and when Hyacinthus came, + but after a while they were sitting side by side on the door-step, and the + moon was rising over the mountain, and the wonderful shadows were + gathering about them like a company of wedding-guests. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + JANE'S GRAY EYES + </h2> + <h3> + BY SEWELL FORD + </h3> + <p> + When <i>The Insurgent</i> took its place among the “best six sellers,” + Decatur Brown formed several good resolutions. He would not have himself + photographed in a literary pose, holding a book on his knee, or propping + his forehead up with one hand and gazing dreamily into space; he would not + accept the praise of newspaper reviewers as laurel dropped from Olympus; + and he would not tell “how he wrote it.” + </p> + <p> + Firmly he held to this commendable programme, despite frequent urgings to + depart from it. Yet observe what pitfalls beset the path of the popular + fictionist. There came a breezy, shrewd-eyed young woman of beguiling + tongue who announced herself as a “lady journalist.” + </p> + <p> + “Now for goodness' sake don't shy,” she pleaded. “I'm not going to ask + about your literary methods, or do a kodak write-up of the way you brush + your hair, or any of that rot. I merely want you to say something about + Sunday Weeks. That's legitimate, isn't it? Sunday's a public character + now, you know. Every one talks about her. So why shouldn't you, who know + her best?” + </p> + <p> + It was the voice of the siren. Decatur Brown should have recognized it as + such. But the breezy young person was so plausible, she bubbled with such + enthusiasm for his heroine, that in the end he yielded. He talked of + Sunday Weeks. And such talk! + </p> + <p> + Obviously the “lady journalist” had come all primed with the rather + shop-worn theory that the Sunday Weeks who figured as the heroine of <i>The + Insurgent</i> must be a real personage, a young woman in whom Decatur + Brown took more than a literary interest. Possibly the cards were ready to + be sent out. + </p> + <p> + Had she put these queries point-blank, he would have denied them + definitely and emphatically, and there would have been an end. But she was + far too clever for that. She plied him with sly hints and deft + insinuation. Then, when he began to scent her purpose, she took another + tack. “Did he really admire women of the Sunday Weeks type? Did he + honestly think that the unconventional, wilful, whimsical Sunday, while + perfectly charming in the unmarried state, could be tamed to matrimony? + Was he willing to have his ideal of womanhood judged by this disturbingly + fascinating creature of the 'sober gray eyes and piquant chin'?” + </p> + <p> + Naturally he felt called upon to endorse his heroine, to defend her. + Loyalty to his art demanded that much. Then, too, there recurred to him + thoughts of Jane Temple. He could truthfully say that Sunday was a wholly + imaginative character, that she had no “original.” And yet subconsciously + he knew that all the time he was creating her there had been before him a + vision of Jane. Not a very distinct vision, to be sure. It had been some + years since he had seen her. But that bit about the sober gray eyes and + the piquant chin Jane was responsible for. He could never forget those + eyes of Jane's. He was not so certain about the chin. It might have been + piquant; and then again, it might not. At any rate, it had been adorable, + for it was Jane's. + </p> + <p> + So, while some of his enthusiasm in the defence of Sunday Weeks was due to + artistic fervor, more of it was prompted by thoughts of Jane Temple. He + did not pretend, he declared, to speak for other men; but as for himself, + he liked Sunday—he liked her very much. + </p> + <p> + The shrewd eyes of the “lady journalist” glistened. She knew her cue when + she heard it. Throwing her first theory to the four winds, she eagerly + gripped this new and tangible fact. + </p> + <p> + “Then she really is your ideal?” + </p> + <p> + He had not thought much about it, but he presumed that in a sense she was. + </p> + <p> + “But suppose now, Mr. Brown, just suppose you should some day run across a + young woman exactly like the Sunday Weeks you have described: would you + marry her?” + </p> + <p> + Decatur Brown laughed—a light, irresponsible, bachelor laugh. “I + should probably ask her if I might first.” + </p> + <p> + “But you <i>would</i> ask her?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, assuredly.” + </p> + <p> + “And would you like to find such a girl?” + </p> + <p> + Decatur gazed sentimentally over the smart little polo-hat of the “lady + journalist” and out of the window at a sky—a sky as gray as Jane's + eyes had been that last night when they had parted, she to travel abroad + with her aunt, he to become a cub reporter on a city daily. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I would like very much to find her,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + Do you think, after this, that the interviewer waited for more? Not she. + Leaving him mixed up with his daydream, she took herself off before he + could retract, or modify, or in any way spoil the story. + </p> + <p> + Still, considering what she might have printed, she was really quite + decent about it. Leaving out the startling head-lines, hers was a nice, + readable, chatty article. It contained no bald announcement that the + author of <i>The Insurgent</i> was hunting, with matrimonial intent, for a + gray-eyed prototype of Sunday Weeks. Yet that was the impression conveyed. + Where was there a girl with sober gray eyes and a piquant chin who could + answer to certain other specifications, duly set forth in one of the most + popular novels of the day? Whoever she might be, wherever she was, she + might know what to expect should she be discovered. + </p> + <p> + Having survived the first shock to his reticence, Decatur Brown was + inclined to dismiss the matter with a laugh. He had been cleverly + exploited, but he could not see that any great harm had been done. He + supposed that he must become used to such things. Anyway, he was + altogether too busy to give much thought to the incident, for he was in + the middle of another novel that must be ready for the public before <i>The + Insurgent</i> was forgotten. + </p> + <p> + He was yet to learn the real meaning of publicity. First there appeared an + old friend, one who should have understood him too well to put faith in + such an absurdity. + </p> + <p> + “Say, Deck, you've simply got to dine with us Thursday night. My wife + insists. She wants you to meet a cousin of hers—Denver girl, mighty + bright, and”—this impressively—“she has gray eyes, you know.” + </p> + <p> + Decatur grinned appreciatively, but he begged off. He was really very + sorry to miss a gray-eyed girl, of course, but there was his work. + </p> + <p> + One by one his other friends had their little shy at him. Mayhew sent by + messenger a huge placard reading, “Wanted, A Wife.” Trevors called him up + by telephone to advise him to see <i>Jupiter Belles</i> at once. + </p> + <p> + “Get a seat in A,” he chuckled, “and take a good look at the third from + the left, first row. She has gray eyes.” + </p> + <p> + By the time he received Tiddler's atrocious sketch, representing the + author of <i>The Insurgent</i> as a Diogenes looking for gray-eyed girls, + he had ceased to smile over the thing. The joke was becoming a trifle + stale. + </p> + <p> + Then the letters began to come in, post-marked from all over the country. + They were all from young persons who had read <i>The Insurgent</i>, and + evidently the interview; for, no matter what else was said, each missive + contained the information that the writer of it possessed gray eyes. All + save one. That was accompanied by a photograph on which an arrow had been + drawn pointing towards the eyes. Under the arrow was naively inscribed, + “Gray.” + </p> + <p> + Decatur was not flattered. His dignity suffered. He felt cheapened, + humiliated. The fact that the waning boom of his novel had received new + impetus did not console him. His mildly serious expression gave place to a + worried, injured look. + </p> + <p> + And then Mrs. Wheeler Upton swooped down on him with a demand for his + appearance at one of her Saturday nights. For Decatur there was no choice. + He was her debtor for so many helpful favors in the past that he could not + refuse so simple a request. Yet he groaned in spirit as he viewed the + prospect. Once it would have been different. Was it not in her pleasant + drawing-rooms that he had been boosted from obscurity to shine among the + other literary stars? Mrs. Upton knew them all. She made it her business + to do so, bless the kindly heart of her, and to see that they knew each + other. No wonder her library table groaned under the weight of autographed + volumes. + </p> + <p> + But to face that crowd at Mrs. Wheeler Upton's meant to run a rapid-fire + gauntlet of jokes about gray-eyed girls. However, go he must, and go he + did. + </p> + <p> + He was not a little relieved to find so few there, and that most of them + were young women. A girl often hesitates at voicing a witticism, because + she is afraid, after all, that it may not be really funny. A man never + doubts the excellence of his own humor. So, when a quarter of an hour had + passed without hint of that threadbare topic, he gradually threw off his + restraint and began to enjoy himself. He was talking Meredith to a tall + girl in soft-blue China silk, when suddenly he became aware that they had + been left entirely to themselves. Every one else seemed to have drifted + into an adjoining room. Through the doorway he could see them about Mrs. + Upton, who was evidently holding their attention. + </p> + <p> + “Why, what's up, I wonder? Why do they leave us out, I'd like to know?” + and he glanced inquiringly at the girl in soft blue. She flushed + consciously and dropped her lashes. When she looked at him again, and + rather appealingly, he saw that she had gray eyes. + </p> + <p> + It was Decatur's turn to flush. Could Mrs. Upton have done this + deliberately? He was loath to think so. The situation was awkward, and + awkwardly he got himself out of it. + </p> + <p> + “I say, let's see what they're up to in there,” he suggested, and marched + her into the other room, wondering if he showed his embarrassment as much + as she did. As he sidled away from her he determined to pick out a girl + whose eyes were not gray, and to stick to her for the remainder of the + evening. Accordingly he began his inspection. A moment later and the whole + truth blazed enlighteningly upon him. They were all gray-eyed girls, every + last one of them. + </p> + <p> + If he had been waiting for a climax, he was entirely satisfied. Of course + it was rather silly of him to take it all so seriously, but, sitting + safely in his rooms long after his panicky retreat from Mrs. Upton's + collection, he could not make light of the situation. It <i>was</i> + serious. He was losing sleep, appetite, and self-respect over it. + </p> + <p> + Not that he was vain enough to imagine that every gray-eyed girl in the + country, or any one of them, wished to marry him. No; he was fairly + modest, as men go. He suspected that the chief emotions he inspired were + curiosity and mischievousness. It was the thought of what those uncounted + thousands of gray-eyed girls must conceive as his attitude towards them + that hurt. Why, it was almost as though he had put a matrimonial + advertisement in the newspapers. When he pictured himself looked upon as + assuming to be a connoisseur of a certain type of femininity he felt as + keenly disgraced as if he had set himself up for an Apollo. + </p> + <p> + In next morning's mail he noted an increased number of letters from + unknown gray-eyed correspondents. That settled it. Hurriedly packing a + capacious kit-bag, with the uncompleted manuscript on top, he took the + first train for Ocean Park. Where else could he find a more habitable + solitude than Ocean Park in early June? Once previously he had gone there + before the season opened, and he knew. Later on the popular big seashore + resort would seethe with vacationists. They would crowd the hotels, + over-flow the board walk, cover the sands, and polka-dot the ocean. But in + June the sands would be deserted, the board walk untrod, the hotels empty. + </p> + <p> + And so it was. The landlord of The Empress welcomed him effusively, not as + Decatur Brown, author of <i>The Insurgent</i> and seeker of an ideal girl + with gray eyes, but as plain, every-day Mr. Brown, whom Providence had + sent as a June guest. Decatur was thankful for it. The barren verandas + were grateful in his sight. When he had been installed in a corner suite, + spread out his writing things on a flat-topped table that faced the sea, + filled his ink-well, and lighted his pipe, he seemed to have escaped from + a threatening presence. + </p> + <p> + He could breathe freely here, thank goodness, and work. He was just + settling down to it when through the open transom behind him came the + sound of rustling skirts and a voice which demanded: + </p> + <p> + “But how do you suppose he found that we were here? You're certain that it + was Decatur Brown, are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, quite certain. He has changed very little. Besides, there was the + name on the register.” + </p> + <p> + Decatur thrilled at the music of that answering voice. There was a little + quaver in it, a faint but fascinating breaking on the low notes, such as + he had never heard in any voice save Jane Temple's. + </p> + <p> + “Then Mabel must not come down to dinner to-night. She must—” The + rest was lost around the corner of a corridor. + </p> + <p> + What Mabel must do remained a mystery. Must she go without her dinner + altogether? He hoped not, for evidently his arrival had something to do + with it. Why? Decatur gave it up. Who was Mabel, anyway? The owner of the + other voice he could guess at. That must be Mrs. Philo Allen, Jane's aunt + Judith, the one who had carried her off to Europe and forbidden them to + write to each other. But Mabel? Oh yes! He had almost forgotten that + elaborately gowned miss who at sixteen had assumed such young-ladyfied + airs. Mabel was Jane's young cousin, of course, the one to whom he used to + take expensive bonbons, his intent being to propitiate Aunt Judith. + </p> + <p> + So they were guests at The Empress, too—Jane and her aunt and the + pampered Mabel? Chiefly, however, there was Jane. The others did not + matter much. Ah, here was a gray-eyed girl that he did not dread to meet. + And she had not forgotten him! + </p> + <p> + An hour later he was waiting for her in the lower hallway. Luckily she + came down alone, so they had the hall seat to themselves for those first + few minutes. She was the same charming Jane that he had known of old. + There was an added dignity in the way she carried her shapely little head, + a deeper sweetness in the curve of her thin lips. Perhaps her manner was a + little subdued, too; but, after all those years with Mrs. Philo Allen, why + not? + </p> + <p> + “How nice of you,” she was saying, “to hunt us up and surprise us in this + fashion. Auntie has been expecting you at home for weeks, you know, but + when Mabel's rose-cold developed she decided that we must go to the + seashore, even though we did die of lonesomeness. And here we find you—or + you find us. The sea air will make Mabel presentable in a day or so, we + hope.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure I hope so, too,” he assented, without enthusiasm. Really, he did + not see the necessity of dragging in Mabel. Nor did he understand why Mrs. + Allen had expected him, or why Jane should assume that he had hunted them + up. Now that she had assumed it, though, he could hardly explain that it + was an accident. He asked how long they had remained abroad. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, ages! There was an age in France, while Mabel was perfecting her + accent; then there was another age in Italy, where Mabel took + voice-culture and the old masters; and yet another age in Germany, while + Mabel struggled with the theory of music. Our year in Devon was not quite + an age; we went there for the good of Mabel's complexion.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed! Has she kept those peaches-and-cream checks?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you must wait and see,” and Jane nodded mysteriously. + </p> + <p> + “But I—” protested Decatur. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it will be only for a day or so. Rose-colds are so hard on the eyes, + you know. In the mean time perhaps you will tell us how you happened to + develop into a famous author. We are immensely proud of you, of course. + Aunt Judith goes hardly anywhere without a copy of <i>The Insurgent</i> in + her hand. If the persons she meets have not read it, she scolds them good. + And you must hear Mabel render that chapter in which Sunday runs away from + the man she loves with the man she doesn't.” + </p> + <p> + There they were, back to Mabel again. + </p> + <p> + “But what about yourself, Jane?” suggested Decatur. + </p> + <p> + “About me! Why, I only—Oh, here is Aunt Judith.” + </p> + <p> + Yes, there was no mistaking her, nor overlooking her. She was just as + colossally commanding as ever, just as imperious. At sight of her, Decatur + understood Jane's position clearly. She was still the dependent niece, the + obscure satellite of a star of the first magnitude. Very distinctly had + Mrs. Philo Allen once explained to him this dependence of Jane's, + incidentally touching on his own unlikely prospects. That had been just + before she had swept Jane off to Europe with her. + </p> + <p> + All this Aunt Judith now seemed to have forgotten. In her own imperial way + she greeted him graciously, inspecting him with critical but favorable + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Really, you do look quite distinguished,” was her verdict, as she took + his arm in her progress towards her dinner. “I am sure Mabel will say so, + too.” + </p> + <p> + Whereupon they reverted once more to Mabel. The maid was bathing Mabel's + eyes with witch-hazel and trying to persuade her to eat a little hot soup. + Such details about Mabel seemed to be regarded as of first importance. By + some mysterious reasoning, too, Mrs. Allen appeared to connect them with + Decatur Brown and his presence at Ocean Park. + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow night, if all goes well, you shall see her,” she whispered, + exultantly, in his ear, as they left the dining-hall. + </p> + <p> + Decatur was puzzled. What if he <i>could</i> see Mabel the next night? Or + what if he could not? He should survive, even if the event were + indefinitely postponed. What he desired just then was that Jane should + accompany him on an early-evening tramp down the board walk. + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn't it be better to wait until to-morrow evening?” asked Jane. + “Perhaps Mabel can go then.” + </p> + <p> + “The deuce take Mabel!” He half smothered the exclamation, and Jane + appeared not to hear, yielding at last to his insistence that they start + at once. But it was not the kind of a talk he had hoped to have with Jane + Temple. The intimate and personal ground of conversation towards which he + sought to draw her she avoided as carefully as if it had been stuck with + the “No Trespassing” notices. When they returned to the hotel, Decatur + felt scarcely better acquainted with her than before he had found her + again. + </p> + <p> + Next evening, according to schedule, Mabel appeared. She was an exquisite + young woman, there was no doubt about that. She carried herself with an + almost royal air which impressed even the head waiter. Her perfect figure, + perfectly encased, was graceful in every long curve. Her Devon-repaired + complexion was of dazzling purity, all snowy white and sea-shell pink. One + could hardly imagine how even so aristocratic a malady as a rose-cold + could have dared to redden slightly the tip of that classic nose. + </p> + <p> + Turning to Decatur with languid interest she murmured: + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you see I have not forgotten you, although I often do forget faces. + You may sit here, if you please, and talk to me.” + </p> + <p> + It was quite like being received by a sovereign, Decatur imagined. He did + his best to talk, and talk entertainingly, for no other reason than that + it was expected of him. At last he said something which struck the right + chord. The perfect Mabel smiled approvingly at him, and he noticed for the + first time that her eyes were gray. Suspiciously he glanced across the + table at Jane. Was that a mocking smile on her thinly curved lips, or was + it meant for kindly encouragement? + </p> + <p> + Little by little during the succeeding two days he pieced out the + situation. It was not a plot exactly, unless you could dignify Mrs. Philo + Allen's confident plans by such a name. But, starting with what basis + Heaven only knew, she had reached the conclusion that when the author of + <i>The Insurgent</i> had described Sunday Weeks he could have had in mind + but one person, the one gray-eyed girl worthy of such distinction, the + girl to whom he had shown such devotion but a few years before—her + daughter Mabel. Then she had begun expecting him to appear. And when he + had seemingly followed them to the seaside—well, what would any one + naturally think? Flutteringly she had doubtless put the question to Jane, + who had probably replied as she was expected to reply. + </p> + <p> + The peerless Mabel, of course, was the only one not in the secret. Anyway, + she would have taken no interest in it. Her amazing egoism would have + prevented that. Nothing interested Mabel acutely unless it pertained to + some attribute of her own loveliness. + </p> + <p> + As for Jane Temple's view of this business, that remained an enigma. Had + she grown so accustomed to her aunt Judith's estimate of Mabel that she + could accept it? That was hardly possible, for Jane had a keen sense of + humor. Then why should she help to throw Mabel at his head, or him at + Mabel's? + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile he walked at Mabel's side, carrying her wraps, while her mother + and Jane trailed judiciously in the rear. He drove out with Mabel, Mabel's + mother sitting opposite and smiling at him with an air of complacent + proprietorship. He stood by the piano and turned the music while Mabel + executed sonatas and other things for which he had not the least + appreciation. He listened to solos from <i>Lucia</i>, which Mabel sang at + Jane's suggestion. Also, Jane brought forth Mabel's sketch-books and then + ostentatiously left them alone with each other. + </p> + <p> + There was much meekness in Decatur. When handled just right he was + wonderfully complaisant. But after a whole week of Mabel he decided that + the limit had been reached. Seizing an occasion when Mabel was in the + hands of the hairdresser and manicurist, he led her mother to a secluded + veranda corner and boldly plunged into an explanation. + </p> + <p> + “I have no doubt you thought it a little strange, Mrs. Allen,” he began, + “my appearing to follow you down here, but really—” + </p> + <p> + “There, there, Decatur, it isn't at all necessary. It was all perfectly + natural and entirely proper. In fact, I quite understood.” + </p> + <p> + “But I'm afraid that you—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but I do comprehend. We old folks are not blind. When it was a matter + of those foreign gentlemen, German barons, Italian counts, Austrian + princes, and so on, I was extremely particular, perhaps overparticular. + Their titles are so often shoddy. But I know all about you. You come from + almost as good New England stock as we do. You are talented, almost + famous. Besides, your attachment is of no sudden growth. It has stood the + test of years. Yes, my dear Decatur, I heartily approve of you. However”—here + she rested a plump forefinger simperingly on the first of her two chins, + “your fate rests with Mabel, you know.” + </p> + <p> + Once or twice he had gaspingly tried to stop her, but smilingly she had + waved him aside. When she ended he was speechless. Could he tell her, + after all that, what a precious bore her exquisite Mabel was to him? It + had been difficult enough when the situation was only a tacit one, but now + that it had been definitely expressed—well, it was proving to be a + good deal like those net snares which hunters of circus animals use, the + more he struggled to free himself the more he became entangled. + </p> + <p> + Abruptly, silently, he took his leave of Mrs. Allen. He feared that if he + said more she might construe it as a request, that she should immediately + lay his proposal before Mabel. With a despairing, haunted look he sought + the board walk. + </p> + <p> + Carpenters were hammering and sawing, painters were busy in the booths, a + few old ladies sat about in the sun, here and there a happy youngster dug + in the sand with a tin shovel. Decatur envied them all. They were sane, + rational persons, who were not likely to be interviewed and trapped into + saying fool things. Their acts were not liable to be misconstrued. + </p> + <p> + Seeing a pier jutting out, he heedlessly followed it to the very end. And + there, on one of the seats built for summer guests, he found Jane. + </p> + <p> + “Where is Mabel?” she asked, anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “She is having her hair done and her nails polished, I believe,” said + Decatur, gloomily, dropping down beside Jane. “She is being prepared, as + nearly as I can gather, to receive a proposal of marriage.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Then you—” She turned to him inquiringly. + </p> + <p> + “It appears so now,” he admitted. “I have been talking to her mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I see.” She said it quietly, gently, in a tone of submission. + </p> + <p> + “But you don't see,” he protested. “No one sees; that is, no one sees + things as they really are. Do you think, Jane, that you could listen to me + for a few moments without jumping at conclusions, without assuming that + you know exactly what I am going to say before I have said it?” + </p> + <p> + She said that she would try. + </p> + <p> + “Then I would like to make a confession to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn't it be better to—to make it first to Mabel?” + </p> + <p> + “No, it would not,” he declared, doggedly. “It concerns that interview in + which I was quoted as saying things about gray-eyed girls.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I read it. We all read it.” + </p> + <p> + “I guessed that much. Well, I said those things, just as I was quoted as + saying them, but I did not mean all that I was credited with meaning. I + want you to believe, Jane, that when I admitted my preference for gray + eyes and—and all that, I was thinking of one gray-eyed girl in + particular. Can you believe that?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I did from the very first; that is, I did as soon as Aunt Judith—” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind about Aunt Judith,” interrupted Decatur, firmly. “We will get + to her in time. We are talking now about that interview. You must admit, + Jane, that there are many gray-eyed girls in the country; I don't know + just how many, thank Heaven, but there are a lot of them. And most of them + seem not only to have read that interview, but to have made a personal + application of my remarks. Have you any idea what that means to me?” + </p> + <p> + “Then you think that they are all in—” + </p> + <p> + “No, no! I don't imagine there's a single one that cares a bone button for + me. But each and every one of them thinks that I am in love with her, or + willing to be. If she doesn't think so, her friends do. They expect me to + propose on sight, simply because of what I have said about gray eyes. You + doubt that? Let me tell you what occurred just before I left town: A + person whom I had counted as a friend got together a whole houseful of + gray-eyed girls, and then sent for me to come and make my choice. That is + what drove me from the city. That is why I came to Ocean Park in June.” + </p> + <p> + “But the one particular gray-eyed girl that you mentioned? How was it that + you happened to—” + </p> + <p> + “It was sheer good fortune, Jane, that I found you here.” + </p> + <p> + Decatur had slipped a tentative arm along the seat-back. He was leaning + towards Jane, regarding her with melancholy tenderness. + </p> + <p> + “That you found me?” she said, wonderingly. “Oh, you mean that it was + fortunate you found <i>us</i> here?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don't. I mean you—y-o-u, second person singular. Haven't you + guessed by this time who was the particular gray-eyed girl I had in mind?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I have; it was Mabel, wasn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Mabel! Oh, hang Mabel! Jane, it was you.” + </p> + <p> + “Me! Why, Decatur Brown!” Either surprise or indignation rang in her tone. + He concluded that it must be the latter. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well,” he said, dejectedly, “I had no right to suppose that you'd + like it. It's the truth, though, and after so much misunderstanding I am + glad you know it. I want you to know that it was you who inspired Sunday + Weeks, if any one did. I have never mentioned this before, have not + admitted it, even to myself, until now. But I realize that it is true. We + have been a long time apart, but the memory of you has never faded for a + day, for an hour. So, when I tried to describe the most charming girl of + whom I could think, I was describing you. As I wrote, there was constantly + before me the vision of your dear gray eyes, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Decatur! Look at me. Look me straight in the eyes and tell me if they are + gray.” + </p> + <p> + He looked. As a matter of fact, he had been looking into her eyes for + several moments. Now there was something so compelling about her tone that + he bent all his faculties to the task. This time he looked not with that + blindness peculiar to those who love, but, for the moment, discerningly, + seeingly. And they were not gray eyes at all. They were a clear, brilliant + hazel. + </p> + <p> + “Why—why!” he gasped out, chokingly. “I—I have always thought + of them as gray eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “If that isn't just like a man!” she exclaimed, shrugging away from him. + Her quarter profile revealed those thinly curved lips pursed into a most + delicious pout. “You acknowledge, don't you, that they're <i>not</i> + gray?” she flung at him over her shoulder—an adorable shoulder, + Decatur thought. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I admit it,” he groaned. + </p> + <p> + “Then—then why don't you go away?” It was just that trembling little + quaver on the low notes which spurred him on to cast the die. + </p> + <p> + “Jane,” he whispered, “I don't want to go away, and I don't want you to + send me. It isn't gray eyes that I care for, or ever have cared for. It's + been just you, your own dear, charming self.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it hasn't been. I haven't even a piquant chin.” + </p> + <p> + “That doesn't matter. What is a piquant chin, anyway?” + </p> + <p> + “You ought to know; you wrote it.” + </p> + <p> + “So I did, but I didn't know what it meant. I just knew that it ought to + mean something charming, which you are.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not. And I am not accomplished. I don't sing, I don't play, I don't + draw.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks be for that! I don't, either. But I think you are the dearest girl + in the world.” + </p> + <p> + At that she turned to him and smiled a little as only Jane could smile. + </p> + <p> + “You told me that once before, a long time ago, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “And you have not forgotten?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I—you see—I didn't want to forget.” + </p> + <p> + Had it been August, or even July, doubtless a great number of vacationists + would have been somewhat shocked at what Decatur did then. But it was + early June, you remember, and on the far end of the Ocean Park + fishing-pier were only these two, with just the dancing blue ocean in + front. + </p> + <p> + “But,” she said at length, after many other and more important things had + been said between them, “what will Aunt Judith say?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose she'll think me a lucky dog—and slightly color-blind,” + chuckled Decatur, joyously. “But come,” he went on, helping her to rise + and retaining both her hands, swaying them back and forth clasped in his, + as children do in the game of London Bridge,—“come,” he repeated, + impulsively, “while my courage is high let us go and break the news to + your aunt Judith.” + </p> + <p> + There was, however, no need. Looming ponderously in the middle distance of + the pier's vista, a lorgnette held to her eyes, and a frozen look of + horror on her ample features, was Aunt Judith herself. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A STIFF CONDITION + </h2> + <h3> + BY HERMAN WHITAKER + </h3> + <p> + An Ontario sun shed a pleasant warmth into the clearing where Elder Hector + McCakeron sat smoking. His gratified consciousness was pleasantly + titillated by sights and sounds of worldly comfort. From the sty behind + the house came fat gruntings; in the barn-yard hens were shrilly + announcing that eggs would be served with the bacon; moreover, Janet was + vigorously agitating a hoe among the potatoes to his left, while his wife + performed similarly in the cabbage-garden. And what better could a man + wish than to see his women profitably employed? + </p> + <p> + It was a pause in Janet's labors that gave the elder first warning of an + intruder on his peace. A man was coming across the clearing—a short + fellow, thick-set and bow-legged in figure, slow and heavy of face. The + elder observed him with stony eyes. + </p> + <p> + “It's the Englisher,” he muttered. “What'll he be wanting wi' me?” + </p> + <p> + His accent was hostile as his glance. Since, thirty years before, a wave + of red-haired Scots inundated western Ontario, no man of Saxon birth had + settled in Zorra, the elder's township. That in peculiar had been held + sealed as a heritage to the Scot, and when Joshua Timmins bought out Sandy + Cruikshanks the township boiled and burned throughout its length and + breadth. + </p> + <p> + Not that it had expected to suffer the contamination. It was simply + astounded at the man's impudence. “We'll soon drum him oot!” Elder + McCakeron snorted, when he heard of the invasion; to which, on learning + that Timmins was also guilty of Methodism, he added, “Wait till the + meenister lays claws on the beast.” + </p> + <p> + It was confidently expected that he would be made into a notable example, + a warning to all intruders from beyond the pale; and the first Sunday + after his arrival a full congregation turned out to see the minister do + the trick. Interest was heightened by the presence of the victim, who, + lacking a chapel of his own faith, attended kirk. His entrance caused a + sensation. Forgetting its Sabbath manners, the congregation turned bodily + and stared till recalled to its duty by the minister's cough. Then it + shifted its gaze to him. What thunders were brewing behind that confident + front? What lightnings lurked in the depths of those steel-gray eyes? + Breathlessly Zorra had waited for the anathema which should wither the + hardy intruder and drive him as chaff from a burning wind. + </p> + <p> + But it waited in vain. By the most liberal interpretation no phrase of his + could be construed as a reflection on the stranger. Worse! After + kirk-letting the minister hailed Timmins in the door, shook hands in the + scandalized face of the congregation, and hoped that he might see him + regularly at service. + </p> + <p> + Scandalous? It was irreligious! But if disappointed in its minister, Zorra + had no intention of neglecting its own duty in the premises: the Englisher + was not to be let off while memories of Bruce and Bannockburn lived in + Scottish hearts. Which way he turned that day and in the months that + followed he met dour faces. Excepting Cap'en Donald McKay, a retired + mariner, whose native granite had been somewhat disintegrated by exposure + to other climates, no man gave him a word;—this, of course, without + counting Neil McNab, who called on Timmins three times a week to offer + half-price for the farm. + </p> + <p> + With one exception, too, the women looked askance upon him, wondering, + doubtless, how he dared to oppose their men-folks' wishes. Calling the + cows of evenings, Janet McCakeron sometimes came on Timmins, whose farm + cornered on her father's, and thus a nodding acquaintance arose between + them. That she should have so demeaned herself is a matter of reproach + with many, but the fair-minded who have sufficiently weighed the merits of + her case are slower with their blames. For though Zorra can boast maidens + who have hung in the wind till fifty and still, as the vernacular has it, + “married on a man,” a girl was counted well on the way to the shelf at + forty-five. Janet, be it remembered, lacked but two years of the fatal + age. Already chits of thirty-five or seven were generously alluding to her + as the prop of her father's age; so small wonder if she simpered instead + of passing with a nifty air when Timmins spoke one evening. + </p> + <p> + His remark was simple in tenor—in effect that her bell-cow was “a + wee cat-ham'ed”; but Janet scented its underlying tenderness as a hungry + traveller noses a dinner on a wind, and after that drove her cows round by + the corner which was conveniently veiled by heavy maple-bush. Indeed, it + was to the friendly shadows which shrouded it, day or dark, that Cap'en + McKay—a man wise in affairs of the heart by reason of much sailing + in and out of foreign ports—afterward attributed the record which + Timmins set Zorra in courting. + </p> + <p> + “He couldna see her bones, nor her his bow-legs,” the mariner phrased it. + But be this as it may, whether or no each made love to a voice, Cupid ran + a swift course with them, steeplechasing over obstacles that would have + taken years for a Zorra lad to plod around. In less than six months they + passed from a bare goodnight to the exchange of soul thoughts on + butter-making, the raising of calves, fattening of swine, and methods of + feeding swedes that they might not taint cow's milk, and so had progressed + by such tender paths through gentle dusks to the point where Timmins was + ready to declare himself in the light of this present morning. + </p> + <p> + Assured by one glance that Timmins's courage still hung at the point to + which she had screwed it the preceding evening, Janet drooped again to her + work. + </p> + <p> + To his remark that the potatoes were looking fine, however, the elder made + no response—unless a gout of tobacco smoke could be so counted. With + eyes screwed up and mouth drawn down, he gazed off into space—a + Highland sphinx, a Gaelic Rhadamanthus. + </p> + <p> + His manner, however, made no impression on Timmins's stolidity. The + latter's eye followed the elder's in its peregrinations till it came to + rest, when, without further preliminaries, he began to unfold his suit, + which in matter and essence was such as are usually put forward by those + whom love has blinded. + </p> + <p> + It was really an able plea, lacking perhaps those subtilities of detail + with which a Zorra man would have trimmed it, but good enough for a man + who labored under the disadvantages which accrue to birth south of the + Tweed and Tyne. But it did not stir the elder's sphinxlike calm. “Ha' ye + done?” he inquired, without removing his gaze from the clouds; and when + Timmins assented, he delivered judgment in a cloud of tobacco smoke. “Weel—ye + canna ha' her.” After which he resumed his pipe and smoked placidly, + wearing the air of one who has settled a difficult question forever. + </p> + <p> + But if stolid, Timmins had his fair share of a certain slow pugnacity. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + The elder smoked on. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Weel,”—the elder spoke slowly to the clouds,—“I'm no obliged + to quote chapter an' verse, but for the sake of argyment—forbye + should Janet marry on an Englisher when there's good Scotchmen running + loose?” + </p> + <p> + This was a “poser.” Born to a full realization of the vast gulf which + providence has fixed between the Highlands and the rest of the world, + Janet recognized it as such. Pausing, she leaned on her hoe, anxiously + waiting, while Timmins chewed a straw and the cud of reflection. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he slowly answered, “they've been runnin' from 'er this twenty + year.” Nodding confirmation to the brilliant rejoinder, Janet fell again + to work. + </p> + <p> + But the elder was in no wise discomposed. Withdrawing one eye from the + clouds, he turned it approvingly upon her hoe practice. “She's young yet,” + he said, “an' a lass o' her pairts wull no go til the shelf.” + </p> + <p> + “Call three-an'-forty young?” + </p> + <p> + “Christy McDonald,” the elder sententiously replied, “marrit on Neil McNab + at fifty. Janet's labor's no going to waste. An' if you were the on'y man + i' Zorra, it wad behoove me to conseeder the lassie's prospects i' the + next world. Ye're a Methodist.” + </p> + <p> + “Meanin',” said Timmins, when his mind had grappled with the charge, “as + there's no Methodists there?” + </p> + <p> + Questions of delicacy and certain theological difficulties involved called + for reflection, and the elder smoked a full minute on the question before + he replied: “No, I wadna go so far as that. It stan's to reason as there's + some of 'em there; on'y—I'm no so sure o' their whereaboots.” + </p> + <p> + Timmins thoughtfully scratched his head ere he came back to the charge. + “Meanin' as there's none in 'eaven?” + </p> + <p> + Again the elder blew a reflective cloud over the merits of the question. + “Weel,” he said, delivering himself with slow caution, “if so—it's + no on record.” + </p> + <p> + Again Janet looked up, with defeat perching amid her freckles. “He's got + ye this time,” her face said, and the elder's expression of placid + satisfaction affirmed the same opinion. But Timmins rose to a sudden + inspiration. + </p> + <p> + “In 'eaven,” he answered, “there's neither marriage nor givin' in + marriage.” + </p> + <p> + “Pish, mon!” the elder snorted. “It's no a question o' marrying; it's a + question o' getting theer, an' Janet's no going to do it wi' a Methodist + hanging til her skirts.” + </p> + <p> + Silence fell in the clearing—silence that was broken only by the + crash and tinkle of Janet's hoe as she buried Timmins under the clod. A + Scotch daughter, she would bide by her father's word. Unaware of his + funeral, Timmins himself stood scratching his poll. + </p> + <p> + “So you'll not give her to me?” he futilely repeated. + </p> + <p> + For the first time the elder looked toward him. “Mon, canna ye see the + impossibility o' it? No, ye canna ha' her till—till”—he cast + about for the limit of inconceivability—“till ye're an elder i' the + Presbyterian Kirk.” He almost cracked a laugh at Timmins's sudden + brightening. He had evolved the condition to drive home and clinch the + ridiculous impossibility of the other's suit, and here he was, the + doddered fule, taking hope! It was difficult to comprehend the workings of + such a mind, and though the elder smoked upon it for half an hour after + Timmins left the clearing, he failed of realization. + </p> + <p> + “Yon's a gay fule,” he said to Janet, when she answered his call to hitch + the log farther into the cabin. “He was wanting to marry on you.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay?” she indifferently returned,—adding, without change of feature, + “There's no lack o' fules round here.” + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile Timmins was making his way through the woods to his own place. + As he walked along, the brightness gradually faded from his face, and by + the time he reached the trysting-corner his mood was more in harmony with + his case. His face would have graced a funeral. + </p> + <p> + Now Cap'en McKay's farm lay cheek by jowl with the elder's, and as the + mariner happened to be fixing his fence at the corner, he noted Timmins's + signals of distress. “Man!” he greeted, “ye're looking hipped.” Then, + alluding to a heifer of Timmins's which had <i>bloated</i> on marsh-grass + the day before, he added, “The beastie didna die?” Assured that it was + only a wife that Timmins lacked, he sighed relief. “Ah, weel, that's no so + bad; they come cheaper. But tell us o't.” + </p> + <p> + “Hecks, lad!” he commented, on Timmins's dole, “I'd advise ye to drive + your pigs til anither market.” + </p> + <p> + “Were?” Timmins asked—“w'ere'll I find one?” + </p> + <p> + “That's so.” The mariner thoughtfully shaved his jaw with a red + forefinger, while his comprehensive glance took in the other's bow-legs. + “There isna anither lass i' Zorra that wad touch ye with a ten-foot pole.” + </p> + <p> + Reddening, Timmins breathed hard, but the mariner met his stare with the + serene gaze of one who deals in undiluted truth; so Timmins gulped and + went on: “Say! I 'ear that you're mighty clever in these 'ere affairs. + Can't you 'elp a feller out?” + </p> + <p> + The cap'en modestly bowed to reputation, admitting that he had assisted “a + sight of couples over the broomstick,” adding, however, that the knack had + its drawbacks. There were many door-stones in Zorra that he dared not + cross. And he wagged his head over Timmins's case, wisely, as a lawyer + ponders over the acceptance of a hopeless brief. Finally he suggested that + if Timmins was “no stuck on his Methodisticals,” he might join the kirk. + </p> + <p> + “You think that would 'elp?” + </p> + <p> + The cap'en thought that, but he was not prepared to endorse Timmins's + following generalization that it didn't much matter what name a man + worshipped under. It penetrated down through the aforesaid rubble of + disintegration and touched native granite. Stiffly enough he returned that + Presbyterianism was good enough for him, but it rested on Timmins to + follow the dictates of his own conscience. + </p> + <p> + Now when bathed in love's elixir conscience becomes very pliable indeed, + and as the promptings of Timmins's inner self were all toward Janet, his + outer man was not long in making up his mind. But though, following the + cap'en's advice, he joined himself to the elect of Zorra, his change of + faith brought him only a change of name. + </p> + <p> + Elder McCakeron officiated at the “christening” which took place in the + crowded market the day after Timmins's name had been spread on the kirk + register. “An' how is the apoos-tate the morning?” the elder inquired, + meeting Timmins. And the name stuck, and he was no more known as the + “Englisher.” + </p> + <p> + “Any letters for the Apoos-tate?” The postmaster would mouth the question, + repeating it after Timmins when he called for his mail. Small boys yelled + the obnoxious title as he passed the log school on the corner; wee girls + gazed after him, fascinated, as upon one destined for a headlong plunge + into the lake of fire and brimstone. Summing the situation at the close of + his second month's fellowship in the kirk, Timmins confessed to himself + that it had brought him only a full realization of the “stiffness” of + Elder McCakeron's “condition.” He was no nearer to Janet, and never would + have been but for the sudden decease of Elder Tammas Duncan. + </p> + <p> + In view of what followed, many hold that Elder Tammas made a vital mistake + in dying, while a few, less charitable, maintain that his decease was + positively sinful. + </p> + <p> + But if Elder Tammas be not held altogether blameless in the premises, what + must be said of Saunders McClellan, who loaded himself with corn-juice and + thereby sold himself to the fates? Saunders was a bachelor of fifty and a + misogynist by repute. Twenty years back he had paid a compliment to Jean + Ross, who afterward married on Rab Murray. It was not a flowery effort; + simply to the effect that he, Saunders, would rather sit by her, Jean, + than sup oatmeal brose. But though he did not soar into the realms of + metaphor, the compliment seems to have been a strain on Saunders's + intellect, to have sapped his being of tenderness; for after paying it he + reached for his hat and fled, and never again placed himself in such + jeopardy. + </p> + <p> + “Man!” he would exclaim, when, at threshing or logging bees, hairbreadth + escapes from matrimony cropped up in the conversation,—“man! but I + was near done for yon time!” And yet, all told, Saunders's dry + bachelorhood seems to have been caused by an interruption in the flow + rather than a drying up of his wells of feeling, as was proven by his + conduct coming home from market the evening he overloaded with + “corn-juice.” + </p> + <p> + For as he drove by Elder McCakeron's milk-yard, which lay within easy + hailing distance of the gravel road, Saunders bellowed to Janet: “Hoots, + there! Come awa, my bonnie bride! Come awa to the meenister!” In front of + her mother and Sib Sanderson, the cattle-buyer—who was pricing a fat + cow,—Saunders thus committed himself, then drove on, chuckling over + his own daring. + </p> + <p> + “Ye're a deevil! man, ye're a deevil!” he told himself, giving his hat a + rakish cock. “Ye're a deevil wi' the weemen, a sair deceever.” + </p> + <p> + He did feel that way—just then. But when, next morning, memory + disentangled itself from a splitting headache, Saunders's red hair + bristled at the thought of his indiscretion. It was terrible! He, + Saunders, the despair of the girls for thirty years, had fallen into a pit + of his own digging! He could but hope it a nightmare; but as doubt was + more horrible than certainty, he dressed and walked down the line to + McCakeron's. + </p> + <p> + Once again he found Janet at the milking; or rather, she had just turned + the cows into the pasture, and as she waited for him by the bars, Saunders + thought he had never seen her at worse advantage. The sharp morning air + had blued her nose, and he was dimly conscious that the color did not suit + her freckles. + </p> + <p> + “Why, no!” she said, answering his question as to whether or no he had not + acted a bit foolish the night before. “You just speired me to marry on + you. Said I'd been in your eye this thirty years.” + </p> + <p> + In a sense this was true. He had cleared from her path like a bolting + rabbit, but gallantry forbade that manifest explanation. “'Twas the + whuskey talking,” he pleaded. “Ye'll no hold me til a drunken promise?” + </p> + <p> + But he saw, even before she spoke, that she would. + </p> + <p> + “'Deed but I will!” she exclaimed, tossing her head. “An' them says ye + were drunken will ha' to deal wi' me. Ye were sober as a sermon.” + </p> + <p> + Though disheartened, Saunders tried another tack. “Janet,” he said, + solemnly, “I dinna think as a well-brought lass like you wad care to marry + on a man like me. I'm terrible i' the drink. I might beat ye.” + </p> + <p> + Janet complacently surveyed an arm that was thick as a club from heavy + choring. “I'll tak chances o' that.” + </p> + <p> + Saunders's heart sank into his boots; but, wiping the sweat from his brow, + he made one last desperate effort: “But ye're promised to the—the—Apoos-tate.” + </p> + <p> + “I am no. Father broke that off.” + </p> + <p> + Saunders shot his last bolt. “I believe I'm fickle, Janet. There'll be a + sair heart for the lass that marries me. I wouldna wonder if I jilted ye.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” she calmly replied, “I'll haul ye into the justice coort for + breach o' promise.” + </p> + <p> + With this terrible ultimatum dinging in his ears Saunders fled. Zorra + juries were notoriously tender with the woman in the case, and he saw + himself stripped of his worldly goods or tied to the apron of the + homeliest girl in Zorra. One single ray illumined the dark prospect. That + evening he called on Timmins, whom he much astonished by the extent and + quality of his advice and encouragement. He even went so far as to invite + the Englisher to his own cabin, thereby greatly scandalizing his + housekeeper—a maiden sister of fifty-two, who had forestalled fate + by declaring for the shelf at forty-nine. + </p> + <p> + “What'll he be doing here?” the maiden demanded, indicating Timmins with + accusatory finger on the occasion of his first visit. But his meekness and + the propitiatory manner in which he sat on the very edge of his chair, hat + gripped between his knees, mollified her so much that she presently + produced a bowl of red-cheeked apples for his refreshment. + </p> + <p> + But her thawing did not save Saunders after the guest was gone. “There's + always a fule in every family,” she cried, when he had explained his + predicament, “an' you drained the pitcher.” + </p> + <p> + “But you'll talk Janet to him,” Saunders urged, “an' him to her? She's + that hard put to it for a man that wi' a bit steering she'll consent to an + eelopement.” + </p> + <p> + But, bridling, Jeannie tossed a high head. “'Deed, then, an' I'll no do + ither folk's love-making.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” Saunders groaned, “I'll ha' the pair of ye in this hoose.” + </p> + <p> + This uncomfortable truth gave Jeannie pause. The position of maiden sister + carried with it more chores than easements, and Jeannie was not minded to + relinquish her present powers. For a while she seriously studied the + stove, then her face cleared; she started as one who suddenly sees her + clear path, and giving Saunders a queer look, she said: “Ah, weel, you're + my brother, after all. I'll do my best wi' both. Tell the Englisher as + I'll be pleased to see him any time in the evening.” + </p> + <p> + Matters were at this stage when Elder McCakeron's cows committed their + dire trespass on Neil McNab's turnips. + </p> + <p> + Who would imagine that such unlike events as Saunders McClellan's lapse + from sobriety, the death of Elder Duncan, and the trespass of McCakeron's + cows could have any bearing upon one another? Yet from their concurrence + was born the most astounding hap in the Zorra chronicles. Even if Elder + McCakeron had paid Neil's bill of damage instead of remarking that he + “didna see as the turnips had hurt his cows,” the thing would have addled + in the egg; and his recalcitrancy, so necessary to the hatching, has + caused many a wise pow to shake over the inscrutability of Providence. But + the elder did not pay, and in revenge Neil placed Peter Dunlop, the + elder's ancient enemy, in nomination for Tammas Duncan's eldership. + </p> + <p> + It was Saunders McClellan who carried the news to the McCakeron homestead. + According to her promise, Jeannie had visited early and late with Janet; + and dropping in one evening to check up her report of progress, Saunders + found the elder perched on a stump. + </p> + <p> + Saunders discharged him of his news, which dissipated the elder's calm as + thunder shatters silence. + </p> + <p> + “What?” he roared. “Yon scunner? Imph! I'd as lief ... as lief ... elect”—<i>the + devil</i> quivered back of his teeth, but as that savored of irreverence, + he substituted “the Apoostate!” + </p> + <p> + Right here a devil entered in unto Saunders McClellan—the mocking + devil whose mission it was to abase Zorra to the dust. But it did not make + its presence known until, next day, Saunders carried the news of Elder + McCakeron's retaliation to Cap'en McKay's pig-killing. + </p> + <p> + “He's going,” Saunders informed the cap'en and Neil McNab between pigs,—“he's + going to run Sandy 'Twenty-One' against your candidate.” + </p> + <p> + Now between Neil and Sandy lay a feud which had its beginnings what time + the latter <i>doctored</i> a spavined mare and sold her for a price to the + former's cousin Rab. + </p> + <p> + “Yon scunner?” Neil exclaimed, using the very form of the elder's words, + “yon scunner? I'd as lief ... as lief ... elect ...” + </p> + <p> + “... the Apoos-tate,” said the Devil, though Neil thought that Saunders + was talking. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, the Apoos-tate,” he agreed. + </p> + <p> + “It wad be a fine joke,” the Devil went on by the mouth of Saunders, “to + run the Apoos-tate agin' his candidate. McCakeron canna thole the man.” + </p> + <p> + “But what if he was elected?” the mariner objected. + </p> + <p> + The Devil was charged with glib argument. “We couldna very weel. It's to + be a three-cornered fight, an' Robert Duncan, brother to Tammas, has it + sure.” + </p> + <p> + “'Twad be a good one on McCakeron,” Neil mused. “To talk up Dunlop, who + doesna care a cent for the eldership, an' then spring the Apoos-tate on + him.” + </p> + <p> + “'Twould be bitter on 'Twenty-One,'” the cap'en added. He had been diddled + by Sandy on a deal of seed-wheat. + </p> + <p> + “It wad hit the pair of 'em,” McNab chuckled, and with that word the Devil + conquered. + </p> + <p> + So far, as aforesaid, Saunders had been unconscious of the Devil, but + going home the latter revealed himself in a heart-to-heart talk. “Ye're no + pretty to look at,” Saunders said. “I'm minded to throw ye oot!” + </p> + <p> + The Devil chuckled. “Janet's so bonny. Fancy her on the pillow beside, ye—scraggy—bones—freckles. + Hoots, man! a nightmare!” + </p> + <p> + Shuddering, Saunders reconsidered proceedings of ejectment. “But the thing + is no posseeble?” + </p> + <p> + “You know your men,” the Devil answered. “Close in the mouth as they are + in the fist. McCakeron will never get wind o' the business till they + spring it on him in meeting.” + </p> + <p> + “That is so,” Saunders acknowledged. “'Tis surely so-a.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why,” the Devil urged,—“then why not rig the same game on + him?” + </p> + <p> + “Bosh! He wouldna think o't.” + </p> + <p> + “Loving Dunlop as himself?” The Devil was apt at paraphrasing Scripture. + “Imph!” + </p> + <p> + “It <i>would</i> let me out?” Saunders mused. + </p> + <p> + “Ye can but fail,” argued the Devil. “Try it.” + </p> + <p> + “I wull.” + </p> + <p> + “This very night!” It is a wonder that the sparks did not fly, the Devil + struck so hard on the hot iron. “To-night! Ye ken the election comes off + next week.” + </p> + <p> + “To-night,” Saunders agreed. + </p> + <p> + Throughout that week the din of contending factions resounded beneath + brazen harvest skies; for if there was a wink behind the clamor of any + faction, it made no difference in the volume of its noise. Wherever two + men foregathered, there the spirit of strife was in their midst; the burr + of hot Scot's speech travelled like the murmur of robbed bees along the + Side Lines, up the Concession roads, and even raised an echo in the + hallowed seclusion of the minister's study. And harking back to certain + eldership elections in which the breaking of heads had taken the place of + “anointing with oil,” Elder McIntosh quietly evolved a plan whereby the + turmoil should be left outside the kirk on election night. + </p> + <p> + But while it lasted no voice rang louder than that of Saunders McClellan's + devil. Not a bit particular in choice of candidates, he roared against + Dunlop, Duncan, or “Twenty-One” according to the company which Saunders + kept. “Ye havna the ghaist of a show!” he assured Cap'en McKay, chief of + the Dunlopers. “McCakeron drew three mair to him last night.” While to the + elder he exclaimed the same day: “Yon crazy sailorman's got all the + Duncanites o' the run. He has ye spanked, Elder. Scunner the deil!” So the + Devil blew, hot and cold, with Saunders's mouth, until the very night + before the election. + </p> + <p> + The morning of the election the sun heaved up on a brassy sky. It was + intensely hot through the day, but towards evening gray clouds scudded out + of the east, veiling the sun with their twisting masses; at twilight heavy + rain-blots were splashing the dust. At eight o'clock, meeting-time, rain + flew in glistening sheets against the kirk windows and forced its way + under the floor. There was but a scant attendance—twoscore men, + perhaps, and half a dozen women, who sat, in decent Scotch fashion, apart + from the men—that is, apart from all but Joshua Timmins. Not having + been raised in the decencies as observed in Zorra, he had drifted over to + the woman's side and sat with Janet McCakeron and Jean McClellan, one on + either side. + </p> + <p> + But if few in number, the gathering was decidedly formidable in + appearance. As the rain had weeded out the feeble, infirm, and pacifically + inclined, it was distinctly belligerent in character. Grim, dour, silent, + it waited for the beginning of hostilities. + </p> + <p> + Nor did the service of praise which preceded the election induce a milder + spirit. When the precentor led off, “Howl, ye Sinners, Howl! Let the + Heathen Rage and Cry!” each man's look told that he knew well whom the + psalmist was hitting at; and when the minister invoked the “blind, + stubborn, and stony-hearted” to “depart from the midst,” one-half of his + hearers looked their astonishment that the other half did not immediately + step out in the rain. A heavy inspiration, a hard sigh, told that all were + bracing for battle when the minister stepped down from the pulpit, and + noting it, he congratulated himself on his precautions against + disturbance. + </p> + <p> + “For greater convenience in voting,” he said, reaching paper slips and a + box of pencils from behind the communion rail, “we will depart from the + oral method and elect by written ballot.” + </p> + <p> + He had expected a protest against such a radical departure from ancestral + precedent, but in some mysterious way the innovation seemed to jibe with + the people's inclination. + </p> + <p> + “Saunders McClellan,” the minister went on, “will distribute and collect + balloting-papers on the other aisle.” + </p> + <p> + “Give it to him, Cap'en!” Saunders whispered, as he handed him a slip. + “He's glowering at ye.” + </p> + <p> + The elder was indeed surveying the mariner, McNab, and Dunlop with a + glance of comprehensive hostility over the top of his ballot. “See what + I'm aboot!” his look said, as he folded the paper and tossed it into + Saunders's hat. + </p> + <p> + “The auld deevil!” McNab whispered, as the minister unfolded the first + ballot. “He'll soon slacken his gills.” + </p> + <p> + “That'll be one of oor ballots,” the cap'en hoarsely confided. + </p> + <p> + The minister was vigorously rubbing his glasses for a second perusal of + the ballot, but when the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth were added to the + first, his face became a study in astonishment. And presently his surprise + was reflected by the congregation. For whereas three candidates were in + nomination, the ballots were forming but two piles. + </p> + <p> + Whispers ran through the kirk; the cap'en nudged McNab. + </p> + <p> + “McCakeron must ha' swung all the Duncanites?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” Neil muttered. “An' that wad account for the stiff look o' the + reptile. See the glare o't.” + </p> + <p> + They would have stiffened in astonishment could they have translated the + “glare.” “Got the Duncanites, did ye?” the elder was thinking. “Bide a + wee, bide a wee! He laughs best that laughs last.” + </p> + <p> + Saunders McClellan and his Devil alone sensed the inwardness of those two + piles, and they held modest communion over it in the back of the kirk. + “You may be ugly, but ye've served me well,” Saunders began. + </p> + <p> + The Devil answered with extreme politeness: “You are welcome to all ye get + through me. If no honored, ye are at least aboot to become famous in your + ain country.” + </p> + <p> + “Infamous, I doobt, ye mean,” Saunders corrected. Then, glancing uneasily + toward the door, he added, “I think as we'd better be leaving.” + </p> + <p> + “Pish!” the Devil snorted. “They are undone by their ain malignancy. See + it oot.” + </p> + <p> + “That's so,” Saunders agreed. “That is surely so-a. Hist! The meenister's + risen. Man, but he's tickled to death over the result. His face is fair + shining.” + </p> + <p> + The minister did indeed look pleased. Stepping down to the floor that he + might be closer to these his people, he beamed benevolently upon them + while he made a little speech. “People of Scottish birth,” he said, + closing, “are often accused of being hard and uncharitable to the stranger + in their gates, but this can never be said of you who have extended the + highest honor in your gift to a stranger; who have elected Brother Joshua + Timmins elder in your kirk by a two-thirds majority.” + </p> + <p> + The benediction dissolved the paralysis which held all but Saunders + McClellan; but stupefaction remained. Astounding crises are generally + attended with little fuss, from the inability of the human intellect to + grasp their enormous significance. As John “Death” McKay afterward put it, + “Man, 'twas so extraordin'ry as to seem ordin'ry.” Of course neither + Dunlopers nor “Twenty-One's” were in a position to challenge the election, + and if the Duncanites growled as they pawed over the ballots, their + grumbling was presently silenced by a greater astonishment. + </p> + <p> + For out of such evenings history is made. While the minister had held + forth on the rights and duties of eldership, Saunders McClellan's gaze had + wandered over to Margaret McDonald—a healthy, red-cheeked girl—and + he had done a little moralizing on his own account. In the presence of + such an enterprising spinsterhood, bachelorhood had become an exceedingly + hazardous existence, and if a man must marry, he might as weel ha' + something young an' fresh! Margaret, too, was reputed industrious as + pretty! Of Janet's decision, Saunders had no doubts. Between himself and + Jeannie, and Timmins—meek, mild, and unencumbered—there could + be no choice. Still there was nothing like certainty; 'twas always best to + be off wi' the old, an' so forth! + </p> + <p> + Rising, he headed for Janet, who, with her father, Jeannie, Timmins, and + the minister, stood talking at the vestry door. As he made his way + forward, he reaped a portion of the Devil's promised fame. As they filed + sheepishly down the aisle, the Dunlopers gave him the cold shoulder, and + when he joined the group, Elder McCakeron returned a stony stare to his + greeting. + </p> + <p> + “But ye needna mind that,” the Devil encouraged. “He daurna tell, for his + own share i' the business.” + </p> + <p> + So Saunders brazened it out. “Ye ha' my congratulations, Mr. McCakeron. I + hear you're to get a son-in-law oot o' this?” + </p> + <p> + If Elder McCakeron had given Saunders the tempter the glare which he now + bestowed on Saunders the successfully wicked, he had not been in such + lamentable case. + </p> + <p> + “Why, what is this?” the minister exclaimed. “Cause for further + congratulation, Brother Timmins?” + </p> + <p> + Saunders now shone as Cupid's assistant. “He was to ha' Janet on + condeetion that he made the eldership,” he fulsomely explained. + </p> + <p> + The minister's glance questioned the elder. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he growled, “I'm no going back on my word.” + </p> + <p> + Saunders glowed all over, and in exuberance of spirit actually winked at + Margaret McDonald across the kirk. Man, but she was pretty! + </p> + <p> + “It's to your credit, Mr. McCakeron, that you should hold til a promise,” + Jeannie was saying. “But ye'll no be held. A man may change his mind, and + since you refused Joshua, he's decided to marry on me.” + </p> + <p> + Saunders blenched. He half turned to flee, but Janet's strong fingers + closed on his sleeve; and as her lips moved to claim him before minister + and meeting, he thought that he heard the Devil chuckling, a great way + off. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IN THE INTERESTS OF CHRISTOPHER + </h2> + <h3> + BY MAY HARRIS + </h3> + <p> + Mrs. Manstey's big country-house was temporarily empty of the guests she + had gathered for a week-end in June when the two Eversley girls reached + it, Saturday at noon. Their hostess met them at the door when the carriage + wheels crunched on the gravelled curve of the drive before the house—a + charming gray-haired woman of sixty, with a youthful face and a delicate + girlish color. + </p> + <p> + “I've sent everybody away to explore—to ravage the country,” she + gayly explained the emptiness of the large hall, where the grouped chairs + seemed recently vacated and pleasantly suggestive of suspended + tête-à -tête. “I've had Rose before,” Mrs. Manstey pursued, taking them up + the stairs to their rooms, “but not <i>you!</i>” She gave Edith's shoulder + an affectionate little pat. She thought the younger girl extremely + beautiful—which she was, with a vivid, piquant face and charming + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I've had my day,” Rose Eversley acknowledged, with her usual air of + jesting gravity, that, almost ironic, made one always a little unsure of + her. “Dear Mrs. Manstey, you perfectly see—don't you?—that + Edith is papa's image, and—” + </p> + <p> + “And he was my old sweetheart!” Mrs. Manstey completed, with humorous + appreciation of her own repetition of an old story. + </p> + <p> + “Was he, really?” Edith wondered. “Mamma says you were <i>her</i> friend.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Manstey laughed. “Couldn't I have been—both?” she gayly put it. + “Friends are better than sweethearts—they last longer. Though of + course you won't agree, at your age, to such heresy.” + </p> + <p> + “Sweethearts?” the girl pondered as she lifted her hands to take off her + hat. “I—don't know. It's such a pretty word, but it doesn't mean + much these days—there aren't any!” She shrugged her shoulders with a + petulant pessimism her youth made amusing. “Papa was the last of the kind—he's + a <i>love!</i>—and you let mamma have him!” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't 'let.'” Mrs. Manstey enjoyed it. “When he met your mother he + forgot all about me. Think of it! I haven't seen either him or your mother + in years, years, years!” + </p> + <p> + “<i>My</i> years!” Edith said. “I was a baby, mamma says, when she saw you + last.” + </p> + <p> + “So you were.” + </p> + <p> + A servant knocked, with a note for Mrs. Manstey. As she took it and turned + to leave the room, her smile, caressingly including Rose, went past her + and lingered a thought longer—as people's smiles had a way of doing—with + Edith. + </p> + <p> + “I know you're tired,” she added to her smile. “Five hours of train—Get + into something cool and rest. Luncheon isn't until two.” + </p> + <p> + She disappeared, and Rose looked at her sister, who, with her hat in her + hand, was going into her room. + </p> + <p> + “Well—?” Rose lifted her voice in its faint drawl of interrogation. + </p> + <p> + Edith looked at her absently. “I don't know,” she said, drawing her + straight brows into a puzzled frown. “I'm as far away as ever—I'm so + perplexed.” + </p> + <p> + “Well—you'll <i>have</i> to decide, you know.” + </p> + <p> + Edith shook her head impatiently and went into her room, closing the door. + She hurried out of her dusty travelling things into cool freshness, and, + settled in the most comfortable chair, gave herself up to an apparently + endless fit of musing. She was so physically content that her mind refused + to respond with any vigorous effort; to think at all was a crumpled + rose-leaf. + </p> + <p> + From the lower hall the clock chimed one with musical vibrations. Edith + leaned forward with her chin on her hand, driving her thoughts into a + definite path. The curtains stirred in a breeze from the out-of-doors + whose domain swept with country greenness and adventitious care away from + the window under the high brilliance of the sun. + </p> + <p> + Close to the window a writing-table, with blotter, pens, and ink, made a + focal-point for her gaze. At first a mere detail in her line of vision, it + attained by degrees, it seemed, a definite relevancy to her train of + thought. She looked in her portmanteau for her desk, and getting out some + note-paper, went to the table and began to write a letter. + </p> + <p> + What she had to say seemed difficult to decide. She wrote a line, stared + out of the window with fixity, and then wrote again—a flurry of + quick, decisive strokes as if at determinate pressure. But a sigh struck + across her mood, and almost against her will the puzzled crinkle returned + to her brow. The curtain blew against her face, disarranging her hair, and + as she lifted her hand to put back a straggling lock, the wind tossed the + sheet of the letter she was writing out of the window. Her eyes, as she + sprang up, followed its flight, but it whirled around the corner of the + house and was lost to her desperate gaze. + </p> + <p> + Négligé, even of the most-becoming description, was not to be thought of + in pursuing the loss, for the silence of the house had stirred to the + sound of gay voices, the movement of feet. + </p> + <p> + Rose, also in négligé, opened the door between them and found her madly + tearing off her pale-blue kimono. “What's the matter?” She paused, + staring. + </p> + <p> + “Heavens! My shoes—please!—there by the table.” She kicked off + her ridiculous blue slippers and pulled on the small colonials her sister + in open wonder handed her. “If you had only been dressed,” she almost + wailed, “you might have been able to get it.” + </p> + <p> + “Get what?” + </p> + <p> + “My letter!” Tragic, in spite of a mouthful of pins—which is a + woman's undoubted preference, no matter how many befrilled pincushions + entreat a division of spoils,—she turned her face with its import of + sudden things to her sister in explanation. “I was writing a letter and it + blew out of the window!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if it did—” + </p> + <p> + “But, don't you see?—I was writing to <i>Christopher!</i> I had been + thinking and thinking, and at last I screwed up my courage to answer his + letter. I had all but signed my name!” + </p> + <p> + Rose Eversley began to laugh helplessly; heartlessly, her sister thought. + </p> + <p> + “If you hadn't signed it—” she at last comforted her sister's + indignant face that was reflected from the mirror, where she stood as she + fastened the white stock at her throat and snapped the clasp of her belt. + </p> + <p> + “Signed it!” She was almost in tears. “What difference will that make when + I claim the letter? I <i>must</i> find it! But of course some one who + knows me will be sure to find it. And <i>that</i> letter, of all letters!” + </p> + <p> + “If I were you, Edith,” Rose advised, calmly, “I shouldn't—” + </p> + <p> + “Well?”—with her hand on the door-knob. + </p> + <p> + “—try to find it. It will be impossible to trace it to you, in that + case.” + </p> + <p> + “But <i>don't</i> you see—” + </p> + <p> + “Wait!” Rose caught and pulled her back. “How <i>could</i> they know? + You'll get in much deeper. What had you written?” + </p> + <p> + “I said, 'Dear Christopher'—” + </p> + <p> + Rose laughed. “I'm glad you didn't say 'Dear Mr. Brander.' In that case + you'd have given <i>him</i> away. But 'Christopher' is such an unusual + name, they might—Sherlock Holmes could trace him by it alone.” + </p> + <p> + “You <i>are</i> a Job's comforter—a perfect Eliphaz the Temanite! + Oh, oh!” Her soft crescendo was again tragic. + </p> + <p> + “In effect you said: 'Dear Christopher, as you have so often entreated, I + have at last decided to be thine. The tinkle of thy shekels, now that I am + so nearly shekelless myself, has done its fatal worst. I am thine—'” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, let me go!” Edith cried, in a fury close to tears. “You haven't any + feeling. You are not going to sacrifice <i>your</i>self!” + </p> + <p> + “To a good-looking young man who loves me exceedingly, and to something + over a million? No, I am not!” Rose said, dryly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it's dreadful! Perfectly!” Edith cried, and on her indecision Rose + hung another bit of wisdom: + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you go down in a leisurely way and investigate? You know the + direction it blew away; follow it. If you meet any one, be admiring the + scenery!” + </p> + <p> + Again Edith's look deserved the foot-lights, but Rose shrugged her + shoulders and withdrew her detaining hand. Edith caught up her parasol and + ran down the stairs. The big hall was empty. From a room on the right came + a click of billiard-balls. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps they are all in the house!” she thought, and drew a small breath + of relief. + </p> + <p> + On the door-step she paused, with her parasol open, and considered. The + house faced the west; her room was to the south, and the letter had + disappeared to the east. She chose her line of advance carefully careless. + </p> + <p> + The lawn on the eastern side of the house sloped to an artificial pond, + and near it a vine-covered summer-house made a dim retreat from the June + sun. Look as she would, though, no faintest glimpse of white paper + rewarded her gaze. + </p> + <p> + She strolled on—daunted, but still persistent, with the wind blowing + her hair out of order—to the door of the summer-house. Within it a + young man was standing, reading her letter. He looked up and took off his + hat hastily, crumpling the letter in his hand. She saw he was quite ugly, + with determined-looking eyes, and the redemption of a pleasant mouth. + </p> + <p> + She hesitated, the words “That is my letter!” absolutely frozen on her + lips. He had been reading it! It seemed impossible for her to claim it, + and so for a moment's silence she stood, with the green vines of the + doorway— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Half light, half shade— +</pre> + <p> + framing herself and her white umbrella. + </p> + <p> + “You are looking for a cool spot?”—he deprecatingly took the + initiative. “This is a good choice. There's a wind—” + </p> + <p> + “Horrid!” she interrupted, so vehemently that she caught his involuntary + surprise. “I don't like the wind,” she added. + </p> + <p> + “'It's an ill wind,' you know, 'that doesn't blow some one good.'” + </p> + <p> + “I assure you <i>this</i> is an ill wind! It has blown me all of the ill + it could.” + </p> + <p> + “Do come out of it,” he begged. “The vines keep it off. It's a half-hour + until luncheon,” he added, “unless they've changed since I was here last.” + He put up his watch. “We're fellow guests. You came this morning, didn't + you?—while we were out. I came last night.” + </p> + <p> + She seated herself provisionally on the little bench by the door, and dug + the point of her umbrella into the ground. Her mind was busy. He still + held the letter. She had had a forlorn hope that he would throw down the + sheet; but he did not. Was there any strategy, she wondered. But none + suggested itself; and indeed, as if divining her thought, he put the + crumpled sheet in his pocket. Her eyes followed despairingly the “Dear + Christopher,” in her clear and, she felt, unfortunately individual + writing, as it disappeared in his capacious blue serge pocket. + </p> + <p> + Different ideas wildly presented themselves, but none would do. Could she + ask him to climb a tree? Of course in that case he would have to take off + his coat and put it down, and give her the opportunity to recover the + horrible letter from his pocket. But one cannot ask a stranger to climb a + tree simply to exhibit his acrobatic powers. And trees!—there were + none save saplings in a radius of fifty yards! Could she tumble in the + pond? It would be even less desirable, and he would simply wade in and + pull her out, with no need to remove his coat. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Manstey,” he was saying, a little tentatively, upholding the burden + of conversation, “sent some of us out riding this morning, and Ralph + Manstey raced us home by a short cut cross country. That is, he took the + short cut. <i>We</i> gave it the cut direct and looked for gaps.” + </p> + <p> + “If I had been out, I'd have taken every fence,” she said, boastfully, and + then laughed. He laughed too. + </p> + <p> + “If I—if you were my sister, I shouldn't let you follow Ralph + Manstey on horseback. He's utterly reckless.” + </p> + <p> + “So am I,” she came in, with spirit. “At home I ride anything and jump + everything.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you shouldn't if you were my sister,” he repeated, decisively. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry for your sister,” she declared. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you see, I haven't one,” he said, gayly, and smiled down at her + lifted face. Remembering the letter, she corrected her expression to + colder lines. + </p> + <p> + “There's no one to introduce us,”—he broke the pause. “Mayn't I—” + He colored and put his hand into his pocket, and taking out her letter, + folded the blank sheet out and produced a pencil. “It's hard to call one's + own name,” he continued. “Suppose we write our names?” + </p> + <p> + As he was clumsy in finesse, she understood his idea, and her eyes + flashed. But she said nothing as he scribbled and handed the paper to her. + She read, “C.K. Farringdon,” and played with the pencil. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Farringdon,”—she said it over meditatively. “How plainly you + write! My name's Edith Eversley,” she added, tranquilly, and, because she + must, per force, returned the sheet to him. She had a wicked delight in + the defeat of his strategy which she could cleverly conceal. + </p> + <p> + “I wish,” he deprecated, gently, but with persistence, “that you would + write your name here—won't you, as a souvenir?” + </p> + <p> + But she shook her head and rose—angry, which she hid, but also + amused at his pertinacity. + </p> + <p> + “I can't write decently with a pencil,” she said, carelessly, and her eyes + followed his hand putting the letter back into his pocket. That she should + have actually had the letter in her hand, and had to give it back! But no + quick-witted pretext had occurred to help her. Rose would think her stupid—utterly + lacking in expedients. + </p> + <p> + She left the summer-house, unfurling her umbrella, and Farringdon followed + instantly, his failure apparently forgotten. + </p> + <p> + They passed the tennis-court on their way to the house, and— + </p> + <p> + “Do you play?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “A little.” Her intonation mocked the formula. + </p> + <p> + “Might we, then, this afternoon—” + </p> + <p> + She gave him a side glance. “If you don't mind losing,” she suggested. + </p> + <p> + “But I play to win,” he modestly met it, and again they laughed. + </p> + <p> + Rose Eversley looked with curiosity at her sister when she entered the + dining-room for luncheon, followed by Farringdon, but Edith's face was + non-committal. She was bright and vivacious, and made herself very + pleasant to Farringdon, who sat by her. After luncheon they went to the + tennis-court together. + </p> + <p> + “A delightful young man,” Mrs. St. Cleve commented, putting up her + lorgnette as she stood at the window with Rose, watching their + disappearing figures, “but so far as money is concerned, a hopeless + detrimental. Don't let your pretty sister get interested in him. He hasn't + a cent except what he makes—he's an architect.” + </p> + <p> + “Edith is to be depended upon,” Rose said, enigmatically. She was five + years older than her sister, and had drawn the inference of her own + plainness, comparatively, ever since Edith had put on long dresses. + </p> + <p> + “Have you written to Christopher?” she asked, that night, invading Edith's + room with her hair-brushes. + </p> + <p> + “No, I haven't,” Edith said, thoughtfully. “I tried just now. It seems—I + don't know how, exactly, but I just <i>can't</i> write it over again! If I + had the letter I wrote this morning, I suppose I would send it; but to + write it all over again—it's too horrible!” + </p> + <p> + “'Horrible'!” Rose repeated. “Very few people would think it that! He's + rich, thoroughly good, and devoted to you.” + </p> + <p> + “You put the least last,” Edith said, slowly, “and you're right. I'm not + sure Christopher is so devoted to me, after all. He may only fancy that I + like him, and from his high estate—” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” Rose said, warmly. “He isn't, as you know, that sort of a man. + I've known him for years—” She paused. + </p> + <p> + Edith said nothing; she brushed her hair with careful slowness. + </p> + <p> + “He is so sincere—so straight-forward,” Rose went on, in an + impersonal tone; “and as papa has had so much ill luck and our + circumstances have changed—they <i>are</i> changed, you know, though + we are still able to keep up a certain appearance—he has been + unchanged. You ought to consider—” + </p> + <p> + “You consider Christopher's interests altogether,” Edith said. “I've some, + too.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no! You needn't think of them with Christopher,” Rose said, seriously. + “That's just it! He would so completely look after <i>yours!</i> It's <i>his</i>, + in this regard, that need consideration.” + </p> + <p> + “Well—I'll consider Christopher's interests,” Edith said, quietly. + </p> + <p> + She remembered perfectly the letter she had written—which was in an + ugly young man's pocket! It had been: + </p> + <p> + “DEAR CHRISTOPHER,—Do you think you really want me? If you are very + sure, I am willing. I don't care for anybody else, so perhaps I can learn + to care for you. + </p> + <p> + “The only thing is, you will spoil me, and they've done that at home + already! and Rose says I need a strong hand! So in your interests—” + and then it had blown away! + </p> + <p> + When Rose, after some desultory talk, went back to her room, Edith wrote + another letter: + </p> + <p> + “DEAR CHRISTOPHER,—I know you have made a mistake. I don't care for + you—to marry you—a bit, but I like you, oh, a quantity! We + have always been such friends, and we always will be, won't we? but not <i>that</i> + way. + </p> + <p> + “Some day you will be very happy with some one else who will suit you + better. Then you will know how right I am. + </p> + <p> + “With kindest wishes, + </p> + <h3> + “EDITH EVERSLEY.” + </h3> + <p> + She took this letter down the next morning to put in the bag, but the + postman had come and gone. As she stood in the hall holding the letter, + Farringdon came up. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning,” he said. “You've missed the postman? I will be very happy + to post it for you on my way to church.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you. But if it's on the way to church, I'm going myself, so I + needn't trouble you.” + </p> + <p> + Farringdon merely bowed, without saying anything banal about the absence + of trouble. She was demurely conscious beneath his courtesy of the effort + he was making to see her handwriting, and she wondered if he thought her + refusal rude and a confirmation of his suspicion, or simply casual. + </p> + <p> + Whatever he thought, it did not prevent the steps as she came out a few + hours later in the freshness of white muslin, with her umbrella, + prayer-book, and an unobtrusive white envelope in her hands. + </p> + <p> + They were going together down then drive—under his umbrella—before + she quite grasped the situation. + </p> + <p> + “We seem to be the only ones,” she hazarded. + </p> + <p> + “We are,” he nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Manstey has a headache,” Edith said, “but the others—” + </p> + <p> + “The sun is too hot!”—he smiled. + </p> + <p> + “But you—I shouldn't have thought—” She paused, a little + embarrassed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” he helped her. “That I was one of those who go to church, you + mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no!” she protested; but it was what she had meant. + </p> + <p> + “You are right,” he said, without heeding the protest, and his ugly but + compellingly attractive face was turned to hers. “I'm not in the least a + scoffer, though; pray believe that. It's just that I—” he hesitated. + “Do you remember a little verse: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Although I enter not, + Yet round about the spot + Sometimes I hover, + And at the sacred gate + With longing eyes I wait, + Expectant of her.'” + </pre> + <p> + Her face flushed. “But,” she reverted, with naïveté, “you said you were + going to church—” + </p> + <p> + “But because I knew you were one of the women who would be sure to go!” he + said, positively. + </p> + <p> + She rebelled. “I don't look devotional at all!” + </p> + <p> + “But your eyes do,” he declared. “They're suggestive of cathedrals and + beautiful dimness, and a voice going up and up, like the 'Lark' song of + Schubert's, don't you know!” + </p> + <p> + “No, I <i>don't!</i>” she said, wilfully; but she was conscious of his + eyes on her face, and angry that her cheeks flushed. + </p> + <p> + They both were silent for a little, and when they left Mrs. Manstey's + grounds for the uneven country road, that became shortly, by courtesy, the + village street, they had a view of the little church with its tiny tower. + </p> + <p> + “The post-office,” Farringdon explained, “is at the other end of the + street. Service is beginning, I dare say. Shall we wait until it is over, + or post the letter now?” + </p> + <p> + “No; after service,” she agreed, and inopportunely the letter slipped from + her hand and fell, with the address down, on the grass. She stooped + hurriedly, but he was before her, and picking it up, returned it + scrupulously, with the right side down, as it had fallen. She slipped it + quickly, almost guiltily, into her prayer-book. + </p> + <p> + The church was small, the congregation smaller, and the clergyman a little + weary of the empty benches. But the two faces in the Manstey pew were so + bright, so vivid with the vigor of youth, that his jaded mind freshened to + meet the interest of new hearers. + </p> + <p> + But neither Edith nor Farringdon listened attentively to the sermon, for + their minds were busy with other things. He was thinking of the girl + beside him, whose hymnal he was sharing, and whose voice, very sweet and + clear, if of no great compass, blended with his own fine tenor. Her + thoughts could not stray far from the letter and—from other things! + </p> + <p> + The benediction sent them from the cool dimness into the sunlight, and she + looked down the street toward the post-office. + </p> + <p> + “It's quite at the other end of the street,” Farringdon said, opening his + umbrella and tentatively discouraging the effort. “By the way, your letter + won't leave, I remember, until the seven-o'clock train. The Brathwaites + are leaving by that train; you can send your letter down then.” + </p> + <p> + She found herself accepting this proposition, for the blaze of the sun on + the length of the dusty street was deterring. They walked back almost in + silence the way they had come; but with his hand on Mrs. Manstey's gate + and the house less than two hundred yards away, Farringdon paused. + </p> + <p> + “You have been writing to 'Christopher,'” he said, quietly. “I don't want + you to send the letter.” He was quite pale, but she did not notice it or + the tensity of his face; his audacity made her for the moment dumb. + </p> + <p> + “You don't want me to—!” She positively gasped. “I never heard of + such—” + </p> + <p> + “Impertinence,” he supplied, gravely. “It looks that way, I know, but it + isn't. I can't stand on conventions—I've too much at stake. I don't + mean to lose <i>you</i>—as you lost your letter!” + </p> + <p> + She thought she was furious. “You knew it was my letter!” she accused. + </p> + <p> + They had paused just within the gate, in the shade of a great + mulberry-tree that stood sentinel. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me,” he said. “Not at first—but I guessed it. My name,” he + added, “is Christopher, too.” + </p> + <p> + He took a crumpled sheet, that had been smoothed and folded carefully, + from his pocket. “Do you remember what you wrote?” he asked, in a low + voice. + </p> + <p> + Her face was crimson. + </p> + <p> + “It blew to me. Such things don't happen every day.” He had taken off his + hat, and, bareheaded, he bent and looked questioningly into her eyes. “My + name is Christopher,” he repeated. “I can't—it isn't possible—that + I can let another Christopher have that letter.” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes fell before his. + </p> + <p> + “I”—he paused—“I play tennis very well, you said. I play to + win! What I give to the interest of a game—” + </p> + <p> + “Is nothing to what you give to the interests of Christopher!” + </p> + <p> + As she mockingly spoke, Farringdon caught a glimpse of one or two people + strolling down from the house. “That letter,” he hastily said,—“you + can't take it from me! Do you remember that wind? It blew <i>you</i> to <i>me!</i> + Dearest, <i>darling</i>, don't be angry. You <i>can't</i> take yourself + away.” + </p> + <p> + A little smile touched her lips—mutinous, but tremulous, too, and + something in her look made his heart beat fast. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't—The last letter wasn't like the first,” she said, + incoherently, but it seemed he understood. + </p> + <p> + “I knew you were <i>you</i> as soon as I saw you,” he said, idiotically. + </p> + <p> + “And,” she murmured, as they walked perforce to meet the people coming + toward them down the drive, “after all, you <i>were</i> Christopher!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE WRONG DOOR + </h2> + <h3> + BY FRANCIS WILLING WHARTON + </h3> + <p> + The stairs were long and dark; they seemed to stretch an interminable + length, and she was too tired to notice the soft carpet and wonder why + Mrs. Wilson had departed from her iron-clad rules and for once considered + the comfort of her lodgers. The rail of the banisters lay cold but + supporting under the pressure of her weary hand, and, at her own door at + last, she fitted the key in the lock. Something was wrong; it would not + turn; she drew it out and tried the handle. The door opened, and entering, + she stood rooted to the spot. + </p> + <p> + Had her poor little room doubled its size and trebled its furniture? Her + imagination, always active, for one wild moment suggested that old + Grandaunt Crosbie from over the seas had remembered her poor relatives and + worked the miracle; she always had Grandaunt Crosbie as a possible trump + in the hand of fate. And then the dull reality shattered her foolish + castle—she was in the wrong room. All this comfort had a legitimate + possessor, whose Aunt Crosbie did her proper part in life. + </p> + <p> + She walked mechanically to a window and looked down; yes, there was the + bleak yard she usually found below her, four houses off; she had come into + the wrong door, and now to retrace her useless steps. + </p> + <p> + She paused a moment, and slowly revolving, made bitter inventory of the + charming interior. Soft, bright stuffs at the windows, on the chairs; + pictures; books; flowers even; a big bunch of holly on the mantelpiece. A + sitting-room—no obnoxious bed behind an inadequate screen, no horrid + white china pitcher in full view! What woman owned all this? She stared + about for characteristic traces. No sewing! Pipes! It belonged to a man. + </p> + <p> + She must go. She moved toward the door, and dropped her eyes on the little + hard-coal fire in the grate; it tempted her, and, with a sort of defiance, + she moved over to it and warmed her chilled fingers. A piano, too, and not + to teach children on! To play upon, to enjoy! When was her time to come? + Every dog has his day! Where was hers? Here some man was surrounded with + comforts and pleasures, and she slaved all day at her teaching, and came + home at night tired, cold, to a miserable little half-furnished room—alone. + </p> + <p> + Resting her arms on the mantelpiece, she dropped her face a moment on them + and rebelled, kicking hard against the pricks; and sunk in that profitless + occupation, heard vaguely the sound of rapid steps and suddenly realized + what they might mean. + </p> + <p> + She straightened her young form and stared, fascinated, at the door. Good + heavens! What should she do? What should she say? If she appeared + confused, she would be thought a thief; she must have some excuse: she had + come—to—find a lady—was waiting! She sank into a little + chair and tried not to tremble visibly to the most unobservant eye, and + the door opened, shut, and the owner of the room stood before her. + </p> + <p> + “How do you do?” said Amory, and coming forward, he shook hands warmly. + “Please forgive me for being late, but I could not get away a moment + before. Where” he looked about the room—“where is Mrs. White?” + </p> + <p> + The girl had risen nervously, and stood with her fingers clasped, looking + at him; she answered, stammering, “She—I—she—couldn't + come.” + </p> + <p> + “Couldn't come?” repeated the young man. “I'm awfully sorry. Do sit down.” + </p> + <p> + She still stood, holding to the back of her chair. “She said she would + come if she could, and I was to—but I had better go.” + </p> + <p> + Amory laughed. “Not a bit of it. Now I've got you, I sha'n't let you go. + It was very brave of you to come alone. You know brothers-in-law are + presumptuous sometimes.” He smiled down into the soft, shy, dark eyes + raised to his, and looked at his watch. “You must have waited a half-hour; + I said four o'clock. I'm so sorry.” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes dropped. “I was late, too,” she answered, and felt a horrible + weight lifted from her. (They surely could not be coming; she could go in + a moment; he would never know until she was beyond his reach. But she + reckoned without her host.) + </p> + <p> + “Draw up to the fire,” he began, and wheeled up a big armchair, and gently + made her sit in it. “Put your feet on the fender and let's have a long + talk. You know I sha'n't see you before the wedding, and I'd like to know + something of my brother's wife. Tom said I must see you once before you + and he got off to Paris, and I may not be able to get West for the + wedding; so this is the one chance I shall have.” He drew his chair near, + and looked down at her with friendly, pleasant eyes. + </p> + <p> + She must say something. She rested her head on the high back of her chair, + and felt a sensation of bewildered happiness. It was dangerous; she must + get away in a moment; but for a moment she might surely enjoy this + extraordinary situation that fortune had thrust upon her—the charm + of the room, the warmth, and something more wonderful still—companionship. + She looked at him; she must say something. + </p> + <p> + “You think you can't come to the wedding?” she said, and blushed. + </p> + <p> + Amory shook his head. “I'm afraid not, though of course I shall try. Now”—he + stared gravely at her—“now tell me how you came to know Tom and why + you like him. I wonder if it is for my reasons or ones of your own.” + </p> + <p> + He was surprised by the deep blush which answered his words. What a + wonderful wild-rose color on her rather pale cheek! + </p> + <p> + “Don't you think it very warm in here?” said the girl. + </p> + <p> + Amory got up, and going to the window, opened it a little; then, stopping + at his desk, picked up a note and brought it to the fire. + </p> + <p> + “Why, here is a note from Mrs. White,” he said. “Why didn't you tell me?” + </p> + <p> + She had risen, and laid her hand an instant on his arm. “Don't open it—yet,” + she said. Her desperation lent her invention; just in this one way he must + not find her out. She gave him a look, half arch, half pleading. “I'll + explain later,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Amory felt a stir of most unnecessary emotion; he understood Tom. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” he said, dropping it on the mantelpiece,—“just as you + like. Now let's go back to Tom. You see,”—he sat down, and tipping + his chair a little, gave her a rather curious smile,—“Tom and I have + been enigmas to each other always, deeply attached and hopelessly + incomprehensible, and I had my own ideas of what Tom would marry—and—you + are not it;—not in the least!” He leant forward and brought his + puzzled gaze to bear upon her. + </p> + <p> + She settled deeply into her chair, half to get farther away from those + searching gray eyes, half because she was taking terrible risks, and she + might as well enjoy it; the chair was so comfortable, and the fire so + cheerful, and Amory—it occurred to her with a sort of exhilaration + what it would be to please him. She had pleased other people, why not him? + Her lids drooped; she looked down at her shabby gloves. + </p> + <p> + “What did you expect?” she said. + </p> + <p> + He leant back and laughed. “What did I expect? Well, frankly, a silly + little blond thing, all curls and furbelows!” + </p> + <p> + She raised those heavy lids of hers and gazed straight at him. “Was that + Tom's description?” she asked, and raised her eyebrows. They were + delicately pencilled, and Amory watched her and noted them. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he answered; “he didn't describe you, but I thought that was his + taste. Now, you are neither silly nor little; no blonde; you have no curls + and no furbelows. In fact”—he smiled with something delightfully + intimate in his eyes—“in fact, you are much more the kind of girl <i>I</i> + should like to marry.” + </p> + <p> + It gave her an absurd little thrill. She sat up, rebellious. “If <i>I</i> + would have liked you,” she returned. + </p> + <p> + Amory laughed and put his hands in his pockets. “Of course,” he said; “but + you would, you know!” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” she demanded, opening her eyes very wide; and again he inwardly + complimented her on her eyebrows, and above them her hair grew in a + charming line on her forehead. The little points are all pretty, he + thought, and it is the details that count in the long run. How much one + could grow to dislike blurry eyebrows and ugly ears, even if a woman had + rosy cheeks and golden hair! + </p> + <p> + “Why? Because I should bully you into it. I'm an obstinate kind of + creature, and get things by hanging on. Women give in if you worry them + long enough. But tell me more about Tom,” he went on. “Did he dance and + shoot his way into your heart? I wish I'd been there to see! You take a + very bad tintype, by the way. Tom sent me that.” He got up, and taking a + picture from the mantelpiece, tossed it into her lap, and leaning over the + back of her chair, looked down on it. “Have you a sentiment about it?” he + added, smiling. “It does look like Tom.” + </p> + <p> + She held it and gravely studied it. She colored, and, still looking at the + picture, felt her way suddenly open. “Yes, it does look like him,” she + said, and putting it down, leant forward and looked into the fire. “Do you + want to know why I accepted Tom?” she added, slowly. She was fully + launched on a career of deception now, and felt a desperate exultation. + </p> + <p> + Amory stared at her and nodded. + </p> + <p> + She kept her eyes on the fire. “I wanted—a home.” + </p> + <p> + Amory sat motionless, then spoke. “Why—why, weren't you happy with + your aunt and uncle?” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head. “No; and Tom was good and kind and very—” + </p> + <p> + Amory got up and shook himself. “Oh, but that's an awful mistake,” he + said. + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said the girl, and turning, looked at him a moment. “Well, I've + come to tell you that I have—” She hesitated. + </p> + <p> + Amory slid down into the chair beside her. “Changed your mind?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “That note of your aunt's?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes” + </p> + <p> + He sat back and folded his arms. “I see,” he said, and there followed a + long silence. + </p> + <p> + The girl began buttoning and unbuttoning her glove. She must go; she was + frightened, elated, amused. She did not want to go, but go she must. Would + he ever forgive her? + </p> + <p> + “Don't—don't hate me!” she said. + </p> + <p> + Amory awoke from his stunned meditation. “My dear young lady, of course + not,” he began; “only, Tom will be terribly broken up. It's the only thing + to do now, I suppose, but why did you do the other?” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him. As well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb, she thought. + “I was unhappy and foolish.” She hesitated. “But you needn't be troubled + about Tom. He—” Again she hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “Not troubled about old Tom!” expostulated Amory. + </p> + <p> + “Wait.” She put up her hand. “He made a mistake, too; he doesn't care so + very much, and he has already flirted—” + </p> + <p> + Amory laid his hand on her chair. “Tom!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she repeated; “he really is rather a flirt, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Tom!” + </p> + <p> + She nodded. “Yes; really, it did hurt me a little, only—” + </p> + <p> + “Tom!” + </p> + <p> + She faced him. “Yes, Tom. What do you think Tom is—blind and deaf + and dumb? Any man worth his salt can flirt.” + </p> + <p> + Amory stared at her. “Oh, he can, can he?” + </p> + <p> + She nodded. “He was very good and kind, but I saw that he was changing; + and then he met a little fair-haired, blue-eyed—” + </p> + <p> + Amory interposed. “I told you.” + </p> + <p> + She gave him a curious smile. “Yes, a silly little blond thing, just + that.” + </p> + <p> + But his satisfaction in his perspicacity was short-lived; he walked up and + down the room in his perplexity. “I can't get over it,” he murmured. “I + thought it a mad love-match, all done in a few weeks; and to have it turn + out like this! You—” + </p> + <p> + “Mercenary,” she interjected, with a sad little smile. + </p> + <p> + He looked at her. “Yes; and Tom—” + </p> + <p> + “Fickle,” she ended again. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and Tom fickle. Why, it shakes the foundations!” + </p> + <p> + The girl felt a sudden wave of shame and weariness. She must go. She + hadn't been fair, but it had been so sudden, so difficult. She looked at + him, and getting up, wondered if she would ever see him again. + </p> + <p> + “I must go,” she said. “I came—” She hesitated, and a sudden desire + to have him know her as herself swept over her. It needed only another lie + or two in the beginning, and then some truth would come through to sustain + her. She went on: “I came because I wanted to know what you were like; Tom + had talked so much of you, and I wanted some one to understand and perhaps + explain; and now I must go and leave your warm, delightful room for the + comfortless place I live in. Don't think too hardly of me.” + </p> + <p> + Amory shook his head. “You don't leave me until you have had your tea.” He + rang the bell. “But what do you mean by a comfortless home? Does Mrs. + White neglect you?” + </p> + <p> + She looked at the fire. “I don't live with her—now; I live alone; I + work for my living.” + </p> + <p> + Amory got up as the maid brought in the tea-tray, and setting it beside + them, he poured out her tea; as he handed her the cup, he brought his + brows together sternly, as though making out her very mysterious words. + </p> + <p> + “You work for your living?” he repeated. “I thought you lived with Mrs. + White, and that they were well off.” + </p> + <p> + “I did, but now I've come back to my real life, which I would have left + had I married Tom.” + </p> + <p> + He nodded. “I see. I had heard awfully little about it all; I was away, + and then it was so quickly done.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” she went on, hurriedly; “but let me tell you, and you will + understand me better later—that is, if you want to understand me.” + </p> + <p> + “Most certainly I do.” Amory sustained the strange sad gaze of her + charming, heavy-lidded eyes in a sort of maze. Her mat skin looked white, + now that her blushes were gone, and her delicate, irregular features a + little pinched. He drank his tea and watched her while she talked. + </p> + <p> + “I teach music,” she began; “to do it I left my relations in the country + and came to this horrible great city. I have one dreary, cold room, as + unlike this as two rooms can be. I have tried to make it seem like a home, + but when I saw this I knew how I had failed.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor little girl!” said Amory. + </p> + <p> + “I have the ordinary feelings of a girl,” she went on, “and yet I see + before me the long stretch of a dreary life. I love music; I hear none but + the strumming of children. I like pictures, books, people; I see none. I + like to laugh, to talk; there is no one to laugh with, to talk to. I am + very—unhappy.” The last words were spoken very low, but the misery + in them touched Amory deeply. + </p> + <p> + “Poor little girl!” he said again, and gently laid his hand on the arm of + her chair. “But how can Tom know this and let you go? You are mistaken in + Tom, I am sure, and—” + </p> + <p> + The girl straightened her slender figure and rose. “Oh no! it is all + right. He doesn't love me, your Tom; and so the world goes—I must + go, too. I—” + </p> + <p> + “Don't go,” said Amory. “Let me—” She shook her head. “You have no + more to do; you have comforted and warmed and fed a hungry wanderer, and + she must make haste home. Thank you for everything; thank you.” + </p> + <p> + Amory felt a pang as she stood up. Not to see her again—why, that + was absurd! Why should he not see her? She had quarrelled with Tom, yes, + and perhaps the family might be hard on her; but he—he understood, + and why should he shake off her acquaintance? She was not for Tom. Well, + it was just as well. How could any one think this girl would suit Tom—big-bearded, + clumsy, excellent fellow that he was? + </p> + <p> + He put out his hand. “Mary,” he said. The girl stared at him with eyes + suddenly wide open; he smiled into them. + </p> + <p> + “I have a right to call you that,” he proceeded, “haven't I? I might have + been your brother.” He took her hand, and then laughed a little. “I am + almost glad I am not. You wouldn't have suited Tom, and as a sister, + somehow, you wouldn't have suited me!” He laughed again. “But”—he + hesitated; she still stared straight up at him with her soft, dark eyes, + and he thought them very beautiful—“but why shouldn't I see you—not + as a brother, but an acquaintance—friend? You say you need them. + Tell me where you have this room of yours?” + </p> + <p> + The vivid beauty of her blush startled him, and she drew her hand quickly + from his. + </p> + <p> + “Oh no!” she said, hurriedly. “Let things drop between us; here—forever.” + </p> + <p> + Amory stood before her with an expression which reminded her of his + description of himself—obstinate; yes, he looked it. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” he urged. “Just because you are not to marry Tom, is there any + reason why we should not like each other—is there? That is—if + we do! I do,” he laughed. “Do you?” + </p> + <p> + Her lids had dropped; she looked very slim, and young, and shy. “Yes,” she + said. + </p> + <p> + It gave Amory a good deal of pleasure for a monosyllable. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, your number?” he said. + </p> + <p> + She shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “I'll ask Tom,” he retorted. “He will tell me.” + </p> + <p> + He was baffled and curiously charmed by the smile that touched her sharply + curved young mouth. + </p> + <p> + “Tom may,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I was ready to accept you as a sister,” he persisted, “and you won't even + admit me as a casual visitor!” + </p> + <p> + She took a step toward the door. “Wait till you hear Tom's story,” she + said. + </p> + <p> + Amory stared curiously at her. “Do you think he will be vindictive, after + all?” he said. “Why should he be, if what you say is just?” + </p> + <p> + She paused. “Wait till you see Tom and Mrs. White; then if you want to + know me, why—” She was blushing again. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” Amory demanded, “what shall I do?” + </p> + <p> + She looked up with a sort of childish charm, curling her lip, lighting her + eyes with something of laughter and mischief. “Why, look for me and you'll + find me.” + </p> + <p> + “Find you?” repeated Amory, bewildered. + </p> + <p> + She nodded. “Yes, if you look. To-morrow will be Sunday; every one will be + going to church, and I with them. Stand on the steps of this house at + 10.30 precisely, and look as far as you can, and you will see—me. + Goodnight.” + </p> + <p> + “Good night.” Amory took her hand. “Let me see you home; it's dark.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed. “You don't lack persistency, do you?” she said, with a + sweetness which gave the words a pleasant twist. “But don't come, please. + I'm used to taking care of myself; but—before I go let me write my + note also.” She went to the desk and scratched a line, and folding it, + handed it to him. “There,” she said; “read Mrs. White's note and then + that, but wait till you hear the house door bang. Promise not before.” + </p> + <p> + “Please—” began Amory. + </p> + <p> + “Promise,” she repeated. + </p> + <p> + “I promise,” he said, and again they shook hands for good-by. + </p> + <p> + “That's three times,” thought the girl as she went to the door, and + turning an instant, she smiled at him. “Good-by.” The door closed softly + behind her, and Amory waited a moment, then went to it, and opening it, + listened; the house door shut lightly, and seizing his notes, he stood by + the window in the twilight and read them. The first was as follows: + </p> + <p> + “DEAR MR. AMORY,—Mary and I had to return unexpectedly to Cleveland. + Forgive our missing this chance of meeting you, but Mr. White's note is + urgent, as his sister is very ill. Mary regrets greatly not seeing you + before the wedding. + </p> + <p> + “Yours sincerely, + </p> + <h3> + “BARBARA WHITE.” + </h3> + <p> + Amory threw the paper down. “Do I see visions?” he cried, and hastily + unfolded the second; it ran as follows: + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me; I got into the wrong house, the wrong room. I was very tired, + and my latch-key fitted, and I didn't know until I saw your fire, and then + you came. Don't think me a very bold and horrid girl, and forgive me. Your + fire was so warm and bright, and—you were kind. + </p> + <h3> + “M.” + </h3> + <p> + Amory stared at the paper a moment; then, catching his hat and flying down + the stairs, opened the outer door. + </p> + <p> + The night was bitter cold, with a white frost everywhere; but in the + twilight no solitary figure was in view; the long street was empty. He ran + the length of it, then back to his room, and throwing down his hat, he lit + his pipe. It needed thought. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BRAYBRIDGE'S OFFER + </h2> + <h3> + WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS + </h3> + <p> + We had ordered our dinners and were sitting in the Turkish room at the + club, waiting to be called, each in his turn, to the dining-room. With its + mixture of Oriental appointments in curtains, cushions, and little tables + of teak-wood the Turkish room expressed rather an adventurous conception + of the Ottoman taste; but it was always a cozy place whether you found + yourself in it with cigars and coffee after dinner, or with whatever + liquid or solid appetizer you preferred in the half-hour or more that must + pass before dinner after you had made out your menu. It intimated an + exclusive possession in the three or four who happened first to find + themselves together in it, and it invited the philosophic mind to + contemplation more than any other spot in the club. + </p> + <p> + Our rather limited little down-town dining club was almost a celibate + community at most times. A few husbands and fathers joined us at lunch; + but at dinner we were nearly always a company of bachelors, dropping in an + hour or so before we wished to dine, and ordering from a bill of fare what + we liked. Some dozed away the intervening time; some read the evening + papers, or played chess; I preferred the chance society of the Turkish + room. I could be pretty sure of finding Wanhope there in these sympathetic + moments, and where Wanhope was there would probably be Rulledge, passively + willing to listen and agree, and Minver ready to interrupt and dispute. I + myself liked to look in and linger for either the reasoning or the + bickering, as it happened, and now seeing the three there together, I took + a provisional seat behind the painter, who made no sign of knowing I was + present. Rulledge was eating a caviar sandwich, which he had brought from + the afternoon tea-table near by, and he greedily incited Wanhope to go on, + in the polite pause which the psychologist had let follow on my + appearance, with what he was saying. I was not surprised to find that his + talk related to a fact just then intensely interesting to the few, rapidly + becoming the many, who were privy to it; though Wanhope had the air of + stooping to it from a higher range of thinking. + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't have supposed, somehow,” he said with a knot of deprecation + between his fine eyes, “that he would have had the pluck.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps he hadn't,” Minver suggested. + </p> + <p> + Wanhope waited for a thoughtful moment of censure eventuating in + toleration. “You mean that she—” + </p> + <p> + “I don't see why you say that, Minver,” Rulledge interposed chivalrously, + with his mouth full of sandwich. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't say it,” Minver contradicted. + </p> + <p> + “You implied it; and I don't think it's fair. It's easy enough to build up + a report of that kind on the half-knowledge of rumor which is all that any + outsider can have in the case.” + </p> + <p> + “So far,” Minver said, with unbroken tranquillity, “as any such edifice + has been erected, you are the architect, Rulledge. I shouldn't think you + would like to go round insinuating that sort of thing. Here is Acton,” and + he now acknowledged my presence with a backward twist of his head, “on the + alert for material already. You ought to be more careful where Acton is, + Rulledge.” + </p> + <p> + “It would be great copy if it were true,” I owned. + </p> + <p> + Wanhope regarded us all three, in this play of our qualities, with the + scientific impartiality of a bacteriologist in the study of a culture + offering some peculiar incidents. He took up a point as remote as might be + from the personal appeal. “It is curious how little we know of such + matters, after all the love-making and marrying in life and all the + inquiry of the poets and novelists.” He addressed himself in this turn of + his thought, half playful, half earnest, to me, as if I united with the + functions of both a responsibility for their shortcomings. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Minver said, facing about toward me. “How do you excuse yourself + for your ignorance in matters where you're always professionally making + such a bluff of knowledge? After all the marriages you have brought about + in literature, can you say positively and specifically how they are + brought about in life?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I can't,” I admitted. “I might say that a writer of fiction is a good + deal like a minister who continually marries people without knowing why.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you couldn't, my dear fellow,” the painter retorted. “It's part of + your swindler to assume that you <i>do</i> know why. You ought to find + out.” + </p> + <p> + Wanhope interposed abstractly, or as abstractly as he could: “The + important thing would always be to find which of the lovers the + confession, tacit or explicit, began with.” + </p> + <p> + “Acton ought to go round and collect human documents bearing on the + question. He ought to have got together thousands of specimens from + nature. He ought to have gone to all the married couples he knew, and + asked them just how their passion was confessed; he ought to have sent out + printed circulars, with tabulated questions. Why don't you do it, Acton?” + </p> + <p> + I returned, as seriously as could have been expected: “Perhaps it would be + thought rather intimate. People don't like to talk of such things.” + </p> + <p> + “They're ashamed,” Minver declared. “The lovers don't either of them, in a + given ease, like to let others know how much the woman had to do with + making the offer, and how little the man.” + </p> + <p> + Minver's point provoked both Wanhope and myself to begin a remark at the + same time. We begged each other's pardon, and Wanhope insisted that I + should go on. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, merely this,” I said. “I don't think they're so much ashamed as that + they have forgotten the different stages. You were going to say?” + </p> + <p> + “Very much what you said. It's astonishing how people forget the vital + things, and remember trifles. Or perhaps as we advance from stage to stage + what once seemed the vital things turn to trifles. Nothing can be more + vital in the history of a man and a woman than how they became husband and + wife, and yet not merely the details, but the main fact, would seem to + escape record if not recollection. The next generation knows nothing of + it.” + </p> + <p> + “That appears to let Acton out,” Minver said. “But how do <i>you</i> know + what you were saying, Wanhope?” + </p> + <p> + “I've ventured to make some inquiries in that region at one time. Not + directly, of course. At second and third hand. It isn't inconceivable, if + we conceive of a life after this, that a man should forget, in its more + important interests and occupations, just how he quitted this world, or at + least the particulars of the article of death. Of course, we must suppose + a good portion of eternity to have elapsed.” Wanhope continued, dreamily, + with a deep breath almost equivalent to something so unscientific as a + sigh: “Women are charming, and in nothing more than the perpetual + challenge they form for us. They are born defying us to match ourselves + with them.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean that Miss Hazelwood—” Rulledge began, but Minver's + laugh arrested him. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing so concrete, I'm afraid,” Wanhope gently returned. “I mean, to + match them in graciousness, in loveliness, in all the agile contests of + spirit and plays of fancy. There's something pathetic to see them caught + up into something more serious in that other game, which they are so good + at.” + </p> + <p> + “They seem rather to like it, though, some of them, if you mean the game + of love,” Minver said. “Especially when they're not in earnest about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there are plenty of spoiled women,” Wanhope admitted. “But I don't + mean flirting. I suppose that the average unspoiled woman is rather + frightened than otherwise when she knows that a man is in love with her.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you suppose she always knows it first?” Rulledge asked. + </p> + <p> + “You may be sure,” Minver answered for Wanhope, “that if she didn't know + it, <i>he</i> never would.” Then Wanhope answered for himself: + </p> + <p> + “I think that generally she sees it coming. In that sort of wireless + telegraphy, that reaching out of two natures through space towards each + other, her more sensitive apparatus probably feels the appeal of his + before he is conscious of having made any appeal.” + </p> + <p> + “And her first impulse is to escape the appeal?” I suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Wanhope admitted after a thoughtful reluctance. + </p> + <p> + “Even when she is half aware of having invited it?” + </p> + <p> + “If she is not spoiled she is never aware of having invited it. Take the + case in point; we won't mention any names. She is sailing through time, + through youthful space, with her electrical lures, the natural equipment + of every charming woman, all out, and suddenly, somewhere from the + unknown, she feels the shock of a response in the gulfs of air where there + had been no life before. But she can't be said to have knowingly searched + the void for any presence.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm not sure about that, professor,” Minver put in. “Go a little + slower, if you expect me to follow you.” + </p> + <p> + “It's all a mystery, the most beautiful mystery of life,” Wanhope resumed. + “I don't believe I could make out the case, as I feel it to be.” + </p> + <p> + “Braybridge's part of the case is rather plain, isn't it?” I invited him. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not sure of that. No man's part of any case is plain, if you look at + it carefully. The most that you can say of Braybridge is that he is rather + a simple nature. But nothing,” the psychologist added with one of his deep + breaths, “is so complex as a simple nature.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” Minver contended, “Braybridge is plain, if his case isn't.” + </p> + <p> + “Plain? Is he plain?” Wanhope asked, as if asking himself. + </p> + <p> + “My dear fellow, you agnostics doubt everything!” + </p> + <p> + “I should have said picturesque. Picturesque, with the sort of + unbeautifulness that takes the fancy of women more than Greek proportion. + I think it would require a girl peculiarly feminine to feel the attraction + of such a man—the fascination of his being grizzled, and slovenly, + and rugged. She would have to be rather a wild, shy girl to do that, and + it would have to be through her fear of him that she would divine his fear + of her. But what I have heard is that they met under rather exceptional + circumstances. It was at a house in the Adirondacks, where Braybridge was, + somewhat in the quality of a bull in a china-shop. He was lugged in by the + host, as an old friend, and was suffered by the hostess as a friend quite + too old for her. At any rate, as I heard (and I don't vouch for the facts, + all of them), Braybridge found himself at odds with the gay young people + who made up the hostess's end of the party, and was watching for a chance + to—” + </p> + <p> + Wanhope cast about for the word, and Winver supplied it: “Pull out.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. But when he had found it Miss Hazelwood took it from him.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't understand,” Rulledge said. + </p> + <p> + “When he came in to breakfast, the third morning, prepared with an excuse + for cutting his week down to the dimensions it had reached, he saw her + sitting alone at the table. She had risen early as a consequence of having + arrived late, the night before; and when Braybridge found himself in for + it, he forgot that he meant to go away, and said good-morning, as if they + knew each other. Their hostess found them talking over the length of the + table in a sort of mutual fright, and introduced them. But it's rather + difficult reporting a lady verbatim at second hand. I really had the facts + from Welkin, who had them from his wife. The sum of her impressions was + that Braybridge and Miss Hazelwood were getting a kind of comfort out of + their mutual terror because one was as badly frightened as the other. It + was a novel experience for both. Ever seen her?” + </p> + <p> + We others looked at each other. Minver said: “I never wanted to paint any + one so much. It was at the spring show of the American Artists. There was + a jam of people; but this girl—I've understood it was she—looked + as much alone as if there were nobody else there. She might have been a + startled doe in the North Woods suddenly coming out on a + twenty-thousand-dollar camp, with a lot of twenty-million-dollar people on + the veranda.” + </p> + <p> + “And you wanted to do her as The Startled Doe,” I said. “Good selling + name.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't reduce it to the vulgarity of fiction. I admit it would be a + selling name.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on, Wanhope,” Rulledge puffed impatiently. “Though I don't see how + there could be another soul in the universe as constitutionally scared of + men as Braybridge is of women.” + </p> + <p> + “In the universe nothing is wasted, I suppose. Everything has its + complement, its response. For every bashful man, there must be a bashful + woman,” Wanhope returned. + </p> + <p> + “Or a bold one,” Minver suggested. + </p> + <p> + “No; the response must be in kind, to be truly complemental. Through the + sense of their reciprocal timidity they divine that they needn't be + afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! <i>That's</i> the way you get out of it!” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” Rulledge urged. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid,” Wanhope modestly confessed, “that from this point I shall + have to be largely conjectural. Welkin wasn't able to be very definite, + except as to moments, and he had his data almost altogether from his wife. + Braybridge had told him overnight that he thought of going, and he had + said he mustn't think of it; but he supposed Braybridge had spoken of it + to Mrs. Welkin, and he began by saying to his wife that he hoped she had + refused to hear of Braybridge's going. She said she hadn't heard of it, + but now she would refuse without hearing, and she didn't give Braybridge + any chance to protest. If people went in the middle of their week, what + would become of other people? She was not going to have the equilibrium of + her party disturbed, and that was all about it. Welkin thought it was odd + that Braybridge didn't insist; and he made a long story of it. But the + grain of wheat in his bushel of chaff was that Miss Hazelwood seemed to be + fascinated by Braybridge from the first. When Mrs. Welkin scared him into + saying that he would stay his week out, the business practically was done. + They went picnicking that day in each other's charge; and after Braybridge + left he wrote back to her, as Mrs. Welkin knew from the letters that + passed through her hands, and—Well, their engagement has come out, + and—” Wanhope paused with an air that was at first indefinite, and + then definitive. + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean,” Rulledge burst out in a note of deep wrong, “that that's + all you know about it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that's all I know,” Wanhope confessed, as if somewhat surprised + himself at the fact. + </p> + <p> + “Well!” + </p> + <p> + Wanhope tried to offer the only reparation in his power. “I can conjecture—we + can all conjecture—” + </p> + <p> + He hesitated; then, “Well, go on with your conjecture,” Rulledge said + forgivingly. + </p> + <p> + “Why—” Wanhope began again; but at that moment a man who had been + elected the year before, and then gone off on a long absence, put his head + in between the dull-red hangings of the doorway. It was Halson, whom I did + not know very well, but liked better than I knew. His eyes were dancing + with what seemed the inextinguishable gayety of his temperament, rather + than any present occasion, and his smile carried his little mustache well + away from his handsome teeth. “Private?” + </p> + <p> + “Come in, come in!” Minver called to him. “Thought you were in Japan?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear fellow,” Halson answered, “you must brush up your contemporary + history. It's more than a fortnight since I was in Japan.” He shook hands + with me, and I introduced him to Rulledge and Wanhope. He said at once: + “Well, what is it? Question of Braybridge's engagement? It's humiliating + to a man to come back from the antipodes, and find the nation absorbed in + a parochial problem like that. Everybody I've met here to-night has asked + me, the first thing, if I'd heard of it, and if I knew how it could have + happened.” + </p> + <p> + “And do you?” Rulledge asked. + </p> + <p> + “I can give a pretty good guess,” Halson said, running his merry eyes over + our faces. + </p> + <p> + “Anybody can give a good guess,” Rulledge said. “Wanhope is doing it now.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't let me interrupt.” Halson turned to him politely. + </p> + <p> + “Not at all. I'd rather hear your guess. If you know Braybridge better + than I,” Wanhope said. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” Halson compromised, “perhaps I've known him longer.” He asked, + with an effect of coming to business, “Where were you?” + </p> + <p> + “Tell him, Rulledge,” Minver ordered, and Rulledge apparently asked + nothing better. He told him in detail, all we knew from any source, down + to the moment of Wanhope's arrested conjecture. + </p> + <p> + “He did leave you at an anxious point, didn't he?” Halson smiled to the + rest of us at Rulledge's expense, and then said: “Well, I think I can help + you out a little. Any of you know the lady?” + </p> + <p> + “By sight, Minver does,” Rulledge answered for us. “Wants to paint her.” + “Of course,” Halson said, with intelligence. “But I doubt if he'd find her + as paintable as she looks, at first. She's beautiful, but her charm is + spiritual.” + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes we try for that,” the painter interposed. + </p> + <p> + “And sometimes you get it. But you'll allow it's difficult. That's all I + meant. I've known her—let me see—for twelve years, at least; + ever since I first went West. She was about eleven then, and her father + was bringing her up on the ranche. Her aunt came along, by and by, and + took her to Europe; mother dead before Hazelwood went out there. But the + girl was always homesick for the ranche; she pined for it; and after they + had kept her in Germany three or four years they let her come back, and + run wild again; wild as a flower does, or a vine—not a domesticated + animal.” + </p> + <p> + “Go slow, Halson. This is getting too much for the romantic Rulledge.” + </p> + <p> + “Rulledge can bear up against the facts, I guess, Minver,” Halson said, + almost austerely. “Her father died two years ago, and then she <i>had</i> + to come East, for her aunt simply <i>wouldn't</i> live on the ranche. She + brought her on, here, and brought her out; I was at the coming-out tea; + but the girl didn't take to the New York thing at all; I could see it from + the start; she wanted to get away from it with me, and talk about the + ranche.” + </p> + <p> + “She felt that she was with the only genuine person among those + conventional people.” + </p> + <p> + Halson laughed at Minver's thrust, and went on amiably: “I don't suppose + that till she met Braybridge she was ever quite at her ease with any man + or woman, for that matter. I imagine, as you've done, that it was his fear + of her that gave her courage. She met him on equal terms. Isn't that it?” + </p> + <p> + Wanhope assented to the question referred to him with a nod. + </p> + <p> + “And when they got lost from the rest of the party at that picnic—” + </p> + <p> + “Lost?” Rulledge demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes. Didn't you know? But I ought to go back. They said there never + was anything prettier than the way she unconsciously went for Braybridge, + the whole day. She wanted him, and she was a child who wanted things + frankly, when she did want them. Then his being ten or fifteen years older + than she was, and so large and simple, made it natural for a shy girl like + her to assort herself with him when all the rest were assorting + themselves, as people do at such things. The consensus of testimony is + that she did it with the most transparent unconsciousness, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Who are your authorities?” Minver asked; Rulledge threw himself back on + the divan, and beat the cushions with impatience. + </p> + <p> + “Is it essential to give them?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no. I merely wondered. Go on.” + </p> + <p> + “The authorities are all right. She had disappeared with him before the + others noticed. It was a thing that happened; there was no design in it; + that would have been out of character. They had got to the end of the + wood-road, and into the thick of the trees where there wasn't even a + trail, and they walked round looking for a way out, till they were turned + completely. They decided that the only way was to keep walking, and by and + by they heard the sound of chopping. It was some Canucks clearing a piece + of the woods, and when she spoke to them in French, they gave them full + directions, and Braybridge soon found the path again.” + </p> + <p> + Halson paused, and I said, “But that isn't all?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no.” He continued thoughtfully silent for a little while before he + resumed. “The amazing thing is that they got lost again, and that when + they tried going back to the Canucks, they couldn't find the way.” + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't they follow the sound of the chopping?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “The Canucks had stopped, for the time being. Besides, Braybridge was + rather ashamed, and he thought if they went straight on they would be sure + to come out somewhere. But that was where he made a mistake. They couldn't + go on straight; they went round and round, and came on their own footsteps—or + hers, which he recognized from the narrow tread and the dint of the little + heels in the damp places.” + </p> + <p> + Wanhope roused himself with a kindling eye. “That is very interesting, the + movement in a circle of people who have lost their way. It has often been + observed, but I don't know that it has ever been explained. Sometimes the + circle is smaller, sometimes it is larger; but I believe it is always a + circle.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn't it,” I queried, “like any other error in life? We go round and + round; and commit the old sins over again.” + </p> + <p> + “That is very interesting,” Wanhope allowed. + </p> + <p> + “But do lost people really always walk in a vicious circle?” Minver asked. + </p> + <p> + Rulledge would not let Wanhope answer. “Go on, Halson,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Halson roused himself from the reverie in which he was sitting with glazed + eyes. “Well, what made it a little more anxious was that he had heard of + bears on that mountain, and the green afternoon light among the trees was + perceptibly paling. He suggested shouting, but she wouldn't let him; she + said it would be ridiculous, if the others heard them, and useless if they + didn't. So they tramped on till—till the accident happened.” + </p> + <p> + “The accident!” Rulledge exclaimed in the voice of our joint emotion. + </p> + <p> + “He stepped on a loose stone and turned his foot,” Halson explained. “It + wasn't a sprain, luckily, but it hurt enough. He turned so white that she + noticed it, and asked him what was the matter. Of course that shut his + mouth the closer, but it morally doubled his motive, and he kept himself + from crying out till the sudden pain of the wrench was over. He said + merely that he thought he had heard something, and he had—an awful + ringing in his ears; but he didn't mean that, and he started on again. The + worst was trying to walk without limping, and to talk cheerfully and + encouragingly, with that agony tearing at him. But he managed somehow, and + he was congratulating himself on his success, when he tumbled down in a + dead faint.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come, now!” Minver protested. + </p> + <p> + “It <i>is</i> like an old-fashioned story, where things are operated by + accident instead of motive, isn't it?” Halson smiled with radiant + recognition. + </p> + <p> + “Fact will always imitate fiction, if you give her time enough,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Had they got back to the other picnickers?” Rulledge asked with a tense + voice. + </p> + <p> + “In sound, but not in sight of them. She wasn't going to bring him into + camp in that state; besides she couldn't. She got some water out of the + trout-brook they'd been fishing—more water than trout in it—and + sprinkled his face, and he came to, and got on his legs, just in time to + pull on to the others, who were organizing a search-party to go after + them. From that point on, she dropped Braybridge like a hot coal, and as + there was nothing of the flirt in her, she simply kept with the women, the + older girls, and the tabbies, and left Braybridge to worry along with the + secret of his turned ankle. He doesn't know how he ever got home alive; + but he did somehow manage to reach the wagons that had brought them to the + edge of the woods, and then he was all right till they got to the house. + But still she said nothing about his accident, and he couldn't; and he + pleaded an early start for town the next morning, and got off to bed, as + soon as he could.” + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't have thought he could have stirred in the morning,” Rulledge + employed Halson's pause to say. + </p> + <p> + “Well, this beaver <i>had</i> to,” Halson said. “He was not the only early + riser. He found Miss Hazelwood at the station before him.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” Rulledge shouted. I confess the fact rather roused me, too; and + Wanhope's eyes kindled with a scientific pleasure. + </p> + <p> + “She came right towards him. 'Mr. Braybridge,' says she, 'I couldn't let + you go without explaining my very strange behavior. I didn't choose to + have these people laughing at the notion of <i>my</i> having played the + part of your preserver. It was bad enough being lost with you; I couldn't + bring you into ridicule with them by the disproportion they'd have felt in + my efforts for you after you turned your foot. So I simply had to ignore + the incident. Don't you see?' Braybridge glanced at her, and he had never + felt so big and bulky before, or seen her so slender and little. He said, + 'It <i>would</i> have seemed rather absurd,' and he broke out and laughed, + while she broke down and cried, and asked him to forgive her, and whether + it had hurt him very much; and said she knew he could bear to keep it from + the others by the way he had kept it from her till he fainted. She implied + that he was morally as well as physically gigantic, and it was as much as + he could do to keep from taking her in his arms on the spot.” + </p> + <p> + “It would have been edifying to the groom that had driven her to the + station,” Minver cynically suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Groom nothing!” Halson returned with spirit. “She paddled herself across + the lake, and walked from the boat-landing to the station.” + </p> + <p> + “Jove!” Rulledge exploded in uncontrollable enthusiasm. + </p> + <p> + “She turned round as soon as she had got through with her hymn of praise—it + made Braybridge feel awfully flat—and ran back through the bushes to + the boat-landing, and—that was the last he saw of her till he met + her in town this fall.” + </p> + <p> + “And when—and when—did he offer himself?” Rulledge entreated + breathlessly. “How—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that's the point, Halson,” Minver interposed. “Your story is all + very well, as far as it goes; but Rulledge here has been insinuating that + it was Miss Hazelwood who made the offer, and he wants you to bear him + out.” + </p> + <p> + Rulledge winced at the outrage, but he would not stay Halson's answer even + for the sake of righting himself. + </p> + <p> + “I <i>have</i> heard,” Minver went on, “that Braybridge insisted on + paddling the canoe back to the other shore for her, and that it was on the + way that he offered himself.” We others stared at Minver in astonishment. + Halson glanced covertly toward him with his gay eyes. “Then that wasn't + true?” + </p> + <p> + “How did you hear it?” Halson asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, never mind. Is it true?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I know there's that version,” Halson said evasively. “The + engagement is only just out, as you know. As to the offer—the when + and the how—I don't know that I'm exactly at liberty to say.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't see why,” Minver urged. “You might stretch a point for Rulledge's + sake.” + </p> + <p> + Halson looked down, and then he glanced at Minver after a furtive passage + of his eye over Rulledge's intense face. “There was something rather nice + happened after—But really, now!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, go on!” Minver called out in contempt of his scruple. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't the right—Well, I suppose I'm on safe ground here? It + won't go any farther, of course; and it <i>was</i> so pretty! After she + had pushed off in her canoe, you know, Braybridge—he'd followed her + down to the shore of the lake—found her handkerchief in a bush where + it had caught, and he held it up, and called out to her. She looked round + and saw it, and called back: 'Never mind. I can't return for it, now.' + Then Braybridge plucked up his courage, and asked if he might keep it, and + she said 'Yes,' over her shoulder, and then she stopped paddling, and said + 'No, no, you mustn't, you mustn't! You can send it to me.' He asked where, + and she said, 'In New York—in the fall—at the Walholland.' + Braybridge never knew how he dared, but he shouted after her—she was + paddling on again—'May I <i>bring</i> it?' and she called over her + shoulder again, without fully facing him, but her profile was enough, 'If + you can't get any one to bring it for you.' The words barely reached him, + but he'd have caught them if they'd been whispered; and he watched her + across the lake, and into the bushes, and then broke for his train. He was + just in time.” + </p> + <p> + Halson beamed for pleasure upon us, and even Minver said, “Yes, that's + rather nice.” After a moment he added, “Rulledge thinks she put it there.” + </p> + <p> + “You're too bad, Minver,” Halson protested. “The charm of the whole thing + was her perfect innocence. She isn't capable of the slightest finesse. + I've known her from a child, and I know what I say.” + </p> + <p> + “That innocence of girlhood,” Wanhope said, “is very interesting. It's + astonishing how much experience it survives. Some women carry it into old + age with them. It's never been scientifically studied—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Minver allowed. “There would be a fortune for the novelist who + could work a type of innocence for all it was worth. Here's Acton always + dealing with the most rancid flirtatiousness, and missing the sweetness + and beauty of a girlhood which does the cheekiest things without knowing + what it's about, and fetches down its game whenever it shuts its eyes and + fires at nothing. But I don't see how all this touches the point that + Rulledge makes, or decides which finally made the offer.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, hadn't the offer already been made?” + </p> + <p> + “But how?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, in the usual way.” + </p> + <p> + “What is the usual way?” + </p> + <p> + “I thought everybody knew <i>that</i>. Of course, it was <i>from</i> + Braybridge finally, but I suppose it's always six of one and half a dozen + of the other in these cases, isn't it? I dare say he couldn't get any one + to take her the handkerchief. My dinner?” Halson looked up at the silent + waiter who had stolen upon us and was bowing toward him. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Halson,” Minver detained him, “how is it none of the rest of + us have heard all those details?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> don't know where you've been, Minver. Everybody knows the main + facts,” Halson said, escaping. + </p> + <p> + Wanhope observed musingly: “I suppose he's quite right about the + reciprocality of the offer, as we call it. There's probably, in + ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, a perfect understanding before there's + an explanation. In many cases the offer and the acceptance must really be + tacit.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I ventured, “and I don't know why we're so severe with women when + they seem to take the initiative. It's merely, after all, the call of the + maiden bird, and there's nothing lovelier or more endearing in nature than + that.” + </p> + <p> + “Maiden bird is good, Acton,” Minver approved. “Why don't you institute a + class of fiction, where the love-making is all done by the maiden birds, + as you call them—or the widow birds? It would be tremendously + popular with both sexes. It would lift a tremendous responsibility off the + birds who've been expected to shoulder it heretofore if it could be + introduced into real life.” + </p> + <p> + Rulledge fetched a long, simple-hearted sigh. “Well, it's a charming + story. How well he told it!” + </p> + <p> + The waiter came again, and this time signalled to Minver. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, as he rose. “What a pity you can't believe a word Halson + says.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean—” we began simultaneously. + </p> + <p> + “That he built the whole thing from the ground up, with the start that we + had given him. Why, you poor things! Who could have told him how it all + happened? Braybridge? Or the girl? As Wanhope began by saying, people + don't speak of their love-making, even when they distinctly remember it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but see here, Minver!” Rulledge said with a dazed look. “If it's all + a fake of his, how came <i>you</i> to have heard of Braybridge paddling + the canoe back for her?” + </p> + <p> + “That was the fake that tested the fake. When he adopted it, I <i>knew</i> + he was lying, because I was lying myself. And then the cheapness of the + whole thing! I wonder that didn't strike you. It's the stuff that a + thousand summer-girl stories have been spun out of. Acton might have + thought he was writing it!” + </p> + <p> + He went away, leaving us to a blank silence, till Wanhope managed to say: + “That inventive habit of mind is very curious. It would be interesting to + know just how far it imposes on the inventor himself—how much he + believes of his own fiction.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't see,” Rulledge said gloomily, “why they're so long with my + dinner.” Then he burst out, “I believe every word Halson said. If there's + any fake in the thing, it's the fake that Minver owned to.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE RUBAIYAT AND THE LINER + </h2> + <h3> + ELIA W. PEATTIE + </h3> + <p> + “Chug-chug, chug-chug!” + </p> + <p> + That was the liner, and it had been saying the same thing for two nights + and two days. Therefore nobody paid any attention to it—except + Chalmers Payne, the moodiest of the passengers, who noticed it and said to + himself that, for his part, it did as well as any other sound, and was + much better than most persons' conversation. + </p> + <p> + It will be guessed that Mr. Chalmers Payne was in an irritable frame of + mind. He was even retaliative, and to the liner's continued iteration of + its innocent remark he retorted in the words of old Omar: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Perplext no more with Human or Divine, + To-morrow's tangle to the winds resign, + And lose your fingers in the tresses of + The cypress-slender Minister of Wine. + + “And if the wine you drink, the Lip you press, + End in what All begins and ends in—Yes; + Think then you are To-day what Yesterday + You were—To-morrow you shall not be less. + + “So when the Angel of the Darker Drink + At last shall find you by the River-brink, + And, offering his Cup, invite your Soul + Forth to your Lips to quaff—you shall not shrink.” + </pre> + <p> + To these melancholy mutterings, the liner, insouciant, and not caring a + peg for any philosophy—save that of the open road—shouldered + along through jewel-green waves, and remarked, “Chug-chug, chug-chug!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Payne was inclined to quarrel with the Tent-Maker on one score only. + He did not think that he was to-day what he was yesterday. Yesterday—figuratively + speaking—he had hope. He was conscious of his youth. A fine, buoyant + egotism sustained him, and he believed that he was about to be crowned + with a beautiful joy. + </p> + <p> + He had sauntered up to his joy, so to speak, cocksure, hands in pockets, + and as he smiled with easy assurance, behold the joy turned into a sorrow. + The face of the dryad smiling through the young grape leaves was that of a + withered hag, and the leaves of the vine were dead and flapped on sapless + stems! + </p> + <p> + Well, well, there was always a sorry fatalism to comfort one in joy's + despite. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Then to the rolling Heav'n itself, I cried, + Asking, 'What Lamp had Destiny to guide + Her little Children stumbling in the Dark?'” + </pre> + <p> + The answer was old as patience—as old as courage. But to theorize + about it was really superfluous! Why think at all? Why not say chug-chug + like the liner? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “We are no other than a moving row + Of Magic Shadow-shapes that come and go—” + </pre> + <p> + Dinner! Was it possible? The day had been a blur! Well, probably all the + rest of life would be a blur. Anyway, one could still dine, and he + recollected that the purée of tomatoes at last night's dinner had been + rather to his liking. He seated himself deliberately at the board, + congratulating himself that he would be allowed to go through the duty of + eating without interruption. The place at his right had been vacant ever + since they left Southampton. At his left was a gentleman of uncertain + hearing and a bullet-proof frown. + </p> + <p> + As the seat at his right had been vacant so long, he took the liberty of + laying it his gloves, his sea-glass, a book with uncut leaves, and a + crimson silk neck-scarf. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” said the waiter, “but the lady who is to sit here is + coming, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “The devil she is!” thought Payne. “Will the creature expect me to talk? + Will she require me to look after her in the matter of pepper and salt? + Why couldn't I have been left in peace?” + </p> + <p> + He gathered up his possessions, and arose gravely with an automatic + courtesy, and lifted eyes with a wooden expression to stare at the + intruder. + </p> + <p> + He faced the one person in the world whom it was most of pain and + happiness to meet—the woman between whom and himself he meant to put + a good half of the round world; and he read in her troubled gray eyes the + confession that if there was anything or anybody from which she would + willingly have been protected it was he—Chalmers Payne. + </p> + <p> + Conscious of their neighbors, they bowed. Payne saw her comfortably + seated. He sat down and slowly emptied his glass of ice-water. He + preserved his wooden expression of countenance and turned towards her. + </p> + <p> + “The old man on my right is deaf,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “So am I,” she retorted. + </p> + <p> + “Not so deaf, I hope, that you won't hear me explain that I had no more + notion of your being on this ship than of Sappho being here!” + </p> + <p> + “You refer to—the Greek Sappho, Mr. Payne?” + </p> + <p> + “Assuredly. You told me—'fore Heaven, why are women so inconsistent?—you + told me you were going anywhere rather than to America—that you were + at the beginning of your journeyings—that you had an engagement with + some Mahatmas on the top of the Himal—” + </p> + <p> + “And you—you were going to South Africa.” + </p> + <p> + “I said nothing of the sort. I—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I couldn't go about another day. No matter whether I was consistent + or inconsistent! I was worn out and ill. I've been seeing too much—” + </p> + <p> + “You told me you could never see enough!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, never mind all that. I acted impulsively, I confess. My aunt was + shocked. She thought I was ungrateful—particularly when I openly + rejoiced that she was not able to find a chaperon for me.” + </p> + <p> + “It's none of my business, anyway. I was stupid to show my surprise. I + ought never to be surprised at anything you do, I know that. As for me, + I'm tired of imitating the Wandering Jew. Besides, my father's old partner—mine + he is now, I suppose, though I can't get used to that idea—wants me + to come home. He says I'm needed. So I'm rolling up my sleeves, + figuratively speaking. But I should certainly have delayed my journey if I + had guessed you were to be on this boat.” + </p> + <p> + “It's very annoying altogether,” she said, with open vexation. “It looks + so silly! What will my aunt say?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think she'll say anything. You are on an Atlantic liner, with + nine hundred and ninety-nine souls who are nothing to you, and one who is + less than nothing. I believe that was the expression you used the other + day—less than nothing?” + </p> + <p> + The girl's delicate face flushed hotly. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not so strong,” she murmured. “It's true that I am worn out, and my + voyage has done nothing so far towards restoring me. On the contrary, I + have been suffering. I fainted again and again yesterday, and it took a + great deal of courage for me to venture out to-day. So you must be + merciful for a little while. Your enemy is down, you see.” + </p> + <p> + “My enemy!” He gave the words an accent at once bitter and humorous. “I'll + not say another personal word,” he murmured, contritely. “Tell me if you + feel faint at any moment, and let me help you. Please treat me as if I + were your—your uncle!” + </p> + <p> + She smiled faintly. + </p> + <p> + “You are asking a great deal,” she couldn't help saying, somewhat + coquettishly, and then he remembered how he had seen her hanging about her + uncle's neck, and he flushed too. + </p> + <p> + There was quite a long silence. She picked at her food delicately, and + Payne suggested some claret. Her face showed that she would have preferred + not to accept any favor from him, no matter how trifling, but she + evidently considered it puerile to refuse. + </p> + <p> + “It <i>is</i> mighty awkward for you!” he burst out, suddenly, “my being + here. I suppose you actually find it hard to believe that it was an + accident—” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't the least occasion to doubt your word, Mr. Payne. Have I ever + done anything to make you suppose that I didn't respect you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I didn't mean that! Heavens! what a cad you must think me! I have a + faculty for being stupid when you are around, you know. It's my + misfortune. But—behold my generosity!—I shall have a talk with + the purser, Miss Curtis, and get him to change my place for me. Some + good-natured person will consent to make the alteration.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean you will put some one else here in your place beside me?” + </p> + <p> + “It's the least I can do, isn't it? Now, whom would you suggest? Pick out + somebody. There's that motherly-looking German woman over there. She's a + baroness—” + </p> + <p> + “She? She'll tell me twice every meal that American girls are not brought + up with a knowledge of cooking. She will tell me how she has met them at + Kaffeeklatsches, and how they confessed that they didn't cook! No, no; you + must try another one!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if you object to her, there's that quiet gentleman who is eating + his ice with the aid of two pairs of spectacles. That gentleman is a + specialist in bacilli. He has little steel-bound bottles in his room + which, if you were to break them among this ship-load of passengers, would + depopulate the ship. I think he is taking home the bacilli of the bubonic + plague as a present to our country. Remember, if you got on the right side + of him, that you would have a vengeance beyond the dreams of the Borgias + at your command!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the terrible creature! Mr. Payne, how could you mention him? What if + he were to take me for a guinea-pig or a rabbit? No, I prefer the + English-looking mummy over there.” + </p> + <p> + “Who? Miss Hull? She's not half bad. She's a great traveller. She has been + almost everywhere, and is now hastening to make it everywhere. She carries + her own tea with her, and steeps it at five exactly every afternoon. She + tells me that once, being shipwrecked, she grasped her tea-caddy, her + alcohol-stove, and a large bottle of alcohol, and prepared for the worst. + They drifted four days on a raft, and she made five-o'clock tea every day, + to the great encouragement of the unfortunates. Miss Hull is an English + spinster, who has a fortune and no household, and who is going about to + see how other folks keep house—Feejee-Islanders, and Tagals, and + Kafirs. She likes them all, I believe. Indeed, she says she likes + everything—except the snug English village where she was brought up. + She says that when she lived there she did exactly the same thing between + sunup and sundown for eight years. For example, she had the curate to tea + every Wednesday evening during that entire time, and when possible she had + periwinkles.” + </p> + <p> + “And nothing came of it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, an enormous consumption of tea-biscuits-nothing more. Then it + occurred to her to travel. So she went to the next shire, and liked it so + well that she plunged off to London, then to the Hebrides. After that + there was no stopping her. She likes the islands better than the + continents, and is collecting hats made of sea-grass. She already has five + hundred and forty-two varieties. Really, you would not find her half so + bad.” + </p> + <p> + Helen Curtis finished her coffee, and laid her napkin beside her plate. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, if it comes to the negative virtues, you haven't been so disagreeable + yourself to-day as you might have been. I'm under obligations to you. It + <i>was</i> rather nice to meet an old acquaintance.” + </p> + <p> + The tone was formal, and put Payne ten thousand leagues away from her. + “Thank you,” he said, with mock gratitude. “<i>I'm</i> under obligations + for your courtesy, madam.” She dropped her handkerchief as she arose, and + he picked up the trifle and gave it to her. Their fingers met, and he + withdrew his hand with a quick gesture. + </p> + <p> + “You must allow me to see you safely to your room,” he urged. “Or else to + your deck chair.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you. I'll go on deck, I think, and you may call the boy to go for + my rug.” + </p> + <p> + He put her on the lee side, and wrapped her in a McCallum plaid, and + brought her some magazines from his own stateroom. Then he stood erect and + saluted. + </p> + <p> + “Madam, have I the honor to be dismissed?” + </p> + <p> + She looked up and gave a friendly smile in spite of herself. + </p> + <p> + “You are very good,” she said. “I am always remembering that you are good, + and the thought annoys me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it needn't,” he responded, in a philosophic tone, looking off towards + the jagged line of the horizon, where the purple waves showed their + changing outline. “If you are wondering why it is that you dislike me when + you find nothing of which to disapprove in my conduct, don't let that + puzzle you any longer. Regard does not depend upon character. The mystery + of attraction has never been solved. Now, I've seen women more beautiful + than you; I know many who are more learned; as for a sense of justice and + fairness, why, I don't think you understand the first principles. Yet you + are the one woman, in the world for me. Now that you've taken love out of + my life, this world is nothing more to me than a workshop. I shall get up + every morning and put myself at my bench, so to speak, and work till + nightfall. Then I shall sleep. It is dull, but it doesn't matter. I have + been at some trouble to convince myself of the fact that it doesn't + matter, and I value the conviction. Life isn't as disheartening as it + would be if it lasted longer. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “'Tis but a Tent where takes his one day's rest + A Sultan to the realms of Death addrest; + The Sultan rises, and the dark Ferrash + Strikes, and prepares it for another guest.” + </pre> + <p> + Miss Curtis sat up in her chair, and her eyes were flashing indignation. + </p> + <p> + “I won't listen in silence to the profanity of that old heathen,” she + cried. + </p> + <p> + “You refer to my friend Omar?” inquired Paine, quizzically, dropping his + earnestness as soon as she assumed it. + </p> + <p> + “I consider him one of the most dangerous of men! Once you would have been + above advancing such philosophy! The idea of your talking that inert + fatalism! It's incredible that you should admire what is supine and + cowardly—” + </p> + <p> + Payne's eyes were twinkling. He lit his pipe with a “By your permission,” + and between the puffs chanted: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Ah, Love! could thou and I with Fate conspire + To grasp this sorry scheme of Things entire + Would we not shatter it to bits—and then + Remould it nearer to the Heart's Desire!” + </pre> + <p> + “Even that is blasphemous impertinence!” the lady protested, knowing that + she was angry, and rejoicing in the sensation. + </p> + <p> + “You think so?” cried Payne, not waiting for her to finish. “Why did you + complain, then, of taking up the burden of common things? Do you want to + be reminded of what you told me? You said that the roving life you had + been leading in Europe for the past two years had unsettled you. You said + you wanted to live among the old things and the dreams of old things. You + liked the sense of irresponsible delight, and weren't prepared to say that + you could ever assume the dull domestic round in a commonplace town. You + considered the love of one human creature altogether too small and banal a + thing to make you forego your intellectual incursions into the lands of + delight. You were of the opinion that you loved many thousand creatures, + most of them dead, and to enjoy their society to the full it was necessary + for you to look at the cathedrals they had builded, to read the books they + had written, or gaze upon the canvases they had painted. You were in a + poppy sleep on the mystic flowers of ancient dreams. Wasn't that it? So I, + a mere practical, every-day fellow, who had shown an unaccountable + weakness in staying away from home a full year longer than I had any + business to, was to go back alone to my work and my empty house, and + console myself with the day's work. You were to go walking along the + twilight path where the half-gods had walked before you, and I was to + trudge up a dusty road fringed with pusley, and ending in a summer + kitchen. Isn't that about it?” + </p> + <p> + She spread out the folds of her gown and looked down at them in a somewhat + embarrassed manner, seemingly submerged by this flood of protesting + eloquence. + </p> + <p> + “You were afraid to look anything in the face,” he went on, not giving her + time to recover her breath. “You thought you could live in a world of + beauty and never have any hard work. I suppose if you had seen the + gardener wiping the sweat off his brow you would not have picked any of + the roses in that garden at Lucerne. I suppose not! Well, let me assure + you of one thing-there's commonplaceness everywhere. Probably some one had + to wash those white dresses Sappho used to wear when she sat beside the + sea. Maybe Sappho did them up herself, eh?” + </p> + <p> + He stopped and gave way to his bathos, throwing back his head and laughing + heartily. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, I'm through with railing at you. But I left you eating lotus, + hollow-eyed and steeped in dreams. You were listening to the surf on + Calypso's Isle. I was hearing nothing but the sound of your voice. Now + I've stumbled on a soporific philosophy, and am getting all I can out of + the anaesthesia, and you are reproaching me. It's like your inconsistency, + isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + She put up one hand to stop him, but he went on, recurring once more to + the poet: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon + Turns Ashes—or it prospers; and anon, + Like snow upon the Desert's dusty Face + Lighting a little Hour or two, is gone.” + </pre> + <p> + She tried to speak, but he lifted his hat and left her, and going to the + other side of the deck, paced up and down there swiftly, and thought of a + number of things. For one thing, he reflected how ludicrous was life! Here + was Helen Curtis, fleeing from the recollection of him; here was himself, + fleeing from the too-sweet actuality of her calm face and lambent eyes; + and they were set down face to face in midocean! Such a preposterous trick + on the part of the Three! + </p> + <p> + “I suppose happiness is never anything more than a mirage,” he said to + himself as he paced. “It is bright at times and then dim, and at present, + for me, it is inverted. The business of the traveller, however, is to + tramp on in the sun and the sand, with an eye to the compass and giving no + heed to evanishing gleams of fairy lakes and plumelike palms. Tramping on + in the sand isn't as bad as it might be, either, when one gets used to it. + The simoon is on me now, but I'll weather it. I've <i>got</i> to. I <i>won't + be</i> downed!” + </p> + <p> + He put his head up and tried to think he was courageous. The gloom of the + night was about him now, and the strange voices of the sea called one to + the other. He tried to turn his thought to practical things. He would go + home to the vacant old house where he had been born; he would make it + livable, let the sunshine into it, modernize it to an extent, and then get + some one under its roof. While there were so many homeless folk in the + world it wasn't right to have an untenanted house. Then he'd get down to + business, good and hard, and bring the thing up. It was a good business, + and it had an honorable reputation. He had been too unappreciative of this + fine legacy. Well, there were excuses. At school he had thought of other + things—and the life of the fraternity house had been a gallant one! + Then came his wander year—which stretched into two. And now, having + eaten of the apples of Paradise and felt them turn to bitterness in his + mouth, he would go back to duty. + </p> + <p> + He wished he had never seen her again—after that night when she + belied her long-continued kindness to him with her indifferent rejection + of his devotion. He devoutly wished he had not been forced to feel again + the subtle fascination of those deep eyes, and hear the thrilling + contralto of that rich voice! She was unscrupulous in her cold selfishness— + </p> + <p> + A sudden, inexplicable trembling of the whole great ship! A frightened + quivering, a lurch, a crash! + </p> + <p> + The chug-chug ceased. No—it couldn't! Nothing like that ever + happened to a ship of the line on a comparatively quiet night! Of course + not! + </p> + <p> + Of course not—but for all of that, they were as inert as a raft, and + the passengers were beginning to skurry about and to ask the third officer + and the fourth officer what t' dickens it meant. The third officer and the + fourth officer did not know, but felt convinced—professionally + convinced—that it was nothing. The first engineer? He had gone + below. Oh, it was nothing. The captain? Really, they could not say where + he was. + </p> + <p> + Chalmers Payne strode around the after-cabin, and then ran to the spot + where he had left Helen Curtis. She was still there. She sat up and put + both her hands in his. + </p> + <p> + “I knew you'd be here as soon as you could, so I didn't move! I didn't + want to put you to the trouble to look for me!” + </p> + <p> + He held her hands hard. + </p> + <p> + “I don't think it is much of anything,” he said. “It can't be. There's no + smell of fire. The sea is not heavy. At the very worst—” + </p> + <p> + “Be sure, won't you, that we're not separated? One of us might be put in + one boat and one in another, you know, if it should really be—be + fire or something. Then, if a storm came up and—” + </p> + <p> + People were running with vague rumors. They called out this and that + alarm. It was possible to feel the panic gathering. + </p> + <p> + “Remember,” Helen Curtis whispered, “whatever comes, that we belong + together.” + </p> + <p> + “We do!” he acquiesced, saying the words between his teeth. “I have known + it a long time. But you—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, so have I! But what made you so sure? What was there about your home + and your work and yourself to make you so perfectly sure I would be + interested in them all my life? You didn't lay out any scheme for me at + all, or act as if you thought I had any dreams or aspirations. I was to + come and observe you become distinguished—I was to watch what you + could do! Oh, Chalmers, I was willing, but what made you so sure?” + </p> + <p> + “Then you loved me? You loved me?” She looked white and scared, and he + could feel her hands chill and tremble. + </p> + <p> + “How ready you are to use that word! I'm afraid of it. I always said I + wouldn't speak it till I <i>had</i> to. It frightens me—it means so + much. If I said it to you I could never say it to any one else, no matter + how—” + </p> + <p> + “Not on any account! Say it, Helen!” + </p> + <p> + “I wish to explain. I—I couldn't stand the aimlessness of life after + you left. I began to suspect that it was you who made everything so + interesting. I wasn't so enamoured with the ancients as I thought I was; + but I was enamoured with your contemplation of my pose. Oh, I've been + dissecting myself! Should I really have cared so much for Lucerne and + Nuremberg if you hadn't been with me? I concluded that I should not. Well, + said I to myself, if he can make the Old World so fascinating, can he not + do something for the New World, too?” + </p> + <p> + An alarmist rushed by. + </p> + <p> + “They are going to lower the boats!” he cried. “Better get your valuables + together.” + </p> + <p> + “There's a panic in the steerage,” another cried. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Helen! Go on. Don't let anything interrupt you.” + </p> + <p> + “I won't. I realize that you ought to be told that I love you. I do. I + love you. I'm twenty-three, and I never said the words to any one else, + even though I'm an American girl. And I'll never speak them to any one but + you. I'm sure of it now. But I wouldn't say it till I was quite, quite + sure.” + </p> + <p> + The captain came pacing down the deck leisurely. He lifted his hat as he + passed Payne and Miss Curtis. + </p> + <p> + “We shall be on our way in a few minutes,” he said, agreeably. “I hope + this young lady has not suffered any alarm.” + </p> + <p> + Helen showed him a face on which anything was written rather than fear. + </p> + <p> + “The port shaft broke off somewhere near the truss-block at the mouth of + the sleeve of the shaft, and the outer end of the shaft and the propeller + dropped to the bottom of the sea. It's quite inexplicable, but I find in + my experience that inexplicable things frequently happen. We shall finish + our run with the starboard shaft only, and shall be obliged to reduce our + speed to an average of three hundred and sixty knots daily.” + </p> + <p> + He repeated this in a voice of impersonal courtesy, and went on to the + next group. Helen Curtis settled back in her chair and smiled up at her + lover. + </p> + <p> + “We shall be at sea at least two days longer,” he said, exultantly. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, what shall we do to pass the time?” she interrupted, with mocking + coquetry. + </p> + <p> + “Chug-chug, chug-chug!” + </p> + <p> + It was the liner. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Ah, my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears + To-day of past Regret and future Fears—” + </pre> + <p> + This was Omar, but Miss Curtis would not listen. + </p> + <p> + “I've an aversion to your eloquent old heathen,” she pleaded. “You must + not quote him, really.” + </p> + <p> + “If you insist, I'll refrain. Can't I even quote 'A book of verses + underneath the bough—'” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, not on any account! That least of all.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't want me to be hackneyed? Well, I'll be perfectly original. I + know one thing I can say which will always sound mysterious and + marvellous!” + </p> + <p> + “Say it, say it!” she commanded, imperiously, knowing quite well what it + was. + </p> + <p> + So he said it, and the two sat and looked off across the darkened water + and at the pale, reluctant stars, beholding, for that night at least, the + passionate inner sense of the universe. They said nothing more. + </p> + <p> + But as for the liner, it continued with its emphatic reiteration. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE MINISTER + </h2> + <h3> + ANNIE HAMILTON DONNELL + </h3> + <p> + Mrs. Leah Bloodgood walked heavily, without the painstaking little springy + leaps she usually adopted as an offset to her stoutness. She mounted + Cornelia Opp's door-steps with an air of gloomy abstraction that sat + uneasily on the plump terraces of her face as if at any moment it might + slide off. It slid off now at sight of Cornelia Opp's serene, sweet face. + </p> + <p> + “My gracious! Cornelia, is this your house?” laughed Mrs. Bloodgood, + pantingly. “Here I thought I was going up Marilla Merritt's steps! You + don't mean to tell me that I turned into Ridgway Street instead of Penn?” + </p> + <p> + “This isn't Penn Street,” smiled Cornelia Opp. She had flung the door wide + with a gesture of welcome. + </p> + <p> + “No—mercy, no, I can't come in!” panted the woman on the steps. + “I've got to see Marilla Merritt, right off. When I come calling on <i>you</i>, + Cornelia, I want my mind easy so we can have a good time.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor Mrs. Merritt!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Marilla ought to suffer if I do—she's on the Suffering + Committee! Good-by, Cornelia. Don't you go and tell anybody how + absent-minded I was. They'll say it's catching.” + </p> + <p> + “It's the minister, then,” mused Cornelia in the doorway, watching the + stout figure go down the street. “Now what has the poor man been doing + this time?” A gentle pity grew in her beautiful gray eyes. It was so hard + on ministers to be all alone in the world, especially certain kinds of + ministers. No matter how long-suffering Suffering Committees might be, + they could not make allowances <i>enough</i>. “Poor man! Well, the Lord's + on his side,” smiled in the doorway Cornelia Opp. + </p> + <p> + Marilla Merritt was not like Mrs. Leah Bloodgood. Marilla was little where + Leah was big, and nothing daunted Marilla. She was shaking a rug out on + her sunny piazza, and descried the toiling figure while it was yet afar + off. + </p> + <p> + “There's Leah Bloodgood coming, or my name's Sarah! <i>What</i> is Leah + Bloodgood out this time of day for, with the minister's dinner to get? + Something is up.” She waved the rug gayly. “Mis' Merritt isn't at home!” + she called; “she's out—on the door-steps shaking rugs! Leah + Bloodgood,” as the figure drew near, “you look all tuckered out! Come in + quick and sit down. Don't try to talk. You needn't tell me something's up—just + say <i>what</i>. Has that blessed man been—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he has!” panted the caller, vindictively. It is harder to be + long-suffering when one is out of breath. “You listen to this. I've + brought his letter to read to you.” + </p> + <p> + “His letter!” Marilla could not have been much more astonished if the + other had taken the minister himself out of her dangling black bag. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; it came this morn—Mercy! Marilla, don't look so amazed! Didn't + you know he'd gone away on his vacation? He forgot it was next month + instead of this, and I found him packing his things, and hadn't the heart + to tell him. I thought a man with a pleased look like that on his face + better <i>go</i>,—but, mercy! didn't I send you word? It <i>is</i> + catching. I shall be bad as he is.” + </p> + <p> + “Good as he is, do you mean? Don't worry about being that!” laughed little + Marilla Merritt. “Well, I'm glad he's gone, dear man.” + </p> + <p> + “You won't be glad long, 'dear man'! Here's his letter. Take a long breath + before you read it. I suppose I ought to prepare you, but I want you see + how I felt.” + </p> + <p> + “I might count ten first,” deliberated smiling Marilla, fingering the + white envelope with a certain tenderness. A certain tenderness and the + minister went together with them all. “But, no, I'm going to sail right + in.” + </p> + <p> + “Take your own risks, of course, but my advice is to reef all your main—er—jibsails + first,” Mrs. Leah Bloodgood wearily murmured. “You'll find the sea + choppy.” + </p> + <p> + “'Dear Sister Bloodgood,'” read Marilla, aloud, with reckless glibness, + “'Will you be so kind as to send me my best suit? I am going to marry my + old friend whom I have met here after twenty years. The wedding will take + place next Wednesday morn—' + </p> + <p> + “<i>What!</i>” + </p> + <p> + “Read on,” groaned Mrs. Bloodgood. “He says the fishing's excellent.” + </p> + <p> + “I should say so! And that's what he's caught! Leah Bloodgood, what did + you ever let him go away for without a body-guard? That poor dear, + innocent, kind-hearted man, to go and fall among—among <i>thieves</i> + like that!” + </p> + <p> + “He's just absent-minded enough to go and do it himself. I don't suppose + we ought to blame <i>them</i>. Read on.” + </p> + <p> + “'Next Wednesday morning, at ten o'clock,'” moaned little Marilla, + glibness all gone. “'It would be most embarrassing to do so in these + clothes, as I am sure you will see, dear sister. Kindly see that my best + white tie is included. I would not wish to be unbecomingly attired on so + joyous an occasion. She is a widow with five chil—'” + </p> + <p> + “Mercy! don't faint away! Where's your fans? Didn't I tell you there were + breakers ahead? I don't wonder you're all broken up! Give it to me; I'll + read the rest. M—m—m, 'joyous occasion'—'five children'—'she + is a widow with five children, all of them most lovable little creatures. + You know my fondness for children. I have been greatly benefited by my + sojourn in this lovely spot. I cannot thank you too warmly for + recommending it. I find the fish—'” + </p> + <p> + “Leah Bloodgood, that will do! Don't read another word. Don't fan me, + don't ask me how I feel now. Let me get my breath, and then we will go + over and open the parsonage windows. That, I suppose, is the first thing + to do. It's something to be thankful for that it's a good-sized + parsonage.” + </p> + <p> + “Be thankful, then—<i>I'm</i> not. I'm not anything but incensed + clear through. After I'd taken every precaution that was ever thought of, + and some that weren't ever, to keep that man out of mischief! I thought of + all the absent-minded things he might do, but I never thought of this, no, + I never! And we wanted him to marry Cornelia so much, Marilla! Cornelia + would have made him such a beautiful wife!” + </p> + <p> + “Beautiful!” sighed Marilla, hopelessly. It had been the dear pet plan + they had nursed in common with all the parish. Everybody but the minister + and Cornelia had shared in it. + </p> + <p> + “And five children! Marilla Merritt, think of five children romping over + our parsonage, knocking all the corners off!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm thinking,” mourned Marilla, gustily. She felt a dismal suspicion that + this was going to daunt her. But her habit of facing things came to the + front. “Wednesday's only four days off,” she said, with a fine assumption + of briskness. “I don't suppose he said anything about a wedding tour, did + he?” + </p> + <p> + “No. But even if he took one he'd probably forget and stop off here. So we + can't count on that. What's done has got to be done in four days. What <i>has</i> + got to be done, Marilla?” + </p> + <p> + “Everything. We must start this minute, Leah Bloodgood! The house must be + aired and painted and papered, and window-glass set—there's no end! + And all in four days! We can't let our minister bring his wife and five + children home to a shabby house. Cornelia Opp must go round and get money + for new dining-room chairs, and there ought to be more beds with a family + like that. Dishes, too. Cornelia ought to start at <i>once</i>. She's the + best solicitor we have.” + </p> + <p> + “There's another thing,” broke out Mrs. Bloodgood; “the minister must have + some new shirts. He ought to have a whole trousseau. He hasn't boarded + with me, and I done all his mending, without my knowing what he ought to + have, now that he's going to go and get married. We can't let <i>him</i> + be shabby, either.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, of course, there ought to be a lot of cooked food in the house, and + supper all ready for them when they come. Oh, I guess we'll find plenty to + do! I guess we can't stop to groan much. But, oh, how different we'd all + feel if it was Cornelia!” + </p> + <p> + “Different! I'd give 'em my dining-room chairs and my cellar stairs! I'd + make shirts and sit up all night to cook! It's—it's wicked, Marilla, + that's what it is.” + </p> + <p> + “I know <i>it</i> is, but he isn't,” championed Marilla. “He's just a good + man gone wrong. It's his guardian angel that's to blame—a guardian + angel has no business to be napping.” + </p> + <p> + At best, it was pretty late in the day to overhaul a parsonage that had + been closed so long and sinking gently into mild decay. The little parish + woke with a dismayed start and went to work, to a woman. Operations were + begun within an amazingly brief time; cleaners and repairers were hurried + to the parsonage, and the women of the parish were told off into relays to + assist them. + </p> + <p> + “Somebody go to Mrs. Higginbotham Taylor's and get a high chair,” directed + Marilla Merritt. “I'll lend my tea-chair for the next-to-the-baby, anyway, + till they can get something better. We don't want our minister's children + sitting round on dictionaries and encyclopaedias.” + </p> + <p> + The minister had come to them, a lone bachelor, with kind, absent eyes and + the faculty of making himself beloved. For six years they had taken care + of him and loved him—watched over his outgoings and his incomings + and forgiven all his absent-mindednesses. They had picked out Cornelia Opp + for him, and added it to their prayers like an earnest codicil—“O + Lord, bring Cornelia Opp and the minister together. Amen.” + </p> + <p> + Cornelia Opp herself lived on her sweet, unselfish, single life, and + prayed, “Lord, bless the minister,” unsuspectingly. She was as much + beloved among them all as the minister. They were proud of her slender, + beautiful figure and her serene face, and of her many capabilities. What + the minister lacked, Cornelia had; Cornelia lacked nothing. + </p> + <p> + Marilla Merritt and Cornelia Opp were appointed receiving committee, to be + at the parsonage when the minister and his wife and five children arrived. + A bountiful supper was to be in readiness, prepared by all the good women + impartially. The duty of the receiving committee was merely, as Mrs. Leah + Bloodgood said, “to smile, and tell pleasant little lies—'Such a + delightful surprise,—so glad to welcome, etc.' + </p> + <p> + “Cornelia and Marilla Merritt are just the ones,” she said, succinctly. “<i>I</i> + should say: 'You awful man, you! Can't we trust you out of our sights?' + And I suppose that wouldn't be the best way to welcome 'em.” + </p> + <p> + The minister had sent a brief notice of his expected arrival home on + Wednesday evening, and, unless he forgot and went somewhere else, there + was good reason to expect him then. Everything was hurried into readiness. + At the last moment some one sent in a doll to make the minister's children + feel more at home. Cornelia laughed and set the little thing on the sofa, + stiffly erect and endlessly smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Looks nice, doesn't it?” sighed tired little Marilla, returning from a + last round of the tidy rooms. “I don't see anything else left to do, + unless—Is that dust?” + </p> + <p> + “No, it's bloom,” hastened Cornelia, covertly wiping it off. “You poor, + tired thing, don't look at anything else! Just go home and rest a little + bit before you change your dress. Mine's all changed, and I can stay here + and mount guard. I can be practising my lies!” + </p> + <p> + “I've got mine by heart,” laughed Marilla, “I could say 'so delighted' if + he brought two wives and ten children!” + </p> + <p> + “Don't!” Cornelia's sweet voice sounded a little severe. “We've said + enough about the poor man. It's four o'clock. If you're going—” + </p> + <p> + “I am. Cornelia Opp, turn that child back to! She makes me nervous sitting + there on that sofa staring at me! Will you see her!” + </p> + <p> + “She does look a little out of place,” Cornelia admitted, but she left the + stiff little figure undisturbed. After the other woman had gone she sat + down beside it on the sofa, and smoothed absently its gaudy little dress. + Cornelia's face was gently pensive, she could scarcely have told why. Not + the minister, but the trimly appointed house with its indefinable + atmosphere of a home with little children in it was what she was thinking + of without conscious effort of her own. The smiling doll beside her, the + high chair that she could see through an inner door, and the foolish + little gilt mug that some one had donated to the minister's babyest one—they + all contributed to the gentle pensiveness on Cornelia's sweet face. She + was but a step by thirty, and a woman at thirty has not settled down + resignedly into a lonely old age. Let a little child come tilting by, or a + little child's foolish belongings intrude themselves upon her vision, and + old, odd longings creep out of secret crannies and haunt her, willy-nilly. + It is the latent motherhood within her that has been denied its own. It + was the secret of the soft wistfulness in Cornelia's eyes. So she sat + until the minister came home. It was the sound of his big step on the walk + that roused her and sent the color into her face and made it perilously + beautiful. + </p> + <p> + Cornelia was frightened. Where was Marilla Merritt? Why had they come so + soon? Must she meet them alone? She hurried to the door, her perturbed + mind groping blindly for the “lies” she had misplaced while she sat and + dreamed. + </p> + <p> + The minister was striding up the walk alone! He did not even look back at + the village hack that was turning away with his wife and five children! He + looked instead at the beautiful vision that stood in the parsonage + doorway, glimpses of home behind it, welcome and comfort in it. The + minister was in need of welcome and comfort. His loneliness had been + accentuated cruelly by the bit of happiness he had caught a brief glimpse + of and left behind him. Perhaps the loneliness was in his face. + </p> + <p> + “Welcome home,” Cornelia said, in the doorway. She put aside her + astonishment at his coming alone, and answered the need in his face. Her + hands were out in a gracious greeting. To the minister how good it was! + </p> + <p> + “They told me to come right here,” he said, “or I should have gone to Mrs. + Bloodgood's as usual. I don't quite understand—” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind understanding,” Cornelia smiled, leading the way into the + pretty parlor, “anyway, till you get into a comfortable rocker. It's so + much easier to understand in a rocking-chair! I—well, I think I need + one, too! You see, we expected—we <i>didn't</i> expect you alone.” + </p> + <p> + “No?” his puzzled gaze taking in all the kind little appointments of the + room, and coming to a stop at the smiling doll. The two of them sat and + stared at each other. + </p> + <p> + “We thought you would bring—we got all ready for your wife and the + children,” Cornelia was saying. The doll stared on, but the minister + looked up. + </p> + <p> + “My wife and the children?” he repeated after her. “I don't think I know + what you mean, Miss Cornelia. I must be dreaming—No, wait; please + don't tell me what it all means just yet! Give me a little time to enjoy + the dream.” But Cornelia went on. + </p> + <p> + “You wrote Mrs. Bloodgood about your marriage,” she said. Sweet voices can + be severe. “It hurried us a little, but we have tried to get everything in + readiness. If there is another bed needed for the chil—” + </p> + <p> + “I wrote Mrs. Bloodgood about my marriage?” he said, slowly; then as + understanding dawned upon him the puzzled lines in his face loosened into + laughter that would out. He leaned back in his rocker and gave himself up + to it helplessly. As helplessly Cornelia joined in. The doll on the sofa + smiled on—no more, no less. + </p> + <p> + “Will you ex—excuse me?” he laughed. + </p> + <p> + “No,” laughed she. + </p> + <p> + “But I can't help it, and you're l-laughing yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “No!” + </p> + <p> + He got to his feet and caught her hands. + </p> + <p> + “Let's keep on,” he pleaded, unministerially. “I'm having a beautiful + time. Aren't you? I wish you'd say yes, Miss Cornelia!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she smiled, “but we can't sit here laughing all the rest of the + afternoon. Marilla Merritt will be here—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Marilla Merritt—” He sighed. The minister was young, too. + </p> + <p> + “And she will want to know—things,” hinted Cornelia, mildly. She + drew the smiling doll into her lap and smoothed its dress absently. The + minister retreated to his rocker again. + </p> + <p> + “I think I would rather tell you,” he said, quietly. “I did marry my old + friend this morning, but I married her to another man. It was a mistake—all + a mistake.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you ought not to have married her, ought you?” commented Cornelia, + demurely. Over the doll's little foolish head her eyes were dancing. + Marilla Merritt might not see that it was funny, Mrs. Bloodgood mightn't, + but it was. Unless—unless it was pathetic. Suddenly Cornelia felt + that it was. + </p> + <p> + The minister was no longer laughing. He sat in the rocker strangely quiet. + Perhaps he did not realize that his eyes were on Cornelia's beautiful + face; perhaps he thought he was looking at the doll. He knew what he was + thinking of. The utter loneliness behind him and ahead of him appalled him + in its contrast to this. This woman sitting opposite him with the face of + the woman that a man would like always near him, this little home with the + two of them in it alone—the minister knew what it was he wanted. He + wanted it to go right on—never to end. He knew that he had always + wanted it. All the soul of the man rose up to claim it. And because there + was need of hurry, because Marilla Merritt was coming, he held out his + hands to Cornelia and the foolish, unastonished doll. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” he said, pleadingly, and of course the doll could not have gone + alone. He dropped it gently back into its place on the sofa. + </p> + <p> + Marilla Merritt had been unwarrantably delayed. She came in flushed and + panting, but indomitably smiling. Her sharp glance sought for a wife and + five children. + </p> + <p> + “Such a delightful surprise!” she panted, holding out her hand to the + minister. “We are so glad to welcome—Why!—have you shown them + to their rooms, Cornelia?” + </p> + <p> + “They—they didn't come,” murmured Cornelia, retreating to her + unfailing ally on the sofa. In the stress of the moment—for Cornelia + was not ready for Marilla Merritt—it had seemed to her that the time + for “lies” had come. She had even beckoned to the nearest one. But the + ghosts of ministers' wives that had been and that were to be had risen in + a warning cloud about her and saved her. + </p> + <p> + “Didn't come!” shrilled Marilla Merritt in her astonishment. “His wife and + children didn't come! Do you know what you are saying, Cornelia? You don't + mean—Then I don't wonder you look flustered—” She caught + herself up hurriedly, but her thoughts ran on unchecked. Of all things + that ever! Could absent-mindedness go further than this—to marry a + wife and forget to bring her home with him?—and <i>five children!</i> + </p> + <p> + Marilla Merritt turned sharply upon the minister. + </p> + <p> + “Where is your wife?” she demanded, the frayed ends of her patience + trailing from her tone. The minister crossed the room to Cornelia and the + doll. He laid his big white hand gently on Cornelia's small white one. + There was protective tenderness in the gesture and the touch. + </p> + <p> + “I found her here waiting for me,” the minister said. + </p> + <h3> + THE END + </h3> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Quaint Courtships, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK QUAINT COURTSHIPS *** + +***** This file should be named 9490-h.htm or 9490-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/9/4/9/9490/ + +Produced by Stan Goodman, David Widger, and Distributed Proofreaders + +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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