[Illustration: He put his face close to hers, and stared into hereyes. _Frontispiece--Awakening of Helena Richie_]

THE AWAKENING OF HELENA RICHIE

By MARGARET DELAND

Author of "Dr Lavendar's People, " "Old Cheater Tales, " etc. 

TO

LORIN DELAND

MAY 12, 1906

CHAPTER I

Dr. Lavendar and Goliath had toiled up the hill to call on old Mr. Benjamin Wright; when they jogged back in the late afternoon it waswith the peculiar complacency which follows the doing of adisagreeable duty. Goliath had not liked climbing the hill, for aheavy rain in the morning had turned the clay to stiff mud, and Dr. Lavendar had not liked calling on Benjamin Wright. 

"But, Daniel, " said Dr. Lavendar, addressing a small old dog who tookup a great deal more room on the seat of the buggy than he wasentitled to, "Daniel, my boy, you don't consult your likings inpastoral calls. " Then he looked out of the mud-spattered window of thebuggy, at a house by the roadside--"The Stuffed Animal House, " OldChester children called it, because its previous owner had been ataxidermist of some little local renown. "That's another visit I oughtto make, " he reflected, "but it can wait until next week. G'long, Goliath!"

Goliath went along, and Mrs. Frederick Richie, who lived in theStuffed Animal House, looking listlessly from an upper window, saw thehood of the buggy jogging by and smiled suddenly. "Thank Heaven!" shesaid. 

Benjamin Wright had not thanked Heaven when Dr. Lavendar drove away. He had been as disagreeable as usual to his visitor, but being a verylonely old man he enjoyed having a visitor to whom to be disagreeable. He lived on his hilltop a mile out of Old Chester, with his "nigger"Simmons, his canary-birds, and his temper. More than thirty yearsbefore he had quarrelled with his only son Samuel, and the two men hadnot spoken to each other since. Old Chester never knew what thisquarrel had been about; Dr. Lavendar, speculating upon it as he andGoliath went squashing through the mud that April afternoon, wonderedwhich was to blame. "Pot and kettle, probably, " he decided. "Samuel'sgoodness is very irritating sometimes, and Benjamin's badness is--well, it's not as distressing as it should be. But what a forlorn oldcritter he is! And this Mrs. Richie is lonely too--a widow, with nochildren, poor woman! I must call next week. Goliath wouldn't like toturn round now and climb the hill again. Danny, I fear Goliath is veryselfish. "

Goliath's selfishness carried them home and landed Dr. Lavendar at hisown fireside, rather tired and full of good intentions in regard tocalls. He confided these intentions to Dr. William King who looked inafter supper to inquire about his cold. 

"Cold? I haven't any cold! You can't get a job here. Sit down and giveme some advice. Hand me a match first; this ragamuffin Danny has goneto sleep with his head on my foot, and I can't budge. "

The doctor produced the match; "I'll advise you not to go out in suchweather. Promise me you won't go out to-morrow. "

"To-morrow? Right after breakfast, sir! To make calls on the peopleI've neglected. Willy, how can I find a home for an orphan child? Aparson up in the mountains has asked me to see if I can place a littleseven-year-old boy. The child's sister who took care of him has justdied. Do you know anybody who might take him?"

"Well, " said Willy King, "there's Mrs. Richie. "

Dr. Lavendar looked at him over his spectacles. "Mrs. FrederickRichie?--though I understand she calls herself Mrs. Helena Richie. Idon't like a young female to use her own name, William, even if she isa widow! Still, she may be a nice woman I suppose. Do you think alittle boy would have a good home with her?"

"Well, " the doctor demurred, "of course, we know very little abouther. She has only been here six months. But I should think she wasjust the person to take him. She is mighty good-looking, isn't she?"

"Yes, " Dr. Lavendar said, "she is. And other things being equal Iprefer a good-looking woman. But I don't know that her looks are aguarantee that she can train up a child in the way he should go. Can'tyou think of anybody else?"

"I don't see why you don't like Mrs. Richie?" "I never said I didn'tlike her, " protested Dr. Lavendar; "but she's a widow. "

"Unless she murdered the late Richie, that's not against her. "

"Widows don't always stay widows, Willy. "

"I don't believe she's the marrying kind, " William said. "I have asort of feeling that the deceased Richie was not the kind of husbandwho receives the compliment of a successor--"

"Hold on; you're mixing things up! It's the bad husband and the goodwife that get compliments of that kind. "

William laughed as he was expected to, but he stuck to his opinionthat Mrs. Richie had had enough of husbands. "And anyway, she'sdevoted to her brother--though he doesn't come to see her veryoften. "

"There's another point, " objected Dr. Lavendar; "what kind of a man isthis Mr. Pryor? Danny growled at him once, which prejudiced me againsthim. "

"I don't take to him much myself, " William King confessed; "though Imust say he seems a decent man enough. He doesn't cultivateacquaintances in Old Chester, but that only shows bad taste. "

"She says he is not very well, " Dr. Lavendar explained; "she says helikes to keep quiet when he comes down here. "

"I don't see anything wrong with him. "

"Hasn't taken any of your pills? Maybe he doesn't believe in doctors. I don't myself. "

"Thank you, " said William King. 

"There's too much fuss anyway over our precious carcasses! And youfellows encourage it, " Dr. Lavendar grumbled. Then he said he wishedhe knew more about Mrs. Richie. "I ask you for information and all yousay is that she's good-looking, and her brother doesn't take yourpills. "

William laughed. 

"She doesn't come to church very regularly, and she never stopsafterwards to talk, " Dr. Lavendar ruminated. 

"Well, she lives 'way up there on the hill road--"

"Yes, she does live pretty far out of town, " Dr. Lavendar admitted, "but that's not a reason for not being neighborly after church. "

"She's shy, " said William King, "that's all. Shyness isn't anythingvery wrong. And she's mighty pleasant when she does talk to you. Itell you Dr. Lavendar, pleasantness goes a good way in this world. I'dsay it was better than goodness--only they are the same thing. "

"No, they're not, " said Dr. Lavendar. 

"I grant she doesn't belong to the sewing society, " William saidgrinning. "Martha says that some of the ladies say she doesn't showproper grief for her husband. She actually smiles sometimes! They saythat if the Lord were to remove _their_ beloved husbands, they wouldnever smile again. "

"William, " said Dr. Lavendar chuckling, "I begin to like your widow. "

"She's not my widow, thank you! But she's a nice woman, and she mustbe pretty lonely up there all by herself. "

"Wish I had gone in to see her this afternoon, " the old man saidthoughtfully. "As you say she may be a suitable person to take thislittle boy. I wonder if she's going to stay in Old Chester?"

"Sam Wright says she has spoken to him of buying the house. That looksas if she meant to settle down. Did you know that Sam's Sam is castingsheep's eyes at her?"

"Why, she's old enough to be his mother!" said Dr. Lavendar. 

"Oh, no. Sam's Sam is twenty-three, and one of my patients says thatMrs. Richie will never see forty-five again. Which leads me toconclude that she's about thirty. "

"Of course she doesn't encourage him?" Dr. Lavendar said anxiously. 

"She lets him come to see her, and she took him out once in thatwicker-work vehicle she has--looks like a clothes-basket on wheels. And she provides the clothes to put into it. I'm told they'rebeautiful; but that no truly pious female would be willing to decoratepoor flesh and blood with such finery. I'm told--"

"William! Is this the way I've brought you up? To pander to mybesetting sin? Hold your tongue!" Dr. Lavendar rose chuckling, andstood in front of the fireplace, gathering the tails of his floweredcashmere dressing-gown under his arms. "But Willy I hope Sam isn'treally smitten? You never can tell what that boy will do. "

"Yes, he's a hair-trigger, " the doctor agreed, "a hair-trigger! Andhis father understands him about as well as--as Danny thereunderstands Hebrew! I think it's a case of Samuel and his father overagain. Dr. Lavendar, do you suppose anybody will ever know what thosetwo quarrelled about?"

"Probably not. "

"I suppose, " William King ruminated, "that you'd call Sam a genius?"

"No, I wouldn't; he has no patience. You can't have genius withoutpatience. Sam hasn't a particle. "

"Well, " the doctor explained, "he hasn't the slightest sense ofresponsibility; and I notice that when people have no sense ofresponsibility, you call them either criminals or geniuses. "

"I don't, " said Dr. Lavendar dryly, "I call 'em poor critters, eitherway. But Willy, about this little boy; the great point is who needshim? I expect he'll be here on Saturday. "

"What! This week? But you haven't found anybody to take him. "

"Oh, he'll stay with me for a while, Mary'll look after him. And I'llplay marbles with him. Got any white alleys? Gimme six, and I'll giveyou an agate. "

"But Dr. Lavendar, that will be a nuisance to you, " William Kingprotested. "Let me take him. Or, at least--I'll ask Martha; she'shouse-cleaning now, and she says she's very tired; so I'm not sure--"William ended weakly. 

"No, no; I want him myself, " said the old minister. 

"Well, " Dr. King said with evident relief, "shall I speak to Mrs. Richie about him? I'm going up there to-morrow; she's got a sick cook, and she asked me to call. What's his name?"

"David Allison. You might sound her William, but don't be definite. Don't give her any chance to say yes or no. I want to know her alittle better before I make up my mind. When the boy comes I'll happenalong in my buggy with him, and then we'll see. And meantime Willy, keep your eye on Sam's Sam. He mustn't get too much interested upthere. A little falling in love with an older woman doesn't hurt mostboys; in fact, it's part of their growing up and likely as not it does'em good. But Sam's Sam isn't like most boys. "

"That's so, " said William King, "he may not be a genius and hecertainly isn't a criminal, but he has about as much stability as asky-rocket. "

CHAPTER II

"You can't think of anybody who might like to take this little DavidAllison, can you, my dear?" William King asked his wife at breakfastthe next morning. 

"I certainly cannot, " Martha said decidedly. "I think it's a verydangerous thing to take unknown children into your family. I supposeyou think I ought to offer to do it? But in the first place, I'm verytired, and in the second place, I don't like boys. If it was a girl itmight be different. "

"No doubt we could find a girl, " William began, but she interruptedhim. 

"Girls are a great expense. And then, as I said--unknown children!--they might turn into anything. They might have evil tendencies; theyprobably have. If the parents die early, it's a sign of weakness ofsome sort. I've no doubt this boy's father drank. I don't want to seemunkind, but I must say flatly and frankly that considering how hard itis for us to make both ends meet--as you keep up a sort of freepractice--I don't think it's prudent to suggest any newresponsibilities and expenses. "

"Oh, I wasn't making suggestions, " William King said. "I guess we'renot the people to bring up a child. I'd spoil him, I've no doubt. "

"I'm sure you would!" Martha said, greatly relieved. "It would be theworst possible thing for him. But Willy, there's that Mrs. Richie?"

"You think his evil tendencies wouldn't hurt her?" the doctor saiddryly. 

"I think she's a rich woman, so why shouldn't she do a thing likethat? I'll go and see her if you want me to--though she never makesyou feel welcome; and tell her about the boy?"

"You needn't bother; Dr. Lavendar will see her himself. "

"I don't understand that woman, " Mrs. King said. "She keeps herself toherself too much. It almost looks as if she didn't think we were goodenough to associate with her!"

William made no reply. 

"Willy, does she use perfumery?"

"How in the world should I know!"

"Well, there's a sort of fragrance about her. It isn't like cologne, it's like--well, orris-root. "

William made no comment. 

"It's a kind of sachet, I guess; I'd like to know what it is. Willy, Sam Wright's Sam went out walking with her yesterday. I met them onthe River Road. I believe the boy is in love with her!"

"He's got eyes, " William agreed. 

"_Tck!_" said Martha, "the idea of calling her good-looking! AndI don't think it speaks well for a woman of her age--she's forty ifshe's a day--to let a boy trail round after her like that. And to fixherself up with sachet-powders and things. And her Sarah told theDraytons' Jean that she had her breakfast in bed every morning! I'dlike to know how my housekeeping would go on if _I_ had breakfastin bed, though dear knows I'm very tired and it would be pleasantenough. But there's one thing about me: I may not be perfect, but Idon't do lazy things just because they are pleasant. "

The doctor made no defence of Mrs. Richie. Instead he asked foranother cup of coffee and when told that it would not be good for him, got up, then paused patiently, his hand on the door-knob, to hear hisMartha out. 

"William, what do you suppose is the last thing Sam Wright's Sam hasdone?"

The doctor confessed his ignorance. 

"Well, his father sent him to Mercer on Monday to buy supplies for thebank. He gave him seventy-five dollars. Back comes my young gentlemanwith--what do you suppose? A lot of pictures of actors and actresses!And no supplies. "

"What! you don't mean he spent the money on the pictures?"

"Every bit of it! His mother came in and told me about it last night. She said his father was frantic. She was dreadfully upset herself. Asfor Sam, he kept saying that the 'prints, ' as he called them, werevery valuable. Though I'm sure I can't see why; they were only ofactor people, and they had all died sixty or seventy years ago. "

"Actors!" the doctor said. "Poor Samuel! he hates the theatre. I dobelieve he'd rather have pictures of the devil. "

"Oh, but wait. You haven't heard the rest of it. It appears that whenthe boy looked at 'em yesterday morning he found they weren't asvaluable as he thought--I don't understand that part of it, " Marthaacknowledged--"so what does he do but march downstairs, and put 'emall in the kitchen stove! What do you think of that?"

"I think, " said William King, "that he has always gone off at half-cock ever since he was born. But Martha, the serious thing is hisspending money that didn't belong to him. "

"I should think it was serious! If he'd been some poor little clerk inthe bank, instead of Mr. Samuel Wright's only son, he would have foundit was serious! Willy, what do you make of him?"

"He is queer, " William said; "queer as Dick's hatband; but that's all. Sam wouldn't do a mean thing, or a dirty thing, any more than a girlwould. "

"And now he thinks he's in love with this Richie woman, " Martha wenton--but William made his escape. He had to go and hitch up, he said. 

Before he took Jinny out of her stall he went into the harness-roomand hunted about on a shelf until, behind a rusty currycomb and twoempty oil-bottles, he found a small mirror. It was misty and fleckedwith clear spots where the quicksilver had dropped away, but when hepropped it against the cobwebbed window he could see himself fairlywell. Staring into its dim depths he retied his necktie; then hebacked the buggy out of the carriage-house. But after he had put hismare between the shafts he hesitated.... The buggy was very shabby; itsagged badly on the right side and there was a rent in the fadedcushion. The doctor looked at his watch.... Then, hurriedly, led Jinnyback to her stall, got a bucket of water and a sponge, and washed offthe dashboard and wheels. After that he fumbled along a dusty beam tofind a bottle of oil with which he touched up the harness. But whenall was done he shook his head. The buggy was hopeless. Nevertheless, when he climbed in and slapped Jinny's flank with the newly oiled reinhe was careful to sit in the middle of the seat to make the springstruer, and he avoided the mud-puddles on the road up to the StuffedAnimal House. There were a good many puddles, for it had rained theday before. To-day the clouds had gathered up behind the hills intowhite domes, but the sky was that faint April blue that dims easilyinto warm mists. There was the smell of earth, the fainter scent ofunopened buds, and from the garden borders of the Stuffed Animal Housecame the pungent odor of box. 

Helena Richie, standing by a bed of crown-imperials, bareheaded, atrowel in her gloved hand, her smooth cheek flushed with the unwontedexertion of planting seeds, caught the exquisite breath of the box, and sighed; then, listlessly, she turned to walk back towards thehouse. Before she reached it the gate clicked and Dr. King came up thepath. She saw him and looked hurriedly about, as if seeking a way ofescape, but it was too late. 

"Gardening?" he called to her. 

"Yes, " she said, and her smile like reluctant sunshine did not betrayto the doctor that he was not welcome. 

"Don't work too hard, " he cautioned her. It seemed to William King, looking at her with wondering admiration, that she was too delicate acreature to handle a trowel. There was a certain soft indolence in theway she moved that was a delight to his eye. It occurred to him thathe would ask his Martha why she didn't wear gardening-gloves. Mrs. Richie wore them, and as she pulled one off he saw how soft and whiteher hand was.... 

"How's the patient?" he asked. 

"Poor Maggie? Oh, she's pretty uncomfortable I'm afraid. "

They had gone together to the front porch, and as she stood on thelower step looking up at him, the sunshine suddenly filled her eyeswith limpid brown light. "Maggie is in her room in the ell--the firstdoor on the left. Shall I show you the way?"

"I know the way, " he said. 

Mrs. Richie sat down on the porch step to wait for him. She hadnothing else to do. She never had anything to do. She had tried to beinterested in the garden, and bought a trowel and some seeds andwandered out into the borders; but a manufactured interest has nostaying quality--especially if it involves any hard work. She was gladwhen William King came back and sat down beside her; sickness was notan agreeable topic, but it was a topic. 

"Maggie will be all right in two or three days, but don't let her gointo the kitchen before Monday. A bad throat pulls you down. And she'shad a good deal of pain. "

"Oh, poor Maggie!" she said wincing. 

"A sore throat is nothing so very dreadful, " William assured her withopen amusement. 

She drew a breath of relief. "Oh, I'm glad! I can't bear to think ofpain. " Then she looked at him anxiously. "Don't you think she can cookbefore Monday? I'm so tired of scrappy dinners. 

"I'm afraid not, " William King said. "I'm very sorry. " But that hissorrow was not for Maggie was evident. 

"Oh, dear!" said Mrs. Richie; and then her eyes crinkled with gayetyat his concern. "I don't really mind, Dr. King. "

"I shouldn't blame you if you did. Nobody likes scrappy dinners. Iwish you would come down and have dinner with us?"

"Oh, thank you, no, " she said. And the sudden shy retreat into herhabitual reserve was followed by a silence that suggested departure tothe doctor. As he got up he remembered Dr. Lavendar and the littleboy, but he was at a loss how to introduce the subject. In hisperplexity he frowned, and Mrs. Richie said quickly:

"Of course she sha'n't do any work. I'm not so bad-tempered as youthink; I only meant that I don't like discomfort. "

"_You_ bad-tempered?" he said. "No, indeed! You're just the opposite. That's why I suggested you when I heard about this boy. "

"What boy?"

"Why, a little fellow of seven--David his name is--that Dr. Lavendaris trying to find a home for. And I thought perhaps you--"

"--would take him?" cried Mrs. Richie in astonishment, and then shelaughed. "_I!_"

"Why, it occurred to me that perhaps you might be lonely, and--"

Helena Richie stopped laughing; she pulled off her other glove andlooked down at her white hands. "Well, yes, I'm lonely. But--I don'tlike children, Dr. King. "

"You don't?" he said blankly, and in his surprise he sat down again. "Oh, I'm sure that's only because you don't know them. If you had everknown a child--"

"I have, " Mrs. Richie said, "one. " Her voice was bleak; the gayety haddropped out of it; for an instant she looked old. William Kingunderstood. 

"It died?"

She nodded. She began to pull her gloves on again, smoothing down eachfinger carefully and not looking at him. 

"A little girl?"

"Boy. " She turned her face away, but he saw her chin tremble. Therewas a moment's silence; then the doctor said with curious harshness. 

"Well, anyhow, you know what it means to have owned your own. "

"Better not have known!"

"I can't feel that. But perhaps I don't understand. "

"You don't understand. " Her head, with its two soft braids woundaround it like a wreath, was bent so that he could not see her face. "Dr. King, his father--hurt him. Yes; hurt a little baby, eightmonths and twelve days old. He died seven weeks later. "

William drew in his breath; he found no words. 

"That was twelve years ago, but I can't seem to--to get over it, " shesaid with a sort of gasp. 

"But how--" Dr. King began. 

"Oh, he was not himself. He was--happy, I believe you call it'happy'?"

"How did you bear it!"

"I didn't bear it I suppose. I never have borne it!"

"Did he repent before he died?" William King said passionately. 

"Before he--?" Her voice suddenly shook; she made elaborate pretenceof calmness, fastening her gloves and looking at them critically; thenshe said: "Yes, Dr. King; he repented. He repented!"

"If there ever was excuse for divorce, you had it!"

"You don't think there ever is?" she asked absently. 

"No, " William said. "I suppose you'll think I'm very old-fashioned, but I don't, unless--" he stopped short; he could not have put hisqualifying thought into words to any woman, especially not to thiswoman, so like a girl in spite of her thirty-odd years. "You see, " hesaid, awkwardly, "it's such an unusual thing. It never happened in OldChester; why, I don't believe I ever saw a--a divorced person in mylife!"

"Well, " she said, "anyhow, I didn't get a divorce. "

"Mrs. Richie!" he said, blushing to his temples, "you didn't think Ithought of such a thing?"

But it was plain that she regretted her confidence; she rose with theevident purpose of changing the subject. "I must go and put in somemore seeds. Why doesn't Dr. Lavendar keep this little boy? After all, he's lonely himself. "

"Well, he's an old man you know, and--"

"Dr. King, " she broke in, "I don't mind having the child here for aweek while Dr. Lavendar is looking for somebody to take him. Notlonger. It wouldn't do. Really it wouldn't. But for a week, perhaps, or maybe two!"

"That would be a great help, " William King said. "Then Dr. Lavendarcan have plenty of time to find a home for him. I would have been gladto take him myself, but just at present it happens that it is not--Ishould say, Mrs. King is very tired, and--"

"It is perfectly convenient for me, " Mrs. Richie said, "if you'll onlycure Maggie! You must cure Maggie, so that she can make cookies forhim. "

"I'll cure Maggie, " the doctor assured her smiling, and went away muchpleased with himself. But when he got into his shabby old buggy hesighed. 

"Poor soul!" he said. "Poor soul!"

CHAPTER III

William King reported the result of his call to Dr. Lavendar, andwhen he told the tragic story of the dead baby the old man blinked andshook his head. 

"Do you wonder she doesn't call herself Mrs. _Frederick_ Richie?"William demanded. "I don't!"

"No; that's natural, that's natural, " Dr. Lavendar admitted. 

"I suppose it was a dreadful thing to say, " said William, "but I justburst out and said that if ever there was an excuse for divorce, shehad it!"

"What did she say?"

"Oh, of course, that she hadn't been divorced. I was ashamed of myselfthe next minute for speaking of such a thing. "

"Poor child, " said Dr. Lavendar, "living up there alone, and with suchmemories! I guess you're right; I guess she'd like to have littleDavid, if only for company. But I think I'll keep him for a week ortwo myself, and let her get sort of acquainted with him under my eye. That will give me a chance to get acquainted with her. But to think Ihaven't known about that baby until now! It must be my fault that shewas not drawn to tell me. But I'm afraid I wasn't drawn to her just atfirst. "

Yet Dr. Lavendar was not altogether at fault. This newcomer in OldChester was still a stranger to everybody, except to Sam Wright's Samand to William King. To be sure, as soon as she was settled in herhouse Old Chester had called and asked her to tea, and was confusedand annoyed because its invitations were not accepted. Furthermore, she did not return the calls. She went to church, but not veryregularly, and she never stopped to gossip in the vestibule or thechurch-yard. Even with Dr. Lavendar she was remote. The first time hewent to see her he asked, with his usual directness, one or twoquestions: Did Mr. Pryor live in Mercer? No; he had business thatbrought him there occasionally. Where did he live? In Philadelphia. Had she any relatives in this part of the world--except her brother?No, none; none anywhere. Was Mr. Pryor married? Yes. Had he anyfamily? One daughter; his wife was dead. "And you have lost yourhusband?" Dr. Lavendar said, gently. "This is a lonely life for youhere, I am afraid. "

But she said oh, no; not at all; she liked the quiet. Then, with faintimpatience as if she did not care to talk about her own affairs, sheadded that she had always lived in the East; "but I find it verypleasant here, " she ended vaguely. 

Dr. Lavendar had gone away uneasy and puzzled. Why didn't she livewith her brother? Family differences no doubt. Curious how familiesfall out! "You'd think they'd be glad to hang together, " the solitaryold man thought; "and they are not necessarily bad folk who quarrel. Look at Sam and his boy. Both of 'em good as gold. But it's in theblood there, " he said to himself sighing. 

Sam and his son were not bad folk. The boy had nothing bad about him;nothing worse than an unexpectedness that had provided Old Chesterwith smiles for many years. "No; he is not bad; I have seen to_that_, " his father used to say. "He's hardly been out of my sighttwenty-four hours at a time. And I put my foot down on collegewith all its temptations. He's good--if he's nothing else!" Andcertainly Samuel Wright was good too. Everybody in Old Chester saidso. He said so himself. "I, my dear Eliza, have nothing with which toreproach myself, " he used to tell his wife ponderously in moments ofconjugal unbending. "I have done my duty. I always do my duty; underall circumstances. I am doing my duty now by Sam. "

This was when he and his son fell out on one point or another, as theyhad begun to do as soon as young Sam learned to talk; and all becausethe father insisted upon furnishing the boy with his own mostexcellent principles and theories, instead of letting the ladmanufacture such things for himself. Now when Sam was twenty-three thefalling-out had become chronic. No doubt it was in the blood, as Dr. Lavendar said. Some thirty years before, Sam senior, then a slim anddreamy youth, light-hearted and given to writing verses, had fallenout with his father, old Benjamin Wright; fallen out so finally thatin all these years since, the two men, father and son, had not spokenone word to each other. If anybody might have been supposed to knowthe cause of that thirty-year-old feud it was Dr. Lavendar. Hecertainly saw the beginning of it.... 

One stormy March evening Samuel Wright, then twenty-four years old, knocked at the Rectory door; Dr. Lavendar, shielding his lamp from thewind with one hand, opened it himself. 

"Why, Sam, my boy, " he said and stopped abruptly. He led the way intohis study and put the lamp down on the table. "Something is thematter?"

"Yes. "

"What is it, Samuel?"

"I can't tell you, sir. "

"Does your father know?"

"My father knows.... I will tell you this, Dr. Lavendar--that so helpme God, I will never speak to my father again. "

The young man lifted one hand; his face was dreadful to look upon. Then trying to speak in a natural voice he asked if he might stay atthe Rectory for that night. 

Dr. Lavendar took two turns about his study, then he said, "Of courseyou may, Samuel, but I shall feel it my duty to acquaint your fatherwith the fact. "

"Just as you please, sir. "

"And Sam--I hope the night will bring wisdom. "

Sam was silent. 

"I shall see your father in the morning and try to clear this thingup. "

"Just as you please, sir. I would like to go to my room now if youhave no objection. "

And that was all Dr. Lavendar got out of the son. 

He lighted a lamp and silently preceded his guest up-stairs; then hewent back to his study and wrote a line to the father. He sent it outto the Wright house and sat up until midnight waiting for an answer. None came. "Well, " said Dr. Lavendar at last trudging up to bed, "theboy comes by his obstinacy honestly. " The next morning he went earlyto see Mr. Benjamin Wright. But as far as any straightening out of thetrouble went or any enlightenment as to its cause, he might as wellhave stayed at home. 

"Sam send you?"

"No; I came to see what I could do for you both. I take it for grantedthat Sam is at fault in some way? But he is a good boy, so I am surehe can be made to see his error. "

"Did he tell you what was the trouble?"

"No; will you?"

"Let him come back and behave himself!" the older man said. 

Dr. Lavendar thrust out his lower lip with a thoughtful frown. "Itwould expedite things, Wright, if you could tell me a little about theaffair?"

Mr. Wright hesitated. He thrust his hand down into a blue ginger-jarfor a piece of dried orange-skin and bit at it as if to steady hislips. "Sam can tell you if he wants to. He has perhaps informed youthat he wishes to see the world? That he thinks life here very narrow?No? Well, I sha'n't quote him. All I shall say, is that I am doing myduty to him. I've always done my duty to him. If he sees fit to set uphis own Ebenezer, and say he won't speak to me--I suppose he conveyedthat filial sentiment to you?--he can do so. When he gets hungry hecan speak. That's what other puppies do when they are hungry. "

And that was all Dr. Lavendar got out of the father.... 

This was thirty-two years ago. Sain Wright may have been hungry, buthe never spoke. Instead, he worked. Old Chester seethed with curiosityfor a while--to see Benjamin Wright pass his son with a contemptuousstare, to see Sam pass his father without a glance was very exciting. But excitement ebbs in thirty-two years. For one thing, old Mr. Wrightcame less often into town--because he could not bear to meet his son, people said; and Samuel never took the hill road out of Old Chesterfor a corresponding reason. Furthermore, it was hard to connect Samuelwith anything so irrational as a quarrel, for every year he grew insolemn common sense. Benjamin Wright's growth was all in the way oftemper; at least so his boy Simmons, a freckled mulatto of sixtyyears, informed Old Chester. 

"He 'ain't got no human feelin's, 'cept for them there canaries, "Simmons used to say in an aggrieved voice; "he'll stand and look at'em and chirp to 'em by the hour--an' 'en he'll turn round and swearat you 'nough to take your leg off, " Simmons said, bitterly. Simmonsdid his best for the canaries which he detested, cleaning out thecages and scraping the perches and seeing that the seed-trays andbath-tubs were always full; he did his best conscientiously, and itwas hard to be "swore at when you 'ain't done nothin'. " PerhapsBenjamin Wright had some "human feelings" for his grandson, Sam; butcertainly Simmons's opinion was justified by his treatment of hisgranddaughters. When by their father's orders the little girls came upto the lonely house on the hill, the old man used to pitch small coinsto them and tell them to go and look at the canaries, --"and then clearout. Simmons, give 'em some cake or something! Good-by. Good-by. Clearout. " Long before he had settled into such dreary living, the son withwhom he had quarrelled had made a life of his own. His slimness andgayety had disappeared as well as his dreaminess and versifyinginstincts. "Poetry?" he had been heard to say, "why, there isn't apoem that was ever written that I'd take five minutes out of mybusiness to read!" It seemed as if the quarrel had wrenched him fromthe grooves, physical and spiritual, in which Nature had meant him torun and started him on lines of hard common sense. He was intenselypositive; heavy and pompous and painfully literal; inclined to laydown the law to everybody; richer than most of us in Old Chester, andfull of solemn responsibilities as burgess and senior warden andbanker. His air of aggressive integrity used to make the honestest ofus feel as if we had been picking pockets! Yes; a good man, as OldChester said. 

Years ago Dr. Lavendar had given up trying to reconcile the twoWrights; years ago Old Chester's speculations languished and died out. Once in a while some one remembered the quarrel and said, "What in theworld could it have been about?" And once in a while Samuel's ownchildren asked awkward questions. "Mother, what was father's row withgrandfather?" And Mrs. Wright's answer was as direct as the question. "I don't know. He never told me. "

When this reply was made to young Sam he dropped the subject. He hadbut faint interest in his father, and his grandfather with whom hetook tea every Sunday night was too important a person to connect withso trivial an affair as a quarrel. 

This matter of offspring is certainly very curious. Why should thesolid Samuel Wright and his foolish, obedient Eliza have brought intothe world a being of mist and fire? A beautiful youth, who laughed orwept or sung aloud, indifferent to all about him! Sometimes Sam seniorused to look at his son and shake his head in bewildered astonishment;but often he was angry, and oftener still--though this he neveradmitted--hurt. The boy, always impersonally amiable, never thought itworth while to explain himself; partly because he was not interestedin his father's opinion of his conduct, and partly because he knew hecould not make himself understood. 

"But who, my dear Eliza, " Samuel would say to his wife--"who couldunderstand such a boy? Look at this last performance of his!Purchasing pictures of _actors_! Where does he get such lowtastes?--unless some of your family were interested in such things?"

"Oh no, Samuel; no, indeed, " Mrs. Wright protested nervously. 

"And to use money not his own! Do you know what that is called, mydear Eliza? It is called--"

"Oh don't, Samuel. " whimpered the poor mother. 

"And to think how carefully I have trained him! And all I have donefor him. I let him buy that skiff he said he wanted. Absolute waste ofmoney! Our old rowboat is good enough for the girls, so why isn't itgood enough for him? And I never laid a hand on him in punishmenteither; not many fathers can say that. "

As for the bank supplies young Sam had explained to his mother thatthey had been ordered and charged, so what _was_ the matter? AndMrs. Wright kneading her tear-soaked handkerchief into a ball, criedsome more and said:

"Oh, Sam dear, why do you act so?"

Sam looked at her attentively, wondering why her little nose alwaysreddened when she cried. But he waited patiently, until she finishedher rambling reproaches. It occurred to him that he would tell Mrs. Richie all about this matter of the prints. "She will understand, " hethought. 

Sam's acquaintance with Mrs. Richie had begun when she was gettingsettled in her new house. Sam senior, having no desire to climb thehill road, sent his various communications to his tenant by his son, and afterwards Sam junior had communications of his own to make. Hefell into the habit of stopping there on Sunday afternoons, quiteoblivious of the fact that Mrs. Richie did not display any pleasure atseeing him. After one of these calls he was apt to be late in reaching"The Top, " as his grandfather's place was called, and old BenjaminWright, in his brown wig and moth-eaten beaver hat, would glare at himwith melancholy dark eyes. 

"Gad-a-mercy, what do you mean, --getting here at six-five! I have mytea at six, sir; at six sharp. Either get here on time or stay away. Idon't care which. Do you hear?"

"Yes, sir, " young Sam would murmur. 

"Where have you been? Mooning after that female at the Stuffed AnimalHouse?"

"I had to leave a message, sir, about the lease. "

"How long does it take to leave a message about a lease?"

"She was not down-stairs and I had to wait--"

"_I_ had to wait! That's more to the point. There, don't talk aboutit. You drive me crazy with your chatter. "

Then they would sit down to supper in a black silence only broken byan occasional twitter from one of the many cages that hung about theroom. But afterwards young Sam had his reward; the library, a toby, long before he was old enough to smoke, and his grandfather readingaloud in a wonderful voice, deep, sonorous, flexible--Shakespeare, Massinger, Beaumont and Fletcher. To be sure, there was nothingpersonal in such reading--it was not done to give pleasure to youngSam. Every night the old man rumbled out the stately lines, sitting byhimself in this gloomy room walled to the ceiling with books, andwarmed by a soft-coal fire that snapped and bubbled behind the ironbars of the grate. Sometimes he would burst into angry ecstasy at thebeauty of what he read "There! What do you think of that?"

"Oh, it's splendid!"

"Hah! Much you know about it! There is about as much poetry in yourfamily as there is in that coal scuttle. "

It was when he was eighteen that once the old man let his grandsonread _The Tempest_ with him. It was a tremendous evening to Sam. In the first place, his grandfather swore at him with a fury thatreally attracted his attention. But that night the joy of the dramasuddenly possessed him. The deed was done; the dreaming youth awoke tothe passion of art. As Benjamin Wright gradually became aware of itdelight struggled with his customary anger at anything unexpected. Helonged to share his pleasure with somebody; once he mentioned to Dr. Lavendar that "that cub, Sam, really has something to him!" After thathe took the boy's training seriously in hand, and his artless prideconcealed itself in a severity that knew no bounds of words. When Samconfessed his wish to write a drama in blank verse, his grandfatherswore at him eagerly and demanded every detail of what he called the"fool plot of the thing. "

"What does that female at the Stuffed Animal House say to the idea ofyour writing a drama?" he asked contemptuously. 

"She says I may read it to her. "

"Knows as much about dramatic poetry as you do I suppose? When youfinish the first act bring it to me. I'll tell you how bad it is. "

His eager scoffing betrayed him, and every Sunday night, in spite ofslaughtering criticism the boy took courage to talk of his poem. Hehad no criticism from Mrs. Richie. 

When he first began to call at the Stuffed Animal House she had beencoldly impatient, then uneasy then snubbing. But nothing can be soobtuse as a boy; it never occurs to him that he is not wanted. Samcontinued to call and to tell her of his play and to look at her withbeautiful, tragic eyes, that by and by openly adored. Inevitably thecoldness to which he was so calmly impervious wore off; a boy'sinnocent devotion must touch any woman no matter how self-absorbed shemay be. Mrs. Richie began to be glad to see him. As for his drama, itwas beautiful, she said. 

"No, " Sam told her, "it isn't--yet. You don't know. But I like to readit to you, even if you don't. " His candor made her laugh, and beforeshe knew it in spite of the difference in their years they werefriends As William King said, she was lonely, and Sam's devotion wasat least an interest. Besides, she really liked the boy; he amusedher, and her empty days were so devoid of amusement! "I can't readnovels _all_ the time, " she complained. In this very bread-and-buttersort of interest she had no thought of possible consequences toSam. A certain pleasant indolence of mind made it easy not to think ofconsequences at all. But he had begun to love her--with that firstpassion of youth so divinely tender and ridiculous! After a while hetalked less of his play and more of himself. He told her of hisdifficulties at home, how he hated the bank, and how stupid the girlswere. 

"Lydia is the nicest, but she has no more imagination than a turnip. They are very uninteresting--my family, " he said meditatively. "Idon't like any of them--except mother. Mother hasn't any sense, butshe's good, " Sam ended earnestly. 

"Oh, but you mustn't say things like that!"

"Why not? They're true, " he said with a surprised look. 

"Well, but we don't always tell the truth right out, " she remindedhim. 

"I do, " said Sam, and then explained that he didn't include hisgrandfather in his generalization. "Grandfather's bully; you ought tohear him swear!"

"Oh, I don't want to!" she said horrified. 

"I told him that I burned the prints up, " Sam went on. "And he said, 'good riddance to bad rubbish. ' That was just like grandfather! Ofcourse he did say that I was a d--I mean, a fool, to buy them in thefirst place; and I knew I was. But having bought them, the only thingto do was to burn them. But father!--"

Mrs. Richie's eyes crinkled with mischievous gayety. "Poor Mr. Wright!"

Sam dropped his clasped hands between his knees. "It's queer how Ialways do the wrong thing. Though it never seems wrong to me. You knowfather would not let me go to college for fear I'd go to the devil?"he laughed joyously. "But I might just as well, for be thinkseverything I do in Old Chester is wrong. " Then he sighed. "Sometimes Iget pretty tired of being disapproved of;--especially as I never canunderstand why it is. The fact is people are not reasonable, " hecomplained. "I can bear anything but unreasonableness. "

She nodded. "I know, I never could please my grandmother--she broughtme up. My mother and father died when I was a baby. I thinkgrandmother hated me; she thought everything I did was wrong. Oh, Iwas so miserable! And when I was eighteen I got married--and that wasa mistake. "

Sam gazed up at her in silent sympathy, "I mean my--husband was so much older than I, " she said. Then with anevident effort to change the subject she added that one would think itwould be simple enough to be happy; "all my life I only wanted to behappy, " she said. 

"You're happy now, aren't you?" he asked, She looked down at him--he was sitting on a stool before the fire nearher feet--and laughed with a catching of the breath. "Oh, yes, yes;I'm happy. "

And Sara caught his breath too, for there were tears in her eyes. 

But instantly she veered away from personalities. "What is that scaron your wrist?"

Sam looked down at his hands clasped about his knees, and blushedfaintly. "Oh, nothing; I was very young when that happened. "

"How did it happen?" she asked absently. It was often possible tostart Sam talking and then think her own thoughts withoutinterruption. 

"Why, I was about twelve, I believe, " Sam said, "and Miss EllenBailey--she used to teach school here, then she got married and wentout West;--she gave me a little gold image of Pasht, at least Ithought it was gold. It was one of those things you ladies wear onyour watch-chains, you know, "

"Yes?" she said indolently. 

"Well, I took a tremendous fancy to it. But it seems it wasn't gold, it was brass, and somebody told me so; I think it was Miss Ellenherself. I was so disappointed, I didn't want to live--queer! I canremember now just how I felt; a sort of sinking, here;" Sam laid hishand on his breast, "So I decided to throw myself out of the window. Idid; but unfortunately--"

 "You threw yourself out of the window!" she is interrupted horrified. 

Sam laughed. "Oh, well, I wasn't successful: I continued to live. Unfortunately my trousers caught on the grape trellis under thewindow, and there I hung! It must have been pretty funny--though Ididn't think so at the time. First place, I tore my wrist on a nail--that's the scar; and then father caught me and sent me to bed forbeing a fool; so I didn't gain anything. " His lip drooped. His feelingfor his father was a candid mixture of amusement and contempt. 

"But do you always act on the spur of the moment?" she saidastonished. 

Sam laughed and said he supposed so. "I am a good deal of a fool, " headded simply. 

"Well, " she said sighing, "it's dangerous to be like that. I know, because I--I am a good deal of a fool myself. " Then again, abruptly, she changed the subject. "What do you think? I'm going to have somecompany!"

Sam frowned. "Your brother?"

"No, oh no; not--Mr. Pryor. " Then she told him that Dr. Lavendar hadasked her if she would look after a little boy for him for a fewweeks. 

Sam was not responsive. Little boys were a great deal of trouble, hesaid. 

"Come now; how long since--"

Sam's limpid deer's-eyes reproached her silently. 

"How shall I amuse him?" she said. 

And Sam eager to serve her promised to find a pair of rabbits for thechild. "I used to like rabbits when I was young, " he explained. 

At last, after his hostess had swallowed many yawns, Sam reluctantlysaid good night. He went bounding down the hill in the darkness, across the fields, through the woods. In the starlight, the greatworld lay dim and lovely before him--it belonged to him! He felt thejoyous buffet of the night wind upon his face, the brush of boughsagainst his shoulder, the scent of young ferns, and the give of thespongy earth under his feet; he sprang in long leaps over the grass, the tears were wet upon his fresh cheeks, he sang aloud. But he didnot know what he sang; in his young breast, Love, like some warmliving thing, stirred, and lifted glorious wings and drove his voicethrobbing and exultant to his lips! As he came down Main Street, thechurch clock struck eleven. But it might have struck twelve and hewould not have been disturbed. 

Standing in the doorway of the Wright house in thunderous silence thesenior warden, lamp in hand awaited his son. As Sam entered, thesilence broke into a flash of crackling and scathing contempt. 

"It does not occur to you, sir, I suppose, that a lady may find yoursociety tiresome? It is after eleven!"

Sam smiling to himself hung up his hat. He was reflecting that he mustsee about those rabbits at once. 

"You will understand, sir, if you please, that while you do me thehonor to live under my roof you will return to it at night at arespectable hour. I will not sit up for you in this way. You will bein at ten o'clock. Do you hear?"

"Yes, sir, " said Sam; and added with sudden awakening of interest, "ifyou would let me have a key, father, I--"

"I will not let you have a key! I will have no boy entering my houseat midnight with a key! Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir, " Sam murmured falling back into his own thoughts. 

Mr. Wright, still talking, stood at the foot of the stairs so that hisson could not pass him. Sam yawned, then noticed how in oratoricaldenunciation his father's long upper lip curved like the beak of abird of prey; behind his hand he tried to arch his own lip in the samemanner. He really did not hear what was said to him; he only sighedwith relief when it was over and he was allowed to go up-stairs andtumble sleepily into bed. 

As for his long-suffering hostess, when she was alone Helena Richierubbed her eyes and began to wake up. "That boy never knows when togo!" she said to herself with amused impatience. Then her mind turnedto her own affairs. This little boy, David Allison, would be in OldChester on Saturday; he was to stay with Dr. Lavendar for a while, andthen come to her for a week or two. But she was beginning to regretthe invitation she had sent through Dr. King. It, would be pleasant tohave the little fellow, but "I can't keep him. So why should I takehim even for a week? I might get fond of him! I'm afraid it's amistake. I wonder what Lloyd would think? I don't believe he reallyloves children. And yet--he cared when the baby died. "

She pulled a low chair up to the hearth and sat down, her elbows onher knees, her fingers ruffling the soft locks about her forehead. "Oh, my baby! my little, little baby!" she said in a broken whisper. The old passion of misery swept over her; she shrank lower in herchair, rocking herself to and fro, her fingers pressed against hereyes. It was thirteen years ago, and yet even now in these placid daysin Old Chester, to think of that time brought the breathless smotherof agony back again--the dying child, the foolish brute who had donehim to death.... If the baby had lived he would be nearly fourteenyears old now; a big boy! She wondered whether his hair would stillhave been curly? She knew in her heart that she never could have hadthe courage to cut those soft curls off--and yet, boys hated curls, she thought; and smiled proudly. He would have been so manly! If hehad lived, how different everything would have been, how incrediblydifferent! For of course, if he had lived she would have been happy inspite of Frederick. And happiness was all she wanted. 

She brushed the tears from her flushed cheeks, and propping her chinin her hands stared into the fire, thinking--thinking.... Herchildhood had been passed with her father's mother, a silent woman whowith bitter expectation of success had set herself to discover inHelena traits of the poor, dead, foolish wife who had broken her son'sheart. "Grandmamma hated me, " Helena Richie reflected. "She begrudgedme the least little bit of pleasure. " Yet her feeling towards the hardold woman now was not resentment; it was only wonder. "_Why_ didn'tshe like me to be happy?" she thought. It never occurred to herthat her grandmother who had guarded and distrusted her had also lovedher. "Of course I never loved her, " she reminded herself, "but Iwouldn't have wanted her to be unhappy. She wanted me to be wretched. Curious!" Yet she realized that at that time she had not desired love;she had only desired happiness. Looking back, she pondered on herastounding immaturity; what a child she had been to imagine thatmerely to get away from that gray life with her grandmother would behappiness, and so had married Frederick. Frederick.... She waseighteen, and so pretty. She smiled remembering how pretty she was. And Frederick had made such promises! She was to have every kind ofhappiness. Of course she had married him. Thinking of it now, she didnot in the least blame herself. If the dungeon doors open and theprisoner catches a glimpse of the green world of sunshine, whathappens? Of course she had married Frederick! As for love, she neverthought of it; it did not enter into the bargain--at least on herpart. She married him because he wanted her to, and because he wouldmake her happy. And, oh, how glad her grandmother had been! At thememory of that passionate satisfaction, Helena clasped her hands overthe two brown braids that folded like a chaplet around her head andlaughed aloud, the tears still glittering on her lashes. Her prayers, her grandmother said, had been answered; the girl was safe--an honestwife! "Now lettest Thou Thy servant--" the old woman murmured, withdreadful gratitude in her voice. 

Thinking of that gratitude, the tears dried upon Helena's cheeks, hotwith the firelight and with her thoughts. "Suppose she had lived justa little longer?--just three years longer? Where would her gratitudehave been then?" Helena's face overflowed with sudden gay malice, butbelow the malice was weariness. "You are happy now--aren't you?" SamWright had said.... Why, yes, certainly. Frederick had "repented, " asDr. King expressed it; she had seen to his "_repentance_"! That initself was something to have lived for--a searing flame of happiness. Enough one might think to satisfy her--if she could only haveforgotten the baby. At first she had believed that she could forgethim. Lloyd had told her she would. How young she had been attwenty-one to think that any one could forget! She smiled dryly at herchildish hope and at Lloyd's ignorance; but his tenderness had been sopassionately convincing, --and how good he had been about the baby! Hehad let her talk of him all she wanted to. Of course, after a while hegot a little tired of the subject, and naturally. It was Frederick'sbaby! And Lloyd hated Frederick as much as she did. How they used totalk about him in those first days of his "repentance!"... "Have youheard anything?" "Yes; running down-hill every day. " "Is there anynews?" "Yes, he'll drink himself into his grave in six months. " Ah, that was happiness indeed!--"his _grave_, in six months!"... Sheflung herself back in her chair, her hands dropping listlessly intoher lap. "Oh--my little, dead baby!"... 

It was nearly midnight; the fire had burned quite out; the room hadfallen into shadows. Oh, yes, as she told Sam Wright, she was happy. Her face fell into lines of dull indifference. 

She got up, wearily, rubbing her eyes with her knuckles, as a childdoes; then suddenly remembered that she had reached no conclusionabout this little boy Dr. Lavendar was interested in. Suppose sheshould get fond of him and want to keep him--how would Lloyd feelabout it? Would he think the child might take her thoughts from him?But at that she smiled; he could not be so foolish! "I'll write andask him, anyhow. Of course, if he objects, I wouldn't dream of it. Iwonder what he will think?"

CHAPTER IV

Mr. Lloyd Pryor thought very deeply after he read Mrs. Richie'sletter. He sat in his office and smoked and reflected. And as hereflected his face brightened. It was a handsome face, with a mouththat smiled easily. His heavy-lidded eyes behind astonishingly thickand curling lashes were blue; when he lifted them the observer felt aslight shock, for they were curiously motionless; generally, however, the heavy lids drooped, lazily good-humored. He read Mrs. Richie'sletter and tapped the edge of his desk with strong, white fingers. 

"Nothing could be better, " he said. 

Then suddenly he decided that he would go to Old Chester and say so inperson. "I suppose I ought to go, anyhow; I haven't been there for sixweeks. Yes; this child is just what she needs. "

And that was how it came about that when he went home he pulled hisdaughter Alice's pretty ear and said he was going away that night. "Ishall take the ten-o'clock train, " he said. 

His girl--a pleasant, flower-like young creature--scolded himaffectionately. "I wish you wouldn't take so many journeys. Promise tobe careful; I worry about you when I'm not with you to take care ofyou, " she said, in her sweet, anxious young voice. Her father, smiling, promised prudence, and for the mere joy of watching her lether pack his bag, lecturing him as she did so about his health. "Nowthat you have undertaken all this extra business of the Pryor-Barrpeople, you owe it to your stockholders to be careful of your health, "she told him, refusing to notice his smile when he solemnly agreedwith her. 

"What would happen to the Company if anything happened to you?" sheinsisted, rubbing her soft cheek against his. 

"Ruin, of course. "

But she would not laugh. "And what would happen to _me_?"

"Ah, well, that's a different matter, " he admitted, and kissed her andbade _her_ be careful. "What would happen to me if anything happenedto you?" he teased. 

She hung about him, brooding over him like a little mother dove with ahundred questions. "Are you going anywhere except to Mercer?"

"Well, yes; possibly. "

"Where?"

"Oh, to a place called Old Chester. "

"Who are you going to see there?"

"Nobody you know, Gas-bag! I never heard of such curiosity!"

"Ah, but I like to think about you when you are away, and know justwhere you are and what you are doing every minute of the time. "

At which he laughed and kissed her, and was off to take the nighttrain for Mercer, which made it possible for him to catch the morningstage for Old Chester. 

There was one other passenger in the stage--a little boy with a softthatch of straight, yellow hair that had been chopped short around thebowl of some domestic barber. He sat on the opposite seat and held abundle in his arms, peering out over the top of it with serious blueeyes. 

"Well, young man, where are you bound?" inquired Mr. Pryor. When thechild said "Old Chester, " Lloyd Pryor tossed a quarter out of thewindow to a hostler and bade him go into the stage-house and buy anapple. "Here, youngster, " he said, when the man handed it up to him, "take that. --Keep the change, my man. "

When it did not involve any personal inconvenience, Mr. Lloyd Pryorhad a quick and cordial kindliness which most people found veryattractive. The child, however, did not seem much impressed; he tookthe apple gravely, and said, "Thank you, sir;" but he was noteffusive. He looked out of the window and hugged his bundle. Half-wayto Old Chester he began to nibble the apple, biting it very slowly, sothat he might not make a noise, and thrusting it back into his pocketafter each bite with an apprehensive glance at the gentleman in thecorner. When he had finished it and swallowed the core, he said, suddenly:

"Mister, have you any little boys and girls?"

His companion, who had quite forgotten him, looked over the top of hisnewspaper with a start. "What? What did you say? Oh--boys and girls?Yes; I have a girl. " He smiled as he spoke. 

"Is she as big as me?"

Lloyd Pryor put down his paper and twitched his glasses off. "Abouttwice as big I should think, " he said kindly. 

"Twice as big! And twice as old?"

"How old are you?"

"I'm seven, going on eight. "

"Well, then, let's see. Alice is--she is twice and five years more asold. What do you make of that?"

The child began to count on his fingers, and, after looking at him aminute or two with some amusement, Mr. Pryor returned to his paper. After a while the boy said, suddenly, "In the flood the ducks couldn'tbe drowned, could they?"

But Lloyd Pryor had become interested in what he was reading. "Youtalk too much, young man, " he said coldly, and there was no furtherconversation. The old stage jogged along in the uncertain sunshine;sometimes Mr. Pryor smoked, once he took a nap. While he slept thelittle boy looked at him furtively, but by and by he turned to thewindow, absorbed in his own affairs. 

As the stage pulled into Old Chester, Mr. Pryor roused himself. "Well, my boy, here we are, " he said. 

The child quivered and his hands tightened on his bundle, but he saidnothing. When they drew up at the tavern, there was Danny and Goliathand Dr. Lavendar. 

"Mary gave me some gingerbread for him, " Dr. Lavendar was saying toVan Horn. "I've got it tied up in my handkerchief. Why, " heinterrupted himself, screwing up his eyes and peering into the dusk ofthe old coach--"why, I believe here's Mrs. Richie's brother too!"

As the horses came to a standstill, Dr. Lavendar was in quite aflutter of eagerness. But when the very little boy clambered out, theold minister only shook hands with him, man fashion, with noparticular display of interest. 

"I'm glad to see you, David. I am Dr. Lavendar. " Then he turned to say"How do you do?" to Mr. Pryor. "Why, look here, " he added in acheerful after-thought, "I'm going up your way; get out and come alongin my buggy. Hey! Danny! Stop your snarling. The scoundrel's temper isgetting bad in his old age. Those snails Jonas drives can't keep upwith my trotter. "

"But you have one passenger already, " Mr. Pryor protested. "I'll justgo on up in the stage, thank you. "

"Oh, " Dr. Lavendar said, "David's bundle is the biggest part of him, isn't it, David? We'll leave it with Van Horn and get it as we comeback. Come along, Mr. Pryor. There, David, tuck yourself down infront; Danny can tag behind. " There was a moment's hesitation, andthen Mr. Pryor did as he was bid. Dr. Lavendar climbed in himself andoff they jogged, while Jonas remarked to Van Horn that the oldgentleman wasn't just the one to talk about snails, as he looked atit. But Mr. Pryor, watching the April sunshine chased over the hillsby warm cloud shadows and bursting into joy again on the low meadows, reflected that he had done well for himself in exchanging the darkcavern of the stage for Dr. Lavendar's easy old buggy and the openair. They stopped a minute on the bridge to look at the creek swollenby spring rains; it was tugging and tearing at the branches thatdipped into it, and heaping up rocking lines of yellow froth along thebanks. 

"In summer that's a fine place to wade, " Dr. Lavendar observed. Davidglanced up at him and then down at the water in silence. 

"Well, Goliath! at this rate Jonas could beat us, " said Dr. Lavendar, and smacked a rein down on the shaggy old back. David looked around atMr. Pryor with sudden interest. 

"Is your name Goliath?" he asked. 

Lloyd Pryor was greatly amused. "I hope you haven't such a thing as asling with you, David?" he said. 

The little boy grew very red, but made no reply. 

"It's my horse's name, " Dr. Lavendar told him, so kindly that Daviddid not hear the chuckle in his voice. But the color was hot in thechild's face for many minutes. He had nothing to say for the rest ofthe pull up the hill, except briefly, "'Bye, " when Mr. Pryor alightedat the green gate of a foot-path that led up to the Stuffed AnimalHouse. 

"I'm very much obliged for the lift, Dr. Lavendar, " he said in hiscoldly courteous voice, and turned quickly at an exclamation behindhim. 

"Lloyd!"

"I've brought your brother home, Mrs. Richie, " said Dr. Lavendar. 

Helena Richie was standing inside the hedge, her face radiant. 

"Oh, Lloyd!" she said again breathlessly. 

Mr. Pryor laughed and shook hands with her in somewhat formalgreeting. 

"Do you see my other passenger?" Dr. Lavendar called out. "He camewith your brother. David, suppose you shake hands with Mrs. Richie? Igenerally take my hat off, David, when I shake hands with a lady. "

"I don't, sir, " said David, gently, putting a hand out across thewheel. Mrs. Richie had not noticed the little boy; but when she tookhis hand her eyes lingered on his face, and suddenly she drew himforward and kissed him. 

David bore it politely, but he looked over her head at Mr. Pryor. "Mister, Alice is nineteen. "

"_What?_" Mr. Pryor said, his heavy-lidded eyes opening with a bluegleam; then he laughed. "Oh yes, I'd forgotten our sum in arithmetic;yes, Alice is nineteen. "

"Well, " Dr. Lavendar said, "g'long, Goliath!" and the buggy wenttugging on up the hill. "David, if you'll look in my pocket you'llfind some gingerbread. "

 David thrust a hand down into the capacious pocket and brought up thegingerbread, wrapped in a red silk handkerchief. He offered itsilently to Dr. Lavendar. 

"I don't believe I'll take any. Suppose you eat it, David?"

"No, thank you, sir. "

Dr. Lavendar shook his head in a puzzled way. 

David swallowed nervously. "Please, sir, " he said, "was that lady thatgentleman's sister?"

"Yes, " Dr. Lavendar told him cheerfully. 

"But if she is his sister, " the little boy reasoned, "why didn't shekiss him? Janey, she--she always gave me forty kisses. "

"Just forty?" Dr. Lavendar inquired, looking at the child over hisspectacles. 

David was silent for a moment, then he said, earnestly: "I nevercounted. But Janey, she always said 'forty kisses. '" His whole facequivered. A very large tear gathered, trembled, then rolled over; heheld his hands together under the lap-robe and looked the other way;then he raised one shoulder and rubbed his cheek against it. 

"I guess Janey was a pretty nice sister, " Dr. Lavendar said. 

David's hands tightened; he looked up speechless, into the kind oldface. 

"David, " said Dr. Lavendar in a business-like way, "would you minddriving for me? I want to look over my note-book. "

"Driving?" said David. "Oh, _my!_" His cheeks were wet but his eyesshone. "I don't mind, sir. I'd just as lieves as not!"

CHAPTER V

"So that's the youngster we're going to adopt, is it?" Mr. Pryorsaid; then he looked at Helena through his curling brown lashes, withopen amusement. Her eyes were full of tears. 

"It has been--so long, " she said faintly. 

"I've been very busy, " he explained. 

She nodded and smiled. "Anyhow, you are here now. But, oh, Maggie hasa sore throat. I don't know what we're going to have for dinner. Oh, how glad I am you're here!" Her face was glowing, but her chintrembled. 

"Why, this is very flattering, I'm sure; I thought you were so takenup with your orphan that you wouldn't care whether I came or not. "

"You know that isn't true, " she said gayly, brushing her cheek againsthis arm; "but isn't he a dear little fellow?--though I'm sorry hishair isn't curly. " Then her face changed. "What did he mean aboutAlice being nineteen?"

"Oh, Alice? Why, he asked me in the stage if I had any children, and Iput Alice's age as a sum in mental arithmetic for him. And he asked meif my name was Goliath. "

But she had forgotten David. "Lloyd! To think you are here!"

"Yes, I'm here, and a hamper is here, too. I hope the stage will bringit up pretty soon. I don't believe I could stand an Old Chester billof fare. It's queer about women; they don't care what they eat. Idon't believe you've got anything on hand but bread and jam and tea?"

"I care a great deal!" she assured him laughing, and then lookedworried. "Yes, I really have been living on bread and jam. " She washanging on his arm, and once she kissed his hand. "Will you goupstairs? And I'll see what we can do about food. That dreadfulMaggie! She's sick in bed. "

Mr. Pryor looked annoyed. "Can't she get us something to eat? Ask her, Nelly; I don't believe it will hurt her. Here; give her that, " and hetook a crumpled bill out of his waistcoat pocket. 

She did not take the money, but her eyes shone. "You are the mostgenerous being!" she said. Then, sobering, she thought of Maggie'sthroat--hesitated--and Maggie was lost. For when she opened thewoman's door, and in her sweet, appealing voice declared that Mr. Pryor had come unexpectedly, and was so hungry--what _should_ theydo?--Maggie, who adored her, insisted upon going down to the kitchen. 

"Oh, Maggie, you oughtn't to! I oughtn't to let you. Maggie, lookhere: you will be careful, won't you?"

"Now, you go right along back to your brother, " the woman commandedsmiling. "I'm goin' to get into my clothes; t'won't do me a bit ofharm. "

And Helena, protesting and joyous, fled to her room and to her mirror. She flung off her cambric morning dress and ran to hunt in herwardrobe for something pretty. With girlish hurry she pulled her hairdown, braided it afresh, and fastened the burnished plats around herhead like a wreath; then she brushed the soft locks in the nape of herneck about her finger, and let them fall into loose curls. She dressedwith breathless haste, and when she finished, stood for a minute, herlip between her teeth, staring at herself in the glass. And as shestared her face fell; for as the color and sparkle faded a little, care suddenly looked out of the leaf-brown eyes--care and somethinglike fright. But instantly drawing in her breath, she flung her headup as one who prepares for battle. When she went down-stairs and foundMr. Pryor waiting for her in the parlor, the sparkle had all comeback. She had put on a striped silk dress, faint rose and green, madevery full in the skirt; her flat lace collar was fastened by a littleold pin--an oval of pearls holding a strand of hair like floss-silk. 

"Why, Nelly, " her visitor said, "you look younger every time I seeyou. "

She swept him a great courtesy, making her dress balloon out abouther; then she clasped her hands at her throat, her chin resting on thefluff of her white undersleeves, and looked up at him with a delightedlaugh. "We are not very old, either of us; I am thirty-three and youare only forty-six--I call that young. Oh, Lloyd, I was so low-spirited this morning; and now--you are here!" She pirouetted aboutthe room in a burst of gayety. 

As he watched her through half-shut eyes, the bored good humor in hisface sharpened into something keener; he caught her hand as shewhirled past, drawing her close to him with a murmured caress. She, pausing in her joy, looked at him with sudden intentness. 

"Have you heard anything of--_Frederick?_"

At which he let her go again and answered curtly: "No; nothing. Perfectly well, the last I heard. In Paris, and enjoying himself inhis own peculiar fashion. "

She drew in her breath and turned her face away; they were bothsilent. Then she said, dully, that she never heard any news. "Mr. Raynor sends me my accounts every three months, but he never saysanything about--Frederick. "

"I suppose there isn't anything to say. Look here, Nelly, hasn't thatstage-driver brought the hamper yet? When are we going to havesomething to eat?"

"Oh, pretty soon, " she said impatiently. 

They were standing at one of the long windows in the parlor; throughthe tilted slats of the Venetian blinds the April sunshine fell inpale bars across her hair and dress, across the old Turkey carpet onthe floor, across the high white wainscoting and half-way up thelandscape-papered walls. The room was full of cheerful dignity; theheavy, old-fashioned furniture of the Stuffed Animal House wasunchanged, even the pictures, hanging rather near the ceiling, had notbeen removed--steel-engravings of Landseer's dogs, and old and verygood colored prints of Audubon's birds. The mantel-piece of blackmarble veined with yellow was supported by fluted columns; on it weretwo blown-glass vases of decalcomania decoration, then two giltlustres with prisms, then two hand-screens of woolwork, and in themiddle an ormolu clock--"Iphigenia in Aulis"--under a glass shade. Inthe recess at one side of the fireplace was a tall bookcase withclosed doors, but a claw-footed sofa stood out from the wall at anangle that prevented any access to the books. "I can't read StuffedAnimal books, " Helena had long ago confided to Lloyd Pryor. "TheBritish Classics, if you please! and Baxter's _Saint's Rest_, and_The Lady of the Manor_. " So Mr. Pryor made a point of providingher with light literature. He pulled a paper-covered volume out of hispocket now, and handed it to her. 

"Not improving, Nelly, I assure you; and there is a box of candy inthe hamper. "

She thanked him, but put the book down. "Talk to me, Lloyd. Tell me--everything! How are you? How is Alice? Are you very busy with politicsand things? Talk to me. "

"Well, " he said good naturedly, "where am I to begin? Yes: I'm verywell. And very busy. And unusually poor. Isn't that interesting?"

"Oh, Lloyd! Are you in earnest? Lloyd, you know I have a lot of money, and of course, if you want it, it is yours. "

He was lounging lazily on the sofa, and drew her down beside him, smiling at her through his curling lashes. "It isn't as bad as that. It is only that I have shouldered the debts of the old Pryor-Barr Co. , Limited. You know my grandfather organized it, and my father waspresident of it, and I served my 'prenticeship to business in it. "

"But I thought, " she said, puzzled, "you went out of it long ago, before--before--"

"The flood? Yes, my dear, I did. I've only been a silent partner foryears--and that in a very small way. But I regret to say that theyoung asses who have been running it have got into trouble. And theypropose going into bankruptcy, confound them! It is very annoying, "Lloyd Pryor ended calmly, "But I don't understand, " she said; "what have you to do with it?"

"Well, I've got to turn to and pay their damned debts. "

"Pay their debts? But why? Does the law make you?"

"The law?" he said, looking at her with cold eyes. "I suppose you meanstatute law? No, my dear, it doesn't. "

"Then I can't understand it, " she declared laughing. 

"It's nothing very abstruse. I can't have stockholders who trusted ourold firm cheated by a couple of cousins of mine. I've assumed theliabilities--that's all. "

"But you don't _have_ to, by law?" she persisted, still bewildered. 

"My dear Nelly, I don't do things because of the _law_, " he saiddryly. "But never mind; it is going to give me something to do. Tellme about yourself. How are you?"

"I'm--pretty lonely, Lloyd, " she said. 

And he answered, sympathetically, that he had been afraid of that. "You are too much by yourself. Of course, it's lonely for you. I amvery much pleased with this idea of the little boy. "

She shook her head. "I can't take him. "

"Why not?" he protested, and broke off. "Nelly, look! You are going tohave company. "

He had caught sight of some one fumbling with the latch of the greengate in the hedge. Helena opened her lips in consternation. 

"Lloyd! It's old Mr. Benjamin Wright. He lives in that big house withwhite columns on the top of the hill. Do you suppose he has come to_call_?"

"Tell your woman to say you are out. "

But she shook her head, annoyed and helpless. "Don't you see how tiredhe is?--poor old man! Of course, he must come in. Go and help him, Lloyd. " She put her hands on his arm. "Please!" she said. 

"No, thank you; I have no desire to help old gentlemen. " And as sheleft him and ran impetuously to open the door herself, he called afterher, "Nelly, don't have dinner held back!"

Mr. Benjamin Wright stood, panting, at the foot of the porch steps; hecould hardly lift his head to look up at the figure in the doorway. "You--Mrs. Richie?" he gasped. 

"Yes, sir, " she said. "May I help you? These steps are so steep. "

"No, " he snarled. "Do you think I'm so decrepit that I have to have afemale help me up-stairs?" Then he began toiling up the steps. "Myname is Wright. You know my grandson? Sam? Great fool! I've come tocall on you. " On the porch he drew a long breath, pulled off his mangyold beaver hat, and, with a very courtly bow, held out his hand. "Madam, permit me to pay my respects to you. I am your neighbor. Infact, your only neighbor; without me, 'Montium domina ut fores silvarumque virentium saltuumque reconditorum amniumque sonantum. '

Understand that? No? Good. I don't like learned females. "

She took his hand in a bewildered way, glancing back over her shoulderat Mr. Pryor, uncertain what she ought to do. Mr. Wright decided forher. 

"I know this house, " he said, pushing past her into the dusky hall;"friend of mine used to live here. Ho! This is the parlor. Well; who'sthis?" He stood chewing orange-skin and blinking up at Lloyd Pryor, who came forward reluctantly. 

"My name is Pryor, sir, I--"

"Oh! Yes. _I_ know. _I_ know. The lady's brother. Here! Push thatchair out for me. "

And Mr. Lloyd Pryor found himself bringing a chair forward and takingthe hat and stick from the trembling old hand. Helena had gone quicklyinto the dining-room, and came back with a decanter and glass on alittle tray. She gave a distressed glance at her other guest as thoughto say, "I can't help it!"

Benjamin Wright's old head in its brown wig was still shaking withfatigue, but under the prickle of white on his shaven jowl thepurplish color came back in mottled streaks. He sipped the sherrybreathlessly, the glass trembling in his veined and shrunken hand. "Well, " he demanded, "how do you two like this God-forsaken place?"

Mr. Pryor, looking over their visitor's head at Helena, shrugged hisshoulders. 

"It is very nice, " she said vaguely, "It's a narrowing place, " he demurred, "very narrowing; sit down, sitdown, good people! I'll take some more sherry. My grandson, " he wenton, as Helena filled his glass, "is always talking about you, madam. He's a great jackass. I'm afraid he bothers you with his calls?"

"Oh, not at all, " Helena said nervously. She sat down on the otherside of the big rosewood centre-table, glancing with worried eyes atLloyd Pryor. 

"Move that lamp contraption, " commanded Mr. Wright. "I like to see myhostess!"

And Helena pushed the astral lamp from the centre of the table so thathis view was unobstructed. 

"Is he a nuisance with his talk about his drama?"

Mr. Wright said, looking across at her with open eagerness in hismelancholy eyes. 

"Why, no indeed. "

"Do you think it's so very bad, considering?"

"It is not bad at all, " said Mrs. Richie. 

His face lighted like a child's. "Young fool! As if he could write adrama! Well, madam, I came to ask you to do me the honor of takingsupper with me to-morrow night, and then of listening to thiswonderful production. Of course, sir, I include you. My nigger willprovide you with a fairly good bottle. Then this grandson of mine willread his truck aloud. But we will fortify ourselves with supperfirst. "

His artless pride in planning this distressing festivity was soludicrous that Lloyd Pryor's disgust changed into involuntary mirth. But Helena was plainly nervous. "Thank you; you are very kind; but Iam afraid I must say no. "

Mr. Pryor was silently retreating towards the dining-room. As for thevisitor, he only had eyes for the mistress of the house. 

"Why should you say no?"

She tried to answer lightly. "Oh, I like to be quiet. "

"Quiet?" cried Benjamin Wright, rapping the table with his wine-glass. "At your age? Nonsense!" He paused, cleared his throat, and thensonorously:

"'Can you endure the livery of a nun, For aye to be in shady cloistermew'd, To live a barren sister all your life, Chanting faint hymns tothe cold, fruitless moon?' Give me some more sherry. Of course youmust come. No use being shy--a pretty creatur' like you! And you saidyou liked the play, " he added with childlike reproach. 

Helena, glad to change the subject, made haste to reassure him. "I do, I do!" she said, and for a few minutes she kept the old face beamingwith her praise of Sam and his work. Unlike his grandson, Mr. Wrightwas not critical of her criticism. Nothing she could say seemed to himexcessive. He contradicted every statement, but he believed itimplicitly. Then with a sigh of satisfaction, he returned to hisinvitation. Helena shook her head decidedly. 

"No; thank you very much. Mr. Pryor couldn't possibly come. He is onlyhere over Sunday, and--" She looked towards the dining-room forprotection, but the door had been gently closed. 

"Hey?" Benjamin Wright said blankly. "Well, I won't insist; I won'tinsist. We'll wait till he goes. Come Monday night. "

"Oh, " she said, her voice fluttering, "I am sorry but I really can't. "

"Why can't you?" he insisted. "Come, tell the truth! The advantage oftelling the truth, young lady, is that neither God nor the devil cancontradict you!" He laughed, eying her with high good humor. 

"Oh, it's merely--" she hesitated, and he looked affronted. 

"What! Some female airs about coming to an unmarried man's house?" Herinvoluntary mirth disarmed him. "No? Well, I'm glad you've got somesense. Then you'll come?"

"If I went to your house, it would seem unfriendly not to go to otherhouses. "

"Why shouldn't you go to other houses? Done anything you're ashamedof?" He laughed uproariously at his own wit. "Come now; don't befinikin and ladylike!"

"I don't make visits, " she explained, the color rising angrily in hercheeks. 

"Gad-a-mercy! Why not?" he interrupted. "Do you think you're too goodfor us here in Old Chester?"

"Oh, Mr. Wright!"

"Or perhaps Old Chester is too good for you?"

His face had softened wonderfully; he was looking at her with the samequizzical delight with which he would look at one of his canaries whenhe caught it, and held it struggling in his hand. "Are we too good foryou?" he jeered, "too--"

He stopped abruptly, his laugh breaking off in the middle. Then hismouth fell slowly open in blank amazement; he leaned forward in hischair and stared at her without a word. 

"I don't care for society, " she said, in a frightened way, and rose asif to bring the visit to an end. 

But Benjamin Wright sat still, slowly nodding his head. "You don'tcare for society? I wonder why. "

"Oh, because I am--a very quiet person, " she stammered. 

The dining-room door opened and Sarah came in, looked about, found thedecanter, and withdrew. 

"Where is--that gentleman?" the old man demanded. 

"Mr. Pryor went in to dinner, " she said faintly. "Please excuse him;he was tired. "

The silence that fell between them was like a blow. ... Mr. Wrightpulled himself to his feet, and with one shaking hand on the tablefelt his way around until he stood directly in front of her; he puthis face close to hers and stared into her eyes, his lower lip openingand closing in silence. Then, without speaking, he began to gropeabout on the table for his hat and stick. 

"I will bid you good day, " he said. 

Without another word he went shuffling out into the dark hall. At thefront door he turned and looked back at her; then, slowly, shook hishead. 

CHAPTER VI

Poor Maggie paid for her good nature. On Sunday morning she was sodecidedly worse that William King, to the disgust of his Martha, wassummoned from his breakfast-table. 

"Women who can't look after a simple sore throat without botheringtheir doctors are pretty inefficient creatures, " she said coldly. 

William thought of women who were so efficient that they did nothesitate to advise their doctors; but he only agreed with properseriousness to Martha's declaration that it was too bad, for he wouldbe late for church--"unless you hurry, William!" she called after him. 

Perhaps he hurried when he was with Maggie, but certainly he displayedno haste when giving his directions to Mrs. Richie, nor even laterwhen just as he was about to drive off, Mr. Pryor hailed him from thegarden. 

"How's your patient, doctor?"

"Pretty sick. She didn't obey your sister's orders and keep in bedyesterday. So, of course, she's worse to-day. "

Mr. Pryor leaned a comfortable elbow on the green gate. "That's a niceprospect! What am I going to have to eat?" he said, good-humoredly. 

Yet behind the good humor there was annoyance. It came into WilliamKing's mind that this fellow would not spare his sister hisirritation, and with a sudden impulse of concern for her, he said, "Well now, look here, why don't you and Mrs. Richie come in thisevening and take tea with us? I don't know what you'll get, but comeand take pot-luck. "

"Thank you, " Lloyd Pryor said, "but--"

"Oh, come now, " interrupted the doctor, gathering up his reins; "yougood people are not neighborly enough. We'll expect you both at six. "

"You are very kind, but I think--" But William would not listen. Hewas in great spirits. "It will be pot-luck, and my wife will bedelighted--" then, his voice dragged--"I hope you'll come, " he saiduncertainly. 

Mr. Pryor began to protest, but ended with a laugh. "Well, we'll come!Thank you very much. "

"That's good, " the doctor said a little less cordially, indeed, as hedrove away he looked distinctly less cordial, and once he sighed.... Now, how should he put it? "Oh, Martha, by the way, Mr. Pryor and hissister will drop in to tea to-night. I suggested it, and--" No, thatwould not do.... "Martha, it occurred to me it would be neighborly--"No. "Confound it, " William King muttered to himself, "what did I do itfor, anyhow? 'Martha, my dear, I know you like to do a kindness, so Iasked Mrs. Richie and her brother'"--that was better. "But I hate acircumbendibus!" William said, irritably, to himself. Then he drew along breath, and set his lips as a man may who is about to face thedomestic cannon's mouth. 

After he had driven on, screwing up his courage, it appeared that Mr. Pryor also had a cannon to face. Helena Richie came out into thegarden, and found. Him sitting on a bench built round a great silverpoplar. Her face was worried. "I ought not to have made poor Maggieget up yesterday, " she said, "but I was so distressed not to have agood dinner for you. "

"Well, at least you need have no anxieties about supper; we've had aninvitation, "

"An invitation! From Dr, King? Well, that's very nice in him. But, ofcourse--"

"I told him we would come"

"You told him we would come!"

"I couldn't help it, Nelly. People who invite you face to face areperfect nuisances. But, really, it's no great matter--for once, And Iknew it would be a convenience for you. Besides, I wanted a goodsupper. "

"Well, we must make some excuse. "

"There isn't any excuse to make, " he explained, good-naturedly: "Itried to find one and couldn't. We've got to go. "

"_I_ sha'n't go. "

He looked at her from under his heavy eyelids; then blew two smokewreaths slowly. "You're a queer creature. "

She turned on him hotly. "Queer? Because I won't go out to supper withyou? I'd be queer if I did! I'm entirely satisfied with myself, Lloyd;I consider that I have a perfect right to be happy in my own way. Youknow I don't care a copper for what you call 'morality'! it's nothingbut cowardly conventionality. But I won't go out to supper with you. "

"Please don't let us have a tirade, " he said "I thought it would bemore convenient for you. That's always the way with your sex, Helena, you do a thing to help them out, and they burst into tears. "

"I haven't burst into tears, " she said sullenly, "but I won't go. "

"Come, now! don't be a goose. I wouldn't make a practice of acceptingtheir invitations; but for once, what does it matter?"

"Can't you understand?" she said passionately; "_they are kind tome!_"

She turned quickly and ran into the garden, leaving him to call afterher: "Well, you've got to go to-night, because I've accepted. "

"I won't go to-night!" she flung back, her voice breaking. 

Lloyd Pryor shook his head. "And she wonders I don't come oftener, " hesaid to himself. 

So the sleepy Sunday morning passed. Mr. Pryor roamed about thegarden, looking furtively over his shoulder now and then--but Helenahad disappeared. "Sulking in her room, I suppose, " he thought. 

He had come at some inconvenience, to spend Sunday and talk over thisproject of the child, "for I'd like to see her happier, " he toldhimself; and now, instead of sitting down, sensibly, to discussthings, she flared out over this invitation to supper. Her intensityfatigued him. "I must be getting old, " he ruminated, "and Helena willalways be the age she was ten years ago. Ten? It's thirteen! How timeflies; she was twenty. How interested I was in Frederick's health inthose days!"

He stretched himself out on the bench under the poplar, and litanother cigar. "If _I'm_ willing to go, why is she so exercised?Women are all alike--except Alice. " He smiled as he thought of hisgirl, and instantly the hardness in his face lifted, as a cloud shadowlifts and leaves sunshine behind it. Then some obscure sense offitness made him pull himself together, and put his mind on affairsthat had nothing in common with Helena; affairs in which he couldinclude his girl without offending his taste. 

After a while he got up and wandered about between the borders, wherethe clean, bitter scent of daffodils mingled with the box. Once hestood still, looking down over the orchard on the hill-side below him, at the bright sheen of the river edged with leafless maples; on itsfarther side were the meadows, and then the hills, smoky in their warmhaze. Over all was the pale April sky with skeins of gray cloud in thewest. He wondered what Alice was doing at this moment, and looked athis watch. She must be just coming back from church. When he was athome Mr. Pryor went to church himself, and watched her saying herlittle prayers. This assumption of the Pryor-Barr liabilities would bea serious check to the fortune he was building up for her; he set hisjaw angrily at the thought, but of course it couldn't be helped. Furthermore, Alice took great pride in the almost quixotic sense ofhonor that had prompted the step; a pride which gave him a secretsatisfaction, quite fatuous and childlike and entirely out of keepingwith certain other characteristics, also secret. 

There was a gleam of humor in his eyes, as he said to himself that hehoped Alice would not ask him how he had spent his Sunday morning. Alice had such a feeling about truth, that he did not like to tell hereven little lies, little ones that she could not possibly find out. Itwas the sentiment of fibbing to his girl that offended him, not thefib; for Mr. Lloyd Pryor had no doubt that, in certain matters, Truthmust be governed by the law of benefit. 

Thinking of his daughter, and smiling to himself, he lounged aimlesslyabout the garden; then it occurred to him to go into the stable andlook at Helena's pony. After that he strolled over to the carriage-house where were stored a number of cases containing stuffedcreatures--birds and chipmunks and small furry things. Some largeranimals were slung up under the beams of the loft to get them out ofthe way; there was a bear in one corner, and a great crocodile, and ashark; possessions of the previous owner of the Stuffed Animal House, stored here by her executor, pending the final settlement of theestate. 

Lloyd Pryor stood at the doorway looking in. Through a grimed andcobwebbed window at the farther end of the room the light filtereddown among the still figures; there was the smell of dead fur andfeathers, and of some acrid preservative. One box had been broken inmoving it from the house, and a beaver had slipped from his carefullybitten branch, and lay on the dusty boards, a burst of cotton pushingthrough the splitting belly-seam. Lloyd Pryor thrust it into its casewith his stick, and started as he did so. Something moved, back in thedusk. 

"It's I, Lloyd, " Helena Richie said. 

"You? My dear Nelly! Why are you sitting in this gloomy place?"

She smiled faintly, but her face was weary with tears. "Oh, I just--came in here, " she said vaguely. 

She had said to herself when, angry and wounded, she left him in thegarden, that if she went back to the house he would find her. So shehad come here to the dust and silence of the carriage-house, andsitting down on one of the cases had hidden her face in her hands. Little by little anger ebbed. Just misery remained. But still she satthere, looking absently at these dead creatures about her, or at athin line of sunshine falling through a heart-shaped opening in ashutter, and moving noiselessly across the floor. A mote dipped intothis stream of light, zigzagged through it, then sank into thedarkness. She followed it with dull eyes, thinking, if she thought atall, that she wished she did not have to sit opposite Lloyd at dinner. But, of course, she would have to, the servants would think it strangeif she did not come to table with him. Suddenly the finger of sunshinevanished, and all the motes were gone. Raising her head with a longsigh she saw him in the doorway, his tall figure black against thesmiling spring landscape outside. Her heart came up into her throatwith a rush of delight. He was looking for her! Ah, this was the wayit had been in those first days, when he could not bear to let her outof his sight!

He put his arm around her with careless friendliness and helped her toher feet. "What a place this will be for your boy to play. He can becast away on a desert island and surrounded by wild animals every dayin the week. " His voice was so kind that her anger of two hours agoseemed impossible--a mistake, a misunderstanding! She tried in abewildered way to get back to it in her own mind, but he was so matterof fact about the stuffed animals and the little boy and the desertisland, that she could only say vaguely, "Yes, it would be nice, butof course I'm not going to take him. "

"Well now, that's just what I want to talk to you about, " he said, watching her through his long, curling eyelashes. "That's why I camedown to Old Chester--"

"Oh, is it?"

He checked an impatient exclamation, and then went on: "When I gotyour letter about this boy, I was really delighted. --Let's go out intothe sunshine; the smell of this place is very disagreeable. --I thinkyou would find the child company; I really hope you will take him. "His voice was sincere and she softened. 

"It's kind of you, Lloyd, to urge it. But no, it won't do. "

"My dear, of course it will do. You'll give him a good home, and--"

"No, no, I can't; you know I can't. "

"My dear Nelly! What possible harm could you do the child?"

She drew away from him sharply. "_I_ do him any harm! I! Oh--youwouldn't have said such a thing, once!" She pressed the back of herhand against her lips, and Lloyd Pryor studiously looked in anotherdirection. 

"What have I said? That you wouldn't do him any harm? Is thereanything unkind in that? Look here, Nell, you really mustn't be sounreasonable. There is nothing a man hates so much as a fool. I ammerely urging something for your pleasure. He would be company foryou; I thought him quite an attractive youngster. "

"And you wouldn't have me so much on your mind? You wouldn't feel youhad to come and see me so often!"

"Well, if you want to put it that way, " he said coldly. "I'm a verybusy man. I can't get off whenever I feel like it. "

"And you can't leave your beloved Alice. "

He shot a blue gleam at her from under his heavy eyelids. "No; Ican't. "

She quivered. But he went on quietly: "I know you're lonely, Helena, and as I can't come and see you quite so often as I used to, I wantyou to take this little fellow, simply to amuse you. "

She walked beside him silently. When they reached the bench under thepoplar, she sat looking into the April distance without speaking. Shewas saying to herself, miserably, that she didn't want the child; shedidn't want to lessen any sense of obligation that brought him toher;--and yet, she did not want him to come from a sense ofobligation!

"You would get great fun out of him, Nelly, " he insisted. 

And looking up, she saw the kindness of his face and yielded. "Well, perhaps I will; that is, if Dr. Lavendar will let me have him. I'mafraid of Dr. Lavendar somehow. "

"Good!" he said heartily; "that's a real weight off my mind. " Her lipcurled again, but she said nothing. Lloyd Pryor yawned; then he askedher whether she meant to buy the house. 

"I don't know; sometimes I think there is less seclusion in thecountry than there is in town. " She drew down a twig, and began topull at the buds with aimless fingers. "I might like to come toPhiladelphia and live near you, you know, " she said. The sudden malicein her eyes was answered by the shock in his; his voice was disturbedwhen he spoke, though his words were commonplace:

"It's a pleasant enough house. "

Then he looked at his watch, opening the case under the shelter of hishand--but she saw the photograph in the lid. 

"Is that a good picture of Alice?" she said with an effort. 

"Yes, " he answered, hastily snapping the lid shut. "Helena, what arewe going to have for dinner?"

"Oh, nothing very much, I'm afraid, " she told him ruefully. Thenrising, she held out her hand. "Come! We mustn't quarrel again. Idon't know why we always squabble!"

"I'm sure I don't want to, " he said. "Nelly, you are prettier everytime I see you. " He put a finger into one of the loose curls in thenape of her neck, and she looked up at him, her lip trembling. 

"And do you love me?"

"Of course I do!" he declared, slipping his arm around her waist. Andthey walked thus between the box borders, back to the house. 

CHAPTER VII

But she would not go to the Kings' to tea. "No, " she said, her eyescrinkling with fun, "I'm not going; but you've got to; you promised!And remember, I have 'a very severe headache. '"

He laughed, with a droll look, and then explained that at home he wasnever allowed to tell tarradiddles. "Alice has a perfect mania abouttruth, " he said ruefully; "it is sometimes very inconvenient. Yes;I'll enlarge upon your headache, my dear. But why in thunder did I sayyes to that confounded doctor? I'd like to wring your cook's neck, Nelly!"

"You'll have a good supper, " she consoled him, "and that's what youwant. They say Mrs. King is a great housekeeper. And besides, if youstayed at home you would probably have to entertain Mr. Sam Wright. "

"I'll be darned if I would, " he assured her, amiably, and started off. 

He had the good supper, although when the doctor broke to his wifethat company was coming, Mrs. King had protested that there wasnothing in the house to eat. "And there's one thing about me, I maynot be perfect, but I am hospitable, and--"

"Just give them what we were going to have ourselves. "

"Now, William! I must say, flatly and frankly--"

"There's the office bell, " murmured the doctor, sidling away andhearing the reproachful voice lessening in the distance--"how hard Itry--nothing fit--"

The office door closed; the worst was over. There would be a goodsupper--William had no misgivings on that point. Mrs. Richie wouldtalk to him, and he would tease her and make her laugh, and laughhimself. The doctor did not laugh very much in his own house; domesticvirtue does not necessarily add to the gayety of life. During theafternoon Willy tried on three different neckties, and twice putcologne on his handkerchief. Then appeared Mr. Pryor to say that Mrs. Richie had one of her headaches! He was so sorry, but Mrs. King knewwhat a bad headache was?

"Indeed I do, " Martha said, "only too well. But _I_ can't give way tothem. That's what it is to be a doctor's wife; the patients get allthe prescriptions, " Martha said; and William, out of the corner ofhis eye, saw that she was smiling! Well, well; evidently Mrs. Richie'sdefection did not trouble her; the doctor was glad of that. "But Ididn't bargain on entertaining the brother, " he said to himselfcrossly; and after the manner of husbands, he left the entertaining toMartha. 

Martha, however, did her duty. She thought Mr. Pryor a very agreeablegentleman; "far more agreeable than his sister, " she told Williamafterwards. "I don't know why, " said Martha, "but I sort of distrustthat woman. But the brother is all right; you can see that--and a veryintelligent man, too. We discussed a good many points, and I found weagreed perfectly. "

Mr. Pryor also had an opinion on that supper-table talk. He said tohimself grimly, that Nelly's bread and jam would have been better. Butprobably bread and jam, followed by young Sam Wright, would haveseemed less desirable than Mrs. King's excellent supper. 

It was about seven when the boy appeared at the Stuffed Animal House. Had Mr. Pryor been at home, Helena would, no doubt, have found someway of dismissing him; as it was, she let him stay. He was bareheaded;he had seen a bird flapping painfully about in the road, and catchingit in gentle hands had discovered that its wing was broken, so put ittenderly in his cap and brought it to Mrs. Richie's door. 

"Poor little thing!" she cried, when he showed it to her. "I wish Mr. Pryor would come back; he would tell us what to do for it. "

"Oh, is he here?" Sam asked blankly. 

"Well, not at this moment. He has gone to take tea at Dr. King's. "Sam's face lightened with relief. 

"You mustn't tell anybody you saw me this evening, " she charged himgayly. "I didn't go to Mrs. King's because--I had such a very badheadache!"

"Is it better?" he asked, so anxiously that she blushed. 

"Oh, yes, yes. But before tea I--didn't want to go. "

"I'm glad you didn't, " he said, and forgot her in caring for the bird. He ordered a box and some cotton batting--"and give me yourhandkerchief. " As he spoke, he took it from her surprised hand andtore it into strips; then, lifting the broken wing with exquisitegentleness, he bound it into place. She looked at the bandagesruefully, but Sam was perfectly matter-of-course. "It would have beenbetter without lace, " he said; "but it will do. Will you look at himsometimes? Just your touch will cure him, I think. "

Mrs. Richie laughed. 

"Well, you can laugh, but it's true. When I am near you I have no painand no worry; nothing but happiness. " He sat down beside her on theold claw-footed sofa near the fire, for it was cool enough thesespring evenings to have a little fire. He leaned forward, resting hischin on his fist, and staring into the blaze. Once he put his hand outand touched her dress softly, and smiled to himself. Then abruptly, hecame out of his reverie, and spoke with joyous excitement:

"Why! I forgot what I came to tell you about--something extraordinaryhas happened!"

"Oh, what?" she demanded, with a sweet eagerness that was as young ashis own. 

"You could never guess, " he assured her. "Tonight, at supper, grandfather suddenly told me that he wanted me to travel for a while--he wanted me to go away from Old Chester. I was perfectly amazed. 'Gohunt up a publisher for your truck, ' he said. He always calls thedrama my 'truck, '" Sam said snickering; "but the main thing, evidently, was to have me get away from home. To improve my mind, Isuppose. He said all gentlemen ought to travel. To live in one placeall the time was very narrowing, he said. I told him I hadn't anymoney, and he said he'd give me some. He said, 'anything to get youaway. ' It wasn't very flattering, was it?"

Helena's face flashed into suspicion. "Why did he want to get youaway?" she asked coldly. There was an alarmed alertness in her voicethat made the boy look at her. 

"He said he wanted me to 'be able to know cakes and ale when I sawthem, '" Sam quoted. "Isn't that just like grandfather?"

"Know cakes and ale!" she stammered, and then looked at him furtively. She took one of the little hand-screens from the mantel, and held itso that he could not see her face. For a minute the pleasant firelitsilence fell between them. 

"Oh, listen, " Sam said in a whisper; "do you hear the sap singing inthe log?" He bent forward with parted lips, intent upon the exquisitesound--a dream of summer leaves rustling and blowing in the wind. Heturned his limpid stag's eyes to hers to feel her pleasure. 

"I think, " Mrs. Richie said with an effort that made her voice hard, "that it would be an excellent thing for you to go away. "

"And leave you?"

"Please don't talk that way. Your grandfather is quite right. "

The boy smiled. "I suppose you really can't understand? It's part ofyour loveliness that you can't. If you could, you would know that Ican't go away. I told him I was much obliged, but I couldn't leave OldChester. "

"Oh, please! you mustn't be foolish. I don't like you when you arefoolish. Will you please remember how much older I am than you? Let'stalk of something else. Let's talk about the little boy who is comingto visit me--his name is David. "

"I would rather talk about you, and what you mean to me--beauty andpoetry and good--"

"Don't!" she said sharply, "Beauty and poetry and goodness. "

"I'm not beautiful, and I'm not--poetical. "

"And so I worship you, " the young man went on in a low happy voice. 

"Do please be quiet! I won't be worshipped. "

"I don't see how you are going to help it, " he said calmly. "Mrs. Richie, I've got my skiff; it came yesterday. Will you go out on theriver with me some afternoon?"

"Oh, I don't think I care about boating, " she said. 

"You don't!" he exclaimed blankly; "why, I only got it because Ithought you would go out with me!"

"I don't like the water, " she said firmly. 

Sam was silent; then he sighed. "I wish I'd asked you before I boughtit. Father is so unreasonable. "

She looked puzzled, for the connection was not obvious. 

"Father always wants things used, " Sam explained. "Do you reallydislike boating?"

"You absurd boy!" she said laughing; "of course you will use it; don'ttalk nonsense!"

Sam looked into the fire. "Do you ever have the feeling, " he said inan empty voice, "that nothing is worth while? I mean, if you aredisappointed in anything? A feeling as if you didn't care, at all, about anything? I have it often. A sort of loss of appetite in mymind. Do you know it?"

"Do I know it?" she said, and laughed so harshly that the boy drewback. "Yes, Sam; I know it. "

Sam sighed; "I hate that skiff. "

And at that she laughed again, but this time with pure gayety. "Oh, you foolish boy!" she said. Then she glanced at the clock. "Sam, Ihave some letters to write to-night--will you think I am veryungracious if I ask you to excuse me?" Sam was instantly apologetic. "I've stayed too long! Grandfather told me I ought never to come andsee you--"

"_What!_"

"He said I bothered you. "

"You don't bother me, " she protested; "I mean, when you talk aboutyour play you don't bother me. But to-night--"

"Of course, " said Sam simply, and took himself off after one or twodirections about the bird. 

When the front door closed behind him she went back to her seat by thelamp, and took up her novel; but her eyes did not see the printedpage. Suddenly she threw the book down on the table. It was impossibleto read; Sam's talk had disturbed her to the point of sharpdiscomfort. What did old Mr. Wright mean by "knowing cakes and ale"?And his leer yesterday had been an offence! Why had he looked at herlike that? Did he--? Was it possible--! She wished she had spoken toLloyd about it. But no; it couldn't be; it was only his queer way; hewas half crazy, she believed. And it would do no good to speak toLloyd. The one thing she must not do, was to let any annoyance of hersannoy him. Yet below her discomfort at Sam's sentimentality and hisgrandfather's strange manner lay a deeper discomfort--a disturbance atthe very centres of her life.... _She was afraid. _

She had been afraid for a long time. Even before she came to OldChester she was a little afraid, but in Old Chester the fear wasintensified by the consciousness of having made a mistake in coming. Old Chester was so far away. It had seemed desirable when she firstthought of it; it was so near Mercer where business very often calledhim. Besides, New York, with its throngs of people, where she hadlived for several years, had grown intolerable; in Old Chester she andLloyd had agreed she would have so much more privacy. But howdifferently things had turned out! He did not have to come to Mercernearly so often as he had expected. Those visions of hers--which hehad not discouraged--of weekly or certainly fortnightly visits, hadfaded into lengthening periods of three weeks, four weeks--the lastone was more than six weeks ago. "He can't leave his Alice!" she saidangrily to herself; "_I_ remember the time when he did not mindleaving her. " As for privacy, the great city, with its hurryingindifferent crowds, was more private than this village of insistentfriendliness. 

She leaned back in her chair and pressed her hands over her eyes; thensat up quickly--she must not cry! Lloyd hated red eyes. But oh, shewas afraid!--afraid of what? She had no answer; as yet her fear waswithout a name. She picked up her book, hurriedly; "I'll read, " shesaid to herself; "I won't think!" But for a long time she did not turna page. 

However, by the time Mr. Pryor came back from the tea-party she wasoutwardly tranquil, and looked up from her novel to welcome him andlaugh at his stories of his hostess. But he was instant to detect thetroubled background of her thoughts. 

"You are lonely, " he said, lounging on the sofa beside her; "when thatlittle boy comes you'll have something to amuse you;" he put acaressing finger under her soft chin. 

"I didn't have that little boy, but I had another, " she said ruefully. 

"Did your admirer call?"

She nodded. 

"What!" he exclaimed, for her manner told him. 

"He tried to be silly, " she said. "Of course I snubbed him. But itmakes me horribly uncomfortable somehow. "

Lloyd Pryor got up and slowly scratched a match under the mantel-piece; he took a long time to light his cigar. Then he put his handsin his pockets, and standing with his back to the fire regarded hisboots. Helena was staring straight ahead of her with melancholyeyes. --("Do you ever have the feeling, " the boy had said, "thatnothing is worth while?")

Lloyd Pryor looked at her furtively and coughed. "I suppose, " hesaid--and knocked the ashes from his cigar with elaboratecare--"I suppose your adorer is a good deal younger than you?"

She lifted her head sharply, "Well, yes;--what of it?"

"Oh, nothing; nothing at all. In the first place, the health of ourfriend, Frederick, is excellent. But if this fellow were not younger;and if apoplexy or judgment should--well; why, perhaps--"

"Perhaps what?"

"Of course, Helena, my great desire is for your happiness; but in myposition I--I am not as free as I once was to follow my owninclinations. And if--"

"Oh, my _God!_" she said violently. 

She fled out of the room with flying feet. As he followed her up thestairs he heard her door slam viciously and the bolt slip. He camedown, his face flushed and angry. He stood a long while with his backto the fire, staring at the lamp or the darkness of the uncurtainedwindow. By and by he shook his head and set his jaw in sullendetermination; then he went up-stairs and knocked softly at her door. There was no answer. Again, a little louder; silence. 

"Nelly, " he said; "Nelly, let me speak to you--just a minute?"

Silence. 

"Nelly!"

Silence. 

"Damn!" said Lloyd Pryor, and went stealthily back to the parlor wherethe fire was out and the lamp flickering into smoky darkness. 

A quarter of an hour later he went up-stairs again. 

"How _could_ you say it!" "I didn't mean it, Nelly; it was only ajoke. " "A joke! Oh, a cruel joke, a cruel joke!" "You know I didn'tmean it. Nelly dearest, I didn't mean it!" "You do love me?" "I loveyou.... Kiss me.... "

CHAPTER VIII

"Well, now, " said Dr. Lavendar that Sunday evening when he and Davidcame into the study after tea; "I suppose you'd like me to tell you astory before you go to bed?"

"A Bible story?"

"Why, yes, " Dr. Lavendar admitted, a little taken aback. 

"No, sir, " said David. 

"You don't want a Bible story!"

The little boy shook his head. 

"David, " said Dr. Lavendar chuckling, "I think I like you. "

David made no response; his face was as blank as an Indian's. He satdown on a stool by the fire, and once he sighed. Danny had sniffedhim, slowly, and turned away with a bored look; it was then that hesighed. After a while he got up and wandered about the room, his handsgripped in front of him, his lips shut tight. Dr. Lavendar watched himout of the tail of his eye, but neither of them spoke. Suddenly Davidclimbed up on a chair and looked fixedly at a picture that hungbetween the windows. 

"That is a Bible picture, " Dr. Lavendar observed. 

"Who, " said David, "is the gentleman in the water?"

Dr. Lavendar blew his nose before answering. Then he said that thatwas meant to be our Saviour when He was being baptized. "Up in thesky, " Dr. Lavendar added, "is His Heavenly Father. "

There was silence until David asked gently, "Is it a good photographof God?"

Dr. Lavendar puffed three times at his pipe; then he said, "If youthink the picture looks like a kind Father, then it is. And David, Iknow some stories that are not Bible stories. Shall I tell you one?"

"If you want to, sir, " David said. Dr. Lavendar began his tale ratherdoubtfully; but David fixed such interested eyes upon his face that hewas flattered into enlarging upon his theme. The child listenedbreathlessly, his fascinated eyes travelling once or twice to theclock, then back to the kind old face. 

"You were afraid bedtime would interrupt us?" said Dr. Lavendar, whenthe tale was done. "Well, well; you are a great boy for stories, aren't you?"

"You've talked seven minutes, " said David, thoughtfully, "and you'venot moved your upper jaw once. "

Dr. Lavendar gasped; then he said, meekly, "Did you like the story?"

David made no reply, "I think, " said Dr Lavendar, "I'll have another pipe. "

He gave up trying to make conversation; instead, he watched the clock. Mary had said that David must go to bed at eight, and as the clockbegan to strike, Dr. Lavendar, with some eagerness, opened his lips tosay good night--and closed them. "Guess he'd rather run his own rig, "he thought. But to his relief, at the last stroke David got up. 

"It's my bedtime, sir. "

"So it is! Well, it will be mine after a while. Good night, my boy!"Dr. Lavendar blinked nervously. Young persons were generally kissed. "I should not wish to be kissed, " he said to himself, and the twoshook hands gravely. 

Left alone, he felt so fatigued he had to have that other pipe. Beforehe had finished it his senior warden looked in at the study door. 

"Come in, Samuel, " said Dr. Lavendar. "Samuel, I feel as if I haddriven ten miles on a corduroy road!"

Mr. Wright looked blank; sometimes he found it hard to follow Dr. Lavendar. 

"Sam, young persons are very exciting. "

"Some of them are, I can vouch for that, " his caller assured himgrimly. 

"Come, come! They are good for us, " said Dr. Lavendar. "I wish you'dtake a pipe, Sam; it would cheer you up. "

"I never smoke, sir, " said Samuel reprovingly, "Well, you miss a lotof comfort in life. I've seen a good many troubles go up in smoke. "

Mr. Wright sat down heavily and sighed. 

"Sam been giving you something to think about?" Dr. Lavendar askedcheerfully. 

"He always gives me something to think about. He is beyond mycomprehension! I may say candidly, that I cannot understand him. Whatdo you think he has done now?"

"Nothing wicked. "

"I don't know how you look at it, " Samuel said, "but from my point ofview, buying prints with other people's money is dangerously nearwickedness. This present matter, however, is just imbecility. I toldhim one day last week to write to a man in Troy, New York, about abill of exchange. Well, he wrote. Oh, yes--he wrote. Back comes aletter from the man, enclosing my young gentleman's epistle, with aline added "--Mr. Wright fumbled in his breast pocket to find thedocument--" here it is: _'Above remarks about ships not understoodby our House. '_ Will you look at that, sir, for the 'remarks aboutships'?"

Dr. Lavendar took the sheet stamped "Bank of Pennsylvania, " and huntedfor his spectacles. When he settled them on his nose he turned theletter over and read in young Sam's sprawling hand:

"Was this the face that launched a thousand ships, And burnt thetopless towers of Ilium?"

"What's this? I don't understand. "

"Certainly you do not; no sensible person would. I showed it to myyoung gentleman, and requested an explanation. 'Oh, ' he said, 'whenyou told me to write to Troy, it made me think of those lines. ' Headded that not wishing to forget them, he wrote them down on a sheetof paper, and that probably he used the other side of the sheet forthe Troy letter--'by mistake. ' 'Mistake, sir!' I said, 'a sufficientnumber of _mistakes_ will send me out of business. '"

"Samuel, " said Dr. Lavendar thoughtfully, "do you recall whose face itwas that 'launched the thousand ships' on Troy?"

Samuel shook his head, "Helen's" said Dr. Lavendar. 

The senior warden frowned, then suddenly understood. "Oh, yes, I knowall about that. Another evidence of his folly!"

"I've no doubt you feel like spanking him, " Dr. Lavendar saidsympathetically, "but--" he stopped short. Sam Wright was crimson. 

"I! _Spank_ him? I?" He got up, opening and shutting his hands, his face very red. The old minister looked at him in consternation. 

"Sam! what on earth is the matter with you? Can't a man have hisjoke?"

Mr. Wright sat down. He put his hand to his mouth as though to hidesome trembling betrayal; his very ears were purple. 

Dr. Lavendar apologized profusely. "I was only in fun. I'm sure youknow that I meant no disrespect to the boy. I only wanted to cheer youup. "

"I understand, sir; it is of no consequence. I--I had something elseon my mind. It is of no consequence. " The color faded, and his facefell into its usual bleak lines, but his mouth twitched. A minuteafterwards he began to speak with ponderous dignity. "This love-makingbusiness is, of course, most mortifying to me; and also, no doubt, annoying to Mrs. Richie. To begin with, she is eleven years older thanhe--he told his mother so. He added, if you please! that he hoped tomarry her. "

"Well! Well!" said Dr. Lavendar. 

"I told him, " Mr. Wright continued, "that in my very humble opinion itwas contemptible for a man to marry and allow another man to supporthis wife. "

Dr. Lavendar sat up in shocked dismay. "Samuel!"

"I, sir, " the banker explained, "am his father, and I support him. Ifhe marries, I shall have to support his wife. According to my poortheories of propriety, a man who lets another man support his wife hadbetter not have one. "

"But you ought not to have put it that way, " Dr. Lavendar protested, "I merely put the fact, " said Samuel Wright "Furthermore, unless hestops dangling at her apron-strings, I shall stop his allowance, Ishall so inform him. "

"You surely won't do such a foolish thing!"

"Would you have me sit still? Not put up a single barrier to keep himin bounds?"

"Samuel, do you know what barriers mean to a colt?"

Mr. Wright made no response. 

"They mean something to jump over. "

"Possibly, " said Mr. Wright with dignity, "you are, to some extent, correct. But a man cannot permit his only son to run wild andfounder. "

"Sam won't founder. But he may get a bad strain. You'd better lookout. He is his father's son. "

"I do not know, sir, to what you refer. "

"Oh, yes, you do, " Dr. Lavendar assured him easily; "and you know thatno man can experience unforgiving anger, and not be crippled. Youdidn't founder, Sam, but you gave yourself a mighty ugly wrench. Hey?Isn't that so?"

The senior warden looked perfectly deaf; then he took up the taleagain. 

"If he goes on in his folly he will only be unhappy, and deservedlyso. She will have nothing to do with him. In stopping him, I shallonly be keeping him from future unhappiness. "

"Samuel, " said Dr. Lavendar, "I never begrudge unhappiness to theyoung. "

But Mr. , Wright was too absorbed in his own troubles to get anycomfort out of that. 

"By the way, " said Dr. Lavendar, "speaking of Mrs. Richie--do youthink she'd be a good person to take this little David Allison?"

"I don't know why she shouldn't be, sir, " Samuel said. "I have nofault to find with _her_. She pays her rent and goes to church. Yes; avery good person to take the boy off your hands. "

"The rent is important, " Dr, Lavendar agreed nodding; "but going tochurch doesn't prove anything. "

"All good people go to church, " the senior warden reproved him. 

"But all people who go to church are not good, " Dr. Lavendar saiddryly, "I am afraid she lets Sam talk poetry to her, " Sam's father broke out. "Stuff! absolute stuff! His mother sometimes tells me of it. Why, " heended piteously, "half the time I can't understand what it's about;it's just bosh!"

"What you don't understand generally _is_ bosh, isn't it, Sam?"said Dr. Lavendar thoughtfully. 

"I am a man of plain common sense, sir; I don't pretend to anythingbut common sense. "

"I know you don't, Samuel, I know you don't, " Dr. Lavendar said sadly;and the banker, mollified, accepted the apology. 

"On top of everything else, he's been writing a drama. He told hismother so. Writing a drama, instead of writing up his ledgers!"

"Of course, he ought not to neglect his work, " Dr. Lavendar agreed;"but play-writing isn't one of the seven deadly sins, "

"It is distasteful to me!" Sam senior said hotly; "most distasteful. Itold his mother to tell him so, but he goes on writing--so she says. "He sighed, and got up to put on his coat. "Well; I must go home. Isuppose he has been inflicting himself upon Mrs. Richie this evening. If he stays late, I shall feel it my duty to speak plainly to him. "

Dr. Lavendar gave him a hand with his coat. "Gently does it, Samuel, gently does it!"

His senior warden shook his head. The sense of paternal helplessness, felt more or less by all fathers of sons, was heavy upon him. He knewin a bewildered way, that he did not speak the boy's language. And yethe could not give up trying to communicate with him, --shouting at him, so to speak, as one shouts at a foreigner when trying to make oneselfunderstood; for surely there must be some one word that would reachSam's mind, some one touch that would stir his heart! Yet when hebrought his perplexity to Dr. Lavendar, he was only told to hold histongue and keep his hands off. The senior warden said to himself, miserably, that he was afraid Dr. Lavendar was getting old, "Well, Imustn't bother you, " he said; "as for Sam, I suppose he will go hisown gait! I don't know where he gets his stubbornness from. I myselfam the most reasonable man in the world. All I ever ask is to beallowed to follow my own judgment. I asked his mother if obstinacy wasa characteristic of her family, and she assured me it was not. Certainly Eliza herself has no will of her own. I don't think a goodwoman ever has. And, as I say, I never insisted upon my own way in mylife--except, of course, in matters where I knew I was right. "

"Of course, " said Dr. Lavendar. 

CHAPTER IX

The parting at the Stuffed Animal House the next morning was drearyenough. The day broke heavy with threatening rain. The man, after thatbrief flaming up of the embers of burned-out passion, had fallen intoa weariness which he did not attempt to conceal. But the woman--beinga woman--still tried to warm herself at the poor ashes, wasting herbreath in a sobbing endeavor to blow them into some fitful ardor. There was a hurried breakfast, and while waiting for the stage thedesultory talk that skims over dangerous topics for fear of gettinginto discussions for which there is no time. And with it theconsciousness of things that burn to be said--at least on one side. 

"I'm sorry I was cross last night, " she murmured once, under herbreath. 

And he responded courteously, "Oh, not at all. "

But she pressed him. "You know it was only because I--love you so? Andto make a joke of--"

"Of course! Helena, when is that stage due? You don't suppose thedriver misunderstood, and expects to take me on at the Tavern?"

"No, he was told to call here.... Lloyd, it's just the same? Youhaven't--changed?"

"Certainly not! I do hope he hasn't forgotten me? It would beextremely inconvenient. "

She turned away and stood looking out of the window into the rain-sodden garden. Mr. Pryor lighted a cigar. After a while she spokeagain. "You'll come soon? I hope you will come soon! I'll try not toworry you. "

"Of course, " he assured her; "but I trust your cook will be well nexttime, my dear. "

"Give me a day's notice, and I will have another cook if Maggie shouldbe under the weather, " she answered eagerly. 

"Oh, that reminds me, " he said, and thrusting his hand into his pockethe went out to the kitchen. When he came back he went at once to thewindow, "I'm afraid that stage-driver has forgotten me, " he said, frowning. But she reassured him--it really wasn't time yet; then sheleaned her cheek on his shoulder. 

"Do you think you can come in a fortnight, Lloyd? Come the first ofMay, and everything shall be perfect. Will you?"

Laughing, he put a careless arm around her, then catching sight of thestage pulling up at the gate, turned away so quickly that shestaggered a little. 

"Ah!" he said in a relieved voice;--"beg your pardon, Nelly;--There'sthe stage!"

At the door he kissed her hurriedly; but she followed him, bareheaded, out into the mist, catching his hand as they went down the path. 

"Good-by!" he called back from the hinged step of the stage. "Getalong, driver, get along! I don't want to miss my train in Mercer. Good-by, my dear. Take care of yourself. "

Helena standing at the gate, followed the stage with her eyes untilthe road turned at the foot of the hill. Then she went back to thebench under the silver poplar and sat down. She said to herself thatshe was glad he was gone. His easy indifference to the annoyance toher of all these furtive years, seemed just for a moment unbearable. He had not showed a glimmer of sympathy for her position; he had notbetrayed the slightest impatience at Frederick's astonishing health, so contrary to every law of probability and justice; he had not evenunderstood how she felt at taking the friendship of the Old Chesterpeople on false pretences--oh, these stupid people! That dull, self-satisfied, commonplace doctor's wife, so secure, so comfortable, inher right to Old Chester friendships! Of course, it was a great thingto be free from the narrowness and prejudice in which Old Chester wasabsolutely hidebound. But Lloyd might at least have understood that inspite of her freedom the years of delay had sometimes been a littlehard for her; that it was cruel that Frederick should live, and live, and live, putting off the moment when she should be like--otherpeople; like that complacent Mrs. King, even; (oh, how she detestedthe woman!) But Lloyd had shown no spark of sympathy or understanding;instead he had made a horrid joke.... Suddenly her eyes, sweet andkind and shallow as an animal's, clouded with pain, and she burst outcrying--but only for one convulsive moment. She could not cry out herein the garden. She wished she could get into the house, but she wassure that her eyes were red, and the servants might notice them. Shewould have to wait a while. Then she shivered, for a sharp wind blewfrom across the hills where in the hollows the snow still lingered ingrimy drifts, icy on the edges, and crumbling and settling and sinkingaway with every day of pale sunshine. The faint fragrance of wind-beaten daffodils reached her, and she saw two crocuses, long goldbubbles, over in the grass. She put the back of her hand against hercheek--it was hot still; she must wait a little longer. Her chillydiscomfort made her angry at Lloyd, as well as hurt.... It was nearlyhalf an hour before she felt sure that her eyes would not betray herand she could go into the house. 

Somehow or other the empty day passed; she had Lloyd's novel and thecandy. It was cold enough for a fire in the parlor, and she lay on thesofa in front of it, and read and nibbled her candy and drowsed. Once, lazily, she roused herself to throw some grains of incense on the hotcoals. Gradually the silence and perfume and warm sloth pushed thepain of the last twenty-four hours into the background of her mind, where it lay a dull ache of discontent. By and by even that ceased inphysical well-being. Her body had her in its grip, and her spirit sunksoftly into the warm and satisfied flesh. She bade Sarah bring herdinner into the parlor; after she had eaten it she slept. When sheawoke in the late afternoon, she wished she could sleep again. All herthoughts ran together in a lazy blur. Somewhere, back of the blur, sheknew there was unhappiness, so this was best--to lie warm and quiet bythe fire, eating candy and yawning over her book. 

The next few days were given up to indolence and apathy. But at theend of the week the soul of her stirred. A letter from Lloyd camesaying that he hoped she had the little boy with her, and thisreminded her of her forgotten promise to Dr. Lavendar. 

But it was not until the next Monday afternoon that she roused herselfsufficiently to give much thought to the matter. Then she decided togo down to the Rectory and see the child. It was another dark day ofclouds hanging low, bulging big and black with wind and ravelling intorain along the edges. She hesitated at the discomfort of going out, but she said to herself, dully, that she supposed she needed the walk. As she went down the hill her cheeks began to glow with the buffet ofthe wind, and her leaf-brown eyes shone crystal clear from under hersoft hair, crinkling in the mist and blowing all about her smoothforehead. The mist had thickened to rain before she reached theRectory, and her cloak was soaked, which made Dr. Lavendar reproachher for her imprudence. 

"And where are your gums?" he demanded. When she confessed that shehad forgotten them, he scolded her roundly. 

"I'll see that the little boy wears them when he comes to visit me, "she said, a comforted look coming into her face. 

"David? David will look after himself like a man, and keep you inorder, too. As for visiting you, my dear, you'd better visit him alittle first. I tell you--stay and have supper with us to-night?"

But she protested that she had only come for a few minutes to askabout David. "I must go right home, " she said nervously. 

"No, no. You can't get away, --oh!" he broke off excitedly--"here heis!" Dr. Lavendar's eagerness at the sight of the little boy who camerunning up the garden path, his hurry to open the front door and bringhim into the study to present him to Mrs. Richie, fussing and proudand a little tremulous, would have touched her, if she had noticedhim. But she did not notice him, --the child absorbed her. She couldnot leave him. Before she knew it she found herself taking off herbonnet and saying she would stay to tea. 

"David, " said Dr. Lavendar, "I've got a bone in my leg; so you run andget me a clean pocket-handkerchief. "

"Can I go up-stairs like a crocodile?" said David. 

"Certainly, if it affords you the slightest personal satisfaction, "Dr. Lavendar told him; and while the little boy crawled laboriously onhis stomach all the way up-stairs, Dr. Lavendar talked about him. Hesaid he thought the child had been homesick just at first; he hadmissed his sister Janey. "He told me 'Janey' gave him 'forty kisses'every night, " said Dr. Lavendar; "I thought that told a story--" Atthat moment the crocodile, holding a handkerchief between his teeth, came rapidly, head foremost, down-stairs. Dr. Lavendar raised acautioning hand;--"Mustn't talk about him, now!"

There was a quality in that evening that was new to Helena; it wasdull, of course;--how very dull Lloyd would have found it! A childlikeold man asking questions with serious simplicity of a little boy whowas full of his own important interests and anxieties;--the feeding ofDanny, and the regretful wonder that in heaven, the little dog wouldnot be "let in. "

"Who said he wouldn't?" Dr. Lavendar demanded, fiercely, while Dannyyawned with embarrassment at hearing his own name. 

"You read about heaven in the Bible, " David said, suddenly shy; "an'it said outside were dogs;--an' some other animals I can't rememberthe names of. "

Dr. Lavendar explained with a twinkle that shared with his visitor thehumor of those "other animals" itemized in the Revelations. It was avery mild humor; everything was mild at the Rectory; the very airseemed gentle! There was no apprehension, no excitement, noantagonism; only the placid commonplace of goodness and affection. Helena could not remember such an evening in all her life. And thefriendship between youth and age was something she had never dreamedof. She saw David slip from his chair at table, and run around to Dr. Lavendar's side to reach up and whisper in his ear, --oh, if he wouldbut put his cheek against hers, and whisper in her ear!

The result of that secret colloquy was that David knelt down in frontof the dining-room fire, and made a slice of smoky toast for Dr. Lavendar. 

"After supper you might roast an apple for Mrs. Richie, " the oldminister suggested. And David's eyes shone with silent joy. Withanxious deliberation he picked out an apple from the silver wirebasket on the sideboard; and when they went into the study, hepresented a thread to Mrs. Richie. 

"Tie it to the stem, " he commanded. "You're pretty slow, " he addedgently, and indeed her white fingers blundered with the unaccustomedtask. When she had accomplished it, David wound the other end of thethread round a pin stuck in the high black mantel-shelf. The appledropped slowly into place before the bars of the grate, and began--aseverybody who has been a child knows--to spin slowly round, and then, slowly back again. David, squatting on the rug, watched it in silence. But Mrs. Richie would not let him be silent. She leaned forward, eagerto touch him--his shoulders, his hair, his cheek, hot with the fire. 

"Won't you come and sit in my lap?"

David glanced at Dr. Lavendar as though for advice; then got up andclimbed on to Mrs. Richie's knee, keeping an eye on the apple thatbobbed against the grate and sizzled. 

"Will you make me a little visit, dear?"

David sighed. "I seem to visit a good deal; I'd like to belongsomewhere. "

"Oh, you will, one of these days, " Dr. Lavendar assured him. 

"I'd like to belong to you, " David said thoughtfully. 

Dr. Lavendar beamed, and looked proudly at Mrs. Richie. 

"Because, " David explained, "I love Goliath. "

"Oh, " said Dr. Lavendar blankly. 

"It's blackening on one side, " David announced, and slid down fromMrs. Richie's knee to set the apple spinning again. 

"The red cheek is beginning to crack, " said Dr. Lavendar, deeplyinterested; "smells good, doesn't it, Mrs. Richie?"

"Have you any little boys and girls?" David asked, watching the apple. 

"Come and climb on my knee and I'll tell you, " she bribed him. 

He came reluctantly; the apple was spinning briskly now under theimpulse of a woolly burst of pulp through the red skin. 

"Have you?" he demanded. 

"No, David. "

Here his interest in Mrs. Richie's affairs flagged, for the applebegan to steam deliciously. Dr. Lavendar, watching her with his shrewdold eyes, asked her one or two questions; but, absorbed in the child, she answered quite at random. She put her cheek against his hair, andwhispered, softly: "Turn round, and I'll give you forty kisses. "Instantly David moved his head away. The snub was so complete that shelooked over at Dr. Lavendar, hoping he had not seen it. "I once knew alittle baby, " she said, trying to hide her embarrassment, "that hadcurly hair the color of yours. "

"It has begun to drip, " said David briefly. "Does Alice live at yourhouse?"

"_Alice!_"

"The gentleman--your brother--said Alice was nineteen. I thought maybeshe lived at your house. "

"No, dear. Look at the apple!"

David looked. "Why not?"

"Why, she lives at her own house, dear little boy. " "Does she pay youa visit?"

"No. David, I think the apple is done. Why didn't you roast one forDr. Lavendar?"

"I had to do it for you because you're company. Why doesn't she payyou a visit?"

"Because--oh, for a good many reasons. I'm afraid must go home now. "

The child slipped from her knee with unflattering haste. "You've gotto eat your apple first, " he said, and ran to get a saucer and spoon. With great care the thread was broken and the apple secured. ThenDavid sat calmly down in front of her to watch her eat it; but afterthe first two or three mouthfuls, Dr. Lavendar had pity on her, andthe smoky skin and the hard core were banished to the dining-room. While the little boy was carrying them off, she said eagerly, that shewanted him. 

"You'll let me have him?"

"I'm going to keep him for a while. "

"Oh, do give him to me!" she urged. 

"Not yet. You come here and see him. I won't make ye eat a roast appleevery time. " He smiled at her as he spoke, for she was clasping herhands, and her eyes were eager and shining. 

"I must have him! I _must_!"

"No use teasing--here comes Dr. King. He'll tell you I'm an obstinateold man. Hey, Willy, my boy! Ain't I an obstinate old man?"

"You are, " said William. He had walked in unannounced, in good OldChester fashion, and stood smiling in the doorway. 

"Oh, plead my cause!" she said, turning to him. 

"Of course I will. But it isn't much use; we are all under his heel. "

They were standing, for Mrs. Richie had said she must go, when Dr. Lavendar had an idea: "Would you mind seeing her home, Willy?" hesaid, in an aside. "I was going to send Mary, but this is a chance toget better acquainted with her--if you're not too tired. "

"Of course I'm not too tired, " the doctor said eagerly, and went backto the fireside where Mrs. Richie had dropped on her knees beforeDavid. "I'm going to walk home with you, " he announced. She looked upwith a quick protest, but he only laughed. "If we let you go alone, your brother will think we have no manners in Old Chester. Besides Ineed the walk. " And when she had fastened her cloak, and kissed Davidgood night, and thrown Dr. Lavendar an appealing look, William gaveher his hand down the two steps from the front door, and then made hertake his arm. Dr. Lavendar had provided a lantern, and as its shiftingbeam ran back and forth across the path the doctor bade her be carefulwhere she stepped. "These flag-stones are abominably rough, " he said;"I never noticed it before. And one can't see in the dark. "

But what with the lantern and the stars, there was light enough forWilliam King to see the stray curl that blew across her forehead--brown, was it? And yet, William remembered that in daylight her hairwas too bright to be called brown. He was solicitous lest he wasmaking her walk too fast. "I don't want your brother to think we don'ttake care of you in Old Chester, " he said; and in the starlight hecould see that her face flushed a little. Then he repeated some OldChester gossip, which amused her very much--and held his breath tolisten to the delicious gayety of her laugh. 

"There ought to be a better path for you up the hill, " he said; "Imust speak to Sam Wright about it. " And carefully he flung thenoiseless zigzag of light back and forth in front of her, and toldsome more stories that he might hear that laugh again. 

When he left her at her own door she said with a sudden impetuoustimidity, "Dr. King, _please_ make Dr. Lavendar give me the littleboy!"

"I will!" he said, and laughed at her radiant face. 

It seemed to the doctor as he went down the hill, that he had had amost delightful evening. He could not recollect what they had talkedabout, but he knew that they had agreed on every point. "A veryintelligent lady, " he said to himself. 

"William, " said Martha, looking up from her mending as he entered thesitting-room, "did you remember to tell Davis that the kitchen sinkleaks?"

"Oh!" said the doctor blankly; "well--I'll tell him in the morning. "Then, smiling vaguely, he dropped down into his shabby old easy-chair, and watched Martha's darning-needle plod in and out. "Martha, " he saidafter a while, "what shade would you call your hair if it was--well, kind of brighter?"

"_What?_ said Martha, looking at him over her spectacles; she put upher hard capable hand and touched her hair softly, as if she hadforgotten it. "My hair used to be a real chestnut. Do you meanchestnut?"

"I guess I do. It's a pretty color. "

Martha looked at him with a queer shyness in her married eyes, thentossed her head a little and thrust her darning-needle into the graystocking with a jaunty air. "That's what you used to say, " she said. After a while, noticing his tired lounge in the old chair, she saidkindly, "Why did you stay so long at Dr. Lavendar's, Willy? You looktired. Do go to bed. "

"Oh, " William explained, "I didn't stay very long; he asked me to seeMrs. Richie home. She had taken tea with him. "

Martha's face suddenly hardened. "Oh, " she said coldly. Then, after ashort silence: "Mrs. Richie's hair is too untidy for my taste. "

When Dr. Lavendar went back into the study he found David curled up inan arm-chair in profound meditation. 

"What are you thinking about so hard?" Dr. Lavendar said. 

"Yesterday. After church. "

"Thinking about yesterday?" Dr. Lavendar repeated puzzled. Davidoffered no explanation, and the old minister searched his memory forany happening of interest after church ... But found none. He had comeout of the vestry and in the church David had joined him, followinghim down the aisle to the door and waiting close behind him throughthe usual Sunday greetings: "Morning, Sam!" "Good morning, Dr. Lavendar. " "How are you, Ezra? How many drops of water make the mightyocean, Ezra?" "The amount of water might be estimated in tons, Dr. Lavendar, but I doubt whether the number of minims could be compu--""Hullo! there's Horace; how d'ye do, Horace? How's Jim thismorning?"--and so on; the old friendly greetings of all the friendlyyears.... Surely nothing in them to make the child thoughtful?

Suddenly David got up and came and stood beside him. 

"What is your name?"

"N. Or M. , " Dr. Lavendar replied. 

"What, sir?" said David, in a troubled voice; and Dr. Lavendar wasabashed. 

"My name is Edward Lavendar, sir. Why do you want to know?"

"Because, yesterday everybody said 'Dr. Lavendar. ' I didn't thinkDoctor could be your front name. All the other people had frontnames. "

"Well, I have a front name, David, but you see, there's nobody in OldChester to call me by it. " He sighed slightly, and then he smiled. "The last one who called me by my front name is dead, David. John washis name. I called him Johnny. "

David looked at him with wide eyes, silent. Dr. Lavendar took his pipeout of his mouth, and stared for a minute at the fire. 

"I should think, " David said sadly, "God would be discouraged to have_everybody_ He makes, die. "

At that Dr. Lavendar came quickly out of his reverie. "Oh, it's betterthat way, " he said, cheerfully. "One of these days I'll tell you why. What do you say to a game of dominoes?"

David squeaked with pleasure. Then he paused to say: "Is that lady, Alice's aunt?" and Dr. Lavendar had to recall who "Alice" was beforehe could say "yes. " Then a little table was pulled up, and thedominoes were poured out upon it, with a joyful clatter. For the nexthalf hour they were both very happy. In the midst of it Davidremarked, thoughtfully: "There are two kinds of aunts. One is bugs. She is the other kind. " And after Dr. Lavendar had stopped chucklingthey discussed the relative merits of standing the dominoes upright, or putting them on their sides, and Dr. Lavendar built his fence inalternate positions, which was very effective. It was so exciting thatbedtime was a real trial to them both. At the last stroke of eightDavid clenched both hands. 

"Perhaps the clock is fast?"

Dr. Lavendar compared it with his watch, and shook his headsympathetically. "No; just right. Tumble 'em back into the box. Goodnight. "

"Good night, sir, " David said, and stood hesitating. The color cameand went in his face, and he twisted the top button of his jacket withlittle nervous fingers. 

"Good night, " Dr. Lavendar repeated, significantly. 

But still David hesitated. Then he came and stood close beside Dr. Lavendar. "Lookee here, " he said tremulously, "_I'll_ call you Edward. I'd just as lieves as not. "

There was a full minute's silence. Then Dr. Lavendar said, "I thankyou, David. That is a kind thought. But no; I like Dr. Lavendar as aname. So many boys and girls have called me that, that I'm fond of it. And I like to have you use it. But I'm much obliged to you, David. NowI guess we'll say good night. Hey?"

The child's face cleared; he drew a deep breath as if he hadaccomplished something. Then he said good night, and trudged off tobed. Dr. Lavendar looked after him tenderly. 

CHAPTER X

April brightened into May before David came to live at the StuffedAnimal House. Dr. Lavendar had his own reasons for the delay, which hedid not share with anybody, but they resulted in a sort of intimacy, which Helena, eager for the child, could not refuse. 

"He needs clothes, " Dr. Lavendar put her off; "I can't let him visityou till Mary gets his wardrobe to rights. "

"Oh, let me get his little things. "

--Now, who would have supposed that Dr. Lavendar was so deep! To beginwith, he was a man, and an old man, at that; and with never a chick ora child of his own. How did he know what a child's little clothes areto a woman?--"Well, " he said, "suppose you make him a set of night-drawers. "

Helena's face fell. "I don't know how to sew. I thought I could buywhat he needed. "

"No; he has enough bought things, but if you will be so kind, my dear, as to make--"

"I will!" she promised, eagerly, and Dr. Lavendar said he would bringDavid up to be measured. 

Her sewing was a pathetic blunder of haste and happiness; it broughtDr. Lavendar and David up to the Stuffed Animal House very often, "totry on. " David's coming was always a delight, but the old man frettedher, somehow;--he was so good. She said so to William King, wholaughed at the humor of a good woman's objection to goodness. Theincongruity of such a remark from her lips was as amusing as a child'sinnocently base comment. 

[Illustration: Her sewing was a pathetic blunder of haste andhappiness. _Awakening of Helena Richie_]

William had fallen into the habit of drawing up and calling out "goodmorning" whenever he and his mare passed her gate. Mrs. Richie's lackof common sense seemed to delight the sensible William. When he waswith her, he was in the frame of mind that finds everything a joke. Itwas a demand for the eternal child in her, to which, involuntarily, she responded. She laughed at him, and even teased him about hisshabby buggy with a gayety that made him tingle with pleasure. Sheused to wonder at herself as she did it--conscious and uneasy, andresolving every time that she would not do it again. She had none ofthis lightness with any one else. With Dr. Lavendar she was reservedto the point of coldness, and with young Sam Wright, matter-of-fact toa discouraging degree. 

But she did not see Sam often in the next month. It had occurred toSam senior that Adam Smith might cure the boy's taste for 'bosh'; so, by his father's orders, his Sunday afternoons were devoted to _TheWealth of Nations_. As for his evenings, his grandfather tookpossession of them. Benjamin Wright's proposal that the young manshould go away for a while, had fallen flat; Sam replying, frankly, that he did not care to leave Old Chester. As Mr. Wright was notprepared to give any reasons for urging his plan, he dropped it; andinstead on Sunday nights detained his grandson to listen to this orthat drama or poem until the boy could hardly hide his impatience. When he was free and could hurry down the hill road, as often as notthe lights were out in the Stuffed Animal House, and he could onlylinger at the gate and wonder which was her window. But when he didfind her, he had an evening of passionate delight, even thoughoccasionally she snubbed him, lazily. 

"Do you go out in your skiff much?" she asked once; and when heanswered, "No; I filled it with stones and sunk it, because you didn'tlike rowing, " she spoke to him with a sharpness that surprisedherself, though it produced no effect whatever on Sam. 

"You are a very foolish boy! What difference does it make whether Ilike rowing or not?"

Sam smiled placidly, and said he had had hard work to get stonesenough to fill the skiff. "I put them in, " he explained, "and then Isculled out in mid-stream, and scuttled her. I had to swim ashore. Itwas night, and the water was like flowing ink, and there was a star inevery ripple, " he ended dreamily. 

"Sam, " she said, "if you don't stop being so foolish, I won't let youcome and see me, "

"Am I a nuisance about my drama?" he asked with alarm. 

"Not about your drama, " she said significantly; but Sam was too happyto draw any unflattering deductions. 

When old Mr. Wright discovered that his stratagem of keeping hisgrandson late Sunday evenings had not checked the boy's acquaintancewith Mrs. Richie, he tried a more direct method. "You young ass! Can'tyou keep away from that house? She thinks you are a nuisance!"

"No, grandfather, " Sam assured him earnestly, "she doesn't. I askedher, and she said--"

"Asked her?" roared the old man, "Do you expect a female to tell thetruth?" And then he swore steadily for a minute. "I'll have to seeLavendar, " he said despairingly. 

But Mr. Wright's cause was aided by some one stronger than Dr. Lavendar. Helena's attention was so fixed on the visitor who wascoming to the Stuffed Animal House that Sam's conversation ceased toamuse her. Those little night-drawers on which she pricked her fingersinterested her a thousand times more than did his dramatic visions. They interested her so much that sometimes she could almost forgetthat Lloyd Pryor's visit was delayed. For though it was the first ofMay, he had not come again. "I am so busy, " he wrote; "it isimpossible for me to get away. I suppose David will have his sling allready for me when I do arrive?"

Helena was sitting on the porch with her clumsy needlework when Sarahbrought her the letter, and after she had read it, she tore it upangrily. "He was in Mercer a week ago; I know he was, because there isalways that directors' meeting on the last Thursday in April, so hemust have been there. And he wouldn't come!" Down in the orchard theapple-trees were in blossom, and when the wind stirred, the petalsfell in sudden warm white showers; across the sky, from west to east, was a path of mackerel clouds. It was a pastel of spring--a dappledsky, apple blossoms, clover, and the river's sheen of gray-blue. Allabout her were the beginnings of summer--the first exquisite green ofyoung leaves; oaks, still white and crumpled from their furry sheaths;horse-chestnuts, each leaf drooping from its stem like a hand bendingat the wrist; a thin flicker of elm buds, still distrustful of thesun. Later, this delicate dance of foliage would thicken so that thehouse would be in shadow, and the grass under the locusts on eitherside of the front door fade into thin, mossy growth. But just now itwas overflowing with May sunshine. "Oh, he _would_ enjoy it if hewould only come, " she thought. Well, anyhow, David would like it; andshe began to fell her seam with painstaking unaccustomed fingers. 

The child was to come that day. Half a dozen times she dropped herwork to run to the gate, and shielding her eyes with her hand lookeddown the road to Old Chester, but there was no sign of the jogginghood of the buggy. Had anything happened? Was he sick? _Had Dr. Lavendar changed his mind?_ Her heart stood still at that. Shedebated whether or not she should go down to the Rectory and find outwhat the delay meant? Then she called to one of the servants who wascrossing the hall, that she wondered why the little boy who was tovisit her, did not come. Her face cleared at the reminder that thechild went to school in the morning. 

"Why, of course! I suppose he will have to go every morning?" sheadded ruefully. 

"My, " Maggie said smiling, "you're wan that ought to have six!"

Mrs. Richie smiled, too. Then she said to herself that she wouldn'tlet him go to school every day; she was sure he was not strong enough. She ventured something like this to Dr. Lavendar when, about fouro'clock, Goliath and the buggy finally appeared. 

"Strong enough?" said Dr. Lavendar. "He's strong enough to study agreat deal harder than he does, the little rascal! I'm afraid RoseKnight will spoil him; she's almost as bad as Ellen Bailey. You didn'tknow our Ellen, did ye? No; she'd married Spangler and gone out Westbefore you came to us. Ah, a dear woman, but wickedly unselfish. RoseKnight took the school when Spangler took Ellen. " Then he added one ortwo straight directions: Every school-day David was to come to theRectory for his dinner, and to Collect Class on Saturdays. "You willhave to keep him at his catechism, " said Dr. Lavendar; "he is weak onthe long answers. "

"Oh!" Helena said, rather startled; "you don't want me to teach him--things like that, do you?"

"Things like what?"

"The catechism, and--to pray, and--"

Dr. Lavendar smiled. "You can teach folks to say their prayers, mydear, but nobody can teach them to pray. Only life does that. ButDavid's been taught his prayers; you just let him say 'em at yourknee, that's all"

David, dismissed to the garden while his elders talked, had discoveredthe rabbit-hutch, and could hardly tear himself away from it to saygood-by. But when Dr. Lavendar called out that he was going, thelittle boy's heart misgave him. He came and stood by the step of thebuggy, and picked with nervous fingers at the dry mud on the wheel--for Dr. Lavendar's buggy was not as clean as it should have been. 

"Well, David?" Dr. Lavendar said cheerfully. The child with his chinsunk on his breast said something. "What?" said Dr. Lavendar. 

David mumbled a word or two in a voice that seemed to come from hisstomach; it sounded like, "Like you best. " But Dr. Lavendar did nothear it, and David ran swiftly back to the rabbits. There Helena foundhim, gazing through two large tears at the opal-eyed pair behind thewooden bars. Their white shell-like ears wavered at her step, and theypaused in their nibbling; then went on again with timid, jewel-likeglances in her direction. 

Helena, at the sight of those two tears, knelt down beside the littleboy, eager to be sympathetic. But he did not notice her, and by and bythe tears dried up. After she had tried to make him talk;--of Dr. Lavendar, of school, of his old home;--without drawing anything morefrom him than "yes ma'am, " or "no ma'am, " she gave it up and waiteduntil he should be tired of the rabbits. The sun was warm, the smellof the crushed dock leaves heavy in the sheltered corner behind thebarn; it was so silent that they could hear the nibbling of the twoprisoners, who kept glancing at them with apprehensive eyes thatgleamed with pale red fires. David sighed with joy. 

"What are their names?" he said at last in a low voice. 

"They haven't any names; you can name them if you like. "

"I shall call them Mr. And Mrs. Smith, " he said with decision. Andthen fell silent again. 

"You came to Old Chester in the stage with Mr. Pryor, " she said aftera while; "he told me you were a very nice little boy. "

"How did he know?" demanded David. 

"He is very nice himself, " Helena said smiling. 

David meditated. "Is that gentleman my enemy?"

"Of course not! he isn't anybody's enemy, " she told him reprovingly. 

David turned silently to his rabbits. 

"Why did you think he was your enemy?" she persisted. 

"I only just hoped he wasn't; I don't want to love him. "

"What!"

"If he was my enemy, I'd have to love him, you know, " David explainedpatiently. 

Helena in her confused astonishment knew not what to reply. Shestammered something about that being wrong; of course David must loveMr. Pryor!

"They ought to have fresh water, " David interrupted thoughtfully; andHelena had to reach into the hutch for a battered tin pan. 

She watched him run to the stable and come back, holding the pan inboth hands and walking very slowly under the mottled branches of thebutton-woods; at every step the water splashed over the rusty brim, and the sunshine, catching and flickering in it, was reflected in arippling gleam across his serious face. 

All that afternoon he permitted her to follow him about. He was gentlypolite when she spoke to him but he hardly noticed her until, as theywent down through the orchard, his little hand tightened suddenly onhers, and he pressed against her skirts. 

"Are there snakes in this grass?" he asked timorously. "A snake, " headded, looking up at her confidingly, "is the only insect I am afraidof. "

She stooped down and cuddled him reassuringly, and he rewarded her bysnuggling up against her like a friendly puppy. She was very happy. Asit grew dusk and cool, and all the sky was yellow behind the blackline of the hills, she lured him into the house and watched him eathis supper, forgetting to eat her own. 

When she took him up-stairs to bed, Dr. Lavendar's directions cameback to her with a slight shock--she must hear him say his prayers. How was she to introduce the subject? The embarrassed color burned inher cheeks as she helped him undress and tried to decide on the propermoment to speak of--prayers. But David took the matter into his ownhands. As he stepped into his little night-clothes, buttoning themaround his waist with slow precision, he said:

"Now I'll say my prayers. Sit by the window; then I can see that starwhen I open my eyes. It's hard to keep your eyes shut so long, ain'tit?" he added confidentially. 

Helena sat down, her heart fluttering in her throat. David kneltbeside her, shutting first one eye and then the other. "'Now I layme--"' he began in a businesslike voice. At the Amen he opened his eyesand drew a long breath. Helena moved slightly and he shut his eyesagain; "I've not done yet. 

"'Jesus, tender Shepherd, hear me, Bless Thy little lamb to-night--'"

He paused and looked up at Mrs. Richie. "Can I say colt?" Before shecould reply he decided for himself. "No; colts don't have shepherds;it has to be lamb. "

Her silent laughter did not disturb him. He finished with anothersatisfied Amen. Helena put her arms about him to raise him from thefloor, but he looked up, aggrieved. 

"Why, I've not done yet, " he reproached her "You've forgot theblessings. "

"The blessings?" she asked timidly. 

"Why, of course, " said David, trying to be patient; "but I'm mostdone, " he encouraged her. "God bless everybody--Dr. Lavendar taught methe new blessings, " he interrupted himself, his eyes snapping open, "because my old blessings were all gone to heaven. God blesseverybody; Dr. Lavendar, an' Mary, an' Goliath--" Helena laughed. "Hesaid I could, " David defended himself doggedly--"an' Danny, an' Dr. King, an' Mrs. Richie. And make me a good boy. For Jesus' sake Amen. Now I'm done!" cried David, scrambling happily to his feet. 

"And--Mr. Pryor, too? Won't you ask God to bless Mr. Pryor?"

"But, " said David, frowning, "I'm done. "

"After this, though, it would be nice--"

"Well, " David answered coldly, "God can bless him if He wants to. ButHe needn't do it just to please me. "

CHAPTER XI

When Dr. Lavendar left David at the Stuffed Animal House, he didn'tfeel, somehow, like going home; the Rectory would be so quiet. Itoccurred to him that, as he was on the hill, he might as well look inon Benjamin Wright. 

He found the old gentleman in his beaver hat and green serge dressing-gown, tottering up and down the weedy driveway in front of hisveranda, and repeating poetry. 

"O great corrector of enormous times, Shaker of o'er rank states, thougrand decider Of dusty and old titles, that healest with blood--Hello!'Bout time you came to see me. I suppose you want to get some moneyout of me for something?"

"Of course; I always want money out of somebody for something. There'sa leak in the vestry roof. How are you?"

"How do you suppose I am? At eighty-one, with one foot in the grave!Ready to jump over a five-barred gate?"

"I'm seventy-two, " said Dr. Lavendar, "and I played marblesyesterday. "

"Come in and have a smoke, " the older man said, hobbling on to theveranda, where four great white columns, blistered and flaked by time, supported a roof that darkened the shuttered windows of the secondstory. 

He led the way indoors to the dining-room, growling that his nigger, Simmons, was a fool. "He _says_ he closes the shutters to keep theflies out; makes the room as dark as a pocket, and there ain't anyflies this time of year, anyhow. He does it to stop my birds fromsinging; he can't fool me! To stop my birds!" He went over to one ofthe windows and pushed the shutters open with a clatter; instantly atwitter ran from cage to cage, and the fierce melancholy of his oldface softened. "Hear that?" he said proudly. 

"I ought to come oftener, " Dr. Lavendar reproached himself; "he'slonely. "

And, indeed, the room with its mammoth sideboard black with age andits solitary chair at one end of the long table, was lonely enough. Onthe walls, papered a generation ago with a drab paper sprinkled overwith occasional pale gilt medallions, were some time-stainedengravings: "The Destruction of Nineveh"; "The Trial of Effie Deans";"The Death-bed of Washington. " A gloomy room at best; now, with theshutters of one window still bowed, and the faint twitter of thecanaries, and that one chair at the head of the table, it was verymelancholy. 

"Sit down!" said Benjamin Wright. Still in his moth-eaten high hat, heshuffled about to fetch from the sideboard a fat decanter with asilver chain and label around its neck, and two tumblers. 

"No, " said Dr. Lavendar; "I'm obliged to you. "

"What, temperance?" snarled the other. 

"Well, I hope so, " Dr. Lavendar said, "but not a teetotaler, if that'swhat you mean. Only I don't happen to want any whiskey at five o'clockin the afternoon. "

At which his host swore softly, and lifting the decanter poured outtwo good fingers. 

"Mr. Wright, " said Dr. Lavendar, "I will be obliged if you will notswear in my presence. "

"You needn't talk to me, " cried Benjamin Wright, "I despise thisdamned profanity there is about; besides, I am always scrupulouslyparticular in my language before females and parsons. Well;--I wantedto see you, because that jack-donkey, Sam, my grandson, is causing mesome anxiety. "

"Why, Sam is a good boy, " Dr. Lavendar protested. 

"Too good. I like a boy to be human at twenty-three. He doesn't knowthe wickedness of the world. "

"Thank God, " said Dr. Lavendar. 

"Dominie, ignorance ain't virtue. "

"No; but it's a fair substitute. I wouldn't want one of my boys to beable to pass an examination on wrong-doing. "

"But you want him to recognize it when he sees it, don't you?"

"If he knows goodness, you can trust him to recognize the other thing. Teach 'em goodness. Badness will label itself, "

"Doesn't follow, " Benjamin Wright said. "But you're a parson; parsonsknow about as much as females--good females. Look here! I have reasonsfor saying that the boy ought to get out of Old Chester. I want yourassistance. "

"Get out of Old Chester!--to see how wicked the world is?"

Mr. Wright shook his head. "No; he could see that here--only the puppyhasn't got his eyes open yet. A little knocking about the world, suchas any boy ought to have, will open 'em. Living in Old Chester isnarrowing; very narrowing. Besides, he's got--well, he's got sometruck he's written. It isn't entirely bad, Lavendar, and he might aswell try to get it published, or, maybe, produced in some theatre. Solet him go and hunt up a publisher or a manager. Now, very likely, his--his _mother_ won't approve. I want you to urge--her, to let himgo. "

"Travelling might be good for Sam, " said Dr. Lavendar; "I admit that--though not to learn the wickedness of the world. But I don't know thatit would be worth while to take a journey just on account of hiswriting. He could put it in an envelope and mail it to a publisher;he'd get it back just as soon, " Dr. Lavendar said chuckling. "Lookhere, what's the matter? I can see you're concerned about the boy. "

"Concerned?" cried Benjamin Wright, pounding the table with histumbler and chewing orange-skin rapidly. "I'm damned concerned. "

"I will ask, sir, that you will not swear in my presence. "

Mr. Wright coughed. "I will endeavor to respect the cloth, " he saidstiffly. 

"If you will respect yourself, it will be sufficient. As for Sam, ifthere's anything wrong, his father ought to know it. "

"Well then, tell his--_mother_, that there is something wrong. "

"What?"

Mr. Wright got up, and clasping his hands behind him, shuffled aboutthe room. Instantly one of the canaries began to sing. "Stop that!" hesaid. The bird quivered with shrill music. "Stop! You! ... There's nosuch thing as conversation, with these creatures about, " he added in aproud aside. "Did you ever hear such singing?"

Dr. Lavendar, unable to make himself heard, shook his head. 

"If you don't stop, " said Mr. Wright, "I'll wring your neck!" and asthe bird continued, he opened the door. "Simmons! You freckled nigger!Bring me the apron. " Then he stamped, and cursed the slowness ofniggers. Simmons, however, came as fast as his old legs could carryhim, bearing a blue gingham apron. This, thrown over the cage, produced silence. 

"There! Now, perhaps, you'll hold your tongue? ... Lavendar, I prefernot to say what is wrong. Merely tell Sam's--_mother_, that hehad better go. If she is too mean to provide the money, I will. "

"Sam's father is not too mean to do anything for Sam's welfare; but ofcourse, a general accusation is not convincing; should not beconvincing--Why!" said Dr. Lavendar, interrupting himself, "bless myheart! I believe you mean that the boy is making sheep's-eyes at yourneighbor here on the hill? Is that it? Why, Benjamin, the best way tocure that is to pay no attention to it. "

"Sir, " said Mr. Wright, sinking into his chair breathlessly, andtapping the table with one veined old finger; "when I was a young man, it was not thought proper to introduce the name of a female into adiscussion between gentlemen. "

"Well, " Dr. Lavendar admitted, "maybe not--when you were young. Butall of us young folks in Old Chester know perfectly well that Sam issmitten, and we are ignoring it. "

"What! His--_mother_ knows it?"

"His father knows it perfectly well, " said Dr. Lavendar smiling. 

Mr. Wright got up again, his fingers twitching with impatience. "Lavendar, " he began--another bird trilled, and snarling withannoyance, he pulled the blue apron from the first cage and threw itover the second. "These creatures drive me distracted! ... Lavendar, to get Sam out of Old Chester, I might almost consent to see his--_mother_, if there was no other way to accomplish it. "

At that Dr. Lavendar stopped smiling. "Benjamin, " he said solemnly, "if any foolishness on the part of the boy brings you to such wisdom, the hand of the Lord will be in it!"

"I don't want to see--his relations!" cried Benjamin Wright; "butSam's got to get away from this place for a while, and if you won'tpersuade his--_mother_ to allow it, why I might be driven toseeing--her. But why shouldn't he try to get his truck published?"

Dr. Lavendar was very much moved. "If you'll only see your son, " hesaid, "this other business will straighten itself out somehow. But--"he paused; "getting Sam's play published isn't a very good excuse forseeing him. I'd rather have him think you were worried because the boyhad an attack of calf-love. No; I wouldn't want you to talk abouttheatrical things, " Dr. Lavendar ended thoughtfully. 

"Why not?"

"Well, the fact is, Samuel has no sympathy with dramas or playhouses. I do not myself approve of the theatre, but I am told respectablepersons have adopted the profession. Samuel, however, can't find anygood in it. "

"He can't, can't he? Well, well; it was efficacious--it wasefficacious!"

"What was efficacious?"

Benjamin Wright laughed loudly. "You--don't know? He never told you?"

"You mean what you and he quarrelled about? No; he never told me. "

"He was a fool. "

"Benjamin, if you were not a fool at twenty-four; you missed a gooddeal. "

"And now he objects to theatrical things?"

"He objects so intensely, " said Dr. Lavendar, "that, anxious as I amto have you meet and bring this foolish and wicked quarrel to an end, I should really hesitate to have you do so, if you insisted ondiscussing that subject. "

Benjamin Wright lifted one trembling fist. "It was efficacious!"

"And you would give your right hand to undo it, " said Dr. Lavendar. 

The very old man lowered his shaking right hand and looked at it; thenhe said sullenly, "I only wanted his own good. You ought to see that--a parson!"

"But you forget; I don't know what it was about. "

Mr. Wright's face twitched. "Well, " he said spasmodically, "I'll-tellyou. I--"

"Yes?"

"I--" his voice broke, then he coughed, then he tried to laugh. "Simple enough; simple enough. I had occasion to send him to Mercer. He was to come back that night. " Mr. Wright stopped; poured somewhiskey into his glass, and forgetting to add any water, drank it at agulp, "He didn't come back until the next afternoon. "

"Yes. Well?"

"In those days I was of--of somewhat hasty temper. "

"So I have heard, " said Dr, Lavendar, Benjamin Wright glared. "When I was young, listening to gossip was notthought becoming in the cloth. When he came, I learned that he hadstayed over in Mercer--without my consent, mark you--_to go to thetheatre!_"

"Well?" said Dr, Lavendar. "He was twenty-four. Why should he haveyour consent?"

Mr. , Wright waved this question aside. "When he came home, I spokewith some severity, "

"This quarrel, " said Dr. Lavendar, "is not built on such folly asthat. "

Benjamin Wright shook his head, and made a careless gesture with histrembling hand. "Not--entirely. I reproved him, as I say. And he wasimpertinent. Impertinent, mind you, to his father! And I--in thosedays my temper was somewhat quick--I--"

"Yes?"

But Mr. Wright seemed unable to proceed, except to say again, "I--reproved him, "

"But, " Dr. Lavendar protested, "you don't mean to tell me that Samuel, just for a reproof, an unkind and unjust reproof, would--why, I cannotbelieve it!"

"It was not unjust!" Benjamin Wright's melancholy eyes flamed angrily. 

"I know, Samuel, " said Dr. Lavendar. "He is obstinate; I've told himso a hundred times. And he's conceited--so's everybody, more or less;if in nothing else, we're conceited because we're not conceited. Buthe's not a fool. So, whether he is right or not, I am sure he thinkshe had something more to complain of than a good blowing-up?"

"In a way, " said the old man, examining his ridgy finger-nails andspeaking with a gasp, "he had. Slightly. "

Dr. Lavendar's stern lip trembled with anxiety. "What?"

"I--chastised him; a little. "

"You--_what_?"

Benjamin Wright nodded; the wrinkled pouches under his eyes grew dullyred. "My God!" he said plaintively; "think of that--a hasty moment!Thirty-two years; my God! I--spanked him. "

Dr. Lavendar opened his lips to speak, but found no words. 

"And he was offended! Offended? What right had he to be offended?_I_ was the offended party. He went to a low theatre. Apparentlyyou see nothing wrong in that? Well, I've always said that everyparson had the making of an actor in him. It's a toss-up--the stage orthe pulpit. Same thing at bottom. But perhaps even you won't approveof his staying away all night? Smoking! Drinking! He'd been drunk. Heconfessed it. And there was a woman in it. He confessed that. Saidthey'd all 'gone to supper together. ' Said that he was 'seeing theworld'--which a man ('_man_, ' if you please!) of his years had aright to do. Well; I suppose you'd have had me smile at him, and tuckhim up in bed to sleep off his headache, and give him a stick ofcandy? That wasn't my way. I reproved him. I--chastised him. Perfectlyproper. Perhaps--unusual. He was twenty-four, and I laid him across myknee, and--well; I got over it in fifteen minutes. I was, perhaps, hasty My temper in those days was not what it is now. But I forgavehim in fifteen minutes; and he had gone! He's been gone--for thirty-two years. My God!"

He poured out another finger of whiskey, but forgot to drink it. Acanary-bird chirped loudly, then lapsed into a sleepy twitter. 

"I was well rid of him! To make a quarrel out of a thing like that--ajoke, as you might say. I laughed, myself, afterwards, at the thoughtof it. A fellow of twenty-four--spanked! Why didn't he swear and bedone with it? I would have reproved him for his profanity, of course. Profanity in young persons is a thing I will not tolerate; Simmonswill tell you so. But it would have cleared the air. If he had donethat, we'd have been laughing about it, now;--he and I, together. " Theold man suddenly put both hands over his face, and a broken sound camefrom behind them. 

Dr. Lavendar shook his head, speechlessly. 

"What's the matter with you?" cried Benjamin Wright, pulling off hishat and banging it down on the table so fiercely that the crowncollapsed on one side like an accordion. "Good God! Can't you see thetomfoolery of this business of thirty-two years of hurt feelings?"

Dr. Lavendar was silent. 

"What! You excuse him? When I was young, parsons believed in the TenCommandments; 'Honor thy father and thy mother--'"

"There is another scripture which saith, 'Fathers, provoke not yourchildren to wrath. ' And when it comes to the Commandments, I wouldcommend the third to your attention. As for Samuel, you robbed him. "

"Robbed him?"

"You took his self-respect. A young man's dignity, at twenty-four, isas precious to him as a woman's modesty. You stole it. Yes; you robbedhim. Our Heavenly Father doesn't do that, when He punishes us. We loseour dignity ourselves; but He never robs us of it. Did ye ever noticethat? Well; you robbed Samuel. My--my--_my!_" Dr. Lavendar sighedwearily. For, indeed, the matter looked very dark. Here was the momenthe had prayed for--the readiness of one or the other of the two men totake the first step towards reconciliation. Such readiness, he hadthought, would mean the healing of the dreadful wound, whatever itwas; forgiveness on the father's part of some terrible wrong-doing, forgiveness on the son's part of equally terrible hardness of heart. Instead he found a cruel and ridiculous mortification, made permanentby thirty-two unpardoning years. Here was no sin to command thedreadful dignity of repentance, with its divine response offorgiveness. The very lack of seriousness in the cause made the effectmore serious. He looked over at the older man, and shook his head.... How could they pay their debts to each other, this father and son?Could Benjamin Wright return the self-respect he had stolen away?Could Samuel offer that filial affection which should have blessed allthese empty years? A wickedly ludicrous memory forbade the solemnityof a reconciliation: below any attempt the father might make, therewould be a grin, somewhere; below any attempt the son might make, there would be a cringe, somewhere. The only possible hope was inabsolute, flat commonplace. Play-writing, as a subject ofconversation, was out of the question!

"Benjamin, " he said with agitation, "I thank God that you are willingto see Samuel; but you must promise me not to refer to Sam's play. Youmust promise me this, or the last end of the quarrel will be worsethan the first. "

"I haven't said I was willing to see him, " Mr. Wright broke out; "I'm_not_ willing! Is it likely that I would hanker after an interview?All I want is to get the boy away from Old Chester; to 'see theworld. ' His--father ought to sympathize with that! Yes; to get himaway, I would even--But if you will tell his--relatives, that in myjudgment, he ought to go away, that is all that is necessary. "

"No! You must urge it yourself, " Dr. Lavendar said eagerly. "Put it onthe ground of calf-love, if you want to. I'll tell Samuel you want toget Sam out of town because you're afraid he's falling in love withMrs. Richie; and you'd like to consult him about it. "

But the old man began a scrabbling retreat. "No! No!" he said, puttingon his hat with shaking hands. "No, don't tell anybody anything. I'llfind some other way out of it. Let it go. Seeing his--relatives is alast resource. If they are so virtuous as to object to plays, I'll trysomething else. Object?" he repeated, "Gad-a-mercy! My discipline wassuccessful!" He grinned wickedly. 

Dr. Lavendar made no reply. The interview had been a strain, and hegot up a little feebly. Benjamin Wright, as he saw him to the door, swore again at some misdemeanor on the part of Simmons, but was notrebuked. 

The old minister climbed into his buggy, and told Goliath to "g'long. "As he passed the Stuffed Animal House, he peered through the littledusty window of the hood; but David was not in sight. 

CHAPTER XII

"I think, " said Dr. Lavendar, as he and Goliath came plodding intoOld Chester in the May dusk, "I think I'll go and see Willy. He'lltell me how much Sam's love-making amounts to. "

His mind was on the matter to such an extent that he hardly heardMary's anxious scolding because he looked tired, but his preoccupationlifted at supper, in the consciousness of how lonely he was withoutDavid. He really wanted to get out of the house and leave theloneliness behind him. So after tea he put on his broad-brimmed felthat and tied a blue muffler around his throat--Dr. Lavendar felt thecold a good deal; he said it was because the seasons were changing--and walked wearily over to Dr. King's house. That talk with BenjaminWright had told on him. 

"Well, " he said, as the doctor's wife opened the door, "how are you, Martha?"

"Very tired, " said Mrs. King. "And dear me, Dr. Lavendar, you looktired yourself. You're too old to do so much, sir. Come in and sitdown. "

"I'll sit down, " said Dr. Lavendar, dropping into a chair in theparlor; "but don't flatter yourself, Martha, that you'll ever be asyoung as I am!" ("He _is_ failing, " Mrs. King told her husbandafterwards. "He gets his words all mixed up. He says 'young' when hemeans 'old. ' Isn't that a sign of something, William?" "It's a sign ofgrace, " said the doctor shortly. )

 "I want Willy to come over and give my Mary a pill, " Dr. Lavendarexplained. "She is as cross as a bear, and cross people are generallysick people--although I suppose that's Mary's temperament, " he addedsighing. 

Martha shook her head. "In my judgment _temperament_ is just anotherword for temper: I don't believe in making excuses for it. That's agreat trick of William's, I'm sorry to say. "

"I should have thought you'd have cured him of it by this time?" Dr. Lavendar murmured; and then he asked if the doctor was out. 

"Oh, yes, " said Mrs. King, dryly; "Willy always manages to get out inthe evening on one excuse or another. You'd think he'd be glad of arestful evening at home with me, sometimes. But no. William's patientsneed a surprising amount of attention, though his bills don't show itWhen Mrs. Richie's cook was sick--just as an instance--he went sixtimes to see her. I counted. "

"Well; she got well?"' said Dr. Lavendar. 

"Got well? She'd have got well if he hadn't gone near her. " Marthabegan to stroke the gathers on a bit of cambric with a precise needlethat suddenly trembled. "The woman herself was not to blame it's onlyjust to say that--And there's one thing about me, Dr, Lavendar; I maynot be perfect, but I am always just. No, she was not to blame; it wasMrs. Richie who sent for William. She is the most helpless woman Iever saw, for her years;--she is at least forty, though she usessachet-powders, and wears undersleeves all trimmed with lace, as ifshe were six teen! I don't want to find fault, Dr, Lavendar, but Imust say that _I_ wouldn't have trusted that little boy to her. "

"Oh, " said Dr, Lavendar, "I trusted _her_ to the little boy! She'll beso busy looking after his sleeves, she'll forget her own. "

Mrs. King sniffed, doubtfully. "I'm sure I hope you are right; but inmy opinion, she's a very helpless and foolish woman;--if nothingworse. Though according to my ideas, the way she lets Sam Wright's Sambehave is worse!"

Dr. Lavendar was suddenly attentive, "How does she let him behave?"

"Well, he is so daft over--her that he neglects his work at the bankto write verses. Why doesn't she stop it?'"

"Because, " said William King, appearing in the doorway, smellinghonestly of the barn and picking off a straw here and there from hissleeve; "she knows nothing about it, "

Dr. Lavendar and Martha both looked up, startled at his tone. 

"Women, " said the doctor, "would gossip about a--a clam!"

"I am not gossiping?" Martha defended herself; but Dr. Lavendarinterrupted her, cheerfully, "Well, I am, I came over to gossip with William on this verysubject. --Martha, will you let him put a match to that grate? I declare, the seasons are changing. When I was your age it wasn't cold enoughto have a fire in May. --Look here, Willy, what do you mean by sayingMrs. Richie doesn't know Sam's sentiments?"

"I mean that women like Mrs. Richie are so unconscious, they don't seethings like that. She's as unconscious as a girl. "

"Tck!" said Martha. 

"A girl!" said Dr, Lavendar. --"Say a tree, or a boy but don't say agirl. Why, William, everybody sees it. Even Benjamin Wright. Of courseshe knows it. "

"She doesn't; she isn't the kind that thinks of things like that. Ofcourse, some women would have discovered it months ago; one of yourstrong-minded ladies, perhaps--only Sam wouldn't have been spoony onthat kind. "

"Well!" said Martha, "I must say, flat--"

But William interrupted her--"To prove what I say: she lets him comein and bore her to death, just out of kindness. Do you suppose shewould do that if she knew he was such an idiot as to presume to--to--"

"Well, " said Dr. Lavendar, "as there is so much ignorance about, perhaps Sam doesn't know he's lost his heart?"

But at that William laughed, "_He_ knows; Trust a young fellow!That's just the difference between a man and a woman, sir; the manalways knows; the woman, if she's the right kind, doesn't--until she'stold. "

"Tck!" said Martha, Dr. Lavendar looked down at the bowl of his pipe then he said meekly, "I was under the impression that Eve ate her apple before Adam had somuch as a bite. Still, whether Mrs. Richie knows the state of Sam'saffections or not, I do wish she would urge him to put his mind on hiswork. That's what I came in to speak to you about. His father is allon edge about it, and now his grandfather has taken it into his headto be worried over it, too But you know her better than the rest of usdo, and I thought perhaps you'd drop a hint that she would be doingmissionary work if she'd influence the boy to be more industrious. "

"I'll go and talk it over with her, " Martha volunteered. "I am alwaysready to advise any one. "

William King got up and kicked at a lump of coal in the grate. "I amsure you are, " he said dryly; "but no talking over is necessary. , Ishall probably be going up the hill in a few days, and I'll say a wordif Dr. Lavendar wants me to. Nothing definite; just enlist hersympathy for his father--and get her to protect herself, too. He mustbe an awful nuisance. "

"That's it!" said Dr. Lavendar. "I'd do it myself, but you know herbetter than I do. I'm getting acquainted with her through David. Davidis really a remarkable child! I can't tell you how I miss him. " Andthen he began to relate David's sayings, while Martha sewed fiercely, and William stared at the hearth-rug "The little rascal is no PeterGrievous, " Dr Lavendar declared, proudly; and told a story of a badlybarked knee, and a very stiff upper-lip; "and the questions he asks!"said the old man, holding up both hands; "theological questions; theHouse of Bishops couldn't answer 'em!" He repeated some of thequestions, watching the husband and wife with swift glances over hisspectacles; when he had wrung a reluctant laugh from the doctor, andMrs. , King was not sewing so fast, he went home, not much rested byhis call. 

But the result of the call was that at the end of the week Dr. Kingwent up to the Stuffed Animal House. 

"We are shipwrecked!" cried Mrs. Richie, as she saw him coming downthe garden path towards the barn. Her face was flushed and gay, andher hair, shaken from its shining wreath around her head, hung in twobraids down her back. She had had a swing put up under the bigbuttonwood beside the stable, and David, climbing into it, had clungto the rigging to be dashed, side wise, on to the rocks of thecarriageway, where Mrs. Richie stood ready to catch him when thevessel should drive near enough to the shore. In an endeavor to savehimself from some engulfing sea which his playmate had pointed out tohim, David had clutched at her, breaking the top hook of her gown andtearing her collar apart, leaving throat, white and round, open to thehot sun. Before the doctor reached her, she caught her dress together, and twisted her hair into a knot. "You can't keep things smooth in ashipwreck, " she excused herself, laughing. 

David sighed, and looked into the carriage-house. In that jungle--Mrs. Richie had called it a jungle--were wild beasts; there were alsocrackers and apples--or to be exact, breadfruit and citrons--hangingfrom what George called "harness-racks, " though of course, asthoughtful persons know, they were trees; David was to gather thesetropical spoils, and then escape from the leopard, the shark, thecrocodile! And now there was Dr. King, spoiling everything. 

The doctor sat down on a keg and looked at the two, smiling. "Which isthe younger of you?" he said. It came over him, in a gust ofamusement, what Martha would say to such a scene, and he laughedaloud. 

"Dr. King, " said David, in a small distinct voice, "won't Jinny runaway, if you leave her so long at gate?"

"Oh, David!" cried Mrs. Richie, horrified. But the visitor threw backhis head with a shout. 

"That's what my wife would call speaking 'flatly and frankly'! Well, Mrs. Richie, I never wrote a better prescription in my life. You looklike a different woman, already. "

And, indeed, the youth in her face was as careless as David's own. Butit flagged when he added that he hoped her brother would not think thecare of David would be too much for her. 

"Oh, no, " she said, briefly. 

"I feel like saying 'I told you so'! I knew you would like to have achild about. "

"I do, but he is a tyrant. Aren't you, David? I have to get up forbreakfast!"

"Terrible, " said William delightedly. 

"Why, but it _is_. I don't know when I've done such a thing! At firstI thought I really couldn't. But I couldn't leave him all by himself, down-stairs--could I, David?"

"I'd just as lieves, " said David, gently. 

"Oh, how like your sex!" Helena cried. 

"What do you suppose I've come for?" Dr. King began in the banteringtone one uses to a child. "I've come to get you to exert yourinfluence to improve business. _Business!_" he repeated, delighted athis own absurdity; "a lady who finds it hard to get up in themornings. "

She looked at him ruefully; "I'm lazy, I am afraid. " "No, you'renot--it's a very sensible thing to do, if you are not strong. Well, Imust tell you what we want; Sam Wright is anxious, because young Samneglects his work at the bank, and--"

"But he doesn't like business, " she explained with a surprised look;and William laughed with pleasure. 

"So that's a reason for not attending to it? Unfortunately, that's theyoung man's own point of view. He's a queer youngster, " William addedin his kind voice. 

"I don't think it's queer not to like disagreeable things, " Helenasaid. 

"Well, no; but all the same, we've got to stand them. Sam has nopatience with anything disagreeable. Why, when he was a littlefellow--let me see, he was younger than David; about four, I think--hescratched his finger one day pretty severely; it smarted, I guess, badly. Anyway, he roared! Then he picked up a pair of scissors and ranbawling to his mother; 'Mamma, cut finger off! It hurts Sam--cutfinger off!' That's been his principle ever since: 'it hurts--get ridof it. '"

"I don't blame him in the least, " Helena protested gayly; "I'm sureI've wanted to 'cut finger off. ' And I have done it, too!"

"Well, " said the doctor with great pretence of gravity, "I suppose, then, we'll have to tell old Mr. Wright that nobody must ever doanything he doesn't want to do? It appears that he's worried, too, because the young gentleman isn't industrious. The fact is, he thinksSam would rather come up here than work over his ledgers, " he teased. 

Helena sprung to her feet, nervously. "But I wish he wouldn't come! Idon't want him to come. I can't help it; indeed I--I can't help it!"She spoke with a sort of gasp. Instantly David, who had been loungingin the swing, slipped down and planted himself directly in front ofher, his arms stretched out at each side. "I'll take care of you, " hesaid protectingly. 

William King caught his breath. No one could have heard the frightenednote in her voice without understanding David's impulse. The doctorshared it. Evidently Sam had been making love to her, and her veryinnocence made her quick to feel herself rebuked! William felt anardent desire to kick Sam Wright's Sam. 

But Mrs. Richie was herself again; she laughed, though not quitenaturally, and sat down in the swing, swaying slightly back and forthwith an indolent push of her pretty foot. David lounged against herknee, eying the doctor with frank displeasure. "I am sure, " she said, "I wish Sam would attend to his ledgers; it would be much better thanmaking visits. "

"Dr. King, " David said, gently, "I'll shake hands now, and say good-by. "

The laugh that followed changed the subject, although warm inWilliam's consciousness the thought remained that she had let him knowwhat the subject meant to her: he shared a secret with her! She hadtold him, indirectly perhaps, but still told him, of her troubles withyoung Sam. It was as if she had put out her hand and said, "Help me!"Inarticulately he felt what David had said, "I'll take care of you!"And his first care must be to make her forget what had distressed her. He said with the air of one imparting interesting information, thatsome time in the next fortnight he would probably go to Philadelphiaon business. "Can I do any errands for you? Don't you ladies alwayswant ribbons, or something. "

"Does Mrs. King let you buy ribbons for her?" Helena asked. 

"Ribbons! I am to buy yarn, and some particular brand of lye forsoap. "

"Lye! How do you make soap out of lye?"

"You save all the "--William hesitated for a sufficiently delicateword--"the--fat, you know, in the kitchen, and then you make softsoap. "

"Why! I didn't know that was how soap was made. "

"I'm glad you didn't, " said William King. "I mean--it's disagreeable, "he ended weakly. And then, to David's open joy, he said good-by andjogged off down the hill, leaving Mrs. Richie to her newresponsibilities of discipline. 

"Now, David, come here. I've got to scold you. "

David promptly climbed up into the swing and settled himself in herlap. Then he snuggled his little nose down into her neck. "I'm abear, " he announced. "I'm eating you. Now, you scream and I'll roar. "

"Oh, David, you little monkey! Listen to me: you weren't very politeto Dr. King. "

"O-o-o-o-o-o!" roared the bear. 

"You should make him feel you were glad to see him. "

"I wasn't, " mumbled David. 

"But you must have manners, dear little boy. "

"I have, " David defended himself, sitting up straight. "I have them inmy head; but I only use them sometimes. "

Upon which the disciplinarian collapsed; "You rogue!" she said; "comehere, and I'll give you 'forty kisses'!"

David was instantly silent; he shrank away, lifting his shoulderagainst his cheek and looking at her shyly. "I won't, dear!" shereassured him, impetuously: "truly I won't. "

But she said to herself she must remember to repeat the speech aboutmanners to the doctor; it would make him laugh. 

William laughed easily when he came to the Stuffed Animal House. Indeed, he had laughed when he went away from it, and stopped for aminute at Dr. Lavendar's to tell him that Mrs. Richie was just asanxious as anybody that Sam Wright should attend to his business. "_Business_!" said the doctor, "much she knows about it!" And then headded that he was sure she would do her part to influence the boy tobe more industrious. "And you may depend on it, she won't allow anylove-making, " said William. 

He laughed again suddenly, out loud, as he ate his supper that night, because some memory of the after-noon came into his head. When Martha, starting at the unusual sound, asked what he was laughing at, he toldher he had found Mrs. Richie playing with David Allison. "They werelike two children; I said I didn't know which was the younger. Theywere pretending they were shipwrecked; the swing was the vessel, ifyou please!"

"I suppose she was trying to amuse him, " Mrs. King said. "That's agreat mistake with children. Give a child a book, or put him down tosome useful task; that's my idea. "

"Oh, she was amusing herself, " William explained. Mrs. King wassilent. 

"She gets up for breakfast now, on account of David; it's evidently agreat undertaking!" the doctor said humorously. 

Martha held her lips hard together. 

"You ought to hear her housekeeping ideas, " William rambled on. "Ihappened to say you wanted some lye for soap. She didn't know soap wasmade with lye! You would have laughed to hear her--"

But at that the leash broke: "_Laughed_? I hope not! I hope I wouldn'tlaugh because a woman of her age has no more sense than a child. Andshe gets up for breakfast, does she? Well, why shouldn't she get upfor breakfast? I am very tired, but I get up for breakfast. I don'tmean to be severe, William, and I never am; I'm only just. ButI must say, flatly and frankly, that ignorance and laziness do notseem _funny_ to me. Laugh? Would you laugh if I stayed in bed inthe mornings, and didn't know how to make soap, and save your moneyfor you? I guess not!"

The doctor's face reddened and he closed his lips with a snap. ButMartha found no more fault with Mrs. Richie. After a while she said inthat virtuous voice familiar to husbands, "William, I know you don'tlike to do it, so I cleaned all the medicine-shelves in your officethis morning. "

"Thank you, " William said, curtly; and finished his supper in absolutesilence. 

CHAPTER XIII

Dr. Lavendar was not sleeping very well that spring. He fell into thehabit of waking at about three, just when the birds begin thescattered twittering that swells into full clamor and then diessuddenly into silence. In that gray stillness, broken by bird-calls, he used to occupy himself by thinking of his people. 

"The name of the large upper chamber, facing the east, was Peace. " Andso this old pilgrim found it, lying in his four-poster, listening tothe cries and calls in the jargonelle pear-tree in the corner of thegarden, and watching the ghostly oblong of the window that faced theeast, glimmer and brighten into the effulgence of day. It was then, with his old hands folded on his breast, that he thought about theWrights--all three of them.... 

It was a relief to know that Mrs. Richie would influence Sam to puthis mind on his work; if the boy would do that, his father would beless irritated with him. And William's assurance that she would notallow any love-making ought to end his grandfather's worry. But whilethat worry lasted it must be utilized.... 

The room was slipping out of the shadows. Dr. Lavendar could see theoutline of the window distinctly. The bureau loomed up in the graynesslike a rock; opposite the bed, under a high wooden mantel was thecavernous blackness of the chimney, Dr. Lavendar reflected that itmust be nearly four.... 

The question was, when should he use this weapon of Benjamin Wright'sworry, on the two hard hearts? He had made several attempts to use it, only to feel the blade turn in his hand: He had asked Mr. Wright whenhe was going to talk things over with Samuel, and the old man hadinstantly declared that he had changed his mind. He had mentioned tohis senior warden that Benjamin was troubled about his grandson'ssheep's-eyes, and Samuel's studied deafness had put an end toconversation. So Dr. Lavendar had made up his mind that a matter ofthis kind cannot be forced. A thirty-two-year-old wound is not to behealed in a day. He took any chance that offered to drop a suggestiveword; but he did not try to hurry his Heavenly Father. For it was Dr. Lavendar's belief that God was more anxious about that reconciliationthan he was.... 

A line of light threaded its way under the window-curtain, and fell ina spot of fluid gold upon the mirror. He watched it move silentlyacross the powdery surface: suddenly another dimpling pool appeared onthe soot of the chimney-back, and his eye followed the tremulous beamto its entrance over the top of the shutter. The birds were shoutingnow in full voice. How fond Benjamin was of his poor caged creatures. Well, he had so little else to be fond of; "and I have so much, "thought Dr. Lavendar, shamefacedly;--"all my people. And David, therascal!" Then he chuckled; Dr. Lavendar was under the delusion that hewas unprejudiced in regard to David: "a very unusual child!" heassured himself, gravely. No wonder Mrs. Richie liked to have him. --And he would be the making of her! he would shake her out of herselfishness. "Poor girl, I guess, by the way she talks, she has neverknown anything but self. David will wake her up. But I've got to lookout that she doesn't spoil him. " It was this belief of what Davidmight do for Mrs. Richie that had reconciled him to parting with thelittle boy. 

His eyes wandered to the window; a glittering strip of green lightbetween the bowed shutters meant that the sun was in the trees. Yes;to be sure, for the birds had suddenly stopped singing. 

Dr. Lavendar yawned and looked at his watch; five o'clock. He wouldhave liked to get up, but Mary would be worried if she knew he wasawake so long before breakfast. Well; he must try to have a nap, no, the room was too light for that. He could see all the furniture; hecould count the pleats in the sun-burst of the tester; he could, perhaps, see to read? He put his hand out for _Robinson Crusoe_, and after that he possessed his soul in patience until he knew thatMary would allow him to come down-stairs. 

It was in one of those peaceful dawns early in June that he decidedthat the moment had come to strike a decisive blow: he would go andtalk to Benjamin of Sam's Sam, and though truth demanded that heshould report Mrs. Richie's good sense he did not mean to insist uponit too much; Benjamin's anxiety was the Lord's opportunity--so Dr. Lavendar thought. He would admit Sam's sentimentality and urge puttingthe matter before his father. Then he would pin Benjamin down to adate. That secured, he would present a definite proposal to Samuel. "He is the lion in the way, " he told himself anxiously; "I am prettysure I can manage Benjamin. " Yet surely if he could only put itproperly to Samuel, if he could express the pitiful trouble in the oldfather's soul, the senior warden's heart would soften. "It must touchhim!" Dr. Lavendar thought, and closed his eyes for a moment.... 

When he said _Amen_, the bird-calls were like flutes of triumph. 

On his way up the hill that morning, he paused under a great chestnutto talk to David Allison, who, a strapful of books over his shoulder, was running down the path to school. David was willing to be detained;he pulled some grass for Goliath and told Dr. Lavendar that Mrs. Richie had bought him a pair of suspenders. "And I said a bad wordyesterday, " he ended proudly. 

"Well, now, I'm sorry to hear that. "

"It's been in me a good while, " David explained, "but yesterday I saidit. It was 'damn. '"

"It's a foolish word, David; I never use it. "

"You _don't_?" David said blankly, and all his pride was gone. They parted with some seriousness; but Dr. Lavendar was stillchuckling when he turned in at Benjamin Wright's neglected carriageroad where burdocks and plantains grew rank between the wheel-tracks. As he came up to the house he saw Mr. Wright sitting out in the sun onthe gravel of the driveway, facing his veranda. A great locust wasdropping its honey-sweet blossoms all about--on his bent shoulders, onhis green cashmere dressing-gown, on his shrunken knees, even one ortwo on the tall beaver hat. A dozen bird-cages had been placed in arow along the edge of the veranda, and he was nibbling orange-skin andwatching the canaries twittering and hopping on their perches. As heheard the wheels of the buggy, he looked around, and raised acautioning hand:

"Look out! You scare my birds. Rein in that mettlesome steed of yours!That green cock was just going to take a bath. "

Goliath stopped at a discreet distance, and Dr. Lavendar sat still. There was a breathless moment of awaiting the pleasure of the greencock, who, balancing on the edge of his tub, his head on one side, looked with inquisitive eyes at the two old men before deciding toreturn to his perch and attack the cuttle-fish stuck between the barsof his cage. Upon which Mr. Wright swore at him with proud affection, and waved his hand to his visitor. 

"Come on! Sorry I can't take you indoors. I have to sit out here andwatch these confounded fowls for fear a cat will come along. There'snot a soul I can trust to attend to it, so I have to waste my valuabletime. Sit down. "

Dr. Lavendar clambered out of the buggy, and came up to the porchwhere he was told to "_'Sh!_" while Mr. Wright held his breath tosee if the green cock would not bathe, after all. 

"That nigger of mine is perfectly useless. Look at that perch! Hasn'tbeen cleaned for a week. "

"Yes, suh; cleaned yesterday, suh, " Simmons murmured, hobbling up witha handful of chickweed which he arranged on the top of one of thecages, its faint faded smell mingling with the heavy fragrance of thelocust blossoms. 

"Whiskey!" Mr. Wright commanded. 

"Not for me, " said Dr. Lavendar; and there was the usual snarl, duringwhich Simmons disappeared. The whiskey was not produced. 

"Lavendar, look at that cock--the scoundrel understands every word wesay. "

"He does look knowing. Benjamin, I just dropped in to tell you that Ithink you needn't worry so about Sam's Sam. Your neighbor has promisedWilly King that she will help us with him. But I want you to talk thematter over with Samuel, and--" "My _neighbor?_" the older maninterrupted, his lower lip dropping with dismay. "Ye don't mean--thefemale at the Stuffed Animal House?"

"Yes; Mrs. Richie. She will snub him if it's necessary, William says;but she'll help us, by urging him to attend to his business. See?"

"I see--more than you do!" cried Benjamin Wright. "Much Willy King hasaccomplished! It's just what I've always said;--if you want a thingdone, do it yourself. It's another case of these confounded canaries. If they are not to be eaten up by some devilish cat, I've got to sitout here and watch over 'em. If that boy is not to be injured, I'vegot to watch over him. My neighbor is going to help? Gad-a-mercy!Help!"

Dr. Lavendar took off his broad-brimmed felt hat and wiped hisforehead with his big red bandanna. "Benjamin, what's got into you? Alittle being in love won't hurt him. Why, before I was his age I hadlost my heart to my grandmother's first cousin!"

But the older man was not listening. His anger had suddenly hardenedinto alarm; he even forgot the canaries. "She's going to help?Lavendar, this is serious; it is very serious. He's got to be sentaway!--if I have to see"--his voice trailed into a whisper; he lookedat Dr. Lavendar with startled eyes. 

The green cock hopped down into his glass tub and began to ruffle andsplash, but Benjamin Wright did not notice him. Dr. Lavendar beamed. "You mean you'll see his father?"

The very old man nodded. "Yes; I'll have to see--my son. "

"Thank God!" said Dr. Lavendar. 

"Dominie, " said Mr. Wright, "it's better to make your manners whenyou've got your 'baccy. ' Yes; I'll have to see--his father; if there'sno other way of getting him out of town?"

"Of course there's no other way. Sam won't go without his father'sconsent. But you mustn't make play-writing the excuse; you mustn'ttalk about that. "

"I won't talk about anything else, " said Benjamin Wright. 

Dr. Lavendar sighed, but he did not encourage perversity by arguingagainst it. "Benjamin, " he said, "I will tell Samuel of your wish tosee him--"

"My _wish!_"

Dr. Lavendar would not notice the interruption. "Will you appoint thetime?"

"Oh, the sooner the better; get through with it! Get through with it!"He stared at his visitor and blinked rapidly; a moment later he shookall over. "Lavendar, it will kill me!" He was very frail, thisshrunken old man in the green dressing-gown and high beaver hat, withhis lower lip sucked in like a frightened child's. The torch of life, blown so often into furious flame by hurricanes of rage, had consumeditself, and it seemed now as if its flicker might be snuffed out byany slightest gust. "He may come up to-night, " he mumbled, shiveringin the hot sunshine and the drift of locust blossoms, as if he werecold. 

"It can't be to-night; he's gone out West. He gets back Saturday. I'llsend him up Sunday evening--if I can. "

"Gad-a-mercy, Lavendar, " Benjamin Wright said whimpering, "you've gotto come, too!" He looked at his old friend with scared eyes. "I won'tgo to the gate with you. Can't leave these birds. I'm a slave to 'em. "

But Dr. Lavendar saw that shaking legs were the real excuse; and hewent away a little soberly in spite of his triumph. Would there be anydanger to Benjamin from the agitation of the interview? He must askWilly King. Then he remembered that the doctor had started forPhiladelphia that morning; so there was nothing to do but wait. "I'mafraid there's some risk, " he thought. "But Benjamin had better die inpeace than live in anger. Oh, this play-writing business! If I couldonly depend on him to hold his tongue about it; but I can't. " Then ashe and Goliath trudged along in the sun, he gave himself up to his ownrejoicings. "To think I was afraid to let him know that Mrs. Richiecould be depended upon to help us!" He looked up as if in smilingconfession to some unseen Friend. "Yes, indeed; 'He taketh the wise intheir own craftiness. ' It was the promise of Mrs. Richie's help thatscared him into it! I won't be so crafty next time, " he promised inloving penitence. 

CHAPTER XIV

In the stage the day he started for Philadelphia, William King readover his Martha's memorandum with the bewildered carefulness peculiarto good husbands: ten yards of crash; a pitcher for sorghum; samplesof yarn; an ounce of sachet-powder, and so forth. 

"Now, what on earth does she want sachet-powder for?" he reflected. But he did not reflect long; it suddenly came into his mind thatthough Mrs. Richie had not given him any commission, he couldnevertheless do something for her. He could go, when he was inPhiladelphia, and call on her brother. "How pleased she'll be!" hesaid to himself. Naturally, with this project in mind, he gave no morethought to sachet-powders. He decided that he would turn up at Mr. Pryor's house at six o'clock, and Pryor would ask him to supper. Itwould save time to do that, and he needed to save time, for this oneday in Philadelphia was to be very busy. He had those errands forMartha, and two medical appointments, and a visit to the tailor, --forof late William thought a good deal about his clothes and discoveredthat he was very shabby. He wished he had asked Mrs. Richie for herbrother's address; it took so long to look it up in the Directory. Happily, the first name was unusual; there was only one Lloyd, or hewould have given up the search. He could not have called on all theJohns or Thomases!

What with matching the yarn, and getting his drugs, and being terriblycowed by the tailor, William had a hurried day. However, he managed toreach Mr. Lloyd Pryor's house as the clock struck six. "Just in goodtime, " he said to himself, complacently. Indeed, he was ahead of time, for it appeared that Mr. Pryor had not yet come home. 

"But Miss Alice is in, sir, " the smiling darky announced. 

"Very well, " said William King; "tell her 'Dr. King, from OldChester. '" He followed the man into a parlor that seemed to thecountry doctor very splendid, and while he waited, he looked aboutwith artless curiosity, thinking that he must tell Martha of all thisgrandeur. "No wonder she thinks we are stupid people in Old Chester, "he thought. Now, certainly Martha had never had so disloyal a thought!At that moment he heard a girlish step, and Lloyd Pryor's daughtercame into the room, --a pretty young creature, with blond hair partedover a candid brow, and sweet, frank eyes. 

"Dr. King?" she said smiling. 

"Doesn't resemble her in the least, " the doctor thought, getting onhis feet, and putting out a friendly, hand. "I am just in from OldChester, " he said, "and I thought I'd come and say how-do-you-do toyour father, and tell you the latest news of Mrs. Richie--"

The front door banged, and Lloyd Pryor pushed aside the curtain. --William had wondered what Martha would say to a curtain instead of adoor! His blank panic as he heard the doctor's last word, turned hisface white. ("Bad heart?" William asked himself. )

"_Dr. King!_ Alice, you needn't wait. "

Alice, nodding pleasantly, left them, and her father, setting histeeth, looked out through his curling eyelashes with deadlyintentness. 

"Thought I'd come in and say how-do-you-do?" William King said, hungryand friendly, but a little bewildered. 

"Oh, " said Mr. Pryor. 

William put out his hand; there was a second's hesitation, then LloydPryor took it--and dropped it quickly. 

"All well?" the doctor asked awkwardly. 

"Yes; yes. All well. Very well, thank you. Yes. "

"I was just passing. I thought perhaps your sister would be pleased ifI inquired; she didn't know I was coming, but--"

"You are very kind, I'm sure, " the other broke in, his face relaxing. "I am sorry that just at this moment I can't ask you to stay, but--"

"Certainly not, " William King said shortly; "I was just passing. Ifyou have any message for Mrs. Richie--"

"Oh! Ah;--yes. Remember me to her. All well in Old Chester? Very kindin you to look me up. I am sorry I--that it happens that--good-by--"

Dr. King nodded and took himself off; and Lloyd Pryor, closing thedoor upon him, wiped the moisture from his forehead. "Alice, where areyou?"

"In the dining-room, daddy dear, " she said. "Who is Dr. King?"

He gave her a furtive look and then put his arm over her shoulder. "Nobody you know, Kitty. "

"He said something about 'Mrs. Richie';--who is Mrs. Richie?"

"Some friend of his, probably. Got anything good for dinner, sweetheart?"

As for William King, he walked briskly down the street, his face veryred. "Confound him!" he said. He was conscious of a desire to kicksomething. That evening, after a bleak supper at a marble-toppedrestaurant table, he tried to divert himself by going to see a play;he saw so many other things that he came out in the middle of it. "Iguess I can get all the anatomy I want in my trade, " he told himself;and sat down in the station to await the midnight train. 

It was not until the next afternoon, when he climbed into the stage atMercer and piled his own and Martha's bundles on the rack above him, that he really settled down to think the thing over.... What did itmean? The man had been willing to eat his bread; he had shown nooffence at anything; what the deuce--! He pondered over it, all theway to Old Chester. When Martha, according to the custom of wives, inquired categorically concerning his day in Philadelphia, he draggedout most irritatingly vague answers. As she did not chance to ask, "Did you hunt up Mr. Lloyd Pryor? Did you go to his house? Did youexpect an invitation and not receive it?" she was not informed onthese topics. But when at last she did say, "And my sachet-powder?" hewas compelled to admit that he had forgotten it. 

Martha's lip tightened. 

"I got the lye and stuff, " her husband defended himself. "And what didyou want sachet-powder for, anyway?"

But Martha was silent. 

After supper William strolled over to Dr. Lavendar's, and sat smokingstolidly for an hour before he unbosomed himself. Dr. Lavendar did notnotice his uncommunicativeness; he had his own preoccupations. 

"William, Benjamin Wright seems to be a good deal shaken this spring?"

Silence. 

"He's allowed himself to grow old. Bad habit. "

Silence. 

"Got out of the way of doing things. Hasn't walked down the hill andback for three years. He told me so himself. "

"Indeed, sir?"

"For my part, " Dr. Lavendar declared, "I have made a rule about suchthings, which I commend to you, young man: _As soon as you feel tooold to do a thing_, DO IT!"

William gave the expected laugh. 

"But he does seem shaken. Now, would it be safe, do you think, for himto--well, very much excited? Possibly angered?"

"It wouldn't take much to anger Mr. Wright. "

"No, it wouldn't, " Dr. Lavendar admitted. "William, suppose I couldinduce Samuel and his father to meet--"

"What!" The doctor woke up at that; he sat on the edge of his chair, his hands on his knees, his eyes starting in his head. "_What!_"

"Well, suppose I could?" Dr. Lavendar said. "I have a notion to tryit. I don't know that I'll succeed. But suppose they met, and thingsshouldn't run smoothly, and there should be an explosion--would therebe danger to Benjamin?"

William King whistled. "After all these years!" Then he reflected. "Well, of course, sir, he is an old man. But he is like iron, Dr. Lavendar. When he had quinsy two years ago, I thought he had come tothe end. Not a bit of it! He's iron. Only, of course, anger is a greatdrain. Better caution Sam not to cross him. "

"Then there would be some danger?"

"I shouldn't like to see him get into a rage, " the doctor admitted. "But why should he get into a rage, if they are going to patch thingsup? Good Lord!" said William King, gaping with astonishment; "atlast!"

"I haven't said they would patch things up. But there is a chance thatI can get 'em to talk over Benjamin's anxiety about Sam's Sam. Factis, Benjamin is disturbed about the boy's sheep's-eyes. Sam thinks, you know, that he is in love with Mrs. Richie, and--"

"In love with Mrs. Richie!" William broke in angrily. "The idea of hisbothering Mrs. Richie! it's outrageous. I don't wonder Mr. Wright isconcerned. It's disgraceful. He ought to be thrashed!"

Dr. Lavendar drew a quick breath and let his pipe-hand fall heavily onthe table beside him. "No, William, no; not thrashed. Not thrashed, William. "

"Well, I don't know, " the doctor said, doggedly; "it might do himgood; a squirt of a boy!"

Dr. Lavendar sighed. They smoked silently for a while, and, indeed, itwas not until it was almost time to go home that William burst outwith his own wrongs. 

"Confound him!" he ended, "what do you make of it, sir? Why, Dr. Lavendar, he sent his girl out of the room--didn't want her to talk tome! You'd have thought I was a case of measles. His one idea was toget rid of me as quickly as possible. "

Dr. Lavendar thrust out his lower lip; then he scratched a match onthe bottom of his chair, and held it out to Danny, who came forwardwith instant curiosity, sniffed, sneezed, and plainly hurt, retired tothe hearth-rug. 

"William, 'a moral, sensible and well-bred man will not affront--'"

"I'm not feeling affronted. "

"Oh, aren't you?"

"No, " William declared boldly, "not at all; not in the least! He's notworth it. But I'm all mixed up. "

"Daniel, " said Dr. Lavendar, "how dare you lie on the rug? Willy, whenI was young--I mean when I was younger--we children were never allowedto come nearer the fire than the outside edge of the hearth-rug. Ifeel wicked now, whenever I come over that edge. But look at thatscoundrel Danny!"

Danny opened one eye and beat his stub of a tail softly on the rug. William King was silent. Dr. Lavendar began to sing:

 "Queen Victoria's very sick; Napoleon's got the measles. Why don't you take Sebastopol? Pop goes the weasel!"

"Dr. Lavendar, why do you keep trying to change the subject? What doyou think about Mrs. Richie's brother?"

"Well, Willy, my boy, I think he's not given to hospitality. "

"Ah, now, no shenanigan!" poor William pleaded. "Do you suppose he'sup to some monkey-shines? Do you suppose I took him unawares, and hewas afraid to entertain me?"

Dr. Lavendar chuckled. "'Fraid he might entertain a Recording Angelunawares?"

William shook his head. "There was something wrong, or I don't knowhuman nature. "

"Willy, if you do know human nature, you are the only living man whodoes. But, perhaps, now, it really wasn't convenient?"

"Convenient!" William burst out. "In Old Chester we don't talk about_convenience_ when a man knocks at the door at supper-time!"

"But Philadelphia isn't Old Chester, " Dr. Lavendar reminded him, mildly. "When you've seen as much of the world as I have, you'llrealize that. I once was short of my railroad fare in New York. I--well, a poor creature asked me for some money to buy a coat. It was adreadfully cold day. It left me just three dollars short of my farehome; so I stepped into the Bible House--you know the Bible House?--and just stated the case to the head clerk, and said I would beobliged if he would lend me the amount. Willy, " Dr. Lavendar got veryred; "I assure you--"

"You don't say so, sir!" said William King respectfully; but he bentdown and pulled Danny's ear. 

"Yes, " said Dr. Lavendar; "yes, indeed! I will not repeat what hesaid; you would be indignant. I just mention the circumstance to showyou how differently people look at things. If any gentleman got intosuch a fix in Old Chester, of course he would just speak to SamWright, or you, or me. Or take your own case; if any stranger came onbusiness at dinner-time, you would say, 'Sit down, sir'!"

William thought of Martha and moved uneasily in his chair. 

"But, " proceeded Dr. Lavendar, "it is not so everywhere. Convenienceis considered. It isn't hospitable; but you can't say it's wicked?"

"Dr. Lavendar, " said William King, "you don't believe that was thereason. "

The old minister sighed. "I'm afraid I don't, my boy; but I thoughtmaybe you might. "

"No, sir! There's something wrong with that fellow. I don't mean tojudge, but somehow, instinctively, I don't trust him. "

"Well, " said Dr. Lavendar; "I wouldn't judge; but--I'd trust myinstincts. "

William grinned; then he sighed. "I won't tell Mrs. Richie aboutseeing him. She'd be mortified at his behavior. If she knew as much ofthe wickedness of the world as we do, she might even be suspicious!But, thank God, she's not that kind of a woman. I don't like worldly-wise ladies. "

Dr. Lavendar nodded. "Black sheep can pull the wool over people's eyesbetter than white ones can. Do you know, one reason why I hesitatedabout letting her have David, was just because I didn't take to herbrother? For that matter, David doesn't take to him either;--and Dannycan't abide him. And William, I have a great respect for the judgmentof my betters in such matters! Yes; I almost kept the little monkeymyself; but I suppose it's better for him to be with a woman?"

"Of course it is, " said William King, and Dr. Lavendar's face fell. "Ithink she wants to adopt him, " William added. 

Dr. Lavendar shook his head. "I haven't made up my mind about thatyet. Not only because of the brother;--he comes so rarely he doesn'tcount. But I want to make sure she can be trusted to bring a childup. "

"I don't think there could be a better person, " the doctor declared, warmly. "She has a lovely nature. "

"A pretty creature, " Dr. Lavendar ruminated; "Martha fond of her?"

"Oh, yes indeed, " William said enthusiastically;--"at least, I don'tknow that I ever happened to hear her speak of it; but of course sheis. Nobody could help it. She is a sweet woman, as you say. "

"Well, " said Dr. Lavendar, "get Martha to be neighborly with her. Sheneeds neighboring. And Martha could teach her so many things--she'ssuch a sensible woman. "

"Yes; Martha is sensible, " William agreed. "Dr. Lavendar, did you evernotice how, when she laughs, she has a way of putting her hands on thetop of her head, and sort of drawing them down over her eyes like agirl? It's as pretty!"

Dr. Lavendar tried to remember. "Why, no, " he said; "I don't know thatI ever noticed it. Martha doesn't laugh very often. "

"Martha?" William repeated puzzled. "Oh--I was speaking of Mrs. Richie. "

"Oh, " said Dr. Lavendar. 

CHAPTER XV

Every Sunday morning Mr. Samuel Wright and Mr. Thomas Dilworth--theone pale and pompous, the other rosy and smiling--took up thecollection in St. Michael's. A mahogany pole with a black velvet pouchon one end, was thrust solemnly into each pew, then drawn back withvery personal pauses--which were embarrassing if you had forgotten toput some change into your glove before starting for church. When thesepoles had raked every pew, they were carried up the aisle to Dr. Lavendar, who, taking hold of the purple tassel on the bottom of eachbag, turned the contents into a silver plate. The change came out witha fine clatter; we children used to keep awake on purpose to hear it. Once in a while a bill would rustle out with the silver and balance onthe top. Of the little heap in such an exciting way that Dr. Lavendarhad to put his hand over it to keep it from blowing off as he carriedthe plate to the communion-table--we did not say "altar" in OldChester. This done, Mr. Wright and Mr. Dilworth would tiptoe solemnlyback to their respective pews. When the service was over the seniorwarden always counted the money. On this summer Sunday morning, whenhe went into the vestry for that purpose, he found Dr. Lavendar justhanging up his black gown behind the door. 

"Dr. Lavendar, " said the senior warden, "you will, I am sure, bepleased when I inform you that there is a good collection. Mrs. Richieput in a five-dollar bill. "

"Well, " said Dr. Lavendar, "we need it. Your father sent me a checkthe other day; but we need some more. "

Mr. Wright did not comment upon his father's generosity; instead, heslid the money from the silver plate on to the table and began tocount it. Dr. Lavendar looked at him over his spectacles; when onlyhalf a dozen coppers were left, he said suddenly:

"Samuel!"

The senior warden looked up; "Yes, sir?"

"Samuel, your father has spoken to me of you. "

Mr. Wright looked down; then he slowly picked up the last penny. 

"Yes; he spoke of you. Samuel, I have something to say to you of avery serious nature. "

"We have nine dollars and seventy-seven cents, " said the seniorwarden. 

"Your father, " said Dr. Lavendar, "has expressed a willingness to seeyou. "

Mr. Wright put the money into a small canvas bag, and pulling thedrawing-string up, wound it round and round the top; his handstrembled. 

"He has some concern about your Sam--as you have yourself. He isdisturbed because the boy has lost his heart to your tenant, Mrs. Richie. "

"Call it twelve dollars, " Samuel said, embarrassed to the point ofmunificence. He put the canvas bag in his pocket, and rose. "I'lldeposit this to-morrow, sir, " he added, as he had added every Sundaymorning for the last twenty years. 

"Samuel, " said Dr. Lavendar, sternly, "sit down!"

With involuntary haste the senior warden sat down, but he would notlook at Dr. Lavendar. "It is not my purpose or desire, " he said, "tobe disrespectful, but I must request you, sir--"

"To mind my own business? I will, Sam, I will. My business is toadmonish you: _Leave there thy gift before the altar, and go thyway. First, be reconciled to thy brother, and then come and offer thygift. _"

Samuel Wright cleared his throat. "I cannot, Dr. Lavendar, discussthis matter with you. I must be my own judge. "

"I have heard that a man might be his own lawyer, " said Dr. Lavendar, smiling; "but you can't be your own judge. The Christian religionjudges you. Samuel, and convicts you. Your father is willing to seeyou; he has taken the first step. Think what that means to a man likeyour father! Now listen to me; I want to tell you what it's allabout. "

"I have no desire, sir, to be informed. I--"

Dr. Lavendar checked him gently: "I am sure you will listen, Samuel, no matter what your decision may be. " Then, very cautiously, he beganabout young Sam. "Your father thinks he ought to get away from OldChester; he's worried because of Mrs. Richie. "

"You know my sentiments, sir, in regard to my son's idiocy. "

"Oh, come, come! Falling in love is a harmless amusement, " said Dr. Lavendar; "but your father does take it a good deal to heart. He wantsto get him out of town. However, to send him away without letting himknow why, is difficult; and the last thing would be to let him thinkwe take his love-making seriously! Therefore your father thinks somekind of excuse has to be made. "

Here Dr. Lavendar became elaborately casual; he had decided that hemust prepare his senior warden for a possible reference to a dangeroustopic. "He mustn't be taken unawares, " Dr. Lavendar had told himself. But he quailed, now that the moment of preparation had come. "Yourfather thinks the excuse might be the finding a publisher for somepoetry that Sam has written. "

Samuel Wright's large pallid face suddenly twitched; his dull eyesblazed straight at Dr. Lavendar; "Finding a publisher--for poetry! Dr. Lavendar, rather than have my son encouraged in making what you call'poetry, ' I'd let him _board_ at Mrs. Richie's!"

"Well, " said Dr. Lavendar, easily, "never mind about his poetry; yourfather has an idea that life in a small place with only your owninterests, is narrowing; and I guess he's right to some extent. Anywaythis project of a journey isn't a bad one. Sam has never been furtherfrom his mother's apron-string in his life, than Mercer. "

"My dear Dr. Lavendar, " said Samuel, pompously, "a boy attached tothat string will never have the chance to fall into temptation. "

"My dear Samuel, " said Dr. Lavendar, "a boy attached to that stringmay never have the chance to overcome temptation--which would bealmost as serious. I tell you, Sam, safety that depends on an apron-string is very unsafe!"

"My son is not to be trusted, sir. "

"Samuel!" Dr. Lavendar protested with indignation, "how can he becomeworthy of trust without being trusted? You have no more right to shutup a grown man in Old Chester for fear of temptation, than you wouldhave to keep a growing boy in his first pair of trousers! Why, Sam, there isn't any virtue where there has never been any temptation. Virtue is just temptation, overcome. Hasn't that ever struck you?However, that's not the point. The point is, that your father hasexpressed a willingness to meet you. "

Mr. Wright made no answer. 

"He will talk over with you this matter of Sam's falling in love. Whether you agree with him that the boy should go away, is notimportant. What is important is his desire to see you. "

"I said, " Samuel Wright broke out, with a violence that made Dr. Lavendar start--"I said I would never speak to him again! I took myoath. I cannot break my oath. 'He that sweareth to his own hurt, andchangeth not--'"

"Yes, " said Dr. Lavendar; "'to his own hurt, ' but not to somebodyelse's hurt. You swore to your father's, to your children's, to thecommunity's hurt. Change as quickly as you can. Come up the hill withme to-night. "

"I can't, " Samuel Wright said hoarsely, and into his hard eyes camethe same look of childish terror that the old minister had seen inBenjamin Wright's face when he sat in the hot sunshine watching thecanaries. 

Then Dr. Lavendar began to plead.... 

It was a long struggle. Sometimes it really seemed as if, as thesenior warden had said, he "could not" do it; as if it were a physicalimpossibility. And there is no doubt that to change a habit of thoughtwhich has endured for thirty-two years involves a physical as well asa spiritual effort, which may cause absolute anguish. Mr. Wright'sface was white; twice he wiped the perspiration from his forehead:half a dozen times he said in an agonized tone, "I cannot do it; I_cannot. _"

"Samuel, your father is very old; he is very feeble; but he has hadthe strength to take the first step. Haven't you the strength to takethe second? Will you carry your wicked quarrel to his grave? No, Sam, no! I am sure you won't. "... 

An hour later, when Dr. Lavendar sat down to a dinner of more thanordinary Sunday coldness, his old face was twinkling with pleasure. Samuel had promised to go with him that night to The Top! Perhaps asthe still afternoon softened into dusk his joy began to cast a shadowof apprehension. If so, he refused to notice it. It was the Lord'sbusiness, and "He moves in a mysterious way, " he hummed to himself, waiting in the warm darkness for Samuel to call for him, --for both thequailing men had made Dr. Lavendar's presence a condition of theinterview. 

At half-past seven Mr. Wright arrived. He was in a shiny box-buggy, behind a smart sorrel. He was dressed in his black and solemn best, and he wore his high hat with a flat brim which only came out atfunerals. His dignity was so tremendous that his great bulk seemed totake even more than its share of room in the buggy. When he spoke, itwas with a laboriousness that crushed the breath out of any possibleanswer. As they drove up the hill he cleared his throat every fewminutes. Once he volunteered the statement that he had told Sam not tostay late at--at--

"Oh, " said Dr. Lavendar, "your father will pack him off;--he willprobably take the opportunity to call on Mrs. Richie, " he addedsmiling. But Sam's father did not smile. And, indeed, Dr. Lavendar'sown face was sober when they turned in between the sagging old gate-posts at The Top. 

When the moment came to get out of the buggy, Samuel looked at hiscompanion dumbly; a sort of paralysis seemed to hold him in his seat. When he did move, Dr. Lavendar heard him gasp for breath, and in thedarkness, as he hitched the sorrel to a staple in one of the biglocusts, his face went white. The large manner which had dominated OldChester for so many years was shrinking and shrivelling; the whole manseemed, somehow, smaller.... 

Benjamin Wright, in his mangy beaver hat, sitting quaking in hislibrary, heard their steps on the veranda. As soon as supper was over, he had dismissed his rejoicing grandson, and long before it wasnecessary, had bidden Simmons light the lamps; but as night fell, itoccurred to him that darkness would make things easier, and in apanic, he shuffled about and blew them all out. A little later, he hada surge of terror; he couldn't bear _that voice_ in the dark!

"You! Simmons!" he called across the hall. "Light the lamps!"

"I done lit 'em, suh--" Simmons expostulated from the pantry, and thenlooked blankly at the black doorway of the library. "I 'clare togoodness, they's gone out, " he mumbled to himself; and came in, tostand on one leg and scratch a match on the sole of his carpetslipper. 

"Don't light all four, you stupid nigger!" the old man screamed athim. 

When Simmons left him he lit a cigar, his fingers trembling very much;it went out almost at once, and he threw it away and took another. Just as he heard that ponderous step on the veranda, he took a third--[Illustration: Samuel slid into a chair near the door. ] but only tothrow it, too, still smouldering, into the empty fireplace. 

Dr. Lavendar came in first. His face was very grave; he made noconventional pretence of ease. Behind him, in the doorway, loomed theother figure. Out in the hall, Simmons, his bent old back flattenedagainst the wall, his jaw chattering with amazement, stood, clutchingat the door-knob and staring after the visitors. 

"Come in!" said, Benjamin Wright. "Hello, Lavendar. Hello--"

Alas! at that moment Samuel's cracked and patched-up self-respectsuddenly crumbled;--his presence of mind deserted him, and scramblinglike an embarrassed boy into a marked discourtesy, he thrust bothhands into his pockets. Instantly he realized his self-betrayal, butit was too late; his father, after a second's hesitation, occupiedboth his hands with the decanter and cigar-box. 

"Well; here we are, Benjamin!" said Dr. Lavendar. 

"Take a cigar, " said the very old man; he held the box out, and itshook so that the loose cigars jarred within it. Dr. Lavendar helpedhimself. "Have one--" Benjamin Wright said, and thrust the box at thesilent standing figure. 

"I--do not smoke. " Samuel slid into a seat near the door, andbalancing his hat carefully on his knees twisted one leg about the legof his chair. 

His father bustled around to the other side of the table. "Thatdoggoned nigger brought up Kentucky instead of Monongahela!" He liftedthe decanter and began to fill the glasses. 

"Hold on! hold on! Don't swamp us, " said Dr. Lavendar, He leaned overto rescue his tumbler, and his good-natured scolding made an instant'sbreak in the intensity. 

"Have some?" said Mr. Wright, turning to his son. 

"I--do not drink. " The banker uncoiled his leg, and put his hat on thefloor. 

His father pounded the decanter down on the table. "Simmons!" hecalled out; "light the rest of these lamps, you--you freckled nigger!Gad-a-mercy! niggers have no sense. "

Simmons came stumbling in, the whites of his yellow eyes gleaming withexcitement. While he was fumbling over the lamps, his lean brownfingers all thumbs, Benjamin Wright insisted upon filling Dr. Lavendar's tumbler with whiskey until it overflowed and had to besopped up by the old minister's red bandanna. 

As soon as Simmons could get out of the room, Dr. Lavendar settledhimself to the business which had brought them together. He said tohis senior warden, briefly, that his father was concerned about Sam'sattentions to Mrs. Richie; "he thinks it would be an especially goodtime to have the boy see a little of the world, if you will consent?He says it's 'narrowing to live in Old Chester, " said Dr. Lavendar, slyly jocose;--but Samuel refused to smile, and the old minister wenton with determined cheerfulness. "I think, myself, that it would begood for Sam to travel. You know

 'Home-keeping youths Have ever homely wits. '"

"A boy, " said the senior warden, and stopped; his voice cracked badlyand he cleared his throat; "a boy--Dr. Lavendar;--is better at home. "

The old minister gave him a quick look--his senior warden wastrembling! The cloak of careful pomposity with which for so many yearsthis poor maimed soul had covered its scars, was dropping away. He wasclutching at it--clearing his throat, swinging his foot, makingelaborate show of ease; but the cloak was slipping and slipping, andthere was the man of fifty-six cringing with the mortification ofyouth! It was a sight from which to turn away even the most pityingeyes. Dr. Lavendar turned his away; when he spoke it was with greatgentleness. 

"I don't know that I quite agree with you, Sam, any more than withyour father; but still, if you don't want the boy to go away, can't weconvince your father that he is in no real danger of a broken heart?If he goes too far, I am sure we can trust Mrs. Richie to snub himjudiciously. You think so, don't you, Samuel?"

"Yes;--Dr. Lavendar. "

"Do you hear that, Wright?"

Benjamin Wright took off his hat and banged it down on the table. Thenhe threw away another barely lighted cigar, put his hand into the blueginger-jar for some orange-skin, and looked closely at his son; hisagitation had quite disappeared. "I hear, " he said calmly. 

But as he grew calm, Mr. Samuel Wright's embarrassment became moreagonizing, nor was it lessened by the very old man's quite obviousinterest in it; his head, in its brown wig, was inclined a little toone side, like a canary's, and his black eyes helped out thelikeness--except that there was a carefully restrained gleam of humorinthem. But he said nothing. To cover up the clamorous silence betweenfather and son, Dr. Lavendar talked a good deal, but rather at random. He was confounded by the situation. Had he made a mistake, after all, ininsisting upon this interview? In his own mind he was asking forwisdom, but aloud he spoke of the weather. His host gave noconversational assistance except an occasional monosyllable, and hissenior warden was absolutely dumb. As for the subject which broughtthem together, no further reference was made to it. 

"Take some more whiskey, Dominic, " said Mr. Wright. His eyes wereglittering; it was evident that he did not need any more himself. 

Dr. Lavendar said, "No, thank you, " and rose. Samuel shot up as thougha spring had been released. 

"Going?" said Benjamin Wright; "a short call, considering how long itis since we've met;--Lavendar. "

Samuel cleared his throat. "'Night, " he said huskily. Again there wasno hand-shaking; but as they reached the front door, Benjamin Wrightcalled to Dr. Lavendar, who stepped back into the library. Mr. Wrighthad put on his hat, and was chewing orange-skin violently. "It ain'tany use trying to arrange anything with--So I'll try another tack. " Hecame close to Dr. Lavendar, plucking at the old minister's blacksleeve, his eyes snapping and his jaws working fast; he spoke in adelighted whisper. "But, Lavendar--"

"Yes. "

"He wouldn't take a cigar. "

"Samuel never smokes, " Dr. Lavendar said shortly. 

"And he wouldn't take a drink of whiskey. "

"He's a very temperate man. "

"Lavendar--"

"Yes?"

"Lavendar--_it was efficacious!_"

CHAPTER XVI

"The play is my life--next to you, " Sam Wright's Sam was saying tohis father's tenant. He had left The Top before the two visitorsarrived, and as Dr. Lavendar had foreseen, had gone straight to theStuffed Animal House.... 

Helena was in a low chair, with David nestling sleepily in her arms;Sam, looking up at her like a young St. John, half sat, half knelt, onthe step at her feet. The day had been hot, and evening had brought nocoolness; under the sentinel locusts on either side of the porch stepsthe night was velvet black; but out over the garden there were stars. A faint stirring of the air tilted the open bowls of the evening-primroses, spilling a heavy sweetness into the shadows. The housebehind them was dark, for it was too hot for lamps. It was very stilland peaceful and commonplace--a woman, a dozing child, and the softnight. Young Sam, so sensitive to moods, had fallen at once into thepeace and was content to sit silently at Helena's feet.... Then Davidbroke in upon the tranquillity by remarking, with a sigh, that he mustgo to bed. 

"I heard the clock strike, " he said sadly. 

"I think you are a very good little boy, " Helena declared withadmiration. 

"Dr. Lavendar said I must, " David explained crossly. "You'remisbehavious if you don't do what Dr. Lavendar says. Mrs. Richie, isheaven up in the sky?"

"Why, I suppose so, " she said hesitating. 

"What do they stand on?" David inquired. "There isn't any floor, " heinsisted doggedly, for she laughed under her breath. 

Helena looked over at Sam, who was not in the least amused. Then shekissed the top of David's head. "I wish I could make his hair curl, "she said. "I knew a little boy once--" she stopped and sighed. 

She took the sleepy child up-stairs herself. Not for many guests wouldshe have lost the half-hour of putting him to bed. When she came backher mind was full of him: "He hates to go to bed early, " she told Sam, "but he always walks off at eight, without a word from me, because hepromised Dr. Lavendar he would. I think it is wonderful. "

Sam was not interested, "And he is so funny! He says such unexpected things. He told meyesterday that Sarah 'slept out loud';--Sarah's room is next to his. "

"What did he mean?" Sam said, with the curious literalness of thepoetic temperament, entirely devoid of humor. But he did not wait foran answer; he locked his hands about his knee, and leaning his headback, looked up through the leaves at the stars. "How sweet the locustblossoms are!" he said. One of the yellow-white flakes fell andtouched his cheek. 

"They are falling so now, " she said, "that the porch has to be swepttwice a day. "

He smiled, and brushing his palm along the step, caught a handful ofthem, "Every night you sit here all alone; I wish--"

"Oh, I like to be alone, " she interrupted. As the balm of David'spresence faded, and the worship in the young man's eyes burnedclearer, that old joke of Lloyd's stabbed her. She wished he would go. "How does the drama get on?" she asked, with an effort. 

Sam frowned and said something of his father's impatience with hiswriting. "But I am only happy when I am writing; and when I am withyou. The play is my life, --next to you. "

"Please don't!" she said; and then held her breath to listen. "I thinkI hear David. Excuse me a minute. " She fled into the house and up-stairs to David's room. "Did you want me, precious?" she said panting, David opened dreaming eyes and looked at her. He had called out in hissleep, but was quiet again, and did not need her eager arms, her lipson his hair, her voice murmuring in his ear. But she could not stopcuddling the small warm body; she forgot Sam and his play, and evenher own dull ache of discontent, --an ache that was bringing a subtlechange into her face, a faint line on her forehead, and a suggestionof depth, and even pain, in the pleasant shallows of her leaf-browneyes. Perhaps the discontent was mere weariness of the wholesituation; if so, she did not recognize it for what it was. Herfellow-prisoner, straining furtively against the bond of the fleshwhich was all that held him to her, might have enlightened her, but hetook her love so for granted, that he never suspected the discontent. However, watching David, Helena was herself unconscious of it; whenshe was sure the little boy was sound asleep she stole the "fortykisses, " which as yet he had not granted; folded the sheet back lesthe might be too hot; drew a thin blanket over his feet, and then stoodand looked at him. Suddenly, remembering Sam Wright, she turned away;but hesitated at the door, and came back for one more look. At last, with a sigh, she went downstairs. 

"He loves your rabbits, " she told Sam; "he has named them Mr. GeorgeRufus Smith and Mrs. Minnie Lily Smith, "

"It is all finished, " said Sam. 

"What is finished?"

"The drama, " the young man explained. 

"Oh, " she said, "do forgive me! My mind is so full of David, I can'tthink of anything else. "

He smiled at that. "You couldn't do anything I wouldn't forgive, "

"Couldn't I?"

He looked up at her, wistfully. "I love you, you know. "

"Oh, please, please--"

"I love you, " he said, trembling. 

"Sam, " she said--and in her distress she put her hand on hisshoulder--"you don't really care for me. I am so much older, and--thereare other reasons. Oh, why did I come here!" she burst out. "Youdisplease me very much when you talk this way!" She pushed herchair back, and would have risen but for his detaining hand upon herarm, "Will you marry me?"

"No! of course I won't!"

"Why?"

"Because--" she stopped; then, breathlessly; "I only want to be letalone, I came to Old Chester to be alone. I didn't want to thrustmyself on you. --any of you!"

"You never did, " he said wonderingly. "You? Why, there never wasanybody so reserved, so--shy, almost. That's one reason I love you, Iguess, " he said boyishly. 

"You mustn't love me. "

"Will you marry me?" he repeated. "Oh, I know; it is like asking anangel to come down out of heaven--"

"An angel!"

"Mrs. Richie, isn't it possible for you to care, just a little, andmarry me?"

"No, Sam: indeed it isn't. Please don't think of it any more. "

"Is it because you love him, still?"

"Love--_him?_" she breathed. 

"He is dead, " Sam said; "and I thought from something you once said, that you didn't really love him. But if you do--"

"My--husband, you mean? No! I don't. I never did. That's not thereason; oh, why did I come here?" she said in a distressed whisper. 

At that he lifted his head. "Don't be unhappy. It doesn't matter aboutme. " His eyes glittered. "'All is dross that is not Helena'! I shalllove you as long as I live, even if you don't marry me. Perhaps--perhaps I wouldn't if you did!"

He did not notice her involuntary start of astonishment, he rose, andlifting his arms to the sky, stood motionless, rapt, as if in wordlessappeal to heaven. Then his arms dropped. "No, " he said, speaking withcurious thoughtfulness: "no; you would be human if you could marry afool like me. " Helena made a protesting gesture, but he went on, quietly: "Oh, yes; I am a fool. I've been told so all my life; but Iknew it, anyhow. Nobody need have told me. Of course you couldn'tmarry me! If you could, you would be like me. And I would not wantthat. No; you are God to me. Stay divine. "

Helena put her hands over her ears. 

"But please, can't you love me? We needn't be married, if you'd rathernot. If you'll just love me a little?"

The innocence of the plea for love without marriage struck her with adull humor that faded into annoyance that she should see the humor. Itwas an uncomfortable sensation, and she hated discomfort; in herdesire to escape from it, she spoke with quick impatience. "No, Sam, of course not, --not the way you want me to. Why, you are just a boy, you know!" she added, lightly. 

But Sam threw himself on his knees beside her, and pressed his headagainst her skirts. "Oh, are you _sure_, Mrs. Richie? Why, itseems to me you might--just a little? Can't you? You see, I'm solonely, " he ended pitifully. His innocent solemn eyes were limpid withtears, and he looked at her with terrified beseeching, like a lostchild. 

The tears that sprang to her eyes were almost motherly; for animpetuous instant she bent over him, then drew back sharply, and thetears dried in a hot pang of shame. "No, Sam; I can't. Oh, I am sosorry! Please forgive me--I ought not to have let you--but I didn'tknow--yes; I did know! And I ought to have stopped you. It's my fault. Oh, how selfish I have been! But it's horrible to have you talk thisway! Won't you please not say anything more?" She was incoherent tothe point of crying. 

Sam looked out over the dark garden in silence. "Well, " he saidslowly, "if you can't, then I don't want to see you. It would hurt metoo much to see you. I'll go away. I will go on loving you, but I willgo away, so that I needn't see you. Yes; I will leave Old Chester--"

"Oh, I wish you would, " she said. 

"You don't love me, " he repeated, in a sort of hopeless astonishment;"why, I can't seem to believe it! I thought you must--I love you so. But no, you don't. Not even just a little. Well--"

And without another word he left her. She could not hear his step onthe locust flowers on the porch. 

CHAPTER XVII

_"I wish your confounded Old Chester people would mind their ownaffairs! This prying into things that are none of their businessis--"_

Lloyd Pryor stopped; read over what he had written, and ground histeeth. No; he couldn't send her such a letter. It would call down astorm of reproach and anger and love. And, after all, it wasn't herfault; this doctor fellow had said that she did not know of his call. Still, if she hadn't been friendly with those people, the man wouldn'thave thought of "looking him up"! Then he remembered that he had beenthe one to be friendly with the "doctor fellow"; and that made himangry again. But his next letter was more reasonable, and so moredeadly. 

_"You will see that if I had not happened to be at home, it mighthave been a very serious matter. I must ask you to consider myposition, and discourage your friends in paying any attention tome. "_

This, too, he tore up, with a smothered word. It wouldn't do; if hewounded her too much, she was capable of taking the next train--! Andso he wrote, with non-committal brevity:

_"I have to be in Mercer Friday night, and I think I can get down toOld Chester for a few hours between stages on Saturday. I hope yourcook has recovered, and we can have some dinner? Tell David he can gethis sling ready; and do, for Heaven's sake, fend off visitors!" Thenhe added a postscript: _"I want you all to myself. "_ He smiled as hewrote that, but half shook his head. He did not (such was his code)enjoy being agreeable for a purpose. "But I can't help it, " hethought, frowning; "she is so very difficult, just now. "

He was right about the postscript; she read the letter with a curl ofher lip. "'A few hours, '" she said; then--"'I want you all tomyself. '" The delicate color flooded into her face; she crushed theletter to her lips, her eyes running over with laughing tears. 

"Oh, David, " she cried, --"let's go and tell Maggie--we must have sucha dinner! He's coming!"

"Who?" said David. 

"Why, Mr. Pryor, dear little boy. I want you to love him. Will youlove him?" "I'll see, " said David; "is Alice coming?"

Instantly her gayety flagged. "No, dear, no!"

"Well; I guess she's too old to play with;" David consoled himself;"she's nineteen. "

"I must speak to Maggie about the dinner, " Helena said dully. But whenshe talked to the woman, interest came back again; this time he shouldnot complain of his food! Maggie smiled indulgently at her excitement, "My, Mrs. Richie, I don't believe no wife could take as good care ofMr. Pryor--and you just his sister!"

For the rest of that glowing afternoon, Helena was very happy. Shealmost forgot that uncomfortable scene with Sam Wright. She talkedeagerly of Mr. Pryor to David, quite indifferent to the child's lackof interest. She had many anxious thoughts about what she should wear. If it was a very hot day, how would her white dimity do? Or the thinsprigged blue and white? it was so pretty--bunches of blue flowers ona cross-barred muslin, and made with three flounces and a bertha. Shewas wandering about the garden just before tea, trying to decide thispoint, when David came to say that a gentleman wanted to see her. David did not know his name;--he was the old tangled gentleman wholived in the big house on the hill. 

"_Oh!_" Helena said; she caught her lip between her teeth, andlooked at David with frightened eyes. The child was instantly alert. 

"I'll run and tell him to go home, " he said protectingly. 

But she shook her head. "I've got to see him--oh, David!"

The little boy took hold of her skirt, reassuringly; "I'll not let himhurt you, " he said. She hardly noticed that he kept close beside herall the way to the house. 

Mr. Benjamin Wright was sitting on the lowest step of the front porch. His trembling head was sunk forward on his breast; he did not lift itat her step, but peered up from under the brim of his dusty beaverhat; then seeing who it was, he rose, pushing himself up by grippingat the step behind him and clutching his cane first in one hand, thenin the other. His face like old ivory chiselled into superb lines ofmelancholy power, was pallid with fatigue. On his feet, withexaggerated politeness, he took off his hat with a sweeping bow. 

"Madam, your very obedient!"

"Good afternoon, " she said breathlessly. 

Benjamin Wright, tottering a little, changed his cane from his left tohis right hand, and chewed orange-skin fiercely. "I have called, madam--"

But she interrupted him. "Won't you come in and sit down, sir? Andpray allow me to get you a glass of wine. "

"Come in? No, madam, no. We are simple rustics here in Old Chester; wemust not presume to intrude upon a lady of such fashion as you. I fearthat some of us have already presumed too much"--he paused for breath, but lifted one veined old hand to check her protest--"too much, I say!Far too much! I come, madam, to apologize, and to tell you--" Again hestopped, panting; "to tell you that I insist that you forbid furtherintrusion--at least on the part of my grandson. "

"But, " she said, the color hot in her face, "he does not intrude. Idon't know what you mean. I--"

"Oh, madam, you are too kind, I am sure you know what I mean; it isyour excessive kindness that permits the visits of a foolish boy--wearying, I am sure, to a lady so accustomed to the world. I will askyou to forbid those visits. Do you hear me?" he cried shrilly, pounding the gravel with his cane. "Gad-a-mercy! Do you hear me? Youwill forbid his visits!"

"You are not very polite, Mr. Old Gentleman, " said David thoughtfully. 

"David!" Helena protested. 

Benjamin Wright, looking down at the little figure planted in front ofher, seemed to see him for the first time. 

"Who is this! Your child?"

"A little boy who is visiting me, " she said. "David, run away. "

Benjamin Wright made a sneering gesture. "No, no; don't dismiss him onmy account. But that a child should visit you is rather remarkable. Ishould think his parents--"

"Hush!" she broke in violently, "Go, David, go!"

As the child went sulkily back to the garden, she turned upon hervisitor. "How dare you! Dr. Lavendar brought him to me; I will nothear another word! And--and I don't know what you mean, anyhow. Youare a cruel old man; what have I ever done to you? I have never askedyour grandson to come here. I don't want him. I have told him so. AndI never asked you!"

Benjamin Wright cackled. "No; I have not been so far honored. I admitthat. You have kept us all at arm's length, --except my boy. " Then, bending his fierce brows on her, he added, "But what does Lavendarmean by sending a child--to you? What's he thinking of? Except, ofcourse, he never had any sense. Old Chester is indeed a foolish place. Well, madam, you will, I know, _protect yourself, _ by forbiddingmy grandson to further inflict his company upon you? And I will removemy own company, which is doubtless tiresome to you. "

He bowed again with contemptuous ceremony, and turned away. 

The color had dropped out of Helena's face; she was trembling verymuch. With a confused impulse she called to him, and even ran afterhim for a few steps down the path. He turned and waited for her. Shecame up to him, her breath broken with haste and fear. 

"Mr. Wright, you won't--" Her face trembled with dismay. In her frightshe put her hand on his arm and shook it; "you won't--?"

As he looked into her stricken eyes, his own suddenly softened. "Why--"he said, and paused; then struck the ground with his stick sharply. "There, there; I understand. You think I'll tell? Gad-a-mercy, madam, I am a gentleman. And my boy Sam doesn't interest you? Yes, yes; I seethat now. Why, perhaps I've been a trifle harsh? I shall say nothingto Lavendar, or anybody else. "

She put her hands over her face, and he heard a broken sound. Instantly he reddened to his ears. 

"Come! Come! You haven't thought me harsh, have you? Why, you poor-_bird!_ It was only on my boy's account. You and I understandeach other--I am a man of the world. But with Sam, it's different, now, isn't it? You see that? He's in love with you, the young fool! Agreat nuisance to you, of course. And I thought you might--but I askyour pardon! I see that you wouldn't think of such a thing. My dearyoung lady, I make you my apologies. " He put his hand out and pattedher shoulder; "Poor bird!" he said. But she shivered away from histouch, and after a hesitating moment he went shuffling down the pathby himself. 

On the way home he sniffled audibly; and when he reached the entranceto his own place he stopped, tucked his stick under his arm, and blewhis nose with a sonorous sound. As he stuffed his handkerchief backinto his pocket, he saw his grandson lounging against the gate, evidently waiting for him... The dilapidation of the Wright place wasespecially obvious here at the entrance. The white paint on the twosquare wooden columns of the gateway had peeled and flaked, and thecolumns themselves had rotted at the base into broken fangs, and hungloosely upon their inner-posts; one of them sagged sidewise from theweight of the open gate which had long ago settled down into theburdocks and wild parsley that bordered the weedy driveway. What withthe canaries, and the cooking, and the slovenly housework, poor oldSimmons had no time for such matters as repairing or weeding. 

Sam, leaning on the gate, watched his grandfather's toiling progressup the hill. His face was dull, and when he spoke all the youth seemedto have dropped out of his voice. 

"Grandfather, " he said, when Mr. Wright was within speaking distance, "I want to go away from Old Chester. Will you give me some money, sir?"

Benjamin Wright, his feet wide apart, and both hands gripping the topof his stick, came to a panting standstill and gaped at him. He didnot quite take the boy's words in; then, as he grasped the idea thatSam was agreeing to the suggestion which he had himself made more thana month before, he burst out furiously. "Why the devil didn't you sayso, _yesterday?_ Why did you let me--you young jackass!"

Sam looked at him in faint surprise. Then he proceeded to explainhimself: "Of course, father won't give me any money. And I haven't gotany myself--except about twelve dollars. And you were kind enough, sir, to say that you would help me to go and see if I could get apublisher for the drama. I would like to go to-morrow, if you please. "

"Go?" said Benjamin Wright, scowling and chewing orange-skin rapidly, "the sooner the better! I'm glad to get rid of you. But, confound you!why didn't you tell me so yesterday? Then I needn't have--Well, howmuch money do you want? Have you told your--your mother that you aregoing? Come on up to the house, and I'll give you a check. But whydidn't you make up your mind to this yesterday?" Snarling andsnapping, and then falling into silence, he began to trudge up thedriveway to his old house. 

Sam said briefly that he didn't know how much money he wanted, andthat he had not as yet told his family of his purpose. "I'll tellmother to-night, " he said. Then he, too, was silent, his young stepfalling in with his grandfather's shuffling gait. 

When Mr. Wright left her, Helena stood staring after him, sobbingunder her breath. She was terrified, but almost instantly she began tobe angry.... 

That old man, creeping away along the road, had told her that he wouldnot betray her; but his knowledge was a menace, and his surprise thatshe should have David, an insult! Of course, her way of living wasconsidered "wrong" by people who cannot understand such situations--old-fashioned, narrow-minded people. But the idea of any harm comingto David by it was ridiculous! As for Sam Wright, all that sort ofthing was impossible, because it was repugnant. No married woman, "respectable, " as such women call themselves, could have found theboy's love-making more repugnant than she did. And certainly herconduct in Old Chester was absolutely irreproachable: she went tochurch fairly often; she gave liberally to all the good causes of thevillage; she was kind to her servants, and courteous to these stupidOld Chester people. And yet, simply because she had been forced byFrederick's cruelty into a temporary unconventionality, this dingy, grimy old man despised her! "He looked at me as if I were--I don'tknow what!"

Anger swept the color up into her face, her hands clenched, and sheground her heel down into the path as if she were grinding theinsolent smile from his cruel old face. Horrible old man! Dirty, tremulous; with mumbling jaws chewing constantly; with untidy whitehairs pricking out from under his brown wig; with shaking, shrivelledhands and blackened nails; this old man had fixed his melancholy eyesupon her with an amused leer. He pretended, if you please! to thinkthat she was unworthy of his precious grandson's company--unworthy ofDavid's little handclasp. She would leave this impudent Old Chester!She would tell Lloyd so, as soon as he came. She would not endure theinsults of these narrow-minded fools. 

"Hideous! Hideous old wretch!" she said aloud furiously, between shutteeth. "How dared he look at me like that, as if I were--Beast! Ihate--I hate--I _hate_ him. " Her anger was so uncontrollable thatfor a moment she could not breathe. It was like a whirlwind, wrenchingand tearing her from the soil of contentment into which for so manyyears her vanity and selfishness had struck their roots. 

 _"But the Lord was not in the wind. "_

CHAPTER XVIII

When Helena went back to the house, her face was red, and her wholebody tingling; every now and then her breath came in a gasp of rage. At that moment she believed that she hated everybody in the world--thecruel, foolish, arrogant world!--even the thought of David brought nosoftening. And indeed, when that first fury had subsided, she stilldid not want to see the little boy; that destroying wind of anger hadbeaten her complacency to the dust, and she could not with dignitymeet the child's candid eyes. It was not until the next day that shecould find any pleasure in him, or even in the prospect of Lloyd'svisit; and when these interests began to revive, sudden gusts of ragewould tear her, and she would fall into abrupt reveries, declaring toherself that she would tell Lloyd how she had been insulted! But shereminded herself that she must choose just the right moment to enlisthis sympathy for the affront; she must decide with just what caressshe would tell him that she meant to leave Old Chester, and come, withDavid, to live in Philadelphia. (Oh, would Frederick _ever_ die?)... But, little by little, she put the miserable matter behind her, andfilled the days before Lloyd's arrival with plans for the few goldenhours that they were to be together, when he was to have her "all tohimself. " But, alas, the plans were all disarranged by David. 

Now Saturday, when you come to think of it, is always a day of joy--even if there must be a visitor. To begin with, there is no school, soyou have plenty of time to attend to many important affairs connectedwith playthings. Then, the gravel paths must be raked and the gardenmade tidy for Sunday, and so there is brush and refuse to be burned;and that means baking potatoes in the ashes, and (as you willremember), unless you stand, coughing, in the smoke to watch them, thepotatoes are so apt to burn. Also, the phaeton is washed with peculiarcare to make it fine for church; the wheels must be jacked up, oneafter the other, and spun round and round; then, if you go about itthe right way, you can induce George to let you take the big, grittysponge out of the black water of the stable bucket, and aftersqueezing it hard in your two hands, you may wipe down the spokes ofone wheel. Besides these things, there are always the rabbits. Rightafter breakfast, David had run joyously out to see Mr. And Mrs. Smith, but while he poked lettuce leaves between the bars of their hutch, thethought struck him that this was the moment to demonstrate thatinteresting fact in natural history, so well known to those of yourfriends who happen to be stablemen, but doubted by Dr. Lavendar, namely, that a hair from the pony's tail will, if soaked in water, turn into a snake. David shuddered at the word, but ran to the stableand carefully pulled two hairs from the pony's silvery-gray tail. Theoperation was borne with most obliging patience, but when he stoopedto pick up another beautiful long hair from the straw--for when youare making snakes you might as well make plenty, alas! the pony was soabsent-minded as to step back--and down came the iron-shod hoof on thesmall, eager hand!

David's shriek and George's outcry brought the feminine householdrunning and exclaiming, and at the sight of the bruised hand, with onehanging, helpless finger, Helena gathered the quivering little bodyinto her arms, and forgot everything but the child's pain. George wasrushed off for William King, and Mrs. Richie and the two women hungover the boy with tears and tender words and entreaties "not to cry"!David, in point of fact, stopped crying long before they did; but, ofcourse, he cried again, poor little monkey! during the setting of thetiny bone, though William King was as gentle and determined as wasnecessary, and David, sitting in Helena's lap, responded to the demandfor courage in quite a remarkable way. Indeed, the doctor noticed thatMrs. Richie quivered more than the child did. It was nearly elevenbefore it was all over, and William went off, smiling at Helena'sanxiety, for she accompanied him to the gate, begging for directionsfor impossible emergencies. When he had driven away, she flew back tothe house; but at the door of David's room looked at her watch, andexclaimed. Lloyd was due in half an hour! What should she do?

"Dear-precious, " she said, kneeling down beside the little boy, "Sarahshall come and sit with you while Mr. Pryor is here; you won't mind ifI am not with you?"

David, who had begun to whimper again, was too interested in himselfto mind in the least. Even when she said, distractedly, "Oh, there'sthe stage!" his unhappiness was not perceptibly increased. Helena, calling Sarah to come and sit with the invalid, ran down-stairs tomeet her guest. There had been no time to make herself charming; herface was marked by tears, and her dress tumbled by David's littlewincing body. Before she could reach the gate, Lloyd Pryor had openedit, and, unwelcomed, was coming up the path. His surprised glancebrought her tumultuous and apologetic explanation. 

"Oh, I'm sorry!" he said kindly; "I must console him with a newdollar; don't you think a dollar will be healing?"

She laughed and possessed herself of his hand. 

"You run a sort of hospital, Nelly, don't you? I must be a Jonah; itwas your cook the last time. How is she? I trust we are to have enoughfood to sustain life?"

"I meant to have such a fine dinner, " she said, "but we've all been sodistracted about David, I'm afraid things won't be as extraordinary asI planned. However, it will 'sustain life'!--Though you could go toDr. King's again, " she ended gayly. 

The instant irritation in his face sobered her. She began, carefully, to talk of this or that: his journey, the Mercer business, hishealth--anything to make him smile again. Plainly, it was not themoment to speak of Mr. Benjamin Wright and her purpose of leaving OldChester. 

"Now I must run up-stairs just one minute, and see David, " she said inthe middle of a sentence. Her minute lengthened to ten, but when shecame back, explaining that she had stopped to wash David's face--"itwas all stained by tears"--he did not seem impatient. 

"Your own would be improved by soap and water, my dear, " he said withan amused look. "No! no--don't go now; I want to talk to you, and Ihaven't much time. "

She knew him too well to insist; instead, she burst into what gayetyshe could summon, for that was how he liked her. But back in her mindthere was a growing tremor of apprehension:--there was somethingwrong; she could not tell what it was, but she felt it. She said toherself that she would not speak of Mr. Benjamin Wright until afterdinner. 

Little by little, however, her uneasiness subsided. It became evidentthat the excitement of the morning had not been too much for Maggie;things were very good, and Lloyd Pryor was very appreciative, andHelena's charm more than once touched him to a caressing glance and asoft word. But as they got up from the table he glanced at his watch, and she winced; then smiled, quickly. She brought him his cigar andstruck a light; and he, looking at her with handsome, lazy eyes, caught the hand which held the flaming match, and lit his cigar inslow puffs. 

"Now I must go and give a look at David, " she said. 

"Look here, Nelly, " he protested, "aren't you rather overdoing thisadopted-mother business?"

She found the child rather flushed and in an uneasy doze. Instantlyshe was anxious. "Don't leave him, Sarah, " she said. "I'll have Maggiebring your dinner up to you. Oh, I _wish_ I didn't have to godownstairs!"

"I'm afraid he is worse, " she told Lloyd Pryor with a worried frown. 

"Well, don't look as if it were an affair of nations, " he saidcarelessly, and drew her down on the sofa beside him. He was sogracious to her, that she forgot David; but she quivered for fear thegraciousness should cease. She was like a thirsty creature, drinkingwith eager haste, lest some terror should drive her back into thedesert. But Lloyd Pryor continued to be gracious; he talked gayly ofthis or that; he told her one or two stories that had been told him ina directors' meeting or on a journey, and he roared with appreciationof their peculiar humor. She flushed; but she made herself laugh. Thenshe began tentatively to say something of Old Chester; and--and whatdid he think? "That old man, who lives up on the hill, called, and--"

But he interrupted her. "You are very beguiling, Nelly, but I amafraid I must be thinking of the stage--it is after three. Before I goI just want to say--" then he broke off. "Come in! Well? What is it?"he demanded impatiently. 

"Please, ma'am, " said Sarah, standing in the doorway, her facepuckered almost to tears, "David's woke up, and he's crying, and Ican't do nothing with him. He wants you, ma'am. "

"Oh, poor darling! Tell him I'll come right up, " Mrs. Richie said, rising in quick distress. 

"Nonsense!" said Lloyd Pryor, sharply. "Sarah, tell the boy to behavehimself. Mrs. Richie can't come now. "

Sarah hurried up-stairs, but Helena stood in painful indecision. "Oh, Lloyd, I _must_ go! I'll just sit with him a minute!"

"You'll just sit with me a minute, " he said calmly. "Be sensible, Helena. I want to speak to you about something. "

But she did not hear him; she was listening for David's voice. Alittle whimpering cry reached her, and the tears sprung to her eyes. "Lloyd! I must. He is crying. "

"Let him cry. "

"He's takin' on so, please come up, ma'am, " came Sarah's entreatingvoice from over the banisters in the upper hall. 

"Oh, Lloyd, I must!" She turned; but he, springing up, caught herwrist and pulled her to him. 

"Don't be a fool. "

"Let me go! Oh, how cruel you are!" She tried to wrench her wrist fromhis grasp. "I hate you!"

"Hate me, do you?" He laughed, and catching her in his arms, kissedher again and again. Then he put his hands in his pockets and steppedback, leaving her free. "Will you go?"

She stood, vibrating between surprised affection and anguished longingfor the child. "Lloyd!" she said faintly; she put her hands over herface, and came towards him slowly, shivering a little, and murmuring"_Lloyd!_" Then, with a sudden gasp, she turned and fled up-stairs. "David--I am coming--"

Lloyd Pryor stood dumfounded; in his astonishment he almost laughed. But at that instant he heard the crunch of wheels drawing up at thegate. "The stage!" he said to himself, and called out, angrily, "Helena!"

But it was not the stage; it was William King's shabby old buggystanding in the shadow of the big locust by the roadside; and therewas the doctor himself coming up the path. 

Lloyd Pryor swore under his breath. 

The front door was open to the hot June afternoon, and unannounced thedoctor walked into the hall. As he took off his hat, he glanced intothe parlor, and for a second of consternation stood staring with angryeyes. Then he nodded stiffly. "I will be obliged if you will let Mrs. Richie know I am here. "

"She is with that boy, " said Lloyd Pryor. He made no motion ofcivility; he stood where Helena had left him, his hands still in hispockets. "Will you be so good as to tell her to come down here to me?The stage is due, and I must see her before I go. "

William King, red and stolid, nodded again, and went up-stairs withoutanother look into the parlor. 

While he waited Lloyd Pryor's anger slowly rose. The presence of thedoctor froze the tenderness that, for an idle moment, her face andvoice and touch had awakened. The annoyance, the embarrassment, thedanger of that call, returned in a gust of remembrance. When she camedown-stairs, full of eager excuses, the touch of his rage seared herlike a flame. 

"If you will kindly take five minutes from that squalling brat--"

"Lloyd, he was in pain. I had to go to him. The instant the doctorcame, I left him. I--"

"Listen to me, please. I have only a minute. Helena, this friend ofyours, this Dr. King, saw fit to pry into my affairs. He came toPhiladelphia to look me up--" "_What!_"

"He came to my house"--he looked at her keenly through his curlingeyelashes--"to my house! Do you understand what that means?"

In her dismay she sat down with a sort of gasp; and looking up at him, stammered, "But why? Why?"

"Why? Because he is a prying suspicious jackass of a country doctor!He came at exactly six o'clock. It was perfectly evident that he meantto give me the pleasure of his company at dinner. "

At that she sprang to her feet, her impetuous hands upon his arm. "Then he was not--suspicious! Don't you see? He was only friendly!"She trembled with the reaction of that instant of dismay. "He was notsuspicious, or he wouldn't have been--been willing--" Her voicetrailed into shamed silence. 

Lloyd Pryor pushed her hand away, impatiently. "I'm not anxious forhis friendship or even his acquaintance. You will please consider whatwould have happened if I had not come home just as he arrived!" Hepaused, his voice hardening: "My daughter saw him. "

Helena stepped back, wincing and silent. 

"You will be so good as to consider the result of such tomfoolery--tome. "

"And what about me?" she said. "Your 'daughter'--I suppose you meanAlice--is not the only person in the world!"

But Lloyd Pryor, having dealt his blow, was gracious again. "My dear, you needn't begin recriminations. Of course, I speak on your accountas much as on my own. It would have been--well, awkward, all round. You must see that it does not occur again. You will not get on termswith these people that will encourage them to look me up. Youunderstand?"

She looked at him, terror-stricken. In all their squabbles anddifferences--and there had been many in the last few years--he hadnever spoken in this extraordinary tone. It was not anger, it was notthe courteous brutality with which she was more or less familiar; itwas superiority. The color swept into her face; even her throatreddened. She said stammering, "I don't know why you speak--in--inthis tone--"

"I am not going to speak any more in any tone, " he said lightly;"there's the stage! Good-by, my dear. I trust your boy may recoverrapidly. Tell him I was prepared for his sling and the 'smooth stoneout of the brook'! Sorry I couldn't have seen more of you. " As hespoke he went into the hall; she followed him without a word. Hepicked up his hat, and then, turning, tipped her chin back and kissedher. She made no response. 

When he had gone, she went into the parlor and Shut the door. 

CHAPTER XIX

David was quite a personage in Old Chester for a few days. Mrs. Richie was his slave, and hardly left him day or night; Dr. King cameto see him five times in one week; Mrs. Barkley sent him some winejelly in a sheaf-of-wheat mould; Dr. Lavendar climbed the hill on twoafternoons, to play dominoes with him, though, as it happened, Mrs. Richie was not present either day to watch the game. The first timeshe had just gone to lie down, Sarah said; the second time she hadthat moment started out to walk--"Why, my goodness!" said Sarah, "shemust 'a' _just_ gone! She was here not a minute ago. I should 'a'thought she'd 'a' seen you tyin' up at the gate?"

"Well, evidently she didn't, " Dr. Lavendar said, "or she would havewaited. Tell her I'm sorry to miss her, Sarah. " Then, eagerly, he wenton up-stairs to David. 

William King, too, was scarcely more fortunate; he only found her athome once, so at the end of the week he was unable to tell her thatDavid was improving. It was, of course, necessary that she should betold this; so that was why he and Jinny continued to come up the hillfor another week. At any rate that was the explanation he gave hisMartha. "I must let her know just when David can go back to school, "he said. And Martha, with a tightening lip remarked that she shouldhave supposed a woman of Mrs. Richie's years could use her ownjudgment in such a matter. 

William's explanation to Dr. Lavendar was somewhat fuller: "I make apoint of calling, on the plea of seeing David, but it's really to seeher. She's so high strung, that this little accident of his hascompletely upset her. I notice that she sort of keeps out of the wayof people. I'm pretty sure that yesterday she saw me coming andslipped out into the garden to avoid me--think of that! Nervousness;pure nervousness. But I have a plan to brighten her up a little--asurprise-party. What do you say?"

Dr. Lavendar looked doubtful. "William, " he said, "isn't lifesurprising enough? Now, here's Sam Wright's Sam's performance. "

Dr. Lavendar looked care-worn, and with reason. Sam Wright's Sam hadindeed provided a surprise for Old Chester. He had quietly announcedthat he was going to leave town. 

"Going away!" repeated the senior warden. "What are you talkingabout?"

Sam said briefly that he wanted to try to get a drama he had written, published. 

"You are out of your senses!" his father said; "I forbid it, sir. Doyou hear me?"

Sam looked out of the window. "I shall go, I think, to-morrow, " hesaid thoughtfully. 

Samuel Wright stared at his wife in dumfounded silence. When he gothis breath, he said in awful tones, "Eliza, he defies me! A child ofmine, and lost to all sense of duty! I cannot understand it;--unlesssuch things have happened in _your_ family?" he ended with suddensuspicion, "Never!" protested the poor mother; "but Samuel, my dear--Sammy, mydarling--"

The senior warden raised a majestic hand. "Silence, if you please, Eliza. " Then he thrust his right hand into his bosom, rested his leftfist on the marble-topped centre-table, and advanced one foot. Standing thus, he began to tell his son what he thought of him, and ashe proceeded his anger mounted, he forgot his periods and hisattitudes, and his voice grew shrill and mean. But, alas, he could nottell the boy all that he thought; he could not tell him of his highambitions for him, of his pitiful desire for his love, of hisanguished fear lest he might be unhappy, or foolish, or bad. Thesethoughts the senior warden had never known how to speak. Instead, hedetailed his grievances and his disappointments; he told Sam withruthless candor what the world called his conduct: dishonest, idiotic, ungrateful. He had a terrifying string of adjectives, and through themall the boy looked out of the window. Once, at a particularlyimpassioned period, he glanced at his father with interest; thatphrase would be fine in a play, he reflected. Then he looked out ofthe window again. 

"And now, " Mr. Wright ended sonorously, "what reply have you to make, sir?"

Sam looked confused. "I beg your pardon, father? I did not hear whatyou were saying. "

Samuel Wright stared at him, speechless. 

As for the boy, he said calmly, "Good night, father, " and went up-stairs to his own room where he began his packing. The next morning hehad gone. 

"Where?" asked Dr. Lavendar, when the angry father brought him thenews. "I do not know, " said the senior warden, "and I do not--"

"Yes, you do, " said Dr. Lavendar; "but that's not the point. The pointis that it doesn't really matter, except for our comfort, whether weknow or not. Sam is a man, and our protection is an impertinence. He'staking a dive on his own account. And as I look at it, he has a rightto. But he'll come up for breath, and then we'll get some information. And he'll get some sense. "

But of course the Wright family was in a most distressed state. Themother was overwhelmed with anxious grief; the father was consumedwith mortification and blazing with anger. 

"He didn't take his second-weight flannels, " moaned Mrs. Wright; "hewill catch cold. Oh, where is he? And nobody knows how to cook hishominy for him but our Betsy. Oh, my boy!"

"Good riddance, " said Sam senior between his teeth; "ungratefulpuppy!"

Dr. Lavendar had his hands full. To reassure the mother, and tell herthat the weather was so warm that Sam couldn't use the second-weightflannels if he had them, and that when he came back Betsy's hominywould seem better than ever--"Old Chester food will taste mightygood, after a few husks, " said Dr. Lavendar, cheerfully--to tell Samsenior that a grateful puppy would be an abnormal monster, and torefrain from telling him that whatever a father sows he is pretty sureto reap--took time and strength. So Dr. Lavendar did not enter veryheartily into William King's plans for a surprise-party. However, hedid promise to come, if the doctor succeeded in getting Old Chestertogether. 

Meantime he and Danny and Goliath went up to The Top to tell BenjaminWright about Sam's Sam. The grandfather displayed no surprise. 

"I knew he was going to clear out, " he said; he was poking about amonghis canaries when Dr. Lavendar came in, and he stopped and sat down, panting. "These fowls wear me out, " he complained. "Whiskey? No? Dearme! Your senior warden's got you to sign the pledge, I suppose? Well, I will; to drink the cub's health. He'll amount to something yet, ifhe doesn't eat his fatted calf too soon. Fatted calf is very bad forthe digestion. "

"Wright, I don't suppose you need to be told that you behavedabominably Sunday night? Do you know where Sam is?"

"I don't; and I don't want to. Behaved abominably? He wouldn't shakehands with me! Sam told me he was going, and I gave him some money--well! why do you look at me like that? Gad-a-mercy, ain't he mygrandson? Besides, since our love-feast, ain't it my duty to help hisfather along? I've had a change of heart, " he said, grinning; "where'syour joy over the one sinner that repenteth? I'm helping young Sam, sothat old Sam may get some sense. Lavendar, the man who has not learnedwhat a damned fool he is, hasn't learned anything. And if I mistakenot, the boy will teach my very respectable son, who won't smoke andwon't drink, that interesting fact. As for the boy, he will come backa man, sir. A man! Anyway, I've done my part. I offered him money andadvice--like the two women grinding at the mill, one was taken and theother was left. Yes; I've done my part. I've evened things up. I gavehim his first tobie, and his first drink, and now I've given him achance to see the world--which your senior warden once said was anecessary experience for a young man. I've evened things up!" Hethrust a trembling hand down into the blue ginger-jar for some orange-skin. "He said he'd pay the money back; I said, 'Go to thunder!' As ifI cared about the money. I've got him out of Old Chester; that's all Icare about. "

"Well, " said Dr. Lavendar, "I hope you haven't got him merely out ofthe frying-pan. "

"So you think there is no fire in Old Chester? She's a pretty creetur, Lavendar, ain't she? Poor thing!"

Dr. Lavendar did not follow the connection of ideas in the older man'smind, but he did say to himself, as he and Goliath went away, that itwas queer how possessed Benjamin Wright was that Sam's love-making wasdangerous. Then he sighed, and his face fell into troubled lines. Forall his brave words, he wished he knew where the boy was; and thoughhe was already late for dinner, he drew up at William King's door toask the doctor if he had any new ideas on the subject. 

But Willy was not at home. Martha was sitting under the grape-vinetrellis at the back door, topping and tailing gooseberries. From thekitchen behind her came the pleasant smell of preserving. She had abig yellow earthenware bowl in her lap, and excused herself for notrising when Dr. Lavendar came round the corner of the house to findher. 

"_I_ am a housekeeper, Dr. Lavendar. William thinks it's prettynot to understand housekeeping; but I expect if he didn't havepreserves for his supper, he wouldn't think it was so pretty. No; heisn't at home, sir. He's gone out--with the thermometer at ninety--tosee about that party he is getting up for Mrs. , Richie. So long as hehas time to spare from his patients, I should think he would like totake up my spare-room carpet for me. But, oh dear, no. He has to seeabout parties!"

"William is always doing friendly things, " said Dr. Lavendar, sittingdown on the door-step and helping himself to a gooseberry fromMartha's bowl. "You are going to make some fool for the supper, ofcourse?" He took off his hat, and wiped his forehead with his big redhandkerchief. 

"Oh, of course. I'm very tired, and I have my housekeeping to attendto; but I can make gooseberry fool. That's what I'm for. "

"When is this party?" said Dr. Lavendar. "I declare, I've been soworried about Sam's Sam, I've forgotten. "

"It's next week; Thursday. Yes; she can send that boy to his death, maybe; but we must have parties to cheer her up. "

"Oh, come now, " Dr. Lavendar remonstrated; "I don't believe a glimpseof the world will kill him. And nobody can blame Mrs. Richie for hisfoolishness. I suppose we are all going?"

"Everybody, " Martha King said scornfully; "even Samuel Wright. He toldhis wife that he wouldn't have any nonsense about Sam, and she'd gotto go. I think it's positively cruel; because of course everybodyknows that the boy was in love with this housekeeper that doesn't knowhow to make soap!" Martha shook her bowl sharply, and the topplinggreen pyramid crumbled. Dr. Lavendar looked at her over hisspectacles; instantly her face reddened, and she tossed her head. "Ofcourse, you understand that I haven't the slightest personal feelingabout it. That's one thing about me, Dr. Lavendar, I may not beperfect, but nobody despises anything like--that, more than I do. Imerely regret William's judgment. "

"Regret William's judgment! Why, think of the judgment he displayed inchoosing a wife, " said Dr. Lavendar. But when he climbed into his oldbuggy he had the grace to be ashamed of himself; he admitted as muchto Danny. "For she's a sensible woman, Daniel, and, at bottom, kind. "Danny yawned, and Dr. Lavendar added, "Poor Willy!"

Mrs. Richie's first hint of Dr. King's proposed festivity came a weeklater from David, who happened to be at home to dinner, and who sawfit to mention that Lydia Wright wasn't to be allowed to come up withher father and mother. 

"Come up where?" Mrs. Richie said, idly. She was leaning forward, herelbows on the table, watching the child eat. When he said, "To yourparty to-night, " she sat up in astonished dismay. 

"My _what?_ David! Tell me--exactly. Who is coming? Oh, dear!"she ended, tears of distress standing in her eyes. 

David continued to eat his rice pudding. "Can I sit up till nine?"

Mrs. Richie pushed her chair back from the table, and caught her lowerlip between her teeth. What should she do? But even as she askedherself the question, Dr. King stood, smiling, in the French windowthat opened on to the lawn. 

"May I come in?" he said. 

The fact was, a misgiving had risen in William's mind; perhaps acomplete surprise would not be pleasant. Perhaps she would rather havean idea of what was going to happen. Perhaps she might want to dressup, or something. And so he dropped in to give a hint: "Half a dozenof us are coming in tonight to say how-do-you-do, " he confessed, ("Whew! she doesn't need to dress up, " he commented inwardly. ) The redrose in her hair and her white cross-barred muslin with elbow sleevesseemed very elegant to William. He was so lost in admiration of hertoilet, that her start of angry astonishment escaped him. 

"Dr. King, " said David, scraping up the sugar from his saucer, "is Godgood because He likes to be, or because He has to be?"

"David, " said William King, "you will be the death of me!"

"Because, if He likes to be, " David murmured, "I don't see why He getspraised; and if He has to be, why--"

"Dr. King, " said Helena breathlessly, "I'm afraid--really, I'm notprepared for company; and--"

"Oh, " said William, cheerfully, "don't bother about that. Mrs. King isgoing to bring up one or two little things, and I believe Mrs. Barkleyhas some ideas on the subject. Well, I must be going along. I hope youwon't be sorry to see us? The fact is, you are too lonely up here withonly David to keep you busy, though I must say, if he fires offquestions like this one, I should think you would be pretty welloccupied!"

When he had gone, Helena Richie sat looking blankly at David. "What onearth shall I do!" she said aloud. 

"Did God make Sarah?" David demanded. 

"Yes, dear, yes!"

"Did He make me, and the Queen, and my rabbits?"

"Why, of course. Oh, David, you do ask so many questions!"

"Everything has to be made, " he ruminated. 

She agreed, absently. David put his spoon down, deeply interested. 

"Who made God?--another god, higher up?"

"I think, " she said, "that I'll send word I have a headache!"

David sighed, and gave up theological research, "Dr. King didn't lookat my scar, but I made Theophilus Bell pay me a penny to show it tohim. Mrs. Richie, when I am a man, I'm _never_ going to wash behind myears. I tell Sarah so every morning, I'm going to see my rabbits, now. Good-by. "

He slipped down from his chair and left her to her perplexity--as ifshe had not perplexity enough without this! For the last few days shehad been worried almost to death about Mr. Benjamin Wright. She hadnot written to Lloyd yet of that terrible interview in the gardenwhich would drive her from Old Chester; she had been afraid to. Shefelt instinctively that his mood was not hospitable to any plan thatwould bring her to live in the East. He would be less hospitable ifshe came because she had been found out in Old Chester. But hertimidity about writing to him was a curious alarm to her; it was aconfession of something she would not admit even long enough to denyit. Nevertheless, she did not write. "I will to-morrow, " she assuredherself each day, But now, on top of her worry of indecision andunacknowledged fear, came this new dismay--a party! How furious Lloydwould be if he heard of it; well, he must not hear of it. But whatcould she do? If she put it off with a flimsy excuse, it would onlydefer the descent upon her. How helpless she was! They would come, these people, they would be friendly; she could not escape them. 

"Oh, I must stop this kind of thing, " she said to herself, desperately. 

CHAPTER XX

With the exception of Benjamin Wright, all Old Chester lent itself toWilliam King's project with very good grace. Mr. Wright said, gruffly, that a man with one foot in the grave couldn't dance a jig, so hepreferred to stay at home. But the rest of Old Chester said thatalthough she was so quiet and kept herself to herself so much, Mrs. Richie was a ladylike person; a little shy, perhaps--or perhaps onlyproperly hesitant to push her way into society; at any rate it was butkind to show her some attention. 

"Her modesty does her credit, " Mrs. Barkley said, "but it will begratifying to her to be noticed. I'll come, William, and bring a cake. And Maria Welwood shall tell Ezra to take three bottles of Catawba. "

A little before eight, the company began to assemble, full of suchcordial courtesy that Mrs. Richie's shrinking and awkward coldnessonly incited them to heartier friendliness. Dr. King, master ofceremonies, was ably assisted by his Martha. Mrs. King may have been, as she told all the guests, very tired, but she could be depended uponto be efficient. It was she who had engaged Uncle Davy and his fiddle;she who put the cakes and wine and fruit upon the dining-room table, already somewhat meagerly arranged by Helena's reluctant hands; shewho bustled about to find card-tables, and induced Tom Dilworth tosing;

 "_Thou--Thou reignest in this bosom!--_"

and got Mr. Ezra Barkley to ask statistical conundrums. 

"It's well there is somebody to attend to things, " she said in a dryaside to William. "Mrs. Richie just walks around as if she didn'tbelong here. And she lets that child sit up until this hour! I can'tunderstand how a sensible woman can deliberately spoil a child. --I'dlike to know what that perfume is that she uses, " she ended frowning. 

It was after supper, while the husband and wife, still oppressed withtheir responsibilities, were standing in the doorway looking in uponthe cheerful party now in full enjoyment of its own hospitality, thatEddy Minns came up behind them and touched William King's arm. 

"Dr. King, " he said breathlessly, "a telegram, sir. For Mrs. Richie. And mother said it was bad news!"

"Oh, William!" said Martha; "bad news! Do you know what it is, Eddy?"

"Somebody is dead, " the boy said, important and solemn. 

"Her brother?" William King asked in dismay. 

"Well, not the brother that comes here; his name is Lloyd, mothersaid. This is somebody whose name begins with 'F. ' Perhaps anotherbrother. Mother showed the despatch to me; it just said: 'F. Diedsuddenly yesterday in Paris. ' It was signed 'S. R. '"

"It isn't from Pryor, then, " William commented. 

"Oh, William, " Martha whispered, "what shall we do? Must you give itto her _now?_--oh, William!"

Dr. King stood staring at the orange-colored envelope in silence. 

"Shall I call Dr. Lavendar?" Martha asked breathlessly. 

"Wait, " her husband said; "let me think: it may not be anybody verynear and dear; but whether it is or not, there is nothing she can doabout it to-night. The telegraph-office is closed. I don't see why herevening need be spoiled. No; I won't give it to her now. When thepeople go--"

"Oh, dear! Dr. Lavendar says we must end up with a reel. But I'll getthem off as soon as I can, " Martha declared, in her capable voice, "and then I'll break it to her. "

"I will tell her, " the doctor said. He put the envelope in his pocketwith a troubled frown. 

"If she is in affliction, a woman will be more comfort to her than aman, " Martha instructed him. "Look at her now, poor thing! She littlethinks--No indeed; I must stay with her. I'm very tired, and she's notvery friendly, but I won't shirk my duty on that account. That's onething about me: I may not be perfect, but I don't let personalfeelings interfere with duty. "

"It isn't your duty, " William said impatiently; "you'd better arrangeabout the reel. " And with that he left her. But he was so uneasy atwithholding the telegram that he forgot to choose a partner, and letMartha push him into place opposite Miss Maggie Jay, who was so stoutthat when the two large bodies went jigging down the lane, theclasping hands arched above their heads had to break apart to givethem room. 

"She may think I ought to have told her at once, " William was sayingto himself, watching Mrs. Richie with such furtive attention that heforgot to turn his partner, until Martha's sharp reminder set himshuffling his feet, and grinning in a sickly way at panting MissMaggie.... "Who is 'F. '? Will 'F. 's death be a great grief? Will shesuffer?" William King's kind heart began to beat thickly in histhroat. If she should cry! He bowed, with stiffly swinging arms toMiss Maggie. He thought of Helena, --who was moving through the danceas a flower sways on its stalk, --as one thinks of a child in pain;with the impulse to hold out his arms. In his absorption he stoodstock-still--but happily the reel was over, and the people werebeginning to say good-by. He drew a long breath of relief at gettingrid of them, and as he stood waiting, Martha plucked at his sleeve. "Give me the despatch; I'll break it to her. "

He looked at her with absent eyes. "No; I'll see to it. Do start, Martha, and maybe that will hurry them off!"

Mrs. King drew back, affronted. "Oh, very well, " She said; and madeher cold adieux. 

But Helena Richie was oblivious of Mrs. King's coldness; her anxietyand dismay had grown into an uncontrollable nervousness, and when atlast, thinking she was alone, she threw up her arms with a gesture ofrelief, the sight of William King, coming gravely towards her, madeher break into an angry exclamation. But before she knew it, he hadtaken her hand, and was holding it in his kind clasp. 

"Mrs. Richie, I am afraid I must give you bad news. "

"Bad--news--?"

"A telegram has come, " he began, taking the envelope from his pocket;but she interrupted him, Seizing it with a sort of gasp and tearing itopen. A moment later she stood quite still, looking at the despatch, then with dilating eyes at the doctor, and again at the despatch. Shepressed her fingers hard against her lips, and he saw that she wastrembling. 

"You must sit down, " he said gently, and put his big, quiet hand onher shoulder. She sank under his firm touch into a chair. 

"It is not--bad news. "

"I am glad of that, " William said. "But you are a little pale, " headded smiling. 

"It was a shock. "

"I am glad it was nothing more. "

She spread out the telegram and read it again. She did not seem tohear him. Dr. King looked at her uneasily. There was certainly nogrief in her face, yet her color did not come back. 

"Some one is dead, " she said. "Not--a friend. " William was silent. "But it startled me. "

"Yes, " the doctor said. 

"Oh, Dr. King!" she cried violently; and put her hands over her face. He thought with relief that tears had come. "He was--an enemy, " shesaid. "He is dead, Mrs. Richie; forgive him. "

She did not answer. It was all William King could do not to stroke thesoft hair of the bent head, and say "Don't cry, " as if to a child. Butwhen she lifted her face, her eyes were quite dry; there was aflashing look in them that broke into breathless, wavering laughter. 

"I beg your pardon; it is just the--the shock, you know. "

"Yes, " the doctor said; "I know. " He could not help covering with hisbig, warm palm, the shaking hands that were pulling and twisting thetelegram. "There, there! My dear Mrs. Richie--where is that bromide Igave you for David? I want you to take some. "

"Oh, it isn't necessary; truly it isn't. I am not unhappy. I am just--"

"You are startled; and you must have a good night's sleep. Is thebromide in David's room? I'll get it. "

When he came back with the medicine, she took it hurriedly--anythingto get rid of him! "Is there anything I can do?" he said. "Do you wantto send any reply? I can take it down to-night and send it the firstthing in the morning. "

"Oh!" she exclaimed, "what am I thinking of! Of course, a message--Imust send a message! Will you take it? Oh, I am afraid I trouble youvery much, but you are so kind. I'll go and write it. "

She tried to rise, but she was still so shaken that involuntarily heput out his hand to help her. At the old mahogany desk between thewindows she hunted about for paper and pencil, and when she foundthem, wrote for a moment, rapidly; then paused, and tore the paper up. William glanced at her side-wise; she was pressing the pencil againsther lips, her left hand opening and closing with agitation. The doctorshook his head. "That won't do, " he said to himself. Again she wrote;again hesitated; again tore the sheet of paper across. It seemed tohim that he waited a long time. But when she brought him the message, it was very short; only: _"F. Is dead, "_ and her initials. It wasaddressed to Mr. Lloyd Pryor. 

"I am very much obliged to you, " she said; her color was coming back, and she had evidently got control of herself. But she hardly noticedWilliam's farewell, and he had not reached the front door before shebegan to pace up and down the parlor. 

"Well!" said Martha, "was it a brother, or sister? How did she takeit? I suppose you think she found it easier because you broke it toher. I must say, William, flatly and frankly, that I think a nicewoman would rather have a woman near her when she is in trouble, thana man. I was very tired, but I was perfectly willing to remain. Well!what relation was this F. ? A cousin?"

"Why, I don't know, " the doctor confessed blankly; "she didn't say, and it never occurred to me to ask; and--"

"Well, upon my word!" said Martha King. 

CHAPTER XXI

Helena stood breathing quickly; it was as if she had been smothering, and suddenly felt free air. She was alone. The people--the terrible, persistently friendly, suffocating people, were gone! She could draw afull breath; she could face her own blazing fact; ... _Frederick wasdead. _

She was walking back and forth, staring with unseeing eyes at theconfusion of the room--chairs pulled out from their accustomed places;two card-tables with a litter of cards and counters; the astral-lampburning low on the rosewood table that was cluttered with olddaguerreotypes belonging to the house. The dining-room door was ajar, and as she passed it she had a glimpse of the empty disorder of theroom, and could hear her two women moving about, carrying off platesand glasses and talking to each other. 

"Well, I like company, " she heard Sarah say. "I wish she'd havesomebody in every day. "

And Maggie's harsh murmur: "You ain't got to cook for 'em. " Then theclatter of forks and spoons in the pantry. 

"Seemed to me like as if she wasn't real glad to see 'em, " Sarahcommented. "My! look at all this here good cake crumbled up onsomebody's plate. "

"Well, a widow woman don't enjoy company, " Maggie explained. 

A minute later Sarah came bustling in to close the parlor windows forthe night, and started to find the room still occupied. "I thought youhad gone upstairs, ma'am, " the girl stammered, wondering nervously ifshe had said anything that she would not care to have overheard. 

"I am going now, " Mrs. Richie said, drawing a long breath, and openingand shutting her eyes in a dazed way;--"like as if she'd been asleepand was woke up, sudden, " Sarah told Maggie later. 

In her own room, the door locked, she sank down in a chair, herclasped hands falling between her knees, her eyes staring at thefloor. 

_Dead. _

How long he had been about dying. Thirteen years ago Lloyd had said, "He'll drink himself to death in six months; and then--!" Well; atleast part of the programme was carried out: he drank. But he did notdie. No; he went on living, living, living! That first year they wereconstantly asking each other for news of him: "Have you heardanything?" "Yes; an awful debauch. Oh, he can't stand it. He'll be inhis grave before Christmas. " But Christmas came, and Frederick wasstill living. Then it was "before spring"--"before fall"--"beforeChristmas" again. And yet he went on living. And she had gone onliving, too. At first, joyously, except when she brooded over thebaby's death; then impatiently--for Frederick would not die! Then, gradually, gradually, with weary acceptance of the situation. Only inthe last two or three years had she begun to live anxiously, as sherealized how easily Lloyd was accepting Frederick's lease of life. Less and less often he inquired whether Mr. Raynor had mentionedFrederick's health in the letter that came with her quarterlystatement. By and by, it was she, not Lloyd, who asked, "Have youheard anything of Frederick?"

The house was quite silent now, except when Sarah trudged up the backstairs with the clanking silver-basket on her arm. The lamp on thecorner of her bureau flickered, and a spark wavered up the chimney;the oil was gone and the wick charring. She got up and blew thesmouldering flame out; then sat down again in the darkness.... Yes;Lloyd was no longer vitally interested in Frederick's health. She mustmake up her mind to that. But after all, what difference did thatmake? He loved her just the same, only men are not like women, theydon't keep on saying so, --for that matter, she herself did not say soas often as in those first days. But of course she loved him just asmuch. She had grown a little dull, she supposed. No; she would notdistrust him. She was sure he loved her. Yet behind her most emphaticassertions cowered that dumb apprehension which had struck its coldtalons into her heart the day that David had hurt his hand: ... _Suppose Frederick's death should be an embarrassment to Lloyd!_

In the darkness, with the brush of the locust branches against theclosed shutters of the east window, her face blazed with angry color, and she threw her head up with a surge of pride. "If he doesn't wantme, I don't want him!" she said aloud. She pulled the lace bertha fromher shoulders, and began to take out her hairpins, "I sha'n't be theone to say 'Let us be married. '"

When she lay down in the darkness, her eyes wide open, her armsstraight at her sides, it flashed into her mind that Frederick waslying still and straight, too. His face must be white, now; sunken, perhaps; the leer of his pale eyes changed into the sly smile of thedead. _Dead. _ Oh, at last, at last!--and her mind rushed back toits own affairs.... That horrible old Mr. Wright and his insinuations;how she had worried over them and over the difficulty of getting awayfrom Old Chester, only that afternoon. Ah, well, she need never thinkof such things again, for never again could any one have an insultingthought about her; and as for her fear that Lloyd would not want herto leave Old Chester--why, he would take her away himself! And onceoutside of Old Chester, she would have a place in the world like otherwomen. She was conscious of a sudden and passionate elation: _Likeother women. _ The very words were triumphant! Yes; like thatdreadful Mrs. King; oh, how intolerably stupid the woman was, how shedisliked her; but when Lloyd came and they went away together, shewould be like Mrs. King! She drew an exultant breath and smiledproudly in the darkness. For the moment the cowering fear wasforgotten.... How soon could he come? He ought to have the telegram byten the next morning--too late to catch the express for Mercer. Hewould take the night train, and arrive at noon on Saturday. A day anda half to wait. And at that she realized with sudden astonishment thatit was still Thursday. It seemed hours and hours since she had readthat telegram. Yet it was scarcely an hour ago that she had beendancing the Virginia reel with those terrible people! A little latershe had noticed William King lingering behind the departing guests;how annoyed she had been at his slowness. Then he had taken thatenvelope out of his pocket--she gasped again, remembering the shock ofits contents. 

In this tumult of broken and incoherent thought, the night passed. Itwas not until dawn that her mind cleared enough for consecutivethinking, and when it did she was so fatigued that she fell asleep andslept heavily till awakened by an anxious knock at her door. Had Mrs. Richie one of her headaches? Should Sarah bring her some coffee?

"Why, what time is it? Has David gone to school? What! ten o'clock!"She was broad awake at that--he must have got the despatch. Allowingfor delays, his answer ought to reach her by noon. 

She sprang up with the instinct to do something to get ready! Shebegan to plan her packing, the thrill of action tingling through her. She dressed hurriedly, looking incessantly at the clock, and thenlaughing to herself. What difference did it make how late it was? Byno possibility could Lloyd appear on the morning stage; unless, yes, it _was_ possible; Mr. Raynor might have telegraphed him. No; Mr. Raynor had never recognized the situation. Lloyd could not reach heruntil noon on Saturday; he could only telegraph. She sighed andresigned herself to facts, drinking the coffee Sarah brought her, andasking whether David was all right. "Poor darling, having hisbreakfast all alone, " she said. Then she looked at the clock; Lloyd'sdespatch could hardly arrive for another hour. 

The still, hot morning stretched interminably before her. A dozentimes it was on her lips to order the trunks brought down from thegarret. A dozen times some undefined sense of fitness held her back. When his answer came, when he actually said the word--then; but nottill then.... What time was it? After eleven! She would go into thegarden, where she could look down the road and have the first glimpseof Eddy Minns climbing the hill. With her thoughts in gallopingconfusion, she put on her flat hat with its twist of white lace aboutthe crown, and went out into the heat. From the bench under the bigpoplar she looked across at the girdling hills, blue and hot in thestill flood of noon; below her was the valley, now a sea of treetopsislanded with Old Chester roofs and chimneys; there was no gleam ofthe river through the midsummer foliage. She took her watch out of thelittle watch-pocket at her waist--nearly twelve! If he had got thedespatch at nine, it was surely time for an answer. Still, so manythings might have happened to delay it. He might have been late ingetting to his office; or, for that matter, Eddy Minns might be slowabout coming up the hill. Everybody was slow in Old Chester!

The empty road ran down to the foot of the hill, no trudging messengerclimbed its hot slope. Twelve. 

"I'll not look at the road for five minutes, " she told herself, resolutely, and sat staring at the watch open in her hand. Fiveminutes later she snapped the lid shut, and looked. Blazing, unbrokensunshine. "It ought to have been here by this time, " she thought witha tightening of her lips. Perhaps he was away? Her heart sank at that;but how absurd! Suppose he was. What did a few hours' waiting amountto? She had waited thirteen years. 

For another hour she watched in the heat and silence of the garden;then started to hear Sarah, at her elbow, saying that dinner was onthe table. 

"Very well, " she answered impatiently. "I'll wait another fiveminutes, " she said to herself. But she waited ten. When she sat downin the dining-room, she ate almost nothing. Once she asked Sarah ifshe knew how long it took for a despatch to come from Philadelphia toOld Chester. Sarah gaped at the question, and said she didn't know asshe'd ever heard. 

In the afternoon, with covert glances out of the window, she keptindoors and tried to put her mind on practical things: thearrangements with her landlord for cancelling the lease; the packingand shipping of furniture. At last, on a sudden impulse, she said toherself that she would go and meet David as he came home from school--and call at the telegraph-office. 

In the post-office, where the telegraph bound Old Chester to the outerworld, Mrs. Minns, looking up from her knitting, saw the tense face atthe delivery window. 

"No letters for you, Mrs. Richie, " she said; then she remembered thetelegram that had by this time interested all Old Chester, and got upand came forward, sympathetically curious. "Well'm; I suppose there'sa good deal of dyin' this time of year?"

"Have you a despatch for me?" Mrs. Richie said curtly. 

"No'm;" said Mrs. Minns. 

"Did Dr. King send a telegram for me this morning?" she asked in asudden panic of alarm. 

"Yes'm, " the postmistress said, "he sent it. "

Mrs. Richie turned away, and began to walk about the office; up anddown, up and down. Once she stopped and read the names on thepigeonholes of the letter-rack; once the telegraph instrument clicked, and she held her breath: "Is that mine?"

"It ain't, " Mrs. Minns said laconically. 

Helena went to the open doorway, and gazed blankly out into MainStreet. She might as well go home; he wasn't going to telegraph. Shetold herself that he was out of town, and had not received herdespatch. But her explanation was not convincing; if he was away, thedespatch would have been forwarded to him. It must be that as he wascoming on Saturday, he had not thought it worth while to telegraph. She wandered aimlessly out into the hot street--there was no usewaiting any longer; and as for meeting David, he had gone home longago. 

As she went up the street, Dr. Lavendar stopped her. He had been toldthat the news of the night before did not mean affliction, but Dr. Lavendar knew that there are worse things than affliction, so he stoodready to offer comfort if it was needed. But apparently it was notwanted, and after a minute's pause, he began to speak of his ownaffairs: "I've been wondering if you would trust David to me for twoor three days in October. "

"David?" she repeated, blankly; her mind was very far away from David. 

"I have to go to Philadelphia then;" Dr. Lavendar was really eager;"and if you will let me take him along--I guess Rose Knight will lethim off--we would have a fine time!"

"Certainly, Dr. Lavendar, " she said, courteously. But she thoughtquickly, that she and David would not be in Old Chester in October. However, she could not explain that to Dr. Lavendar. It was easier tosay yes, and be done with it. "Good evening, " she added impatiently, for the old gentleman would have kept her indefinitely, talking aboutDavid. 

But as she climbed the hill her mind went out to the child with therelief of one who in darkness opens a door towards the light. Shefound him in the parlor, curled up in a big chair by the window, looking at a picture-book. He climbed down immediately, and came andtook her hand in his, a demonstration of affection so unusual that shecaught him in her arms and might have cuddled him with the undesired"forty kisses, " if he had not gently moved his head aside. But hereyes were so blurred with tears of fatigue and Fright she did notnotice the rebuff. 

The next twenty-four hours were tense with expectation and fear. Helena's mind veered almost with every breath: He had not telegraphedbecause he had not received her despatch; because he was away fromhome; because he was coming on Saturday;--_because he was sorryFrederick was dead... _

Saturday morning she and David watched the hill road from nine o'clockuntil stage-time. From the green bench under the poplar, the tavernporch on Main Street could just be seen; and at a little before twelveJonas's lean, shambling nags drew up before it. Mrs. Richie was verypale. David, fretting at the dullness of the morning, asked her somequestion, but She did not hear him, and he pulled at her skirt. "Doeseverything grow?"

"Yes, dear, yes; I suppose so. "

"How big is everything when it begins to grow?"

"Oh, dear little boy, don't ask so many questions!"

"When you began to grow, how big were you? Were you an inch big?"

"If he has come, " she said breathlessly, "the stage will get up herein fifteen minutes!"

David sighed. 

"Oh, why don't they start?" she panted; "what _is_ the matter!"

"It's starting, " David said. 

"Come, David, hurry!" she cried. "We must be at the gate!" She tookhis hand, and ran down the path to the gate in the hedge. As she stoodthere, panting, she pressed her fingers hard on her lips; they mustnot quiver before the child. She kept her watch in her hand. "It isn'ttime yet to see them; it will take Jonas ten minutes to get around tothe foot of the hill. "

Overhead the flicker of locust leaves cast checkering lights andshadows on her white dress and across the strained anxiety of herface. She kept her eyes on her watch, and the ten minutes passed insilence. Then she went out into the road and looked down its length ofnoon-tide sunshine; the stage was not in sight. "Perhaps, " shethought, "it would take twenty minutes to get to the foot of the hill?I'll not look down the road for ten minutes more. " After a while shesaid faintly, "Is it--coming?"

"No'm, " David assured her, "Mrs. Richie, what does God eat?"

There was no answer. 

"Does he eat us?"

"No, of course not. "

"Why not?"

Helena lifted her head, suddenly, "It would take twenty-five minutes--I'm sure it would. "

She got up and walked a little way down the road, David taggingthoughtfully behind her. There was no stage in sight. "David, run downthe hill to the turn, and look. "

The little boy, nothing loath, ran, at the turn he shook his head, andcalled back, "No'm. Mrs. Richie, He _must_, 'cause there's nothinggoes to heaven but us. Chickens don't, " he explained anxiously. Butshe did not notice his alarm. 

"I'll wait another five minutes, " she said. She waited ten; and thenanother ten. "David, " she said, in a smothered voice, "go; tell Maggiehe isn't coming--to dinner. You have your dinner, dear little boy. I--don't want any. "

She went up-stairs to her own room, and shut and locked the door. Allwas over.... 

Yet when, in the early afternoon, the mail arrived, she had a pang ofhope that was absolute agony, for he had written. 

There were only a dozen lines besides the "Dearest Nelly":

"I am just starting out West, rather unexpectedly, on business. I amtaking Alice along, and she is greatly delighted at the idea of ajourney--her first. I don't know just when I'll get back; not for sixweeks anyhow. Probably eight. Hope you and your youngster are allright. 

"Yours, L. P. 

"Your despatch received. We must talk things over the next time I cometo Old Chester. "

She passed her hand over her eyes in a bewildered way; for a momentthe words had absolutely no sense. Then she read them again: "We musttalk things Over--"

What things? Why, their marriage, of course! Their marriage? She burstout laughing; and David, looking at her, shrank away. 

CHAPTER XXII

The next few days were intolerable. But of course, after the firstpassion of disappointment, she began to hope; he would write fully ina few days. She kept calculating how soon she might expect this fullerletter. She did not write to him, for as he had given no address itwas evident that he did not wish to hear from her. 

That week passed, and then another, and though he wrote, he did notwrite "fully. " In fact, he made no allusion whatever to Frederick, orthe future. Helena was instant with explanation: he was absorbed withbusiness; Alice was with him; he had no time. That these were absurdexcuses she knew. But they were the best she could find, and she hadto have excuses. It was at this time that she saw herself age. Whenstill another week passed, the tension lessened; indeed, she wouldhave broken down under the strain if she had not fallen into a sort ofapathy. She told herself that after all there was no reason why sheshould leave Old Chester immediately. Mr. Benjamin Wright's insolencehad been outrageous and he was a horrible old man; but he had saidthat he would not speak of her affairs. So as far as he was concernedshe could perfectly well wait until that Western trip was over; shewould just try not to think of him. So she played with David, andtalked to him, and listened to his confidences about the journey toPhiladelphia which Dr. Lavendar planned. It was more than two monthsoff, but that did not trouble David. He and Dr. Lavendar had longtalks on the subject, of which, occasionally, the little boy droppedcondescending hints. 

"Maybe I'll take you to Philadelphia, " Helena said once, jealously;"will you like that?"

"Yes'm, " said David, without enthusiasm. 

At which she reproached him; "I should think you would like to go withme, to see Liberty Bell?"

Silence. 

"And maybe Mr. Pryor will take you to ride on a steamboat, " she luredhim. 

"I like Dr. Lavendar best, " said David, with alarm. 

It was only David with whom Helena talked in these days of waiting;Old Chester found her still unsociable, and William King was obligedto admit that his party had not accomplished much. However, heinsisted upon being sociable himself, and continued to come frequentlyto see her on the ground that she was not very well. Before she knewit she yielded again to the temptation of friendliness, and was gladto see the big, kind figure trudging up the garden path. He told herall the news Old Chester afforded, which was not extensive, and shereplied with that listening silence which is so pleasant and that gavethe doctor the opportunity--so valued by us all--of hearing himselftalk; an opportunity not often allowed him in his own house. Thesilence covered bleak anxiety and often an entire absence of mind; butWilliam, rambling on, could not know that. He was perfectly happy tolook at her, although sometimes his face sobered, for hers hadchanged. It was paler; the delicate oval of her cheek had hollowed;the charming indolence had gone; the eyes had lost their sweetshallowness, something cowered in their depths that he could notclearly see--fear, perhaps, or pain. Or perhaps it was her soul. Sometimes when the body relaxes its grip a little, the convict soulwithin struggles up to look with frightened bewilderment out of thewindows of its prison. Dr. King watching the childlike droop ofHelena's lip, admitted reluctantly that she had changed. "Depressed, "he told himself. So he did his best to cheer her with Old Chester'sharmless gossip; and one day--it was in September--she did show aquick and even anxious interest. 

"Sam Wright's Sam has come back, " the doctor said, "the young manarrived on the noon stage. I wonder what monkey-shines he'll be up tonext!"

"_Oh!_" she said, and he saw her hands clasp in her lap; "I wonder ifhis grandfather knows?"

The color was hot in her face, and William said to himself that thecub ought to be thrashed! "Maybe he's got some sense by this journeyin search of a publisher, " he announced comfortingly. 

In her consciousness of old Mr. Wright's dismay, she hardly heard whatthe doctor said; but she asked vaguely if Sam had found a publisher. 

"Perhaps; I don't know. There are fools in every profession--exceptmedicine, of course! But I believe he has not imparted any informationon that point. His father merely told me he had come back. " In spiteof himself, William's face fell into its own kind lines. "His fatheris hard on him, " he said; and then he began to tell her stories of thethree generations of Wrights; ending with the statement that, in adumb sort of fashion, Samuel loved his son like the apple of his eye. "But he has always taken hold of him the wrong way, " William said. 

Certainly the doctor's opinion was borne out by the way in which Samsenior took hold of his son on his return. Reproaches were perhaps tobe expected, but, alas, the poor, sore-hearted father tried sneers aswell. A sneer is like a flame; it may occasionally be curative becauseit cauterizes, but it leaves a bitter scar. Of his dreadful anxiety inthese seven or eight weeks of absence, of his sleepless nights, of hisself-accusings, of his anguished affection, the senior warden couldfind nothing to say; but for anger and disappointment and contempt hehad fluent and searing words. Such words were only the recoil fromanxiety; but Sam could not know that; he only knew that he was adisgrace to his family. The information left him apparently unmoved. He did not betray--very likely he really did not recognize inhimself--the moral let-down that is almost always the result of suchupbraiding. He was silent under his father's reproaches, and patientunder his mother's embraces. He vouchsafed no information beyond, "Ihad to come back, " which was really no information at all. Mr. Wrightsneered at it, but Mrs. Wright was moved, she said, her mild eyesswimming in tears, "Of course, Sammy, dear. Mother understands. I knewyou couldn't stay away from us. "

Sam sighed, submitting to be kissed, and turned to go up-stairs; butsomething made him hesitate, --perhaps his mother's worn face. He cameback, and bending down kissed her cheek. Mrs. Wright caught her breathwith astonishment, but the boy made no explanation. He went on up tohis own room and standing listlessly at the window, said again tohimself, "I had to come back. " After a while he added "But I won'tbother her. " He had already forgotten the two sore hearts down-stairs. 

The next morning he hurried to church; but Mrs. Richie was not there, and in his disappointment he was as blind to Old Chester's curiousglances as he was deaf to Dr. Lavendar's sermon. 

The long morning loitered past. After dinner the Wright familydispersed for its customary Sunday afternoon nap. The senior warden, with _The Episcopalian_, as large as a small blanket, spread overhis face, slept heavily in the library; Mrs. Wright dozed in herbedroom with one finger marking her place in a closed volume ofsermons; the little girls wandered stealthily about the garden, memorizing by their father's orders their weekly hymn. The house wasstill, and very hot. All the afternoon young Sam lay upon his bedturning the pages of _The Wealth of Nations_, and brooding overhis failures: he could not make Mrs. Richie love him; he could notwrite a great drama; he could not add up a column of figures; he couldnot understand his father's rages at unimportant things; "and nobodycares a continental whether I am dead or alive!--except mother, " heended; and his face softened. At five o'clock he reminded himself thathe must go up to The Top for supper. But it was nearly six before hehad energy enough to rise. The fact was, he shrank from telling hisgrandfather that the drama was no longer in existence. He had beensomewhat rudely rebuffed by the only person who had looked at hismanuscript, and had promptly torn the play up and scattered thefragments out of the window of his boarding-house. That was two daysago. The curious lassitude which followed this _acces_ of passionwas probably increased by the senior warden's reproaches. But Sambelieved himself entirely indifferent both to his literary failure, and to his father's scolding. Neither was in his mind as he climbedthe hill, and halted for a wistful moment at the green gate in thehedge; but he had no glimpse of Mrs. Richie. 

He found his grandfather sitting on the veranda behind the big whitecolumns, reading aloud, and gesticulating with one hand:

 "'But if proud Mortimer do wear this crown, Heaven turn it to a blaze of quenchless fire Or like the snaky wreath of Sisiphon--'"

He looked up irritably at the sound of a step on the weedy driveway, then his eyes snapped with delight. 

"Hullo--hullo! what's this?"

"I had to come back, grandfather, " Sam said. 

"Well! Well!" said Benjamin Wright, his whole face wrinkling withpleasure. "'Had to come back?' Money gave out, I suppose? Sit down, sit down! Hi, Simmons! Damn that nigger. Simmons, here's Master Sam. What have you got for supper? Well, young man, did you get some senseknocked into you?" He was trembling with eagerness. Marlowe, in worm-eaten calf, dropped from his hand to the porch floor. Sam picked thebook up, and sat down. 

"If you wanted some more money, why the devil didn't you say so?"

"I had money enough, sir. "

"Well--what about the drama?" his grandfather demanded. 

"He said it was no good. "

"Who said it was no good?" Mr. Wright pulled off his hat, fiercely, and began to chew orange-skin. Sam, vaguely turning over the leaves ofthe book upon his knee, mentioned the name of a publisher. "Fool!"said Benjamin Wright; "what does he know? Well; I hope you didn'twaste time over him. Then who did you send it to?"

"Nobody. "

"Nobody! What did you do with it?"

"Oh, tore it up, " Sam said patiently. 

His grandfather fell back in his chair, speechless, A moment later, hetold Sam he was not only a fool, but a d--

"Supper's ready, suh, " said Simmons. "Glad you're back, Master Sam. Heain't lookin' peart, suh?" Simmons added confidentially to Mr. Wright. 

"Well, you get some of that Maderia--'l2, " commanded the old man, pulling himself up from his chair. "Sam, you are a born idiot, aren'tyou? Come and have some supper. Didn't I tell you you might have totry a dozen publishers before you found one who had any sense? Yourexperience just shows they're a fool lot. And you tore up yourmanuscript! Gad-a-mercy!" He grinned and swore alternately, and bangedhis hat on to his head so that his ears flattened out beneath the brimlike two red flaps. 

They sat down at either end of the dining-room table, Simmons standingat one side, his yellow eyes gleaming with interested affection andhis fly-brush of long peacock feathers waving steadily, even when hemoved about with the decanter. 

"I had to come back, " Sam repeated, and drank his glass of '12 Maderiawith as much appreciation as if it had been water. 

"I've got a new family, " Mr. Wright declared, "Simmons, unhook thatsecond cage, and show him the nest. Look at that. Three of 'em. Hideous, ain't they? Simmons, you didn't chop that egg fine enough. Doyou want to kill 'em all? A nigger has no more feeling for birds thana cat. "

"I done chop it, as--"

"Hold your tongue!" said Mr. Wright, amiably "Here; take that. " Hefumbled in his vest pocket, and the peacock feathers dippeddangerously as Simmons caught the expected cigar. "Come, come, youngman, haven't you had enough to eat? Give him another glass of wine, Simmons, you freckled nigger! Come out on the porch, and tell me yourwanderings, Ulysses. "

The boy was faintly impressed by his grandfather's attentions; he feltthat he was welcome, which gave him a vague sort of pleasure. On theporch, in the hot dusk, Benjamin Wright talked; once or twice, aproposof nothing, he quoted some noble stanza, apparently for the joy of therolling numbers. The fact was, he was full of happiness at hisgrandson's return, but he had had so little experience in happinessthat he did not know how to express it. He asked a good manyquestions, and received apathetic answers. 

"Have you got any notes of the drama?"

"No, sir. "

"Doggone your picter!--

 "'Then sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song, And let the young lambs bound As to the tabor's sound!"

So you made up your mind to come home?"

"I had to come back, "Sam said. 

There was a pause. Benjamin Wright was reminding himself that inhandling a boy, one must be careful not to Say the wrong thing; onemust express one's self with reserve and delicacy; one must weighone's words--boys were such jackasses. 

"Well;" he said, "got over your fool falling in love with a female oldenough to be your mother?"

Sam looked at him. 

"I hope your trip has put sense into you on that subject, anyhow?"

"I love Mrs. Richie as much as I ever did, if that's what you mean, sir, " Sam said listlessly. 

Upon which his grandfather flew into instant rage. "As much in love asever! Gad-a-mercy! Well; I give you up, sir, I give you up. I spend mymoney to get you out of this place, away from this female, old enoughto be your grandmother, and you come back and say you are as much inlove with her as ever. I swear, I don't believe you have a drop of myblood in you!" He flung his cigar away, and plunged his hand down intothe ginger-jar on the bench beside him; "A little boy like you, justin breeches! Why, your mother ought to put you over her knee, and--"he stopped. "You have no sense, Sam, " he added with startlingmildness. 

But Sam's face was as red as his grandfather's. "She is only ten yearsolder than I. That is nothing. Nothing at all. If she will overlook mycomparative youth and marry me, I--"

"Damnation!" his grandfather screamed.. "_She_ overlook? _She_?"

"I am younger, " the boy said; "but love isn't a matter of age. It's amatter of the soul. "

"A matter of the soul!" said Benjamin Wright; "a matter of--of asugar-tit for a toothless baby! Which is just about what you are. Thatfemale, I tell you could have dandled you on her knee ten years ago. "

Sam got up; he was trembling all over. 

"You needn't insult me, " he said. 

Instantly his grandfather was calm. He stopped chewing orange-skin, and looked hard at his ridgy finger-nails. 

"I shall ask her again, " Sam said. "I said I wouldn't, but I will. Imust. That was why I came back. And as for my age, that's her businessand mine. "

"You've drunk too much, " said his grandfather, "Sit down. I'vesomething to say to you. You can't marry that woman. Do you understandme?"

"You mean she doesn't care for me?" Sam laughed noisily. "I'll makeher. Old--young--what does it matter? She must!" He flung up hisarms, and then sank down and hid his face in his hands. 

"Sammy, " said the old man, and stopped. "Sam, it can't be. Don't youunderstand me? She isn't fit to marry. "

The young man gaped at him, blankly. 

"She's--bad, " Benjamin Wright said, in a low voice. 

"How dare you!" cried the other, his frowning bewilderment changingslowly to fury; "how dare you? If she had a relative here to protecther, you would never dare! If her brother was here, he would shootyou; but she has me, and I--"

"Her _brother_!" said Benjamin Wright; "Sam, my boy, he isn't herbrother. "

"Isn't he?" Sam flung back at him, "well, what of that? I'm glad ofit; I hate him. " He stood up, his hands clenched, his head flung back. "What difference does it make to me what he is? Her cousin, herfriend--what do I care? If she marries me, what do I care forrelations?"

His grandfather looked up at him aghast; the young, insulted innocenceof love blazed in the boy's face. "Gad-a-mercy, " said Mr. Wright, in awhisper, "_he doesn't understand!_" He pulled himself on to hisshaking legs, and laid his hand on the young man's shoulder. "Sam, " hesaid very gently, "he is her lover, my boy. " Sam's lips fell apart;he gasped heavily; his hands slowly opened and shut, and he swayedfrom side to side; his wild eyes were fixed on that old face, allsoftened and moved and pitying. Then, with a discordant shriek oflaughter, he flung out his open hand and struck his grandfather fullin the face. 

"You old fool! You lie! You lie! Do you hear me?"

Benjamin Wright, staggering slightly from the blow, tried to speak, but the boy, still laughing shrilly, leaped down the porch steps, andout into the darkness. 

"I'll ask her!" he screamed back; "you liar!"

CHAPTER XXIII

Helena had gone up-stairs to put David to bed. There was some delayin the process, because the little boy wished to look at the stars, and trace out the Dipper. That accomplished however, he was verydocile, and willing to get into bed by shinning up the mast of apirate-ship--which some people might have called a bedpost. After hehad fallen asleep, Helena still sat beside him in the darkness, herabsent eyes fixed on the little warm body, where, the sheets kickedoff, he sprawled in a sort of spread-eagle over the bed. It was veryhot, and she would have been more comfortable on the porch, but shecould not leave the child. When she was with David, the sense ofaching apprehension dulled into the comfort of loving. After a while, with a long sigh she rose, but stopped to draw the sheet over hisshoulders; then smiled to see how quickly he kicked it off. She pulledit up again as far as his knees, and to this he resigned himself witha despairing grunt. 

There was a lamp burning dimly in the hall; as she passed she took itup and went slowly down-stairs. Away from David, her thoughts fell atonce into the groove of the past weeks. Each hour she had tormentedherself by some new question, and now she was wondering what sheshould do if, when Lloyd came to fulfill his promise, she should see ashade, oh, even the faintest hint, of hesitation in his manner. Well;she would meet it! She threw her head up, and came down with a quickerstep, carrying the lamp high, like a torch. But as she lifted hereyes, in that gust of pride, young Sam Wright stood panting in thedoorway. As his strangled voice fell on her ear, she knew that heknew. 

"I have--come--"

Without a word she put the lamp down on the table at the foot of thestairs, and looked at him standing there with the darkness of thenight behind him. Instantly he was across the threshold and at herside. He gripped her wrist and shook it, his eyes burning into hers. 

"You will tell me that he lied! I told him he lied. I didn't believehim for a second. I told him I would ask you. "

"Please let go of my arm, " she said, faintly. "I don't know what youare--talking about. "

"Did he lie?"

"Who?" she stammered. 

"My grandfather. He said your brother was not your brother. He said hewas your lover. My God! Your lover! Did he lie?" He shook her arm, worrying it as a dog might, his nails cutting into her flesh; hesnarled his question out between shut teeth. His fury swept words fromher lips. 

She stepped back with a spring of terror, trying to pull her wristfrom his grasp; but he followed her, his dreadful young face close tohers. She put her other hand behind her, and clutched at the banister-rail of the stairs. She stared at him in a trance of fright. There wasa long minute of silence. 

Then Sam said slowly, as though he were reading it word by word, aloud, from the open page of her face, "He--did--not--lie. " He droppedher wrist; flung it from him, even, and stood motionless. Againneither of them spoke. Then Sam drew a long breath. "So, _this_is life, " he said, in a curiously meditative way. "Well; I have hadenough of it. " He turned as he spoke, and went quietly out into thenight. 

Helena Richie sat down on the lowest step of the stairs. She breathedin gasps. Suddenly she looked at her arm on which were four deep redmarks; in two places the skin was broken. Upon the fierce pangs of hermind, flayed and stabbed by the boy's words, this physical pain ofwhich she had just become conscious, was like some soothing lotion. She stroked her wrist tenderly, jealous of the lessening smart. Sheknew vaguely that she was really wincing lest the smart should ceaseand the other agony begin. She looked with blind eyes at the lamp, then got up and turned the wick down; it had been smoking slightly anda half-moon of black had settled on the chimney. "Sarah doesn't halflook after the lamps, " she said aloud, fretfully--and drew in herlips; the nail-marks stung. But the red was dying out of them. Yes;the other pain was coming back. She paled with fright of that painwhich was coming; coming; had come. She covered her face with herhands.... 

"Who, " demanded a sleepy voice, "was scolding?"

Helena looked around quickly; David, in his little cotton night-drawers, was standing at the head of the stairs. 

"Who scolded? I heard 'em, " he said, beginning to come down, onelittle bare foot at a time; his eyes blinked drowsily at the lamp. Helena caught him in her arms, and sank down again on the step. But hestruggled up out of her lap, and stood before her 'It's too hot, " hesaid, "I heard 'em. And I came down. Was anybody scolding you?"

"Yes, David, " she said in a smothered voice. 

"Were you bad?" David asked with interest. 

Helena dropped her forehead on to his little warm shoulder. She couldfeel his heart beating, and his breath on her neck. 

"Your head's pretty heavy, " said David patiently; "and hot. "

At that she lifted herself up, and tried to smile; "Come, dearprecious, come up-stairs. Never mind if people scold me. I--deserveit. "

"Do you?" said David. "Why?"

He was wide awake by this time, and pleaded against bed. "Tell me why, on the porch; I don't mind sitting on your lap out there, " he bribedher; "though you are pretty hot to sit on, " he added, truthfully. 

She could not resist him; to have him on her knee, his tousled head onher breast, was an inexpressible comfort, "When I go travelling with Dr. Lavendar, " David announced drowsily, "Iam going to put my trousers into the tops of my boots, like Georgedoes. Does God drink out of that Dipper?"

Her doubtful murmur seemed to satisfy him; he shut his eyes, nuzzlinghis head into her breast, and as she leaned her cheek on his hair--which he permitted because he was too sleepy to protest--the ache ofsobs lessened in her throat. After a while, when he was sound asleepagain, she carried him up-stairs and laid him in his bed, sittingbeside him for a while lest he should awake. Then she went down to theporch and faced the situation.... 

Sometimes she got up and walked about; sometimes sat down, her elbowson her knees, her forehead in her hands, one foot tapping, tapping, tapping. Her first idea was flight: she must not wait for Lloyd; shemust take David and go at once. By to-morrow, everybody would know. She would write Lloyd that she would await him in Philadelphia. "Iwill go to a hotel" she told herself. Of course, it was possible thatSam would keep his knowledge to himself, as his grandfather had done, but it was not probable. And even if he did, his knowledge made theplace absolutely unendurable to her; she could not bear it for a day--for an hour! Yes; she must get off by tomorrow night; and--

Suddenly, into the midst of this horrible personal alarm, came, likean echo, Sam's last words. The memory of them was so clear that it wasalmost as if he uttered them aloud at her side: "Well; I have hadenough of it. " Enough of what? Of loving her? Ah, yes; he was curednow of all that. But was that what he meant? "So this is life.... Ihave had enough of it. "

Helena Richie leaped to her feet. It seemed to her as if all her bloodwas flowing slowly back to her heart. There was no pain now in thosenail-marks; there was no pain in her crushed humiliation. _"I havehad enough of it. "... _

Good God! She caught her skirts up in her hand and flew down the stepsand out into the garden. At the gate, under the lacey roof of locustleaves, she stood motionless, straining her ears. All was still. Howlong ago was it that he had rushed away? More than an hour. Oh, no, no; he could not have meant--! But all the same, she must find him:"_I have had enough of it_. " Under her breath she called his name. Silence. She told herself distractedly that she was a fool, buta moment later she fled down the hill. She must find Dr. King; hewould know what to do. 

She was panting when she reached his gate, and after she had rung andwas beating upon the door with the palm of her hand, she had to clingto the knob for support. 

"Oh come; oh, hurry! Hurry!" she said, listening to Mrs. King'sdeliberate step on the oilcloth of the hall. 

"Where is Dr. King?" she gasped, as the door opened; "I want Dr. King!"

Martha, in her astonishment at this white-faced creature with skirtsdraggled by the dew and dust of the grass-fringed road, started back, the flame of the lamp she carried flickering and jumping in thedraught. "What is the matter? Is David--"

"Oh, where is Dr. King? Please--please! I want Dr. King--"

William by this time was in the hall, and when he saw her face he, too, said:

"David?"

"No. It's--May I speak to you a moment? In the office? I am alarmedabout--something. "

She brushed past Mrs. King, who was still gaping at the suddenness ofthis apparition from the night, and followed the doctor into thelittle room on the left of the passage. Martha, deeply affronted, sawthe door shut in her face. 

As for Mrs. Richie, she stood panting in the darkness of the office:

"I am very much frightened. Sam Wright has just left me, and--"

William King, scratching a match under the table and fumbling with thelamp chimney, laughed. "Is that all? I thought somebody had hunghimself. "

"Oh, Dr. King, " she cried, "I'm afraid, I'm afraid!"

He put out his friendly hand and led her to a chair. "Now, Mrs. Richie, " he said in his comforting voice, "sit down here, and get yourbreath. There's nothing the matter with that scalawag, I assure you. Has he been making himself a nuisance? I'll kick him!"

At these commonplace words, the tension broke in a rush of hystericaltears, which, while it relieved her, maddened her because for a momentshe was unable to speak. But she managed to say, brokenly, that theboy had said something which frightened her, for fear that he might--

"Kill himself?" said the doctor, cheerfully, "No indeed! The peoplewho threaten to kill themselves, never do. Come, now, forget all abouthim. " And William, smiling, drew one of her hands down from her eyes. "Gracious! what a wrist! Did David scratch you?"

She pulled her hand away, and hid it in the folds of her skirt. "Oh, Ido hope you are right; but Dr. King, he said something--and I was sofrightened. Oh, if I could just know he had got home, all safe!"

"Well, it's easy to know that, " said William. "Come, let us walk downto Mr. Wright's; I bet a hat we'll find the young gentleman eating alate supper with an excellent appetite. Love doesn't kill, Mrs. , Richie--at Sam's age. "

She was silent. 

William took his lantern out of a closet, and made a somewhatelaborate matter of lighting it, wiping off the oozing oil from thetank, and then shutting the frame with a cheerful snap. It would giveher time to get hold of herself, he thought. 

"I must apologize to Mrs. King, " Helena said. "I was so frightened, that I'm afraid I was abrupt. "

"Oh, that's all right, " said Martha's husband, easily, and opened theouter door of the office. "Come. "

She followed him down the garden path to the street: there in thedarkness, broken by the gay zigzag of the lantern across theflagstones of the sidewalk, William found it easier to speak out:

"I hope you don't mind my referring to Sam's being in love, Mrs. Richie? Of course, we have all known that he had lost his heart. Boyswill, you know. And, honestly, I think if ever a boy had excuse for--that sort of thing, Sam had. But it has distressed me to have youbothered. And to-night is the climax. For him to talk like a--a jack-donkey, because you very properly snubbed him--you mustn't mind myspeaking plainly; I have understood the whole thing from thebeginning--makes me mad. You're really worn out. Confound that boy!You are too good, Mrs. Richie, that's the trouble. You let yourself beimposed upon. "

Her broken "no--no" seemed to him a lovely humility, and he laughedand shook his head. 

"Yes, yes! When I see how gentle women are with us clods of men, Ireally, I--you know--" William had never since his courting days gotinto such a bog of sentiment, and he stammered his way out of it bysaying that Sam was a perfect nuisance. 

When they reached the gateway of the senior warden's place, Mrs. Richie said that she would wait. "I'll stand here in the road; and ifyou will make some excuse, and find out--"

"Very well, " he said. "I'll come back as quickly as I can, and tellyou he's all right. There isn't a particle of reason for anxiety, butit's a better sedative for you than bromide. That's the why I'm doingit, " said William candidly. He gave her the lantern, and said he didnot like to leave her. "You won't be frightened? You can see the housefrom here, and can call if you want me. I'll have to stay about tenminutes, or they wouldn't understand my coming in. "

She nodded, impatient at his delay, and he slipped into the shadow ofthe maples and disappeared. For a minute she could hear the crunch ofhis footsteps on the gravel of the driveway. She sat down on the grassby the roadside, and leaned her head against the big white gate-post. The lantern burned steadily beside her, casting on the ground a showerof yellow spots that blurred into a widening circle of light. Exceptfor the crickets all was still. The cooler air of night brought outthe heavy scents of damp earth and leaves, and over in the deep grassa late May-apple spilled from its ivory cup the heavy odor of death. Abob-white fluted in the darkness on the other side of the road. 

Her acute apprehension had ceased. William King was so certain, that, had the reality been less dreadful she would have been ashamed of thefuss she had made. She wanted only this final assurance that the boywas at home, safe and sound; then she would think of her own affairs. She watched the moths fly about the lantern, and when one poor downypair of wings touched the hot, domed top and fell fluttering into theroad, she bent forward and looked at it, wondering what she could dofor it. To kill it would be the kindest thing, --to put it out of itspain. But some obscure connection of ideas made her shudder back fromdeath, even a moth's death; she lifted the little creature gently, andlaid it in the dewy grass. 

Down the Wrights' carriage road she heard a footstep on the gravel; astep that grew louder and louder, the confident, comforting step ofthe kind friend on whom she relied as she had never relied on anyhuman being. 

"What did I tell you?" William called to her, as he loomed out of thedarkness into the circle of light from the lantern. 

"He is all right?" she said trembling; "you saw him?"

"I didn't see him, but--"

"Oh, " she said blankly. 

"I saw those who had, ten minutes before; won't that do?" he teasedher. "I found the Wright family just going to bed--where you ought tobe this minute. I said I had just stopped in to say how-do-you-do. Samuel at once reproved me, because I hadn't been to evening church. "

"And he--Sam? Was he--"

"He was in the house, up-stairs, his mother said. I asked about himsort of casually, and she said he had just come in and gone up to hisroom. His father made some uncomplimentary remarks about him. Samueloughtn't to be so hard on him, " William said thoughtfully; "he said hehad told Sam that he supposed he might look forward to supporting himfor the rest of his life--'as if he were a criminal or an idiot. 'Imagine a father saying a thing like that!" William lifted his lanternand turned the wick up. "Now, I'm only hard on him when he is a goose;but his father--_What was that?_"

William King stood bolt upright, motionless, his lips parted. Mrs. Richie caught at his arm, and the lantern swinging sharply, scattereda flying shower of light; they were both rigid, straining their ears, not breathing. There was no sound except the vague movement of theleaves overhead, and faintly, from across the meadow--"_Bob-white!bob-white!_"

"I thought--I heard--" the doctor said in a whisper. Helena, clutchingat his arm, reeled heavily against him. 

"Yes. It was. That was what it was. "

"No! Impossible!" he stammered. And they stood listening breathlessly;then, just as the strain began to relax, down through the darknessfrom the house behind the trees came a cry:

"Dr. King--"

An instant later the sound of flying steps on the gravel, and a girl'sshrill voice: "Dr. King!"

"Here, Lydia!" William said, running towards the little figure;"what's the matter!"

Helena, in the shadow of the gate-post, only caught a word:

"Sam--"

And the doctor and the child were swallowed up in the night. 

When William King came out of that house of confusion and death, hefound her huddled against the gate-post, haggard, drenched with dew, waiting for him. He started, with a distressed word, and lifted her inhis arms. "Oh, you ought not to be here; I thought you had gone homelong ago!"

"_Dead?_"

"Yes. "

"He--shot--

"Yes. Poor boy; poor, foolish, crazy boy! But it wasn't your fault. Oh, my poor child!"

She shivered away from him, then without a word turned towards OldChester. The doctor walked at her side. It was nearly three, and verydark. No one saw them as they went through the sleeping streets; atWilliam's house she stopped, with a silent gesture of dismissal. 

"I am going to take you home, " he said gently. And a few minutes laterhe began to tell her about it. "He was dead when I got there. Theythink it was an accident; and it is best they should. I am afraid I'llhave to explain to my wife, because she saw your apprehension. Butnobody else need know. Except--I must tell Dr. Lavendar, of course;but not until after the funeral. There is no use complicating things. But other people can just think it was an accident. It was, in oneway. He was insane. Everybody is, who does--that. Poor Samuel! PoorMrs. Wright! I could not leave them; but I thought you had gone home, or I would have come. Mrs. Richie, promise me one thing: promise menot to feel it was your fault. "

She dropped her face in her hands. "Not my fault! ... I killed him. "

CHAPTER XXIV

"He was cleaning his father's pistol, and it went off--" the poor, dazed mother said, over and over. The father said nothing. He sat, hiselbow on his knee, his forehead resting in the palm of his hand. Sometimes his heavy eyes glanced up, but he did not lift his head. Hehad hardly spoken since the accident. Then, he had said to WilliamKing:

"I suppose he undertook to clean my revolver. He always did things atqueer times. I suppose it went off. It had a tricky hammer. It wentoff. By accident--not... He hadn't any reason to... He said, onlyyesterday, when he got back, that he couldn't stay away from home anylonger. He said he _had_ to come home. So, you see, there isn't anyreason to think... He was cleaning it. And it went off. The hammerwas tricky. "

The slow, bewildered words were spoken with his eyes fixed blindly onthe floor. At the sight of his dreadful composure, his wife's loudweeping died into a frightened whimper. He did not repeat theexplanation. Dr. Lavendar heard it from Mrs. Wright, as she kneltbeside the poor, stony father, patting his hand and mothering him. 

"It was an accident, Dr. Lavendar. Sammy took a notion to clean hisfather's pistol. And it went off. And oh, he had just come back to usagain. And he was so glad to get home. He went to church yesterdaymorning. I didn't have to urge him. He wanted to go. I feel sure hehad begun to think of his Saviour. Yes; and he wanted to go back tothe bank, and write up his ledgers; he was so happy to be among usagain. Oh, Dr, Lavendar, he said to me, 'I just had to come home, mother, to you and father, ' And I kissed him, and I said, 'Yes, mydarling; home is the best place, ' And he kissed me, Dr, Lavendar. Sammy was not one to do that--a big boy, you know. Oh, I am so glad he_wanted_ to come home. And now the Lord has taken him. Oh, Samuel, try, try to say: 'Blessed be the name of the Lord!'"

The senior warden stared in silence at her plump hand, shaking andtrembling on his knee. Dr. Lavendar did not urge any word ofresignation. He sat beside the stricken pair, hearing the mother'spitiful babble, looking at the father's bent gray head, saying what hecould of Sam--his truthfulness, his good nature, his kindness. "Iremember once he spent a whole afternoon making a splint for Danny'sleg. And it was a good splint, " said Dr. Lavendar. Alas! how little hecould find to say of the young creature who was a stranger to themall!

Dr. Lavendar stayed with them until noon. He had been summoned just ashe was sitting down to breakfast, and he had gone instantly, leavingMary wringing her hands at the double distress of a dreadful calamityand Dr. Lavendar's going without his breakfast. When he saw WilliamKing he asked no questions, except:

"Who will tell his grandfather?"

But of course there was only one person to tell Mr. Benjamin Wright, and Dr. Lavendar knew it. "But you must come with me, William;Benjamin is very frail. "

"Yes;" said William King; "only you've got to have something to eatfirst. "

And that gave Dr. Lavendar the chance to ask Mrs. Wright for somebreakfast, which made her stop crying, poor soul, for a little while. 

As Goliath pulled them slowly up the hill, William told part of hispart of the story. He had dropped in to the Wrights' the night beforeto say how-do-you-do. "It was nearly ten. I only stayed a few minutes;then I went off. I had got as far as the gate, and I was--was fixingmy lantern, and I thought I heard a shot. And I said--'_What's that?_'And I stood there, sort of holding my breath, you know; I couldn'tbelieve it was a shot. And then they called. When I got to the house, it was all over. It was instantaneous. Samuel told me that Sam hadbeen fooling with his revolver, and--"

"Yes;" said Dr. Lavendar; "that's what Eliza told me. "

Both men were silent. Then Dr. Lavendar said "Will it kill Benjamin?"

"I don't know. I don't know;" the doctor said, sighing. "Oh, Dr. Lavendar, why does the Lord hit the innocent over the guilty'sshoulder? The boy is out of it; but his father and mother andgrandfather, and--and others, they have got to bear it. "

"Why, Willy, my boy, " said Dr. Lavendar, "that's where the comfort ofit is. It means we're all one--don't you see? If we suffer in theboy's suffering or wrong-doing, it is because we and he are one inChrist Jesus. "

"Yes, sir, " said William respectfully. But he did not understand. 

When they reached The Top, it seemed to take them a long time to hitchGoliath. It was Dr. Lavendar who got himself together first and saidcalmly, "Come, William. "

The front door was open, and the two bearers of heavy news enteredunannounced. Benjamin Wright was in the dining-room, where theshutters were bowed to keep out the heat. He had taken off his hat, and was pottering about among his canaries, scolding Simmons andswearing at the weather. Dr. Lavendar and William, coming from thewhite glare of sunshine, could hardly distinguish him as he shuffledback and forth among the shadows, except when he crossed the strip ofdazzling green light between the bowed shutters, Dr. Lavendar stoppedon the threshold; William stood a little behind him. 

Mr. Wright was declaiming sonorously:

 "--Did you ever see the Devil, With his wooden leg and shovel, A-scratching up the gravel--"

He paused to stick a cuttlefish between the bars of a cage, andcatching sight of the first figure, instantly began to snarl areproach:

"I might have been in my grave for all you know, Edward Lavendar;except you'd have had to 'give hearty thanks for the good example' ofthe deceased. What a humbug the burial service is--hey? Same thing foran innocent like me, or for a senior warden. Come in. Simmons!Whiskey"--

He stopped short; William had moved in the shadows. "Why, that's WillyKing, " he said; and dropped the cuttlefish. "Something's wrong. Twoblack coats at this hour of the day mean something. Well! Out with it!What's happened?"

"Benjamin, " said Dr, Lavendar, coming into the room, "Sam's Sam--"

"Keep Willy King out!" commanded the very old man in a high, peevishvoice. "I'm not going to die of it. He's--killed himself? Well; it'smy fault. I angered him, " He took up his hat, clutching the brim withshaking hands and pulling it fiercely down over his eyes. "Keep Willyoff! I'm not--I'm not--"

Simmons caught him as he lurched back into a chair, and Dr. Lavendarbent over him, his old face moving with tears. 

"It was an accident, Benjamin, either of the body or the soul--itdoesn't matter which. "

William King, standing behind the chair that held the forlorn andquivering heap, ventured gently: "Samuel says that Sam was cleaninghis pistol, and--"

But Dr. Lavendar held up his hand and William was silent. 

"Hold your tongue;" said Benjamin Wright. "Lavendar knows I don't likelies. Yes; my fault. I've done it again. Second time. Second time. Simmons! Get these--gentlemen some--whiskey. "

Simmons, his yellow jaws mumbling with terror, looked at Dr. Lavendar, who nodded. But even as the old man got himself together, the brainflagged; William saw the twist come across the mouth, and the eyesblink and fix. 

It was not a very severe shock, and after the first moments of alarm, the doctor said quietly; "He is not dying. "

But he was, of course, perfectly helpless and silenced; his miserableeyes seemed to watch them, fixedly, as they carried him to his bed, and did what little could be done; but he could make no demand, andoffer no explanation. 

It was not until late in the afternoon that William King had time togo to the Stuffed Animal House. He had had a gravely absorbing day;not only because of the Wrights' pitiful demands upon his time, butbecause of the necessary explanations and evasions to Old Chester. Tohis wife evasions were impossible, he gave her an exact statement ofthe facts as he knew them. Martha, listening, and wiping her eyes, wasshocked into fairness and sympathy. 

"But, William, she was not to blame!"

"That's what I told her. "

"Poor thing!" said Martha; "why, I feel as if I ought to go right upand comfort her. "

"No, no; it isn't necessary, " William said. "I'll go, on my way to TheTop. "

Mrs. King drew back, coldly, and sympathy wavered into common sense. "Well, perhaps it's just as well you should. I'm afraid I couldn'tmake her feel that she had no responsibility at all, --as you seem tothink. That's one thing about me, I may not be perfect, but I amsincere; I think she ought to have stopped Sam's love-making monthsago!--Unless perhaps she returned it?" Martha ended, in a tone thatmade William redden with silent anger. But he forgot his anger andeverything else when he came into the long parlor at the StuffedAnimal House, late that afternoon. 

"I've thought of you all day, " he said, taking Helena's hand andlooking pitifully into her face. It was strangely changed. Somethingwas stamped into it that had never been there before.... Weeks ago, ahurricane of anger had uprooted content and vanity and left confusionbehind it. But there was no confusion now; it had cleared into terror. 

William found her walking restlessly up and down; she gave him a look, and then stood quite still, shrinking a little to one side, as if sheexpected a blow. Something in that frightened, sidewise attitude madehim hesitate to tell her of Benjamin Wright; she hardly knew the oldgentleman, but it would startle her, the doctor reasoned. And yet, when very carefully, almost casually, he said that Mr. Wright had hada slight shock--"his life is not in danger just now, " said William, "but he can't speak;"--she lifted her head and looked at him, drawinga full breath, as if eased of some burdening thought. 

"Will he ever speak?" she said. 

"I don't know; I think so. But probably it is the beginning of theend; poor old man!"

"Poor old man, " she repeated mechanically; "poor old man!"

"I haven't told Dr. Lavendar about--last night, " William said; "but ifyou have no objection I would like to just hint at--at a reason. Hewould know how entirely blameless you were. "

"Oh, no! please, please, don't!" she said. And William King winced athis own clumsiness; her reticence made him feel as if he had beenguilty of an impropriety, almost of an indelicacy. 

After a pause he said gently, that he hoped she would sit with Mrs. King and himself at the funeral on Wednesday. 

Helena caught her hands together convulsively; "_I_ go? Oh, no, no! Iam not going. "

The doctor was greatly distressed. "I know it is hard for you, but I'mafraid Samuel and his wife will be so hurt if you don't come. Theyknow the boy was fond of you--you were always so good to him. I don'tlike to urge you, because I know it pains you but--"

"Oh, I can't--I can't!"

She turned so white that William had not the heart to say anythingmore. But that same kind heart ached so for the father and mother, that he was grateful to her when he saw her on Wednesday, among thepeople gathering at the church. "Just like her unselfishness!" he saidto himself. 

All Old Chester, saddened and awed, came to show its sympathy for thestricken parents, and its pity, if nothing more, for the dead boy. ButHelena, ghastly pale, had no room in her mind for either pity orsympathy. She heard Mr. Dilworth's subdued voice directing her to apew, and a few minutes afterwards found herself sitting between Dr. And Mrs. King. Martha greeted her with an appropriate sigh; but Mrs. , Richie did not notice her. There was no sound in the waiting churchexcept once in a while a long-drawn breath, or the faint rustle ofturning leaves as some one looked for the burial service. The windowswith their little border of stained glass, were tilted half-way openthis hot morning, and sometimes the silence was stirred by the brushof sparrows in the ivy under the sills. On the worn carpet in thechancel the sunshine lay in patches of red and blue and purple, thatflickered noiselessly when the wind moved the maple leaves outside; itwas all so quiet that Helena could hear her own half-sobbing breaths. After a while, the first low note of the organ crept into thestillness, and as it deepened into a throbbing chord, there was thegrave rustle of a rising congregation. Then from the church door camethe sudden shock of words:

"_I am the Resurrection and the Life, saith the Lord. _"

Helena, clutching at the back of the next pew, stood up with the rest. Suddenly she swayed, as though the earth was moving under her feet.... The step of the bearers came heavily up the aisle. Her eyes fled fromwhat they carried--("oh, was he so tall?")--and then shuddered backagain to stare. 

Martha King touched her arm; "We sit down now. "

Helena sat down. Far outside her consciousness words were being said:"Now is Christ risen--" but she did not hear them; she did not see thepeople about her. She only saw, before the chancel, that long blackshape. After a while the doctor's wife touched her again; "Here westand up. " Mechanically, she rose; her lips were moving in a terrifiedwhisper, and Martha King, glancing at her sidewise, lookedrespectfully away. "Praying, " the good woman thought; and softened alittle. 

But Helena was far from prayer. As she stared at that black thingbefore the chancel, her selfishness uncovered itself before her eyesand showed its nakedness. 

The solid ground of experience was heaving and staggering under herfeet, and in the midst of the elemental tumult, she had her first dimglimpse of responsibility. It was a blasting glimpse, that sent hercowering back to assertions of her right to her own happiness. Thirteen years ago Lloyd had made those assertions, and she hadaccepted them and built them into a shelter against the assailingconsciousness that she was an outlaw, pillaging respect and honor fromher community. Until now nothing had ever shaken that shelter. Nor hadits dark walls been pierced by the disturbing light of any heavenlyvision declaring that when personal happiness conflicts with any greathuman ideal, the right to claim such happiness is as nothing comparedto the privilege of resigning it. She had not liked the secrecy whichher shelter involved, no refined temperament likes secrecy. But thebreaking of the law, in itself, had given her no particular concern;behind her excusing platitudes she had always been comfortable enough. Even that whirlwind of anger at Benjamin Wright's contempt had onlyroused her to buttress her shelter with declarations that she was notharming anybody. But sitting there between William King and his wife, in the midst of decorously mournful Old Chester, she knew she couldnever say that any more; not only because a foolish and ill-balancedyouth had been unable to survive a shattered ideal, but because shebegan suddenly and with consternation to understand that the wholevast fabric of society rested on that same ideal. And she had beensecretly undermining it! Her breath caught, strangling, in her throat. In the crack of the pistol and the crash of ruined family life sheheard for the first time the dreadful sound of the argument of herlife to other lives; and at that sound the very foundation of thoseexcuses of her right to happiness, rocked and crumbled and left herselfishness naked before her eyes. 

It was so unbearable, that instantly she sought another shelter:obedience to the letter of the Law--Marriage. To marry her fellowoutlaw seemed to promise both shelter and stability--for in herconfusion she mistook marriage for morality. At once! Never mind if hewere tired of her; never mind if she must humble what she called herpride, and plead with him to keep his word; never mind anything--except this dreadful revelation: that no one of us may do that which, if done by all, would destroy society. Yes; because she had notunderstood that, a boy had taken his own life.... Marriage! That wasall she thought of; then, suddenly, she cowered--the feet of thebearers again. 

"I will be married, " she said with dry lips, "oh, I will-I _will_!"And Martha King, looking at her furtively, thought she prayed. 

It was not a prayer, it was only a promise. For with the organicupheaval into her soul of the primal fact of social responsibility, had come the knowledge of guilt. 

_But the Lord was not in the earthquake. _

CHAPTER XXV

Benjamin Wright lay in his great bed, that had four mahogany postslike four dark obelisks. ... He had not spoken distinctly since thenight of his seizure, though in about a fortnight he began to babblesomething which nobody could understand. Simmons said he wanted hisbirds, and brought two cages and hung them in the window, where theroving, unhappy eyes could rest upon them. He mumbled fiercely when hesaw them, and Simmons cried out delightedly: "There now, he's better--he's swearin' at me!" The first intelligible words he spoke were thosethat had last passed his lips: "M-m-my f-f--, " and from his melancholyeyes a meagre tear slid into a wrinkle and was lost. 

Dr. Lavendar, sitting beside him, put his old hand over the other oldhand, that lay with puffed fingers motionless on the coverlet. "Yes, Benjamin, it was your fault, and mine, and Samuel's. We were allresponsible because we did not do our best for the boy. But remember, his Heavenly Father will do His best. "

"M-m-my f--" the stammering tongue began again, but the miserylessened in the drawn face. Any denial of the fact he tried to statewould have maddened him. But Dr. Lavendar never denied facts; apartfrom the question of right and wrong, he used to say it was not worthwhile. He accepted old Mr. Wright's responsibility as, meekly, he hadaccepted his own, but he saw in it an open door. 

And that was why he went that evening to the Wright house. It was amelancholy house. When their father was at home, the little girlswhispered to each other and slipped away to their rooms, and when theywere alone with their mother, they quivered at the sight of her tearsthat seemed to flow and flow and flow. Her talk was all of Sam'sgoodness and affection and cleverness. "He read such learned books!Why, that very last afternoon, when we were all taking naps, he wasreading a big leather-covered book from your father's library, allabout the Nations. And he could make beautiful poetry, " she would tellthem, reading over and over with tear-blinded eyes some scraps ofverse she had found among the boy's possessions. But most of all shetalked of Sam's gladness in getting home, and how strange it was hehad taken that notion to clean that dreadful pistol. No wonder Lydiaand her sisters kept to themselves, and wandered, little scared, flitting creatures, through the silent house, or out into the garden, yellowing now and gorgeous in the September heats and chills. 

Dr. Lavendar came in at tea-time, as he had lately made a point ofdoing, and sat down beside Mrs. Wright in Sam's chair. 

"Samuel, " said he, when supper was over and the little girls hadslipped away; "you must comfort your father. Nobody else can. "

The senior warden drew in his breath with a start. 

"He blames himself, Samuel. "

"Blames himself! What reason has _he_ got to blame himself? It was myfault. "

"Oh, my dear, " said the poor mother, "you couldn't tell that he wasgoing to clean your pistol. "

Samuel Wright looked heavily over at Dr. Lavendar. 

"Well, " said the old minister, "he gave Sam the money to go away. Isuppose that's on his mind, for one thing. He may think something wentwrong, you know. "

"Oh, " broke in the mother, beginning to cry, "he Was so glad to gethome; he said to me the night he got back, 'Mother, I just had to comehome to you and father; I couldn't stay away any longer. ' I'm sure hecouldn't have said anything more loving, could he? And he kissed me. You know he wasn't one to kiss much. Yes; he couldn't bear to be awayfrom us. He said so. "

"Go and see him, Samuel, " urged Dr. Lavendar. "You, too, have lost ason, so you know now how he has felt for thirty-two years. His was aloss for which he knows he was to blame. It is a cruel knowledge, Sam?"

"It is, " said the senior warden. "It is. "

"Then go and comfort him. "

Samuel went. A great experience had wiped the slate so clean of allthe years of multiplications and additions of resentment andmortification, that the thought of facing his father did not stir hisdull indifference to the whole dreary matter. When Simmons saw himcoming up the garden path, he said under his breath, "Bless the Lawd!"Then, mindful of hospitality, offered whiskey. 

"Certainly not, " said Samuel Wright; and the old habit of beingdispleased made his voice as pompous as if he cared--one way or theother. "Can you make him understand that I'm here, Simmons? Of course, I won't go up-stairs unless he wants to see me. "

"He'll want to see you, suh, he'll want to see you, " said Simmons. He's right smart to-day. He kin use his left hand. He dun shuck thatfist at me this mawnin'. Oh, laws, yes, he'll want to see you. "

"Go and ask him. "

Simmons went, and came back triumphantly. "I tole him. He didn't saynothin'. So it's all right"

The visitor went ponderously up-stairs. On the first landing he caughthis breath, and stood still. 

Directly opposite him, across the window of the upper hall was ahorsehair-covered sofa, with great, shiny, slippery mahogany ends. Samuel Wright put his hand up to his throat as if he weresmothering.... He used to lie on that sofa on hot afternoons and studyhis declensions. It had no springs; he felt the hardness of it in hisbones, now, and the scratch of the horsehair on his cheek. Instantlywords, forgotten for a generation, leaped up:

Stella Stellae Stellae Stellam--

Mechanically his eyes turned to the side wall; an old secretary stoodthere, its glass doors curtained within by faded red rep. He had kepthis fishing-tackle in its old cupboard; the book of flies was in agreen box on the second shelf, at the left. Samuel looked at thosecurtained doors, and at the shabby case of drawers below them wherethe veneer had peeled and blistered under the hot sun of longafternoons, and the sudden surge of youth into his dry, middle-agedmind, was suffocating. Something not himself impelled him on up thehalf-flight from the landing, each step creaking under his heavytread; drew him across the hall, laid his hand on the door of thesecretary.... Yes; there they were: the green pasteboard box, theflannel book to hold the flies. He put out his hand stealthily andlifted the book;--rust and moth-eaten rags. 

The shock of that crumbling touch and the smell of dust made him gasp-and instantly he was back again in middle age. He shut the secretaryquietly, and looked around him. On the right side of the hall was aclosed door. _His_ door. The door out of which he had rushed thatwindy March night thirty-two years ago. How hot with passion he hadbeen then! How cold he was now. On the other side of the hall a doorwas ajar; behind it was his father. He looked at it with sombreindifferent eyes; then pushed it open and entered. He saw a littlefigure, sunk in the heap of pillows on the big bed; a little shrunkenfigure, without a wig, frightened-eyed, and mumbling. Samuel Wrightcame forward with the confidence of apathy. As he stood at the foot ofthe bed, dully looking down, the thick tongue broke into a whimperingstammer:

"M-m-my f--"

And at that, something seemed to melt in the poor locked heart of theson. 

_"Father!"_ said Samuel Wright passionately. He stooped and tookthe helpless fingers, and held them hard in his own trembling hand. For a moment he could not speak. Then he said some vague thing aboutgetting stronger. He did not know what he said; he was sorry, as oneis sorry for a suffering child. The figure in the bed looked at himwith scared eyes. One of the pillows slipped a little, and Samuelpulled it up, clumsily to be sure, but with the decided touch of pityand purpose, the touch of the superior. That fixing the pillow behindthe shaking helpless head, swept away the last traces of the quarrel. He sat down by the gloomy catafalque of a bed, and when BenjaminWright began to say again, "M-m-my f--" he stopped him with a gesture. 

"No, father; not at all. He would have gone away anyhow, whether youhad given him the money or not. No; it was my fault, " the poor mansaid, dropping back into his own misery. "I was hard on him. Even thatlast night, I spoke harshly to him. Sometimes I think that possibly Ididn't entirely understand him. "

He dropped his head in his hand, and stared blankly at the floor. Hedid not see the dim flash of humor in the old eyes. 

CHAPTER XXVI

The day that Sam Wright was buried Helena had written to Lloyd Pryor. She must see him at once, she said. He must let her know when he wouldcome to Old Chester--or she would come to him, if he preferred. "It ismost important, " she ended, "_most_ important. " She did not saywhy; she could not write of this dreadful thing that had happened. Still less could she put down on paper that sense of guilt, soalarming in its newness and so bewildering in its complexity. She wasafraid of it, she was even ashamed of it; she and Lloyd had nevertalked about--things like that. So she made no explanation. She onlysummoned him with a peremptoriness which had been absent from theirrelations for many years. His answer, expected and despaired of, camethree weeks later. 

It was early in October one rainy Friday afternoon. Helena and Davidwere in the dining-room. She had helped him with his lessons, --for itwas Dr. Lavendar's rule that Monday's lessons were to be learned onFriday; and now they had come in here because the old mahogany tablewas so large that David could have a fine clutter of gilt-edgedsaucers from his paint-box spread all around. He had a dauby tumblerof water beside him, and two or three _Godey's Lady's Books_awaiting his eager brush. He was very busy putting gamboge on thecurls of a lady whose petticoats, by a discreet mixture of gamboge andPrussian blue, were a most beautiful green. 

"Don't you think crimson-lake is pretty red for her lips?" Helenaasked, resting her cheek on his thatch of yellow hair. 

"No, ma'am, " David said briefly; and rubbed on another brushful. Helena put an eager arm about him and touched his ear with her lips;David sighed, and moved his head. "No; I wasn't going to, " shereassured him humbly; it was a long time since she had dared to offerthe "forty kisses. " It was then that Sarah laid the mail down on thetable; a newspaper and--Lloyd Pryor's letter. 

Helena's start and gasp of astonishment were a physical pang. For along time afterwards she could not bear the smell of David's water-colors; gamboge, Chinese white and Prussian blue made her feel almostfaint. She took up the letter and turned it over and over, her pallorchanging into a violent rush of color; then she fled up-stairs to herown room, tearing the letter open as she ran. 

Her eyes blurred as she began to read it, and she had to stop to wipeaway some film of agitation. But as she read, the lines clearedsharply before her. The beginning, after the "Dear Nelly, " wascommonplace enough. He was sorry not to have answered her lettersooner; he had been frightfully busy; Alice had not been well, andletter-writing, as she knew, was not his strong point. Besides, he hadreally expected to be in Old Chester before this, so that they couldhave talked things over. It was surprising how long Frederick had hungon, poor devil. In regard to the future, of course--here the pageturned. Helena gasped, folding it back with trembling fingers: "Ofcourse, conditions have changed very much since we first consideredthe matter. My daughter's age presents an embarrassment which did notexist a dozen years ago. Now, if we carried out our first arrangement, some kind friend would put two and two together, and drop a hint, andAlice would ask questions. Nevertheless"--again she turned a page--nevertheless, Lloyd Pryor was prepared to carry out his promise if shewished to hold him to it. She might think it over, he said, and drophim a line, and he was, as ever, hers, L. P. 

Helena folded the letter, laying the edges straight with slowexactness.... He would carry out his promise if she held him to it. She might drop him a line on the subject.... While her dazed mindrepeated his words, she was alertly planning her packing: "Can Sarahfold my skirts properly?" she thought; but even as she asked herselfthe question, she was saying aloud, "Marry him? Never!" She slappedthe letter across her knee. Ah, he knew that. He knew that her pridewould come to his rescue! The tears stung in her eyes, but they didnot fall.... Sarah must begin the next morning; but it would take aweek to close everything up.... Well; if he had ceased to want her, she did not want him! What a letter she would write him; whatindifference, what assurances that she did not wish to hold him tothat "first arrangement"; what anger, what reproach! Yes; she would"drop him that line"! Then it came over her that perhaps it would bemore cutting not to write to him at all. She raised her rag of pridebut almost instantly it fell shuddering to the dust--_Sam Wright_.... 

She sat up in her chair, trembling. Yes; she and David would start onMonday; she would meet Lloyd in Philadelphia on Tuesday, and bemarried that morning. Her trunks could follow her; she would not waitfor the packing. George must do up the furniture in burlap; a railroadjourney across the mountains would injure it very much, unless it wascarefully packed. 

She rose hurriedly, and taking her travelling-bag out of the wardrobe, began to put various small necessities into it. Suddenly she stoppedshort in her work, then went over to the mantel-piece, and leaning herarms upon it looked into the mirror that hung lengthwise above it. Theface that gazed back at her from its powdery depths was thinner; itwas paler: it was--not so young. She looked at it steadily, withfrightened eyes; there were lines on the forehead; the skin was not sofirm and fresh. She spared herself no details of the change, and asshe acknowledged them, one by one, the slow, painful red spread to hertemples. Oh, it was horrible, it was disgusting, this aging of theflesh! The face in the mirror looked back at her helplessly; it was noweapon with which to fight Lloyd Pryor's weariness! Yet she must fightit, somehow. It was intolerable to think that he did not want her; itwas more intolerable to think that she could not match his mood bydeclaring that she did not want him. "But that's only because of SamWright, " she assured herself, staring miserably at the white face inthe glass; "if it wasn't for that--! But I must get more sleep; Imustn't let myself look so worn out. "

In such cross-currents of feeling, one does not think consecutively. Desires and motives jumbled together until Helena said to herselfdesperately, that she would not try to answer Lloyd's letter for a dayor two. After all, as he had so clearly indicated, there was no hurry;she would think it over a little longer. 

But as she thought, the next day and the next, the wound to heraffection and her vanity grew more unbearable, and her feeling ofresponsibility waned. The sense of guilt had been awakened in her byher recognition of a broken Law; but as the sense of sin was as farfrom her consciousness as ever, she was able to argue that if no oneknew she was guilty, no further harm could be done. So why kill whatlingering love there might be in Lloyd's heart by insisting that hekeep his promise? With that worn face of hers, how could she insist!And suppose she did not? Suppose she gave up that hungry desire to belike other people, arranged to leave Old Chester--on that point shehad no uncertainty--but did not make any demand upon him? It wasperfectly possible that he would be shamed into keeping his promise. She said to herself that, at any rate, she would wait a week until shehad calmed down and could write with moderation and good humor. 

Little by little the purpose of diplomacy strengthened, and with it adetermination to keep his love--what there was of it--at the price ofthat "first arrangement. " For, after all, the harm was done; SamWright was dead. She was his murderer, she reminded herself, sullenly, but nothing like that could ever happen again, so why should she nottake what poor happiness she could get?

Of course this acceptance of the situation veered every day in gustsof misery and terror; but, on the whole, the desire for peaceprevailed. Yet the week she had allowed herself in which to think itover, lengthened to ten days before she began to write her letter. Shesat down at her desk late in the afternoon, but by tea-time she haddone nothing more than tear up half a dozen beginnings. After supperDavid rattled the backgammon-board significantly. 

"You are pretty slow, aren't you?" he asked, as she loitered about herdesk, instead of settling down to the usual business of the evening. 

"Don't you think, just to-night, you would rather read a story?" shepleaded. 

"No, ma'am, " said David, cheerfully. 

So, sighing, she opened the board on her knees. David beat her to adegree that made him very condescending, and also extremely displeasedby the interruption of a call from William King. 

"Nobody is sick, " David said politely; "you needn't have come. "

"Somebody is sick further up the hill, " William excused himself, smiling. 

"Is Mr. Wright worse?" Helena said quickly. She lifted the backgammon-board on to the table, and whispered a word of manners to David, whosilently stubbed his copper-toed shoe into the carpet. 

"No, " the doctor said, "he's better, if anything. He managed to askSimmons for a poached egg, which made the old fellow cry with joy; andhe swore at me quite distinctly because I did not get in to see himthis morning. I really couldn't manage it, so I went up after tea, andhe was as mad as--as David, " said William, slyly. And David, muchconfused, kicked vigorously. 

"Do you think he will ever be able to talk?" she said. 

William would not commit himself. "Perhaps; and perhaps not. I didn'tget anything clear out of him to-night, except--a bad word. "

"Damn?" David asked with interest. 

William chuckled and then remembered to look proper. But David feelingthat he was being laughed at, hid his face on Helena's shoulder, whichmade her lift him on to her knee. There, in the drowsy warmth of thelittle autumn fire, and the quiet flow of grown people's meaninglesstalk, he began to get sleepy; gradually his head slipped from hershoulder to her breast, and when she gathered his dangling legs intoher lap, he fell sound asleep. 

"It isn't his bedtime yet, " she excused herself. She rested her cheekon the child's head and looked over at the doctor. She wore a darkcrimson silk, the bosom filled with sheer white muslin that was caughttogether under her soft chin by a little pearl pin; her laceundersleeves were pushed back so that William could see the lovelylines of her white wrists. Her parted hair fell in soft, untidy wavesdown over her ears; she was staring absently across David's head intothe fire. 

"I wish, " William said, "that you would go and call on old Mr. Wrightsome time. Take David with you. It would cheer him up. " It seemed toWilliam King, thinking of the forlorn old man in his big four-poster, that such a vision of maternity and peace would be pleasant to lookupon. "He wouldn't use David's bad word to you, I am sure. "

"Wouldn't he?" she said. 

For once the doctor's mind was nimble, and he said in quickexpostulation: "Come, come; you mustn't be morbid. You are thinkingabout poor Sam and blaming yourself. Why, Mrs. Richie, you are no moreresponsible for his folly than I am. "

She shook her head. "That day at the funeral, I thought how they usedto bring the murderer into the presence of the man he had killed. "

William King was really displeased. "Now, look here, you must stopthis sort of thing! It's not only foolish, but it's dangerous. We cannone of us play with our consciences without danger; they cut bothways. "

Mrs. Richie was silent. The doctor got up and planted himself on thehearth-rug, his back to the fire, and his hands under his coat tails. 

"Let's have it out: How could you help it because that poor boy fellin love? You couldn't help being yourself--could you? And Sam couldn'thelp being sentimental. Your gentleness and goodness were likesomething he had never seen before. But you had to stop thesentimentality, of course; that was just your duty. And I know howwisely you did it--and kindly. But the boy was always a self-absorbeddreamer; the mental balance was too delicate; it dipped the wrong way;his mind went. To feel it was your fault is absolute nonsense. Nowthere! I've never been so out of patience with you before, " he endedsmiling; "but you deserve it. "

"I don't deserve it, " she said; "I wish I did. "

"When I spoke about goodness, " the doctor amended, "I didn't mean toreflect on his father and mother. Mrs. Wright is one of the best womenin the world. I only meant--" William sat down and looked into thefire. "Well; just plain goodness isn't necessarily--attractive. Aman--at least a boy like Sam, admires goodness, of course; but he doessort of hanker after prettiness;" William's eyes dwelt on her benthead, on the sheer muslin under David's cheek, on the soft incapablehands that always made him think of white apple-blossoms, claspedaround the child's yielding body;--"Yes; something pretty, andpleasant, and sweet; that's what a man--I mean a boy, Sam was only aboy; really wants. And his mother, good as she is, is not, --well; Idon't know how to express it. "

Helena looked over at him with a faint smile. "I thought goodness wasthe finest thing in the world; I'm sure I used to be told so, " sheended dully. 

"Of course, _you_ would feel that, " the doctor protested; "and itis, of course it is! Only, I can understand how a boy might feel. Downat the Wrights' there was just nothing but plain goodness, oh, veryplain, Mrs. Richie. It was all bread-and-butter. Necessary; I'm thelast person to say that bread-and-butter isn't necessary. But you dowant cake, once in a while; I mean when you are young. Sam couldn'thelp liking cake, " he ended smiling. 

"Cakes and ale, " Helena said. 

But the connection was not clear to William. "At home, there was justplain, ugly goodness; then he met you. And he saw goodness, and otherthings!"

Helena's fingers opened and closed nervously. "I wish you wouldn'tcall me good, " she said; "I'm not. Truly I'm not. "

William laughed, looking at her with delighted eyes. "Oh, no; you area terrible sinner!"

At which she said with sudden, half-sobbing violence, "Oh, _don't;_ I can't bear it. I am not good. "

The doctor sobered. This really was too near the abnormal to be safe;he must bring her out of it. He must make her realize, not only thatshe was not to blame about Sam Wright, but that the only shadow on hergoodness was this same morbid feeling that she was not good. He got upagain and stood with his back to the fire, looking down at her withgood-natured determination. 

"Now look here!" he said, "conscience is a good thing; but conscience, unrestrained by common sense, does a fine work for the devil. Thatisn't original, Dr. Lavendar said it; but it's true. I wish Dr. Lavendar knew of this morbid idea of yours about responsibility--he'dshake it out of you! Won't you let me tell him?"

"Oh, no! no! Please don't!"

"Well, I won't; but he would tell you that it was wrong not to seestraight in this matter; it's unfair to your--to Providence, " Williamsaid. He did not use religious phrases easily, and he stumbled over"unfair to your Heavenly Father, " which was what Dr. Lavendar had saidin some such connection as this: "Recognize your privileges and begrateful for the help they have been in making you as good as you are. To deny what goodness you have is not humility, it's only being unfairto your Heavenly Father. " But William could not say a thing like that;so he blundered on about Providence, while Helena sat, trembling, hercheek on David's hair. 

"You are as good as any mortal of us can be, " William declared, "andbetter than ninety-nine mortals in a hundred. So there! Why Mrs. Richie"--he hesitated, and the color mounted slowly to his face; "yourloveliness of character is an inspiration to a plain man like me. "

It was intolerable. With a breathless word, she rose, swaying a littleunder the burden of the sleeping child; then, moving swiftly acrossthe room, she laid him on a sofa. David murmured something as she puthim down, but she did not stop to hear it. She came back and stood infront of William King, gripping her hands together in a passion ofdenial. 

"Stop. I can't bear it. I can't sit there with David in my arms andhear you say I am good. It isn't true! I can't bear it--" She stoppedshort, and turned away from him, trembling very much. 

The doctor, alarmed at this outbreak of hysteria, and frowning withconcern, put out his kind protesting hands to take hers. But shecringed away from him. 

"Don't, " she said hoarsely; and then in a whisper: "He is not--mybrother. "

William, his hand still outstretched, stared at her, his mouth fallingslowly open. 

"I told you, " she said, "that I wasn't--good. "

_"My God!"_ said William King. He stepped back sharply, then suddenlysat down, leaning his head on his clenched hand. 

Helena, turning slightly, saw him. "I always told you I wasn't, " shecried out angrily; "why would you insist on saying I was?"

He did not seem to notice her, though perhaps he shrank a little. Thatmovement, even if she only imagined it, was like the touch of flame. She felt an intolerable dismay. It was more than anger, far more thanterror; it seemed to envelop her whole body with a wave of scarlet. Itwas a new, unbearable, burning anguish. It was shame. 

She had an impulse to tear it from her, as if it were some tangiblehorror, some blazing film, that was covering her flesh. With a cry, she broke out:

"You don't understand! I am not wicked. Do you hear me? I am notwicked. You must listen I"

He made no answer. 

"I am not wicked--the way you think. My husband killed my baby. I toldyou that, long ago. And I could not live with him. I couldn't I Don'tyou see? Oh, listen, please! Please listen! And Lloyd loved me, and hesaid I would be happy. And I went away. And we thought Frederick woulddivorce me, so we could be married. But he didn't. Oh, he didn't _onpurpose_! And we have been waiting for him to die. And he didn'tdie--he wouldn't die!" she said with a wail. "But now he is dead, and--"

And what? Alas, what? She waited a second, and then went on, withpassionate conviction, "And now I am to be married. Yes, you see, I amnot as wicked as you think. I am to be married; you won't think mewicked then, will you? Not when I am married? I couldn't have you saythose things while I sat and held David. But now I am to be married. "In her excitement she came and stood beside him, but he would not lookat her. Silence tingled between them. Over on the sofa, David stirredand opened his eyes. 

"The child!" William King said; "be careful. " He went and lifted Davidto his feet. "Go up-stairs, my boy. " He did not look at Mrs. Richie, who bent down and kissed David, mechanically, "I dreamed, " the little boy mumbled, "'at my rabbits had earrings;an'--"

"Go, dear, " she said; and David, drowsily obedient, murmured good-night. A minute later they heard him climbing up-stairs. 

Helena turned dumb eyes towards the silent figure on the hearth-rug, but he would not look at her. Under his breath he said one incredulousand tragic word:

"_You?_"

Then he looked at her. 

And at his look she hid her face in her bent arm. That new sensation, that cleansing fire of shame, swept over her again with itsintolerable scorch. 

"No! No! I am going to be married; I--"

The front door closed behind him. Helena, alone, crouched, sobbing, onthe floor. 

_But the Lord was not in the fire. _

CHAPTER XXVII

"Is old Mr. Wright worse?" Martha called downstairs, when the doctorlet himself in at midnight. 

"No. "

"Well, where on earth have you been?" Mrs. King demanded. She wasleaning over the banisters in her gray flannel dressing-gown, hercandle in its hooded candlestick, throwing a flickering light on hersquare, anxious face. 

William, locking the front door, made no answer. Martha hesitated, andthen came down-stairs. 

"I must say, William, flatly and frankly, that you--" she paused. "Youlook tired out, Willy?"

William, fumbling with the guard-chain, was silent. 

"Come into the dining-room and I'll get you something to eat, " saidhis wife. 

"I don't want anything to eat. "

Martha glanced at him keenly. His face was white and haggard, andthough he looked at her, he did not seem to see her; when she saidagain something about food, he made no answer. "Why, William!" shesaid in a frightened voice. Then with quick common sense, she put heralarm behind her. "Come up-stairs, and go to bed. A good night's sleepwill make a new man of you. " And in a sort of cheerful silence, shepushed him along in front of her. She asked no more questions, butjust as he got into bed she brought him a steaming tumbler of whiskeyand water. "I guess you have taken a little cold, my dear, " she said. 

William looked at her dumbly; then realizing that there was no escape, drank his whiskey, while Martha, her candle in one capable hand, waited to make sure that he drained the last drop. When he gave theglass back to her, she touched his shoulder gently and bade him go tosleep. As she turned away, he caught that capable hand and held it inboth of his for a moment. 

"Martha, " he said, "I beg your pardon. "

"Oh, well, " said Martha, "of course, a doctor often has to be outlate. If you only don't come down with a cold on your lungs, it's allright. "

"I sha'n't come down with a cold on my lungs, " said William King. 

The letter Helena wrote Lloyd Pryor after she had picked herself up, sobbing, from the floor, had no diplomacy about it. Things hadhappened; she would not go into them now, she said, but things hadhappened which made her feel that she must accept his offer to carryout their original plan. "When I got your letter, last week, I didhesitate, " she wrote, "because I could not help seeing that you didnot feel about it as you used to. But I can't hesitate any longer. Imust ask you--"

Lloyd Pryor read as far as that, and set his teeth. "Lloyd, myfriend, " he said aloud, "it appears you have got to pay the piper. "

Swearing quietly to himself he tore the letter into many small pieces, and threw them into the fire. "Well, " he said grimly, "I have neverrepudiated yet, but I propose to claim my ninety days, --if I can'tsqueeze out of it before that!" He sat a long time in his inneroffice, thinking the thing over: if it had to be, if the piper wasinexorable, if he could not squeeze out, how should he safeguardAlice? Of course, a girl of nineteen is bound to resent her father'ssecond marriage; her annoyance and little tempers Lloyd Pryor couldput up with, if only she need never know the truth. But how should thetruth be covered? They could all three go to Europe for a year. Ifthere was going to be any gossip--and really the chance of gossip wasrather remote; very few people had known anything about FrederickRichie or his affairs, and Helena had absolutely no relatives, --but ifthey went to Europe for a year, any nine days' wonder would havesubsided before they got back. As for the offensiveness of presentingHelena to his daughter as a stepmother, Pryor winced, but admittedwith a cold impartiality, that she was not intrinsicallyobjectionable. It was only the idea which was unpleasant. In fact, ifthings were not as they were, she would make an admirable stepmother--"and she is good-looking still, " he thought, with an effort to consolehimself, But, of course, if he could squeeze out of it--And so hisanswer to Helena's letter was a telegram to say he was coming to OldChester. 

William King, driving down the hill in the October dusk, had a glimpseof him as the stage pulled up at the gate of the Stuffed Animal House, and the doctor's face grew dully red. He had not seen Helena sincethat black, illuminating night; he had not seen Dr, Lavendar; he hadscarcely seen his own wife. He devoted himself to his patients, who, it appeared, lived back among the hills. At any rate, he was away fromhome from morning until night. William had many things to face inthose long drives out into the country, but the mean self-consciousness that he had been fooled was not among them. A largermatter than mortification held him in its solemn grip. On his wayhome, in the chill October twilights, he usually stopped at Mr. Benjamin Wright's. But he never drew rein at the green gate in thehedge; as he was passing it the night that Pryor arrived, he had toturn aside to let the stage draw up. A man clambered out, and in thedull flash of the stage lanterns, William saw his face. 

"Lloyd?" some one said, in a low voice; it was Mrs. Richie, waitingfor him inside the gate. William King's face quivered in the darkness. 

"That you, Nelly?" Mr. Pryor said;--"no, no; I'll carry my own bag, thank you. Did a hamper come down on the morning stage? Good! We'llhave something to eat. I hope you haven't got a sick cook this time. Well, how are you?"

He kissed her, and put his arm around her; then withdrew it, remindinghimself not to be a fool. Yet she was alluring! If only she would besensible, there was no reason why things should not be as pleasant asever. If she obliged him to pay the piper, Lloyd Pryor was coldlyaware that things would never be pleasant again. 

"So many dreadful things have happened!" she burst out; but checkedherself and asked about his journey; "and--and Alice?"

"Oh, pleasant enough, rather chilly. She's well, thank you. " And thenthey were at the door, and in the bustle of coming in, and taking offhis coat, and saying "Hullo, David! Where's your sling?" disagreeabletopics were postponed. But in the short twilight before the parlorfire, and at the supper-table, the easy commonplaces of conversationtingled with the consciousness of the inevitable reappearance of thosesame topics. Once, at the table, he looked at her with a frown. 

"What's the matter, Nelly? You look old! Have you been sick?"

"Things have happened, " she said with an effort; "I've been worried. "

"What things?" he said; but before she could reply, Sarah came in withhot waffles, and the subject was dropped. 

"You need more cinnamon with this sugar, " Mr. Pryor said withannoyance. And Helena, flushing with anxiety, told the woman to addsome cinnamon at once. "Oh, never mind now, " he said. --"But you oughtto look out for things like that, " he added when Sarah had left theroom. And Helena said quickly, that she would; she was so sorry!

"Dr. Lavendar, " David announced, "he won't let you say you don't likethings. He says it ain't polite. But I don't like--"

"Dry up! dry up!" Mr. Pryor said irritably; "Helena, this young mantalks too much. "

Helena whispered to David to be quiet. She had already arranged withhim that he was not to come into the parlor after supper, which was anagreeable surprise to him; "For, you know, I don't like your brother, "he said, "nor neither does Danny. " Helena was too absorbed toremonstrate; she did, however, remember to tell Mr. Pryor that Davidhad asked if she was coming up to hear him say his prayers. 

"I told him I couldn't to-night; and what do you suppose he said? Hesaid, 'Does God like ladies better than gentlemen? I do. '"

It made him laugh, as she had hoped it would. "I fancy that is areflection upon me, " he said. "The young man has never liked me. " Andwhen he had clipped off the end of his cigar and struck a match underthe mantelpiece, he added, "So you hear him say his prayers? I didn'tknow you were so religiously inclined. "

"I'm not religiously inclined; but, of course, one has to teach achild to say his prayers. "

"Oh, I don't object to religion, " Mr. Pryor assured her; "in fact, Ilike it--"

"In other people?" she interrupted gayly. 

"Well, yes; in other people. At any rate in your charming sex. Aliceis very religious. And I like it very much. In fact, I have a gooddeal of feeling about it. I wouldn't do anything to--to shock her, youknow. I really am perfectly sincere about that, Helena. "

He was sincere; he looked at her with an anxiety that for once wasquite simple. 

"That's why I wrote you as I did about the future. I am greatlyembarrassed about Alice. "

She caught her breath at the suddenness of his reference, but she knewhim well enough not to be much surprised. If a disagreeable topic wasto be discussed, the sooner it was taken up and disposed of, thebetter. That was Lloyd's way. 

"Of course, " he went on, "if Alice knew of our--ah, acquaintance, itwould shock her. It would shock her very much. " He paused. "Alice'sgreat charm is her absolute innocence, " he added thoughtfully. 

That comment was like a blow in the face. Helena caught her breathwith the shock of it. But she could not stop to analyze its peculiarterror. "Alice needn't know, " she began--but he made an impatientgesture. 

"If we married, it would certainly come out. "

He was standing with his back to the fire, one hand in his pocket, theother holding his cigar; he blew three smoke rings, and smiled. "Willyou let me off, Nelly?"

"I know you don't love me, " she broke out passionately--

"Oh, now, Helena, not a scene, please! My dear, I love you as much asever. You are a charming woman, and I greatly value your friendship. But I can love you just as much, not to say more, if you are here inyour own house in Old Chester, instead of being in my house inPhiladelphia. Why, it would be like sitting on a volcano!"

"I cannot stay in Old Chester any longer, " she said; "dreadful thingshave happened, and--"

"What things? You said that before. Do explain these mysteriousallusions. "

"Mr. , Wright's son, " she began--and then her voice broke. But she toldhim as well as she could. 

Mr. Pryor gave a frowning whistle. "Shocking! Poor Nelly!"

"You see, I must go away, " she said, wringing her hands; "I can't bearit!"

"But, my dear, " he protested, "it wasn't your fault. You were not toblame because a rash boy--" Then a thought struck him, "but how thedevil did he discover--?"

When Helena explained that she supposed old Mr. Wright had told hisgrandson, Pryor's anger broke out: "He knew? How did _he_ find out?"

Helena shook her head; she had never understood that, she said. Lloyd's anger always confused her, and when he demanded furiously whyshe had not told him about the old fool--"he'll blazon the wholething!"--she protested, quivering, that Mr. Wright would not do that. 

"I meant to tell you, but I--I forgot it. And anyway, I knew hewouldn't; he said he wouldn't; besides, he had a stroke when he heardabout Sam, and he hasn't spoken since. And Dr. King--" she winced--"Dr. King says it's the beginning of the end. "

"Thank God!" Lloyd said profoundly relieved. He stood frowning for aminute, then shrugged his shoulders, "Well, of course, that settlesit; you can't stay here; there's no question about that. But there's avery pleasant little town, on the other side of Mercer, and--"

"It isn't just the going away, " she broke in; "it's being differentfrom people. I never thought about it before; I never really minded. But now, I can't help seeing that if you are--different, I mean justto please yourself, you know, it--it hurts other people, somehow. Oh, I can't explain, " she said, incoherently, "and I don't want to troubleyou, or talk about right and wrong, and religion, and--that sort ofthing--"

"No; please don't, " he said, dryly. 

"But you promised--you promised!"

"I promised, " he said, "and I have a prejudice in favor of keeping myword. Religion, as you call it, has nothing to do with it. I willmarry you; I told you so when I wrote to you. But I felt that if I putthe matter before you, and told you how difficult the situation was, and appealed to your generosity, for Alice's sake--"

"I appeal to _your_ generosity!--for the sake of other people. Itisn't only Alice who would be shocked, if it was found out. Lloyd, Idon't insist on living with you. Keep the marriage a secret, if youwant to; only, I must, I must be married!" She got up and came andstood beside him, laying her hands on his arm, and lifting hertrembling face to his; he frowned, and shrugged her hands away. 

"Go and sit down, Nelly. Don't get excited. I told you that I had aprejudice in favor of keeping my word. "

She drew back and sat down on the sofa, cowering a little in thecorner. "Do you suppose I have no pride?" she breathed. "Do yousuppose it is easy for me to--_urge?_" He saw her fingers tremble as, with elaborate self-control, she pleated the crimson silk of her skirtin little folds across her knee. For a moment they were both silent. 

"Secrecy wouldn't do, " he said, "To get married, and not tell, is onlywhipping Satan round the stump as far as Alice is concerned. Ultimately it would make double explanations. The marriage would comeout, somehow, and then the very natural question would be: 'Why thedevil were they married secretly?' No; you can't keep those thingshidden. And as for Alice, if she didn't think anything else, she'dthink I had fibbed to her. And that would nearly kill her; she has aperfect mania about truth! You see, it leads up to the same thing:Alice's discovery that I have been--like most men. No; if it's got tobe, it shall be open and aboveboard. "

She gasped with relief; his look of cold annoyance meant, just for themoment, nothing at all. 

I shall tell her that I have met a lady with whom I was in love a longtime ago--"

"_Was_ in love? Oh, Lloyd!" she broke in with a cry of pain; at whichintrusion of sentimentality Lloyd Pryor said with ferocity: "What'sthat got to do with it? I'm going to pay the piper! I'll tell Alicethat or any other damned thing I please. I'll tell her I'm going to bemarried in two or three months; I shall go through the form of anengagement. Alice won't like it, of course. No girl likes to have astepmother; but I shall depend on you, Helena, to make the thing go aswell as possible. That's all I have to say. "

He set his teeth and turning his back on her, threw his half-smokedcigar into the fire, Helena, cowering on the sofa, murmured somethingof gratitude, Mr. Pryor did not take the trouble to listen. 

"Well, " he said, "the next thing is to get you away from this place. We've got to stage the drama carefully, I can tell you. "

"I can go at once. "

"Well; you had better go to New York;--what will you do with youryoungster?" he interrupted himself. "Leave him on Dr. Lavendar'sdoorstep, I suppose?"

"My youngster?" she repeated. "Do you mean David?"

Mr. Pryor nodded absently, he was not interested in David. 

"Why, " Helena said breathlessly, "you didn't suppose I was going toleave David?"

At which, in spite of his preoccupation, Pryor laughed outright. "Mydear Helena, even you can hardly be so foolish as to suppose that youcould take David with you?"

She sat looking at him, blankly, "Not take David! Why, you surelydidn't think that I would give up David?"

"My dear, " said Lloyd Pryor, "you will either give him up, or you willgive me up. "

"And you don't care which!" she burst out passionately. 

He gave her a deadly look. "I do care which. "

And at that she blenched but clung doggedly to his promise. "You mustmarry me!"

"There is no _must_ about it. I will. I have told you so. But _I_ didnot suppose it was necessary to make your giving up David a condition. Not that I mean to turn the young man out, I'm sure. Only, I declineto take him in. But, good Heavens, Helena, " he added, in perfectlygenuine astonishment, "it isn't possible that you seriouslycontemplated keeping him? Will you please consider the effect upon thedomestic circle of a very natural reference on his part, to your_brother?_ You might as well take your servants along with you--oryour Old Chester doctor! Really, my dear Nelly, " he ended banteringly, "I should have supposed that even you would have had more sense. "

Helena grew slowly very white. She felt as if caught in a trap; andyet the amused surprise in Lloyd Pryor's face was honest enough, andperfectly friendly. "I cannot leave David here, " she said faintly. Andas terror and despair and dumb determination began to look out of hereyes, the man beside her grew gayly sympathetic. 

"I perfectly understand how you feel, He is a nice little chap. But, of course, you see it would be impossible?"

"I can't give him up. "

"I wouldn't, " he said amiably. "You can go away from Old Chester--ofcourse you must do that--and take him with you. And I will come andsee you as often as I can. "

He breathed more freely than he had for weeks; more freely than sincethe receipt of that brief despatch:--"F. Is dead, " and the initials H. R. So far from having used a sling and a smooth stone from the brook, the boy had been a veritable armor-bearer to the giant! Well; poorNelly! From her point of view, it was of course a greatdisappointment. He hated to have her unhappy; he hated to seesuffering; he wished they could get through this confounded interview. His sidewise, uneasy glance at her tense figure, betrayed hisdiscomfort at the sight of pain. What a pity she had aged so, and thather hands had grown so thin. But she had her old charm yet; certainlyshe was still an exquisite creature in some ways--and she had notgrown too fat. He had been afraid once that she would get fat. Howwhite her neck was; it was like swan's-down where the lace fell openin the front of her dress. For a moment he forgot his prudentresolutions; he put his arm around her and bent his head to touch herthroat with his lips. 

But she pushed him away with a flaming look. "David saves you, doeshe? Well; he will save me!"

Without another word she left him, as she had left him once before, alone in the long parlor with the faintly snapping fire, and thedarkness pressing against the uncurtained windows. This time he didnot follow her to plead outside her closed door. There was a moment'shesitation, then he shook his head, and took a fresh cigar. 

"No, " he said, "it's better this way. "

CHAPTER XXVIII

"If it was _me_ that was doin' it, " said Sarah, "I'd send for thedoctor. "

"Well, but, " Maggie protested, "she might be mad. "

"If it was me, I'd let her be mad. "

"Well, then, why don't you?" Maggie retorted. 

"Send for him?" Sarah said airily impersonal. "Oh, it's none of mybusiness. "

"Did you even it to her?" Maggie asked in a worried way. 

"I did. I says, 'You're sick, Mrs. Richie, ' I says. --She looked likeshe was dead--'Won't I tell George to run down and ask Dr. King tocome up?' I says. " "An" what did she say?" Maggie asked absently. Sheknew what Mrs. Richie had said, because this was the fourth time sheand Sarah had gone over it. 

"'No, ' she says, 'I don't want the doctor. There's nothing thematter. ' And she like death! An' I says, 'Will you see Mr. Pryor, ma'am, before he goes?' And she says, 'No, ' she says; 'tell Mr. Pryorthat I ain't feelin' very well. ' An' I closed the shutters again, an'come down-stairs. But if it was me, I'd send for Dr. King. If sheain't well enough to see her own brother--and him just as kind!"--Sarah put her hand into the bosom of her dress for a dollar bill--"Look at that! And you had one, too, though he's hardly ever set eyeson you, If she ain't well enough to see him, she's pretty sick. "

"Well, " said Maggie, angrily, "I guess I earned my dollar as much asyou. Where would his dinner be without me? That's always the way. Thecook ain't seen, so she gets left out. "

"You ain't got left out this time, anyhow. He's a kind man; I'vealways said so. And she said she wasn't well enough to see him! Well;if it was me's I'd send for Dr. King. "

So the two women wrangled, each fearful of responsibility; until atlast, after Maggie had twice gone up-stairs and listened at thatsilent door, they made up their minds. 

"David, " Maggie said, "you go and wait at the gate, and when thebutcher's cart comes along, you tell him you want on. An' you go downstreet, an' tell him you want off at Dr. King's. An' you ask Dr. Kingto come right along up here. Tell him Mrs. Richie's real sick. "

"If it was me, I'd let him wait till he goes to school, " Sarah beganto hesitate; "she'll be mad. "

But Maggie had started in and meant to see the matter through: "Lether be mad!"

"Well, it's not my doin', " Sarah said with a fine carelessness, andcrept up-stairs to listen again at Mrs. Richie's door. "Seemed like asif she was sort of--_cryin_'!" she told Maggie in an awed whisperwhen she came down. 

David brought his message to the doctor's belated breakfast table. William had been up nearly all night with a very sick patient, andMartha had been careful not to wake him in the morning. He pushed hisplate back, as David repeated Maggie's words, and looked blankly atthe table-cloth. 

"She's never really got over the shock about Sam Wright's Sam, hasshe?" Martha said. "Sometimes I almost think she was--" Mrs. King'sexpressive pantomime of eyebrows and lips meant "in love with him"--words not to be spoken before a child. 

"Nonsense!" said William King curtly. "No; I don't want any morebreakfast, thank you, my dear. I'll go and hitch up. "

Martha followed him to the back door. "William, maybe she's lonely. I'm very tired, but perhaps I'd better go along with you, and cheerher up?" "Oh, no, " he called back over his shoulder; "it isn'tnecessary. " Then he added hastily, "but it's very kind in you, Martha, to think of it. "

"I'd just as lieves, " she insisted flushing with pleasure. 

He tried to get his thoughts in order as he and Jinny climbed thehill. He knew what, sooner or later, he must say to Mrs. Richie, andhe thought with relief, that if she were really ill, he could not sayit that day. But the sight of David had brought his duty home to him. He had thought about it for days, and tried to see some way of escape;but every way was blocked by tradition or religion. Once he had saidstumblingly to Dr. Lavendar, that it was wonderful how little harmcame to a child from bad surroundings, and held his breath for thereply. 

"An innocent child in a bad home, " said Dr. Lavendar cheerfully, "always makes me think of a water-lily growing out of the mud. "

"Yes!" said the doctor, "the mud doesn't hurt it. "

"Not the lily; but unfortunately, Willy, my boy, every child isn't alily. I wouldn't want to plant one in the mud to see how it wouldgrow, would you?"

And William admitted that he would not. 

After that he even put the matter to his wife "Martha, you're asensible woman, I'd like to ask you about a case. " "Oh, well, " saidMartha simpering, "I don't pretend to any very great wisdom, but I doknow something about sickness. "

"This isn't sickness; it's about a child. Do you think a child issusceptible to the influence of an older person who is not of thehighest character? If, for instance, the mother was--not good, do yousuppose a child would be injured?"

"Not good?" said Martha, horrified. "Oh, William' Somebody in UpperChester, I suppose?"

"But she is a devoted mother; you couldn't be more conscientiousyourself. So do you think her conduct could do any harm to a child?"

"Oh, Willy! A child in the care of a bad woman? Shocking!"

"Not bad--not bad--" he said faintly. 

"Most shocking! Of course a child would be susceptible to suchinfluences. "

William drew arabesques on the table-cloth with his fork, "Well, Idon't know--" he began, "_I_ know!" said Martha, and began to lay down the law. For ifMartha prided herself upon anything, besides her common sense, it wasthe correctness of her views upon the training of children. But shestopped long enough to say, "William, please! the table-cloth. " AndWilliam put his fork down. 

He thought of his wife's words very often in the next few days. Hethought of them when David stood rattling the knob of the dining-roomdoor, and saying "Maggie says please come and see Mrs. Richie. " Hethought of them as Jinny pulled him slowly up the hill. 

Sarah was lying in wait for him at the green gate. Maggie had sent forhim, she said; and having put the responsibility where it belonged, she gave him what information she could. Mrs. Richie wasn't wellenough to see her brother before he went away on the stage; shewouldn't eat any breakfast, and she looked like she was dead. And whenshe (Sarah) had given her a note from Mr. Pryor, she read it and rightafterwards kind of fainted away like. An' when she come to, she(Sarah) had said, "Don't you want the doctor?" An' Mrs. Richie said"No. " "But Maggie was scared, Dr. King; and she just sent David foryou. "

"Quite right, " said William King, "Let Mrs. Richie know I am here. "

He followed the woman to Helena's door, and heard the smothereddissenting murmur within; but before Sarah, evidently cowed, couldgive him Mrs. Richie's message that she was much obliged, but did notwish--William entered the room. She was lying with her face hidden inher pillows; one soft braid fell across her shoulder, then sagged downand lay along the sheet, crumpled and wrinkled with a restless night. That braid, with its tendrils of little loose locks, was a curiousappeal. She did not turn as he sat down beside her, and he had to leanover to touch her wrist with his quiet fingers. 

"I did not send for you, " she said in a muffled voice; "there isnothing the matter. "

"You haven't had any breakfast, " said William King. "Sarah, bring Mrs. Richie some coffee. "

"I don't want--"

"You must have something to eat. "

Helena drew a long, quivering breath; "I wish you would go away. Thereis nothing the matter with me. "

"I can't go until you feel better, Mrs. Richie. "

She was silent. Then she turned a little, gathering up the two longbraids so that they fell on each side of her neck and down across herbreast; their soft darkness made the pallor of her face more marked. She was so evidently exhausted that when Sarah brought the coffee, thedoctor slipped his hand under her shoulders and lifted her while shedrank it. 

"Don't try to talk; I want you to sleep. "

"Sleep! I can't sleep. "

"You will, " he assured her. 

She lay back on her pillows, and for the first time she looked at him. "Dr. King, he has quarrelled with me. "

William flinched, as though some wound had been touched; then he said, "Don't talk of it now. "

She turned her face sharply away from him, burying it in her pillow. 

"Mrs. Richie, you must try to eat something. See, Maggie has sent yousome very nice toast. "

"I won't eat. I wish you would go. "

There was silence for a moment. Then, suddenly, she cried out, "Well?What are you going to do, all of you? What did Dr. Lavendar say?"

"Dr. Lavendar doesn't know anything about it. "

"I don't know why I told you! I was out of my head, I think. And nowyou despise me. "

"I don't despise you. "

She laughed. "Of course you do. "

"Mrs. Richie, I'm too weak myself to despise anybody. "

"I wish you would go away, " she repeated. 

"I will; but you must have a sedative first. "

"David's bromide?" she said sarcastically, "A broken finger, or abroken--well, anything. Dr. King--you won't tell Dr. Lavendar?"

"Tell? What kind of a man do you suppose I am! I wish you would tellhim yourself, though. "

"Tell him myself?" she gave him another swift look that faltered asher eyes met his. "You are crazy! He would take David away. "

"Mrs. Richie, " said William miserably, "you know you can't keepDavid. "

"Not keep David!"

She sat up in bed, supported on each side by her shaking hands; shewas like a wild creature at bay, she looked him full in the face. "Doyou think I would give him up, just to please you, or Dr. Lavendar, when I quarrelled with Lloyd, to keep him? Lloyd wouldn't agree that Ishould have him. Yes; if it hadn't been for David, you wouldn't havethe right to despise me! Why, he's all I've got in the world. "

William King was silent. 

"You think I am wicked! But what harm could I possibly do him?" Hersupporting arms shook so that the doctor laid a gentle hand on hershoulder, "Lie down, " he said, and she fell back among her pillows. 

"Who could do more for him than I can? Who could love him so much? Hehas everything!" she said faintly. 

"Please take this medicine, " William interposed, and his calm, impersonal voice was like a blow, "Oh, you despise me! But if youknew--"

"I don't despise you, " he said again. And added, "I almost wish Idid. "

But this she did not hear. She was saying desperately, "I will nevergive David up. I wish I hadn't told you; but I will never give himup!"

"I am going now, " the doctor said. "But sometime I am afraid I musttell you how I feel about David. But I'll go now. I want you to try tosleep. "

When he had gone, she took from under her pillow that letter which hadmade her "faint like. " It was brief, but conclusive:

"The matter of the future has seemed to settle itself--I think wisely;and I most earnestly hope, happily, for you. The other propositionwould have meant certain unhappiness all round. Keep your boy; I amsure you will find him a comfort. I am afraid you are a little tooexcited to want to see me again immediately. But as soon as you decidewhere you will go, let me know, and let me be of any service infinding a house, etc. Then, when you are settled and feel equal to avisit, I'll appear. I should certainly be very sorry to let any littledifference of opinion about this boy interfere with our friendship. L. P. "

Sitting up in bed, she wrote in lead-pencil, two lines;

"I will never see you again. I never want to hear your name again. "

She did not even sign her name. 

CHAPTER XXIX

To have David go away for the long-anticipated trip with Dr. Lavendar, was a relief to Helena struggling up from a week of profoundprostration. Most of the time she had been in bed, only getting up tosit with David at breakfast and supper, to take what comfort she mightin the little boy's joyous but friendly unconcern. He was full ofimportance in the prospect of his journey; there was to be one nighton a railroad-car, which in itself was a serious experience; anotherin an hotel; hotel! David glowed at the word. In Philadelphia theywere to see the sights in the morning; in the afternoon, to be sure, Dr. Lavendar had warned him that it would be necessary to sit stillwhile some one talked. However, it is never necessary to listen. Afterthe talking, they would go and see the ships at the wharves, andLiberty Bell. Then--David's heart sank; bed loomed before him, But itwould be an hotel bed;--there was some comfort in that! Besides, it isnever necessary to sleep. The next day going home on the cars theywould see the Horseshoe Curve; the very words made his throat swellwith excitement. 

"Did the locomotive engine ever drop off of it?" he asked Helena. 

"No, dear, " she said languidly, but with a smile. She always had asmile for David. 

After the Horseshoe Curve there would be a night at Mercer. Mercer, ofcourse, was less exciting than Philadelphia; still, it was"travelling, " and could be boasted of at recess. But as David thoughtof Mercer, he had a bleak revelation. For weeks his mind had been onthis journey; beyond it, his thought did not go. Now, there rushedupon him the staggering knowledge that after the night in Mercer, _life would still go on!_ Yes, he would be at home; in Miss RoseKnight's school-room; at supper with Mrs. Richie. It is a heavymoment, this first consciousness that nothing lasts. It made Davidfeel sick; he put his spoon down and looked at Mrs. Richie. "I shallbe back, " he said blankly. 

And at that her eyes filled. "Yes, darling! Won't that be nice!"

And yet his absence for the next few days would be a relief to her. She could think the whole thing out, she said to herself. She had notbeen well enough to think clearly since Lloyd had gone. To adjust hermind to the bitter finality meant swift oscillations of hate and thehabit of affection--the spirit warring with the flesh. She would neversee him again;--she would send for him! she despised him;--what shouldshe do without him? Yet she never wavered about David. She had madeher choice. William King's visit had not shaken her decision for aninstant; it had only frightened her horribly. How should she defendherself? She meant to think it all out, undisturbed by the sweetinterruptions of David's presence. And yet she knew she should misshim every minute of his absence. Miss him? If Dr. King had known whateven three days without David would mean to her, he would not havewasted his breath in suggesting that she should give him up! Yet thepossibility of such a thing had the allurement of terror; she playedwith the thought, as a child, wincing, presses a thorn into its fleshto see how long it can bear the smart. Suppose, instead of this threedays' trip with Dr. Lavendar, David was going away to stay? The merequestion made her catch him in her arms as if to assure herself he washers. 

The day before he started, Helena was full of maternal preoccupations. The travelling-bag that she had begun to pack for herself--for sodifferent a journey!--had to be emptied of its feminine possessions, and David's little belongings stowed in their place. David himself hadviews about this packing; he kept bringing one thing or another--hisrubber boots, a cocoon, a large lump of slag honeycombed with air-holes; would she please put them into the bag?

"Why, but darling, you will be back again on Saturday, " she consoledhim, as each treasure was rejected. --("Suppose he was _not_ comingback! How should I feel?")

He was to spend the night before the journey at the Rectory, and aftersupper Helena went down the hill with him. "I wish I hadn't consentedto it, " she said to herself; "do you like to go and leave me, David?"she pleaded. 

And David jumping along at her side, said joyously, "Yes, ma'am. "

At the Rectory he pushed the door open and bounded in ahead of her, "I'm here!"

Dr. Lavendar put down his _Spirit of Missions_, and looked over hisspectacles. "You don't say so! And you're here, too, Mrs. Richie?Come in!"

Helena, hesitating in the hall, said she had only come to leave David. But Dr. Lavendar would not listen to that. 

"Sit down! Sit down!" he commanded genially. 

David, entirely at home, squatted at once upon the rug beside Danny. "Dr. Lavendar, " she said, "you'll bring him back to me on Saturday?"

"Unless I steal him for myself, " said Dr. Lavendar, twinkling atDavid, who twinkled back, cozily understanding. 

Helena stooped over him and kissed him; then took one of his reluctanthands from its clasp about his knees and held it, patting it, and oncefurtively kissing it, "Good-by, David. Saturday you'll be at homeagain. "

The child's face fell. His sigh was not personal; it only meant thetemporariness of all human happiness. Staring into the fire in suddenmelancholy, he said, "'By. " But the next minute he sparkled intoexcited joy, and jumped up to hang about her neck and whisper that inPhiladelphia he was going to buy a false-face for a present for Dr. Lavendar; "or else a jew's-harp. He'll give it to me afterwards; and Ithink I want a jew's-harp the most, " he explained. 

"David, " Helena said in a whisper, putting her cheek down against his, "Oh, David, won't you please, give me--'forty kisses'? I'm so--lonely. "

David drew back and looked hard into her face that quivered in spiteof the smile she had summoned to meet his eyes. It was a long look, for a child; then suddenly, he put both arms around her neck in abreathless squeeze. "One--two--three--four--" he began. 

William King, coming in for his evening smoke, saw that quick embrace;his face moved with pain, and he stepped back into the hall with someword of excuse about his coat. When he returned, she was standing up, hurrying to get away. "Saturday, " she repeated to Dr. Lavendar;"Saturday, surely?"

"Why, " the old man said smiling, "you make me feel like a thief. Yes;you shall have him Saturday night. Willy, my boy, do you think Mrs. Richie ought to go up the hill alone?"

"Oh, it will be bright moonlight in a few minutes, " she protestednervously, not looking at the doctor. 

"I will walk home with Mrs. Richie, " William said. 

"No! oh, no; please don't!" The dismay in her voice was unmistakable. 

Dr. Lavendar thrust out a perplexed lower lip. "If she'd rather justgo by herself, Willy, there are no highwaymen in Old Chester, and--"

But William King interrupted him gently. "I wish to speak to Mrs. Richie. " And Dr. Lavendar held his tongue. 

"I am sorry to bother you, " William said, as he held the gate open forher; "but I felt I must speak to you. "

Helena made no reply. All the way down the street, almost to the footof the hill, Old Chester's evening stillness was unbroken, except forthe rustle of fallen leaves under their feet. Suddenly the great diskof the hunter's moon lifted slowly up behind the hills, and the nightsplintered like a dark crystal; sheets of light spread sharply in theopen road, gulfs of shadow deepened under trees and beside walls. Itwas as abrupt as sound. William King broke into hurried words asthough he had been challenged: "I knew you didn't want me to walk homewith you, but indeed you ought not to go up the hill alone. Pleasetake my arm; the flagging is so uneven here. "

"No, thank you. "

"Mrs. Richie, please don't feel that I am not your friend, justbecause--Indeed, I think I am more your friend than I ever was. Youwill believe that, won't you?"

"Oh, I suppose so; that is the way saints always talk to sinners. "

"I am far enough from being a saint, " William King said with anawkward effort to laugh; "but--"

"But I am a sinner?" she interrupted. 

"Oh, Mrs. Richie, don't let us talk this way! I have nothing but pity, and--and friendship. The last thing I mean to do, is to set myself asa judge of your actions; God knows I have no right to judge anybody!But this matter of David, that's what I wanted to speak to you about. My responsibility, " he stopped, and drew in his breath. "Don't yousee, my responsibility--"

Helena did not speak; she was marshalling all her forces to fight forher child. How should she begin? But he did not wait for her to begin. 

"I would rather lose my right hand than pain you. I've gone all overit, a hundred times. I've tried to see some way out. But I can't. Theonly way is for you to give him up. It isn't right for you to havehim! Mrs. Richie, I say this, and it is hard and cruel, and yet Inever felt more"--William King stopped short--"friendly, " he endedbrokenly. 

He was walking at a pace she found hard to follow. "I can't go quiteso fast, " she said faintly, and instantly he came to a dead stop. 

"Dr. King, I want to explain to you--"

She lifted her face, all white and quivering in the moonlight, butinstead of explanations, she broke out: "Oh, if you take him away fromme, I shall die! I don't care very much about living anyhow. But Ican't live without David. Please, Dr. King; oh, please; I will begood! I will be good, " she repeated like a child, and stood therecrying, and clinging to his arm. All her reasons and excuses andpleadings had dropped out of her mind. "Don't take him away from me; Iwill be good!" she said. 

William King, with those trembling hands on his arm, looked down ather and trembled too. Then roughly, he pushed her hands away. "Comeon. We mustn't stand here. Don't you suppose I feel this as much asyou do? I love children, and I know what it means to you to let Davidgo. But more than that, I--have a regard for you, and it pains meinexpressibly to do anything that pains you. You can't understand howterrible this is to me, and I can't tell you. I mustn't tell you. Butnever mind, it's true. It isn't right, no, it isn't right! that awoman who--you know what I mean. And even if, after all, you shouldmarry him, what sort of a man is he to have charge of a little boylike David? He has deceived us, and lied to us; he is a loose liver, a--"

"Wait, " she panted; "I am not going to marry him. I thought youunderstood that. "

He drew away from her with a horrified gesture. "And you would keep aninnocent child--"

"No! No! I've broken with him--on account of David!"

"Broken with him!" said William King; he caught her by the wrist, andstared at her. Then with a breathless word that she could not hear, hedropped her hand and turned his face away. 

Again, in their preoccupation, they stood still; this time in a greatbank of shadow by the wall of the graveyard half-way up the hill. 

"So you won't take him from me?" she said; "I will leave Old Chester. You need never see me again. "

"Good God!" said William King, "do you think that is what I want?"

She tried to see his face, but he had turned his back on her so thatshe stood behind him. Her hands were clasping and unclasping and hervoice fluttering in her throat. "You won't take him?"

"Mrs. Richie, " he said harshly, "do you love that man still?"

But before she could answer, he put the question aside. "No! Don'ttell me. I've no right to ask. I--don't want to know. I've no right toknow. It's--it's nothing to me, of course. " He moved as he spoke outinto the moonlight, and began to climb the pebbly road; she was a stepor two behind him. When he spoke again his voice was indifferent tothe point of contempt. "This side is smoother; come over here. I amglad you are not going to marry Mr. Pryor. He is not fit for you tomarry. "

"Not fit for--_me!_" she breathed. 

"And I am glad you have broken with him. But that has no bearing uponyour keeping David. A child is the most precious thing in the world;he must be trained, and--and all that. Whether you marry this man ornot makes no difference about David. If you have lived--as you havelived--you ought not to have him. But I started the whole thing. Imade Dr. Lavendar give him to you. He didn't want to, somehow; I don'tknow why. So don't you see? I _can't_ leave him in your care. Surelyyou see that? I am responsible. Responsible not only to David, but toDr. Lavendar. "

"If Dr. Lavendar is willing to let me have him, I don't see why youneed to feel so about it. What harm could I do him? Oh, how cruel youare--how cruel you are!"

"Would Dr. Lavendar let you have him, if--he knew?"

"But that's over; that's finished, " she insisted. "oh, I tell you, it's over!"

The doctor's silence was like a whip. 

"Oh, I know; you think that he was here last week. But there has to bea beginning of everything--that was the beginning. I told him I wouldnot give David up to marry him; and we quarrelled. And--it's over. "

"I can't go into that, " the doctor said. "That's not my business. David is my business. Mrs. Richie, I want you quietly, without anyexplanation, to give the boy back to Dr, Lavendar. If you don't, Ishall have no choice. I shall have to tell him. "

"But you said you wouldn't tell him! Oh, you break your word--"

"I won't tell him your affairs, " said William King. "I will never dothat. But I'll tell him my own--some of them. I'll say I made amistake when I advised him to let you have David, and that I don'tthink you ought to be trusted to bring up a little boy. But I won'tsay why. "

"Dr. King, if I tell him just what you've said; that you think youmade a mistake, and you think I am not to be trusted;--if I tell himmyself, and he consents to let me keep him, will you interfere?"

William reflected heavily. "He won't consent, " he said; "he'll know Iwouldn't say a thing like that without reason. But if he does, I shallbe silent. "

There was a despairing finality in his words. They were at her owngate now; she leaned her head down on it, and he heard a pitifulsound. William King's lips were dry, and when he spoke the effort madehis throat ache. What he said was only the repetition of his duty ashe saw it. "I'd rather lose my right hand than make you suffer. ButI've no choice. I've no choice!" And when she did not answer, he addedhis ultimatum. "I'll have to tell Dr. Lavendar on Sunday, unless youwill just let me settle it all for you by saying that you don't wantDavid any long--"

_"Not want David!"_

"I mean, that you've decided you won't keep him any longer. I'll finda good home for him, Mrs. Richie, " he ended in a shaking voice. 

She gave him one look of terror; then opened the gate and shut itquickly in his face, drawing the bolt with trembling fingers. As sheflew up the path, he saw her for an instant as she crossed a patch ofmoonlight; then the darkness hid her. 

CHAPTER XXX

It was incredible to David as he thought it over afterwards, but heactually slept away that wonderful night on the railroad! When heclimbed on to the shutting-up shelf behind red and green stripedcurtains, nothing had been further from his mind than sleep. It washis intention to sit bolt upright and watch the lamps swinging in theaisle, to crane his neck over the top of the curtains and look out ofthe small hinged window at the smoke all thick with sparks from thelocomotive engine, and at the mountains with the stars hanging overthem, and--at the Horseshoe Curve! But instead of seeing all thesewonders that he and Dr. Lavendar had talked about for the last fewweeks, no sooner had he been lifted into his berth than, in a flash, the darkness changed to bright daylight. Yes; the dull, common, every-night affair of sleep, had interfered with all his plans. He did notspeak of his disappointment the next morning, as he dressed--somehow--in the jostling, swaying little enclosure where the washstands were;but he thought about it, resentfully. Sleep! "When I'm a man, I'llnever sleep, " he assured himself; then cheered up as he realized thatabsence from Sarah had brought at least one opportunity of manhood--hewould not have to wash behind his ears! But he brooded over hishelplessness to make up for that other loss. He was so silent atbreakfast in the station that Dr. Lavendar thought he did not like hisfood. 

"You can have something else, David. What do you want?"

"Ice-cream, " David said, instantly alert. 

"At breakfast!" David nodded, and the ice-cream appeared. He ate it insilence, and when he had scraped the saucer, he said, "Can you ever get back behind, sir?"

"Behind what?" Dr. Lavendar asked. He was looking at David andwondering what was different about the child; he did not have quitehis usual aspect. "I must have left off some of his clothes, " Dr. Lavendar thought anxiously, and that question about getting backbehind suggested buttons. "Are your braces fastened?" he asked. 

"And do it over again, " David said. "Is there any way you can get backbehind, and do it over again?"

"Do what over again?" Dr. Lavendar said. "If they've come unfastened--"

"I don't like sleeping, " said David. "If I could get behind again, Iwouldn't. "

Dr. Lavendar gave it up, but he fumbled under David's little coat anddiscovered that the buttons were all right. "There seems to besomething different about you, David, " he said, as they pushed theirchairs from the table. David had no explanation to offer, so Dr. Lavendar consulted the waitress: "Is there anything wrong about thislittle boy's clothing? He doesn't look just right--"

"I guess he hasn't had his hair brushed, sir, " said the smiling youngwoman, and carried the child off to some lair of her own, whence heemerged in his usual order. 

"Thank you, my dear, " said Dr. Lavendar. He took David's hand, and outthey stepped into the world! For a moment they stood still on thesidewalk to get their breaths in the rush and jostle of the crowd thatsurged along the street; a simple, happy pair--an old man in a bluemuffler and broad-brimmed felt hat, a child in a little surtout andvisored cap. David gripped Dr. Lavendar's hand tight, and looked upinto his face; its smile beaming upon all these hurrying people, reassured the child, and he paced along beside the old gentleman ingrave content. They stopped at the first shop-window, and gazed at arow of fish bedded in ice--beautiful iridescent mackerel, fat redpompoms, and in the middle, in a nest of seaweed, green-blackcreatures, with great claws that ended in pincers and eyes that lookedlike pegs stuck into their heads. David stared, open-mouthed; then heput a hand into his pocket. 

"How much would one cost, sir?"

"I don't know, " said Dr. Lavendar. 

"I think I will buy one, and take it home and keep it in a cage. "

At which Dr. Lavendar said gravely, that he feared the creatures wouldnot be happy in a cage--"And besides, people eat them, David. "

David was silent; then, in a suppressed voice, he said, "Are theyhappy when people eat them? I think they'd rather be in a cage; Iwould hang it in my window. "

But Dr. Lavendar only said, "Dear me! What have we here?" and drew himto the next shop, at the door of which stood a wooden Indian, atomahawk in one hand, and a cigar-box in the other. Dr. Lavendar badeDavid wait outside while he went into this shop, which the little boywas perfectly willing to do, for it isn't every day you get the chanceto examine a wooden Indian, even to climbing up on his pedestal andfeeling his tomahawk with respectful fingers. When Dr. Lavendar cameout, David took his kind old hand, and burst into confidences. 

"When I'm big I'm going to fight Indians. Or else I'll drive fasthorses. I don't know which. It's hard to decide, ain't it, sir?"

"Very hard. If you choose the horses, I'll give you Goliath. "

David was silent; then he sighed: "I guess I'll fight Indians, sir, "he said. 

But a moment later he was cheerfully confidential; he had thirty centsto spend! "Dear, dear, " said Dr. Lavendar, "we mustn't do anythingrash. Here, let's look in this window. "

Oh, how many windows there were, and all of them full of beautifulthings! Dr. Lavendar was willing to stop at every one; and he joinedin David's game of "mine, " with the seriousness that all thoughtfulpersons give to this diversion. 

"That's _mine!_" David would cry, pointing to a green china toadbehind the plate glass; and Dr. Lavendar would say gravely, "You may have it, David; you may have it. "

"Now it's your turn!" David would instruct him. 

"Must I take something in this window?" Dr. Lavendar would plead. AndDavid always said firmly that he must. "Well, then, that's mine, " Dr. Lavendar would say. 

"Why, that's only a teacup! We have thousands of them at our house!"David boasted. "I should think you would rather have the toad. I'll--I'll give you the toad, sir?"

"Oh, dear me, no, " Dr. Lavendar protested; "I wouldn't rob you for theworld. " And so they sauntered on, hand in hand. When they came to abook-store, Dr. Lavendar apologized for breaking in upon their "game. ""I'm going to play _mine_, in here, " he said. 

David was quite content to wait at the door and watch the people, andthe yellow boxes full of windows, drawn by mules with bells jinglingon their harness. Sometimes he looked fearfully back into the shop;but Dr. Lavendar was still playing "mine, " so all was well. At last, however, he finished his game and came to the door. 

"Come along, David; this is the most dangerous place in town!"

David looked at him with interest. "Why did you skip with your eyewhen you said that, sir?" he demanded. 

At which the clerk who walked beside them laughed loudly, and Davidgrew very red and angry. 

But when Dr. Lavendar said, "David, I've got a bone in my arm; won'tyou carry a book for me?" he was consoled, and immediately began toask questions. It seemed to Dr. Lavendar that he inquired abouteverything in heaven and earth and the waters under the earth, and atlast the old gentleman was obliged, in self-defence, to resort to theformula which, according to the code of etiquette understood by thesetwo friends, signified "stop talking. "

"What is--" David began, and his companion replied glibly:

"Layovers for meddlers and crutches for lame ducks. "

And David subsided into giggles, for it was understood that thisremark was extremely humorous. 

After that they went to dinner with a gentleman who wore a long blackcoat and no shirt; at least, David could not see any shirt. Dr. Lavendar called him Bishop, and they talked a great deal aboutuninteresting things. David only spoke twice: His host took occasionto remark that he did not finish all his mashed potato--"Some poorchild would be glad of what you waste, " said the Bishop. To whichDavid replied, "If I ate it, what then, for the poor child?" And thegentleman with no shirt said in a grave aside to Dr. Lavendar that thepresent generation was inclined to pertness. His second remark wasmade when the clergymen pushed their chairs back from the table. ButDavid sat still. "We haven't had the ice-cream yet, " he objected, gently. "Hush! Hush!" said Dr. Lavendar. And the gentleman laughedvery hard, and said that he had to send all his ice-cream to theheathen. David, reddening, looked at him in stolid silence. In theafternoon there was a pause; they went to church, and listened toanother gentleman, who talked a long, long time. Sometimes Davidsighed, but he kept pretty quiet, considering. After the talk wasover, Dr. Lavendar did not seem anxious to get away. David twitchedhis sleeve once or twice to indicate his own readiness, but itappeared that Dr. Lavendar preferred to speak to the talkinggentleman. And the talking gentleman patted David's head and said:

"And what do you think of foreign missions, my little boy?"

David did not answer, but he moved his head from under the large whitehand. 

"You were very good and quiet, " said the talking gentleman. "I sawyou, down in the pew with Dr. Lavendar. And I was very muchcomplimented; you never went to sleep. " "I couldn't, " said David, briefly; "the seats are too hard. " The talking gentleman laughed alittle, and you might have thought Dr. Lavendar skipped with hiseye;--at any rate, he laughed. 

"They don't always tell us why they keep awake, " he said. And thetalking gentleman didn't laugh any more. 

At last, however, they stopped wasting time, and took up their roundof dissipation again. They went to see Liberty Bell; then they hadsupper at a marble-topped table, in a room as big as a church! "Ice-cream, suh?" suggested a waiter, and David said "Yes!" Dr. Lavendarlooked doubtful, but David had no doubts. Yet, half-way through thatpink and white and brown mound on his saucer, he sighed, and openedand shut his eyes as if greatly fatigued. 

"Finished?" Dr. Lavendar asked. 

"No, sir, " David said sadly, and started in with a spurt; but themound did not seem to diminish, and suddenly his chin quivered. "Ifyou have to pay for what I don't eat, I'll try, " he said; "but mybreast is cold. " Reassured on this point, and furtively rubbing hislittle chilly stomach, David put down his spoon and slipped out of hischair, ready to make a night of it. For, supper over, they went to seea magician!

"I don't know what Mrs. Richie will say to me, " said Dr. Lavendar. "You won't get to bed before ten o'clock!"

"She'll say 'all right, '" said David. Then he added, "The gentleman atdinner tells lies, or else he's foolish. It would melt before theheathen got it. "

Dr. Lavendar, singing to himself--

 Hither ye faithful, haste with songs of triumph, --

did not hear the morals of his bishop aspersed. He took David's hand, and by and by they were sitting staring open-mouthed at a man who puteggs in a pan, and held it over a fire, and took out live pigeons! Oh, yes, and many other wonders! David never spoke once on his way back tothe hotel, and Dr. Lavendar began to be worried for fear the child wasovertired. He hustled him to bed as quickly as possible, and then satdown under the far-off chandelier of the hotel bedroom, to glance at anewspaper and wait until David was asleep before he got into his ownbed. He did not have to wait long for the soft breathing of childishsleep. It had been poor David's intention to go over in his mind everysingle thing he saw the magician do, so that he wouldn't leave outanything at recess on Monday. Alas, before he could begin to think, the sun was shining again!

It was Dr. Lavendar who did the thinking before the sunlight came. Twice, in his placid, wakeful night, he rose to make sure the childwas all right, to pull up an extra blanket about the small shouldersor to arrange the pillow, punched by David's fist to the edge of thebed. In the morning he let the little boy look out of the window whilehe packed up their various belongings; and when it was time to start, David could hardly tear himself away from that outlook, which makessuch a mystical appeal to most of us--huddling roofs and chimneysunder a morning sky. But when he did turn to look at Dr. Lavendar, tucking things into his valise and singing to himself, it was torealize again the immutable past. "No, " he said slowly, "you can't getback behind, and begin again. " Dr. Lavendar, understanding, chuckled. 

"Can God?" said David. 

At that Dr. Lavendar's face suddenly shone. "David, " he said, "thegreatest thing in the world is to know that God is always beginningagain!"

But David had turned to the window to watch a prowling cat upon aroof; and then, alas, it was time to start. 

"Well, " said Dr. Lavendar, as, hand in hand, they walked to the big, roaring place where the cars were, "Well, David, to-morrow we shall beat home again! You sit down here and take care of my bag while I goand get the tickets. "

David slid sidewise on to the slippery wooden settee. He had nothingto say; again he felt that bleak sinking right under his littlebreast-bone; but it stopped in the excitement of seeing Mrs. Richie'sbrother coming into the waiting-room! There was a young lady at hisside, and he piloted her across the big, bare room, to the very setteeupon which David was swinging his small legs. 

"I must see about the checks, dear, " he said, and hurried off withouta glance at the little boy who was guarding Dr. Lavendar's valise. 

The sun pouring through the high, dusty window, shone into David'seyes. He wrinkled his nose and squinted up at the young lady fromunder the visor of his blue cap. She smiled down at him, pleasantly, and then opened a book; upon which David said bravely, "You'renineteen. I'm seven, going on eight. "

"What!" said the young lady; she put her book down, and laughed. "Howdo you know I am nineteen, little boy?"

"Mrs. Richie's brother said so. "

She looked at him with amused perplexity. "And who is Mrs. Richie'sbrother?"

David pointed shyly at the vanishing figure at the end of the waiting-room. 

"Why, no, dear, that's my father. "

"_I_ know, " said David; "he's Mr. Pryor, Mrs. Richie's brother. Hecomes and stays at our house. "

"Stays at your house? What on earth are you talking about, you funnylittle boy! Where is your house?"

"O' Chester, " said David. 

The young lady laughed and gave him a kind glance. "You've made amistake, I think. My father doesn't know Mrs. Richie. "

David had nothing to say, and she opened her book. When Mr. Pryorreturned, hurrying to collect the bags and umbrellas, David had turnedhis back and was looking out of the window. 

It was not until they were in the train that Alice remembered to speakof the incident. "Who in the world is Mrs. Richie?" she demandedgayly, "and where is Old Chester?"

The suddenness of it was like a blow. Lloyd Pryor actually gasped; hispresence of mind so entirely deserted him, that before he knew it, hehad lied--and no one knew better than Lloyd Pryor that it is a mistaketo lie hurriedly. 

"I--I don't know! Never heard of either of them. "

His confusion was so obvious that his daughter gave him a surprisedlook. "But I'm told you stay at Mrs. Richie's house, in Old Chester, "she said laughing. 

"What are you talking about!"

"Why, father, " she said blankly; his irritation was verydisconcerting. 

"I tell you I never heard of such a person!" he repeated sharply; andthen realized what he had done. "Damn it, what did I lie for?" he saidto himself, angrily; and he began to try to get out of it: "OldChester? Oh, yes; I do remember. It's somewhere near Mercer, Ibelieve. But I never went there in my life. " Then he added in his ownmind, "Confound it, I've done it again! What the devil has happened?Who has told her?" Aloud, he asked where she had heard of Old Chester. 

She began to tell him about a little boy, who said--"it was toofunny!" she interrupted herself, smiling--"who said that _you_ were'Mrs. Richie's brother, ' and you stayed at her house in Old Chester, and--"

"Perfect nonsense!" he broke in. "He mistook me for some one else, Isuppose. "

"Oh, of course, " she agreed, laughing; upon which Mr. Pryor changedthe subject by saying that he must look over some papers. "Don't talknow, dear, " he said. 

Alice subsided into her novel; but after a while she put the bookdown. No; the little boy had not mistaken him for somebody else; "he'sMr. Pryor, " the child had said. But, of course, the rest was all afunny mistake. She took the book up again, but as she read, she beganto frown. Old Chester: Where had she heard of Old Chester? Then sheremembered. A gentleman who came to call, --King? Yes; that was hisname; Dr. King. He said he had come from Old Chester. And he hadspoken of somebody--now, who was it? Oh, yes, Richie; Mrs. Richie. Andonce last spring when her father went to Mercer he said he was goingto Old Chester; yet now he said he had never heard of the place. --Why!it almost seemed as if she had blundered upon a secret! Her uneasysmile faded involuntarily into delicate disgust; not because thenature of the secret occurred to her, but because secrecy in itselfwas repugnant to her, as it is to all nobler minds. She said toherself, quickly, that her father had forgotten Old Chester, that wasall. Of course, he had forgotten it!--or else--She did not allowherself to reach the alternative which his confusion so inevitablysuggested:--secrecy, protected by a lie. In the recoil from it she wasplunged into remorse for a suspicion which she had not evenentertained. Truth was so much to this young creature, that even theshadow of an untruth gave her a sense of uneasiness which she couldnot banish. She looked furtively at her father, sorting out somepapers, his lips compressed, his eyebrows drawn into a heavy frown, and assured herself that she was a wicked girl to have wondered, evenfor a minute, whether he was perfectly frank. He! Her ideal of everyvirtue! And besides, why should he not be frank? It was absurd as wellas wicked to have that uneasy feeling. "I am ashamed of myself!" shedeclared hotly, and took up her novel.... 

But David had thrown the smooth stone from the brook!

It was a very little stone; the giant did not know for many a daywhere he had been hit; yet it had struck him in the one vulnerablepoint in his armor--his daughter's trust in him. How the wound wideneddoes not belong to this story. 

When Dr. Lavendar came bustling back with his tickets, David wasabsorbed in thought. He had very little to say on the long day'sjourney over the mountains. When they reached Mercer where they wereto spend the night, he had nothing whatever to say: his eyes wereclosing with fatigue, and he was asleep almost before his littleyellow head touched the pillow. In the morning he asked a question:

"Is it a Aunt if you don't know it?" "What?" said Dr. Lavendar, winding his clean stock carefully around his neck. 

But David relapsed into silence. He asked so few questions that daythat crutches for lame ducks were referred to only once. 

They took the afternoon stage for Old Chester. It was a blue, delicious October day, David sat on the front seat between Dr. Lavendar and Jonas, and as Jonas told them all that had happenedduring their long absence, the child felt a reviving interest in life. Dr. Lavendar's humming broke out into singing; he sang scraps of songsand hymns, and teased David about being sleepy. "I believe he's losthis tongue, Jonas; he hasn't said boo! since we left Mercer. I supposehe won't have a thing to tell Mrs. Richie, not a thing!"

"Well, now, there!" said Jonas, "her George gimme a letter for you, and I'll be kicked if I ain't forgot it!" He thrust his left leg out, so that his cow-hide boot hung over the dashboard, and fumbled in hispocket; then thrust out the right leg and fumbled in another pocket;then dived into two or three coat pockets; finally a very crumplednote, smelling of the stable, came up from the depths and was handedto Dr. Lavendar. 

"Slow down these two-forties on a plank road, Jonas, till I get myglasses on. " said Dr. Lavendar. 

After he read the letter he did not sing any more; his face fell intodeeply puzzled lines. "I must ask Willy what it's all about, " he saidto himself. Certainly the note did not explain itself:

"DEAR DR. LAVENDAR: If it will not inconvenience you, will you letDavid stay at the rectory tonight?--and perhaps for a few days longer. I am not sure whether I shall be able to keep him. I may have to givehim back to you. Will you let him stay with you until I can decidewhat to do?

"HELENA R. "

"I wonder if that brother has interfered?" thought Dr. Lavendar. "Something has happened; that's evident. Keep him? Well, I guess Iwill!" He looked down at David, his old eyes beaming with pleasure. "Mrs. Richie wants you to stay with me tonight; what do you think ofthat?"

"I wanted to see the rabbits, " said David; "but I don't mind staying--very much. "

CHAPTER XXXI

"Perhaps she feels that it would be better for David to be-indifferent surroundings. "

"But Willy! Wednesday night she told me that I must be sure and bringhim back to her on Saturday. What has happened between Wednesday andSaturday?"

"Very likely nothing has happened between Wednesday and Saturday. Butperhaps she has just made up her mind. "

"Ho!" said Dr. Lavendar; and after a while he added, "'Um. "

Monday morning he went up to the Stuffed Animal House. But Mrs. Richiesent word down-stairs that she wasn't well; would he be so kind as toexcuse her and to keep David a little longer. Sarah, when she gave themessage, looked as mystified as Dr. Lavendar felt. "I always thoughtshe was just wrapped up in that there boy, " she told Maggie; "and yetshe lets him stay away two days after he gets home!" Dr. Lavendar, poking on with Goliath up the hill to Benjamin Wright's, had very muchthe same feeling: "Queer! I wish Willy wasn't bottled up; of course heknows what it means. Well; if I wait, she'll explain it herself. "

But many days were to pass before Helena made any effort to explain. And meantime Dr. Lavendar's mind was full of something else: oldBenjamin Wright was running down-hill very rapidly. 

In certain ways he seemed better; he could talk--and swear--quitefluently. "He sayed to me, this mawnin', " Simmons told Dr. Lavendar, "'Simmons, you freckled nigger, ' he sayed, 'in the name of Lot's wife, who salted my porridge?' He spoke out just as plain!" Simmons detailedthis achievement of the poor dulled tongue, with the pride of a motherrepeating her baby's first word. Then he simpered with a little vanityof his own: "He was always one to notice my freckles, " he said. 

Benjamin Wright, lying in his bed with his hat on noticed other thingsthan Simmons's freckles, and spoke of them, too, quite distinctly. "Myboy, S-Sam, is a good boy. He comes up every day. Well, Lav-Lavendar, sometimes I think I was--at fault?"

"I know you were, Benjamin. Have you told him so?"

"Gad-a-mercy! N-no!" snarled the other. "He would be too puffed up. Won't do to make young people v-vain. "

He "took notice, " too, Simmons said, of the canaries; and he evenrolled out, stammeringly, some of his favorite verses. But, in spiteof all this, he was running down-hill; he knew it himself, and once hetold Dr. Lavendar that this business of dying made a man narrow. "Ith-think about it all the time, " he complained. "Can't put my mind onanything else. It's damned narrowing. "

Yet William King said to Dr. Lavendar that he thought that if the oldman could be induced to talk of his grandson, he might rally. "Henever speaks of him, " the doctor said, "but I am sure he is broodingover him all the time. Once or twice I have referred to the boy, buthe pretends not to hear me. He's using up all his strength to bear theidea that he is to blame, I wish I could tell him that he isn't, " thedoctor ended, sighing. 

They had met in the hall as William was coming down-stairs and Dr. Lavendar going up. Simmons, who had been shuffling about with adecanter and hospitable suggestions, had disappeared into the dining-room. 

"Well, " said Dr. Lavendar, "why don't you tell him? Though in fact, perhaps he is to blame in some way that we don't know? You remember, he said he had 'angered the boy'?"

"No; that wasn't it, " said William. 

Dr. Lavendar looked at him with sudden attention. "Then what--" hebegan, but a lean, freckled shadow in the dining-room doorway, spokeup:

"Maybe he might 'a' made Marster Sam's Sam mad, suh, that night; maybehe might 'a'. But that weren't no reason, " said Simmons, in aquivering voice, "for a boy to hit out and give his own grandfather alick. No, suh; it warn't. An' call him a liar!" Dr. Lavendar andWilliam King stared at each other and at the old man, in shockeddismay. "His grandfather used words, maybe, onc't in a while, " Simmonsmumbled on, "but they didn't mean no mo'n skim-milk. Don't I know?He's damned me for forty years, but he'll go to heaven all the same. The Lawd wouldn't hold it up agin' him. If a pore nigger wouldn't. IfHe would, I'd as lief go to hell with Mr. Benjamin as any man I know. Yes, suh, as I would with you yo'self, Dr. Lavendar. He was creamkind; yes, he was! One o' them pore white-trash boys at Morison'sshanty Town, called me 'Ashcat' onc't; Mr. Wright he cotched him, andlicked him with his own hands, suh! An' he was as kind to Marster Samas if he was a baby. But Marster Sam hit him a lick. No, suh; itweren't right--" Simmons rubbed the cuff of his sleeve over his eyes, and the contents of the tilting decanter dribbled down the front ofhis spotted old coat. 

"Simmons, " said Dr. Lavendar, "what had they been quarrelling about?"

But Simmons said glibly, that 'fore the Lawd, he didn't know. 

"He does know, " said Dr. Lavendar, as the man again retired to hispantry. "But, after all, the subject of the quarrel doesn't make anydifference. To think that the boy struck him! That must be asatisfaction to Benjamin. "

"A satisfaction?" William repeated, bewildered. 

But Dr. Lavendar did not explain. He went on up-stairs, and sat besidethe very old man, listening to his muffled talk, and saying what hecould of commonplace things. Once Benjamin Wright asked about Mrs. Richie:

"That female at the S-Stuffed Animal House-how is she? Poor cr-creeter; pretty creeter! Tell her--"

"What, Benjamin?"

"Nothing. " And then abruptly, "It was my fault. I made him angry. Tellher. "

He did not refer to her again; nor did he speak of the boy, except atthe very end. The end came the week that David was staying at theRectory; and perhaps Dr. Lavendar's pitying absorption in that drearydying, made him give less thought to the pleasure as well as theperplexity of the child's presence; though certainly, when he got backfrom his daily visit at The Top, he found David a great comfort. Dr. Lavendar stopped twice that week to see Mrs. Richie, but each time shesent word that she was engaged, would he excuse her? "Engaged, " in thesense of not wishing to see a neighbor, was a new word in Old Chester. Dr. Lavendar did not insist. He went on up the hill to that otherhouse, where, also, there was a deep preoccupation which BenjaminWright had called "narrowing"; but here he was not shut out. He alwaysstopped to say a friendly word to Simmons, sniffling wretchedly aboutamong the cages in the dining-room, and then went on up-stairs. 

On this October afternoon the old servant sneaked up at his heels; andsliding into the room behind him as noiselessly as a shadow, settleddown on his hunkers close to the bedside. Once he put up a lean yellowhand, and patted the bedclothes; but he made no more claim toattention than a dog might have done. Dr. Lavendar found his seniorwarden in the sick-room. Of late Samuel had been there every day; hehad very little to say to his father, not from any lingeringbitterness, but because, to poor Samuel, all seemed said--the boy wasdead. When Dr. Lavendar came in he glanced at the bed, and then, witha start, at the heavy middle-aged figure sitting listlessly at thebedside. Samuel nodded solemnly. 

"A matter of hours, William says. I shall not go home until it'sover. "

"Does he hear you?" said Dr. Lavendar, in a low voice, leaning over tolook into the gray face. 

"Oh, no;" said Samuel. 

The dying man opened one eye and looked at his son. "How much youknow!" he said, then closed it again. 

"Are you comfortable, Benjamin?" Dr. Lavendar asked him. There was noreply. 

Samuel's face reddened. "You can't tell when he hears, " he said. Itwas then that Simmons put out his hand and patted the bedclothes overthe old feet. 

They sat there beside him for an hour before Benjamin Wright spokeagain; then William King came in, and stood looking down at him. 

"He'll just sleep away, " he told the son. 

"I hope he is prepared, " said Samuel, and sighed. He turned his backon the big bed with the small figure sliding down and down towards thefoot-board, and looked out of the window. The boy had not beenprepared!

Suddenly, without opening his eyes, Benjamin Wright began:

 "'Animula vagula blandula, Hospes comesque corporis, Qua nunc abibis in loca?'

"What do you think, Lavendar?"

"It will return to God, who gave it, " said Dr. Lavendar. 

There was another silence; until he wakened to say, brightly, "Simmons, you freckled nigger, you'd better wring their necks, now, Iguess. "

"No, suh, " came a murmur from the shadow on the floor, "I'm a-goin totake care of 'em fine. Yes, suh, I'll chop their eggs small; I sho'lywill. "

The dying hand began to wander over the coverlet; his son took it, butwas fretfully repulsed; then Dr. Lavendar made a sign, and Simmonslaid his thin old hand on it, and Benjamin Wright gave a contentedsigh. After a while he opened that one eye again, and looked at Dr. Lavendar; "Isn't it cus-customary on such occasions, to--admonish?" hesaid, peevishly; "you ain't doing your duty by me, Lavendar. "

"You don't need admonition, Benjamin. You know what to do. "

Silence again, and after a while a broken murmur: "'I here forget... Cancel all grudge, repeal thee... '" Then distinctly and quietly hesaid: "Sam, will you forgive me?"

Samuel Wright nodded; he could not speak at first, and Simmons liftinghis head, looked at him, fiercely; then he swallowed several times, and said, with ponderous dignity: "Certainly, father. Certainly. " AndSimmons fell back into the shadows. 

"Of course, " murmured Benjamin Wright, "if I g-get well, it needn'thold, you know. "

After that he seemed to sleep a little, until, his eyes still closed, he said, "The boy slapped my face. So it's all right. "

Samuel started up from his chair at the bedside, shocked andprotesting. 

"Gad-a-mercy!" said Benjamin Wright, fretfully, opening his eye andlooking at him--"that makes us square! Don't you see?"

There was a long silence. Once Dr. Lavendar spoke to him, and onceWilliam King touched his wrist, but he seemed to sleep. Then abruptly, and quite clearly, he spoke:

"'Crito, I owe a cock to Aesculapius'.... Lavendar?"

"Yes, Benjamin?"

"The debt is paid. Hey? I got the receipt. "

"He is wandering, " said Samuel. "Father, what do you want?"

But he did not speak again. 

CHAPTER XXXII

Helena had asked Dr. Lavendar to keep David, out of abject fear ofWilliam King. The doctor had granted her until Sunday to give him upwithout explanations; if she had not done so then, he must, he saiddoggedly, "tell. " In sending the child to the Rectory she had notgiven him up; she had only declared a truce. She had tied Dr. King'shands and gained a breathing-space in which to decide what she mustdo; but she used to watch the hill road every morning, with scaredeyes, lest he should stop on his way up to Benjamin Wright's to saythat the truce was over. David came running joyously home two or threetimes, for more clothes, or to see the rabbits, or to hang about herneck and tell her of his journey. Upon one of these occasions, hementioned casually that "Alice had gone travelling. " Helena's heartstood still; then beat suffocatingly in her throat while she drew thestory piecemeal from the child's lips. 

"She said, " David babbled, "that he didn't know you. An' she said--"

"And where was he--Mr. Pryor, all this time?" she demanded, breathlessly. She opened and shut her hands, and drew in her breath, wincing as if in physical pain; across all the days since that meetingof the Innocents, she felt his anger flaying her for the contretemps. It brought home to her, with an aching sense of finality thecompleteness of the break between them. But it did more than that. Even while she cringed with personal dismay, she was groping blindlytowards a deeper and diviner despair: Those two young creatures werethe cherubims at the east of the garden, bearing the sword that turnedevery way! By the unsparing light of that flashing blade the twosinners, standing outside, saw each other; but the one, at least, began to see something else: the glory of the garden upon which, thirteen years ago, she had turned her back! ... 

Helena did not ask any more questions. David, lounging against herknee, chattered on, ending with a candid and uncomplimentary referenceto Mr. Pryor; but she did not reprove him. When, having, as it were, displayed his sling and his bag of pebbles, he was ready to runjoyously back to the other home, she kissed him silently and with astrange new consciousness of the everlasting difference between them. But that did not lessen her passionate determination that William Kingshould never steal him from her! Yet how could she defeat her enemy?

A week passed, and still undecided, she wrote to Dr. Lavendar askingfurther hospitality for David: "I want to have him with me always, butjust now I am a little uncertain whether I can do so, because I amgoing to leave Old Chester. I will come and ask you about it in a fewdays. "

She took the note out to the stable to George and bade him carry it tothe Rectory; as she went back to the empty house, she had a glimpse ofMr. And Mrs. Smith's jewel-like eyes gleaming redly upon her from thegloom of the rabbit-hutch, and a desolate longing for David made herhurry indoors. But there the silence, unbroken by the child's voice, was unendurable; it seemed to turn the confusion of her thoughts intoactual noise. So she went out again to pace up and down the littlebrick paths between the box borders of the garden. The morning wasstill and warm; the frost of a sharp night had melted into threads ofmist that beaded the edges of blackened leaves and glittered on thebrown stems of withered annuals. Once she stopped to pull up some weedthat showed itself still green and arrogant, spilling its seeds fromyellowing pods among the frosted flowers; and once she picked, and putinto the bosom of her dress, a little belated monthly rose, warm andpink at the heart, but with blighted outer petals. She found itimpossible to pursue any one line of thought to its logical outcome;her mind flew like a shuttlecock between a dozen plans for WilliamKing's defeat. "Oh, I must decide on something!" she thought, desperately. But the futile morning passed without decision. Afterdinner she went resolutely into the parlor, and sitting down on herlittle low chair, pressed her fingers over her eyes to shut out anypossible distractions. "Now, " she said, "I will make up my mind. "

A bluebottle fly buzzing up and down the window dropped on the sill, then began to buzz again. Through the Venetian blinds the sunshinefell in bars across the carpet; she opened her eyes and watched itssilent movement, --so intangible, so irresistible; the nearest linetouched her foot; her skirt; climbed to her listless hands; out in thehall the clock slowly struck three; her thoughts blurred and rantogether; her very fears seemed to sink into space and time andsilence. The sunshine passed over her lap, resting warm upon herbosom; up and up, until, suddenly, like a hot finger, it touched herface. That roused her; she got up, sighing, and rubbing her eyes as ifshe had been asleep. No decision! ... 

Suppose she should go down into the orchard? Away from the house, shemight be better able to put her mind on it. She knew a spot where, hidden from curious eyes, she could lie at full length in the grass, warm on a western slope. David might have found her, but no one elsewould think of looking for her there.... When she sank down on theground and clasped her hands under her head, her eyes were level withthe late-blossoming grass that stirred a little in an unfelt breath ofair; two frosted stalks of goldenrod, nodded and swung back and noddedagain, between her and the sky. With absent intentness, she watched anant creeping carefully to the top of a head of timothy, then joltingoff at some jar she could not feel. The sun poured full upon her face;there was not a cloud anywhere in the unfathomable blue stillness. Thought seemed to drown in seas of light, and personality dwindleduntil her pain and fright did not seem to belong to her. She had toclose her eyes to shut herself into her own dark consciousness:

How should she keep her child?

The simplicity of immediate flight she had, of course, long agoabandoned; it would only postpone the struggle with William King. Thatinflexible face of duty would hunt her down wherever she was, and takethe child from her. No; there was but one thing to do: parry histhreat of confessing to Dr. Lavendar that he had "made a mistake" inadvising that David should be given to her, by a confession of herown, a confession which should admit the doctor's change of mindwithout mentioning its cause, and at the same time hold such promisesfor the future that the old minister would say that she might haveDavid. Then she could turn upon her enemy with the triumphantdeclaration that she had forestalled him; that she had said exactlywhat he had threatened to say, --no more, no less. And yet the childwas hers! But as she tried to plan how she should put it, the ideaeluded her. She would tell Dr. Lavendar thus and so: but even as shemarshalled her words, that scene in the waiting-room of the railroadstation ached in her imagination. Alice's ignorance of her existencebecame an insult; what she was going to say to Dr. Lavendar turnedinto a denunciation of Lloyd Pryor; he was vile, and cruel, andcontemptible! But these words stumbled, too. Back in her mind, commonsense agreed to Lloyd's silence to his daughter; and, suddenly, to heramazement, she knew that she agreed, not only to the silence, but tohis objection to marrying her. It would be an offence for her to livewith Alice! Marriage, which would have quitted this new tormentingsense of responsibility and made her like other people, would not havelessened that offence. It came over her with still more acutesurprise, that she had never felt this before. It was as if that fireof shame which had consumed her vanity the night she had confessed toWilliam King, had brought illumination as well as burning. By itsglare she saw that such a secret as she and Lloyd held between themwould be intolerable in the presence of that young girl. Lloyd hadfelt it--here she tingled all over:--Lloyd was more sensitive thanshe! Ah, well; Alice was his own daughter, and he knew how almostfanatical she was about truth; so he was especially sensitive. But Dr. King? He had felt it about David: "whether you married this man or notwould make no difference about David. " She thought about this forawhile in heavy perplexity. 

Then with a start she came back again to what she must say to Dr. Lavendar: "I will promise to bring David up just as he wishes; and Iwill tell him about my money; he doesn't know how rich I am; he willfeel that he has no right to rob David of such a chance. And I willsay that nobody could love him as I can. " Love him! Had she not givenup everything for him, sacrificed everything to keep him? For his sakeshe had not married! In this rush of self-approval she sat up, andlooked blindly off over the orchard below her at the distant hills, blue and slumberous in the sunshine. Then she leaned her head in herhands and stared fixedly at a clump of clover, green still in theyellowing stubble.... She had chosen her child instead of a conventionwhich, less than a month ago, she had so passionately desired; a monthago it seemed to her that, once married, she could do no more harm, have no more shame. Yet she had given all this up for David! ... Suddenly she spurred her mind back to that talk with Dr. Lavendar: shewould promise--anything! And planning her promises, she sat there, gazing with intent, unseeing eyes at the clover, until the chillytwilight drove her into the house. 

It was not until Saturday that she dared to go to the Rectory. It wasearly in the afternoon, just as the Collect Class was gathering in thedining-room. She had forgotten it, she told Mary, as she closed herumbrella on the door-step. "Can I wait in the study?" she asked, uncertainly;--there was time to go back! The task of telling part ofthe truth to this mild old man, whose eye was like a sword, suddenlydaunted her. She would wait a few days. --she began to open herumbrella, her fingers blundering with haste, --but retreat was cut off:Dr. Lavendar, on his way to the dining-room, with Danny at his heels, saw her; she could not escape!

"Why, Mrs. Richie!" he said, smiling at her over his spectacles. "Hi, David, who do you suppose is here? Mrs. Richie!"

David came running out of the dining-room; "Did you bring my slag?" hedemanded. 

And she had to confess that she had not thought of it; "You didn'ttell me you wanted it, dear, " she defended herself, nervously. 

"Oh, well, " said David, "I'm coming home to-morrow, and I'll get it. "

"Would you like to come home?" she could not help saying. 

"I'd just as lieves, " said David. 

"Run back, " Dr. Lavendar commanded, "and tell the children I'm comingin a minute. Tell Theophilus Bell not to play Indian under the table. Now, Mrs. Richie, what shall we do? Do you mind coming in and hearingthem say their Collect? Or would you rather wait in the study? Weshall be through in three-quarters of an hour. David shall bring yousome jumbles and apples. I suppose you are going to carry him off?"Dr. Lavendar said, ruefully. 

"Oh, " she faltered in a sudden panic, "I will come some other time, "but somehow or other, before she knew it, she was in the dining-room;very likely it was because she would not loosen the clasp of David'slittle warm careless hand, and so her reluctant feet followed him inhis hurry to admonish Theophilus. When she entered, instant silencefell upon the children. Lydia Wright, stumbling through the catechismto Ellen Dale [Illustration: "Dr. Lavendar, " said Helena, "in regardto David. "] who held the prayer-book and prompted, let her voice trailoff and her mouth remain open at the sight of a visitor; TheophilusBell rubbed his sleeve over some chalk-marks on the blackboard;--"I amdrawing a woman with an umbrella, " he had announced, condescendingly;"I saw her coming up the path, "--but when he saw her sitting down byDr. Lavendar, Theophilus skulked to his seat, and read his Collectever with unheeding attention. 

Then the business of the afternoon began, and Helena sat and listenedto it. It was a scene which had repeated itself for two generations inOld Chester; the fathers and mothers of these little people had sat onthese same narrow benches without backs, and looked at the blackboardwhere Dr. Lavendar wrote out the divisions of the Collect, and thenlooked at the sideboard, where stood a dish of apples and another ofjumbles. They, too, had said their catechism, announcing, in singsongchorus that they heartily thanked their Heavenly Father that He hadcalled them to this state of salvation; and Dr. Lavendar had asked oneor another of them, as he now asked their children, "What meanest thouby this word Sacrament?" "What is the inward and spiritual grace?"That afternoon, when he swooped down on David, Helen squeezed herhands together with anxiety; did he know what was the inward andspiritual grace? Could he say it? She held her breath until he hadsailed triumphantly through:

_"A death unto sin, and a new birth unto righteousness, "_ and soon. When he had finished, she looked proudly at Dr. Lavendar, who, toher astonishment, did not bestow a single word of praise!

"And yet, " said Helena to herself, "he said it better than any ofthem, and he is the youngest!--David said it very well, didn't he?"she ventured, in a whisper. 

Dr. Lavendar made no answer, but opened a book; on which there was acheerful shuffling as the children jostled each other in their effortsto kneel down in the space between the benches; when all was still, Dr. Lavendar repeated the Collect. Helena dropped her face in herhands, and listened:

_"Grant, we beseech Thee, merciful Lord, to Thy faithful peoplepardon and peace, that they may be cleansed from all their sins, andserve Thee with a quiet mind; through Jesus Christ our Lord. "_

_"Amen!"_ said the children, joyfully; and, scrambling to theirfeet, looked politely at the sideboard. David, who played host onthese occasions, made haste to poke the apples at Mrs. Richie, whocould not help whispering to him to pull his collar straight; and sheeven pushed his hair back a little from his forehead. The sense ofpossession came over her like a wave, and with it a pang of terrorthat made her lips dry; at that moment she knew the taste of fear inher mouth. When Dr. Lavendar spoke to her, she was unable to reply. 

"Well, now, Mrs. Richie, " he said, "I expect these little people caneat their apples without us; can't you, chickabiddies?"

"Yes, sir!" said the children, in eager chorus, eying the apples. 

"You and I will go into the study for a while, " said Dr. Lavendar. 

She followed him speechlessly... The time had come. 

Dr. Lavendar, hospitable and fussy, drew up a horsehair-covered chairwith ears on each side of the back, and bade her sit down; then hepoked the fire, and put on a big lump of coal, and asked her if shewas sure she was warm enough? "It's pretty chilly; we didn't haveweather as cold as this in October when I was your age. "

"Dr. Lavendar, " said Helena;--and at the tremor in her voice he lookedat her quickly, and then looked away;--"in regard to David--"

"Yes; I understand that you are not sure that you want to keep him?"

"Oh, no! I am sure. Entirely sure!" She paused, uncertain what to saynext. Dr. Lavendar gave her no assistance. Her breath caught in anunsteady laugh. "You are not smoking, Dr. Lavendar! Do light yourpipe. I am quite used to tobacco smoke, I assure you. "

"No, " said Dr. Lavendar, quietly; "I will not smoke now. "

"In regard to David, " she began; and gripped her hands tight together, for she saw with dismay that they were shaking. She had an instant ofangry surprise at her own body. It was betraying her to the silent, watching old man on the other side of the fire. "I want him; but Imean to leave Old Chester. Would you be willing to let me take himaway?"

"Why, " said Dr. Lavendar, "we shall be very sorry to have you leaveus; and, of course, I shall be sorry to lose David. Very sorry! Ishall feel, " said Dr. Lavendar, with a rueful chuckle, "as if I hadlost a tooth! That is about as omnipresent sense of loss as a humancritter can have. But I can't see that that is any reason for notletting you take him. "

"You are very kind, " she murmured. 

"Where are you going, and when do you go?" he asked, easily; but heglanced at those shaking hands. 

"I want to go next week. I--oh, Dr. Lavendar! I want David; I am surenobody can do more for him than I can. Nobody can love him as I do!And I think he would be pretty homesick for me, too, if I did not takehim. But--"

"Yes?"

She tried to smile; then spread her handkerchief on her knee, andfolded it over and over with elaborate self-control. "Dr. Kingthinks--I ought not to have him. He says, " she stopped; the effort torepeat William King's exact words drove the color out of her face. "Hesays he made a mistake in advising you to give David to me. Hethinks--"

she caught her breath with a gasp;--"I am not to be trusted to--tobring him up. " She trembled with relief; the worst was over. She hadkept her promise, to the letter. Now she would begin to fight for herchild: "You will let me have him? You will!--Please say you will, Dr. Lavendar!"

"Why does Dr. King think you are not to be trusted?" said Dr. Lavendar. 

"Because, " she said, gathering up all her courage, "he thinks that I--that David ought to be brought up by some one more--more religious, Isuppose, than I am. I know I'm not very religious. Not as good aseverybody in Old Chester; but I will bring him up just as you want meto! Any way at all you want me to. I will go to church regularly;truly I will, Dr. Lavendar; truly!"

Dr. Lavendar was silent. The lump of coal in the grate suddenly splitand fell apart; there was a crackling leap of flames, and from betweenthe bars a spurt of bubbling gas sent a whiff of acrid smoke puffingout into the room. 

"You will let me have him, won't you? You said you would! If you takehim away from me--"

"Well?"

She looked at him dumbly; her chin shook. 

"The care of a child is sometimes a great burden; have you consideredthat?"

"Nothing would be a burden if I did it for David!"

"It might involve much sacrifice. "

"I have sacrificed everything for him!" she burst out. 

"What?"

"There was something, " she said evasively, "that I wanted to do verymuch; something that would have made me--happier. But I couldn't if Ikept David; so I gave it up. "

Dr. Lavendar ruminated. "You wanted David the most?"

"Yes?" she said passionately. 

"Then it was a choice, not a sacrifice, wasn't it, my dear? No doubtyou would make sacrifices for him, only in this matter you chose whatyou wanted most, And your choice was for your own happiness I takeit, --not his?"

She nodded doubtfully, baffled for a minute, and not quiteunderstanding. Then she said, "But I would choose his happiness; Ihave done some things for him, truly I have. Oh, little things, Isuppose you would call them; but I wasn't used to them and they seemedgreat to me. But I would choose his happiness, Dr, Lavendar. So youwill let me keep him?"

"If you think you ought to have him, you may. "

"No matter what Dr. King says?"

"No matter what Dr, King says. If you are sure that it is best for himto be with you, I, at least, shall not interfere. "

Her relief was so great that the tears ran down her face. "It isbest!"

"Best to be with you, " Dr, Lavendar repeated thoughtfully; "Why, Mrs. Richie?"

"Why? Why because I want him so much, I have nothing in the wholeworld, Dr. Lavendar, but David. Nothing. "

"Other folks might want him. "

"But nobody can do as much for him as I can! I have a good deal ofmoney. "

"You mean you can feed him, and clothe him, and educate him? Well; Icould do that myself. What else can you do?"

"What else?"

"Yes. One person can give him material care about as well as another. What else can you do?"

"Why--" she began, helplessly; "I don't think I know just what youmean?"

"My friend, " said Dr. Lavendar, "are you a good woman?"

The shock of the question left her speechless. She tried to meet hiseye; quailed, half rose: "I don't know what you mean! What right haveyou to ask me such a question--"

Dr, Lavendar waited. 

"Perhaps I don't think about things, quite as you do. I am notreligious; I told you that. I don't do things because of religion; Ibelieve in--in reason, not in religion. I try to be good in--my way. Idon't know that I've been what you would call 'good. '"

"What do I call 'good'?"

At which she burst out that people in Old Chester thought that peoplewho did not live according to convention were not good. For her part, convention was the last thing she thought of. Indeed, she believedthere was more wickedness in convention than out of it! "If I havedone anything you would call wrong, it was because I couldn't help it;I never wanted to do wrong. I just wanted to be happy. I've tried tobe charitable. And I've tried to be good--in my way; but not because Iwanted to go to heaven, and all that. I--I don't believe in heaven, "she ended with terrified flippancy. 

"Perhaps not, " said Dr. Lavendar sadly; "but, oh, my child, how you dobelieve in hell!"

She stared at him for one broken moment; then flung her arms out onthe table beside her, and dropped her head upon them. Dr. Lavendar didnot speak, There was a long silence, suddenly she turned upon him, herface quivering; "Yes! I do believe in hell. Because that is what lifeis! I've never had any happiness at all. Oh, it seemed so little athing to ask--just to be happy Yes, I believe in hell. "

Dr. Lavendar waited. 

"If I've done what people say isn't right, it was only because Iwanted to be happy; not because I wanted to do wrong. It was becauseof Love. You can't understand what that means! But Christ said thatbecause a woman loved much, much was to be forgiven! Do you rememberthat?" she demanded hotly. 

"Yes, " said Dr, Lavendar; "but do you remember Who it was that sheloved much? She loved Goodness, Mrs. Richie. Have you loved Goodness?"

"Oh, what is the use of talking about it?" she said passionately; "wewon't agree. If it was all to do over again, perhaps I--But life wasso dreadful! If you judge me, remember--"

"I do not judge you. "

"--remember that everything has been against me. Everything! From thevery beginning, I never had anything I wanted, I thought I was goingto be happy, but each time I wasn't. Until I had David. And now youwill take him. Oh, what a miserable failure life has been! I wish Icould die. But it seems you can't even die when you want to!"

For a moment she covered her face with her hands. Then she said: "Isuppose I might as well tell you. Mr. Pryor is not--.... After my babydied, I left my husband. Lloyd loved me, and I went to live with him. "

"You went to live with your brother?" Dr. Lavendar repeated perplexed. 

"He is not my brother. "

There was silence for a full minute. Then Dr. Lavendar said quietly, "Go on. "

She looked at him with hunted eyes. "Now, you will take David away. Why did you make me tell you?"

"It is better to tell me. " He laid his old hand on hers, clenched uponthe table at her side. The room was very still; once a coal fell fromthe grate, and once there was the soft brush of rain against thewindow, "It's my whole life. I can't tell you my whole life, I didn't evenwant to be wicked; all I wanted was to be happy, And so I went toLloyd. It didn't seem so very wrong. We didn't hurt anybody. His wifewas dead. --As for Frederick, I have no regrets!" she ended fiercely. 

The room had darkened in the rainy October twilight, and the fire waslow; Dr. Lavendar could hardly see her quivering face. 

"But now it's all over between Lloyd and me. I sha'n't see him everany more. He would have married me, if I had been willing to give upDavid. But I was not willing. "

"You thought it would make everything right if you married this man?"

"Right?" she repeated, surprised; "why, of course. At least I supposethat is what good people call right, " she added dully. 

"And you gave up doing right, to have David?"

She felt that she was trapped, and yet she could not understand why;"I sacrificed myself, " she said confusedly. 

 "No, " said Dr. Lavendar; "you sacrificed a conviction. A poor, falseconviction, but such as it was, you threw it over to keep David. "

She looked at him in terror; "It was just selfishness, you think?"

"Yes, " said Dr. Lavendar. 

"Perhaps it was, " she admitted. "Oh, how frightful life is! To try tobe happy, is to be bad. "

"No, to try to be happy at the expense of other people, is to be bad. "

"But I never did that! Lloyd's wife was dead;--Of course, if she hadbeen alive"--Helena lifted her head with the curious pride of caste insin which is so strongly felt by the woman who is a sinner;--"if shehad been alive, I wouldn't have thought of such a thing. But nobodyknew, so I never did any harm, "--then she quailed; "at least, I nevermeant to do any harm. So you can't say it was at anybody's expense. "

"It was at everybody's expense. Marriage is what makes us civilized. If anybody injures marriage we all pay. "

She was silent. 

"If every dissatisfied wife should do what you did, could decent lifego on? Wouldn't we all drop down a little nearer the animals?"

"Perhaps so, " she said vaguely. But she was not following him. She hadentered into this experience of sin, not by the door of reason, but ofemotion; she could leave it only by the same door. The high appeal toindividual renunciation for the good of the many, was entirely beyondher. Dr. Lavendar did not press it any further. 

"Well, anyhow, " she said dully, "I didn't get any happiness--whetherit was at other people's expense or not. When David came, I thought, 'now I am going to be happy!' That was all I wanted: happiness. Andnow you will take him away. "

"I have not said I would take him away. "

She trembled so at that, that for an instant she could not speak. "Nottake him?"

"Not if you think it is best for him to stay with you. "

She began to pant with fear, "You mean something by that, I know youdo I Oh, what do you mean? I cannot do him any harm!"

"Woman, " said Dr. Lavendar solemnly, "_can you do him any good_?"

She cowered silently away from him. 

"Can you teach him to tell the truth, you, who have lived a lie? Canyou make him brave, you, who could not endure? Can you make himhonorable, you, who have deceived us all? Can you make him unselfish, you, who have thought only of self? Can you teach him purity, you, who--"

"Stop! I cannot bear it. "

"Tell me the truth: can you do him any good?"

That last solemn word fell into profound silence. There was not asound in the still darkness of the study; and suddenly her soul wasstill, too ... The whirlwind of anger had died out; the shock ofresponsibility had subsided; the hiss of those flames of shame hadceased. She was in the centre of all the tumults, where lies the quietmind of God. For a long time she did not speak. Then, by and by, herface hidden in her arms on the table, she said, in a whisper:

"No. "

_And after the fire, the still small Voice. _

CHAPTER XXXIII

Dr. Lavendar looked at the bowed head; but he offered no comfort. When she said brokenly, "No; I can't have him. I can't have him, " heassented; and there was silence again. It was broken by a small, cheerful voice:

"Mary says supper's ready. There's milk toast, an'--"

Dr. Lavendar went as quickly as he could to the door; when he openedit he stood between the little boy and Helena. "Tell Mary not to waitfor me; but ask her to give you your supper. "

"An' Mary says that in Ireland they call clover 'shamrocks'; an'--"

Dr. Lavendar gently closed the door. When he went back to his seat onthe other side of the table, she said faintly, "That was--?"

"Yes, " said Dr. Lavendar. 

"Oh, " she whispered. "I knew I would have to give him up. I knew I hadno right to him. "

"No; you had no right to him. "

"But I loved him so! Oh, I thought, maybe, I would be--like otherpeople, if I had him. "

After a while, with long pauses between the sentences, she began totell him. ... 

"I never thought about goodness; or badness either. Only about Lloyd, and happiness. I thought I had a right to happiness. But I was angryat all the complacent married people; they were so satisfied withthemselves! And yet all the time I wished Frederick would die so thatI could be married. Oh, the time was _so_ long!" She threw her arms upwith a gesture of shuddering weariness; then clasped her hands betweenher knees, and staring at the floor, began to speak. Her words pouredout, incoherent, contradictory, full of bewilderment and pain. "Yes; Iwasn't very happy, except just at first. After a while I got so tiredof Lloyd's selfishness. Oh--he was so selfish! I used to look at himsometimes, and almost hate him. He always took the most comfortablechair, and he cared so much about things to eat. And he got fat. Andhe didn't mind Frederick's living. I could see that. And I prayed thatFrederick would die. --I suppose you think it was wicked to pray that?"

"Go on. "

"It was only because I loved Lloyd so much. But he didn't die. And Ibegan not to be happy. And then I thought Lloyd didn't want to talk tome about Alice. Alice is his daughter. It was three years ago I firstnoticed that. But I wasn't really sure until this summer. He didn'teven like to show me her picture. That nearly killed me, Dr. Lavendar. And once, just lately, he told me her 'greatest charm was herinnocence. ' Oh, it was cruel in him to say that! How could he be socruel!" she looked at him for sympathy; but he was silent. "Butunderneath, somehow, I understood; and that made me angry, --tounderstand. It was this summer that I began to be angry. And then Igot so jealous: not of Alice, exactly; but of what she stood for. Itwas a kind of fright, because I couldn't go back and begin again. Doyou know what I mean?"

"I know. "

"Oh, Dr. Lavendar, it is so horrible! When I began to understand, itseemed like something broken--broken--broken! It could never bemended. "

"No. "

... Sometimes, as she went on he asked a question, and sometimes made acomment. The comment was always the same: when she spoke of marryingFrederick to get away from her bleak life with her grandmother, shesaid, "Oh, it was a mistake, a mistake!"

And he said, "It was a sin. "

And again: "I thought Lloyd would make me happy; I just went to behappy; that was my second mistake. "

"It was your second sin. "

"You think I am a sinner, " she said; "oh, Dr. Lavendar, I am not asbad as you think! I always expected to marry Lloyd. I am not like a--fallen woman. "

"Why not?" said Dr. Lavendar. 

She shrank back with a gesture of dismay. "I always expected to marryhim!"

"It would have been just the same if you had married him. "

"I don't understand you, " she said faintly. 

"From the beginning, " he said, "you have thought only of self. Youwould not have been redeemed from self by gaining what would have madeyou more satisfied with yourself. "

She thought about this for a few minutes in a heavy silence. "Youmean, getting married would not have changed things, really?"

"It would have made the life you were living less harmful to yourfellow creatures, perhaps; but it would have made no differencebetween you two. "

"I thought I would be happier, " she said. 

"Happier!" said Dr. Lavendar; "what sort of happiness could there bein a marriage where the man could never respect the woman, and thewoman could never trust the man!"

"I hadn't thought of it that way, " she said slowly. And then she beganagain. ... Once Dr. Lavendar interrupted her to light the lamp, forthe study was dark except for the wink of red coals in the grate; andonce he checked her, and went into the dining-room to bring her aglass of wine and some food. She protested, but he had his way, andshe ate and drank before going on with her story. When she told him, brokenly, of Sam Wright, Dr. Lavendar got up and walked the length ofthe study. But he made no comment--none was needed. When she ended, there was a long pause. Suddenly she clasped her hands on the top ofher head, and bowed her forehead almost to her knees. She seemed tospeak as if to herself:

"Not worthy; not worthy. "... Then aloud; _"I give him up, "_ shesaid. And stretched out empty arms. 

She rose, and began to feel about for her cloak that had fallen acrossthe arm of her chair. But she was half blind with weeping, and Dr. Lavendar found it for her and gently put it over her shoulders. 

"I will go away, " she said, "but I may see him again, mayn't I? Justonce more, to say good-by to him. "

"Yes, " he said. 

"I'll send his little things down to you to-morrow, Dr. Lavendar. Oh, --his dear little things!"

"Very well. "

He lighted a lantern for her, but made no offer to see her home, or tosend his Mary along as an escort. Yet when he let her go away into therainy darkness, he stood in the doorway a long while, looking afterher. Then he went back to the study, to pace up and down, up and down. Twice he stopped and looked out of the window, and then at the clock. But each time he put the impulse aside. He must not interfere. 

It was almost midnight before he took his lamp and went up-stairs; atDavid's door he hesitated, and then went in. The little boy was lyingcurled up like a puppy, his face almost hidden in his pillow, but hischeek glowing red under the soft thatch of hair. Dr. Lavendar, shadinghis lamp with one hand, looked down at him a long time. On the wallbehind him and half-way across the ceiling, the old man's shadowloomed wavering and gigantic, and the light, flickering up on hisface, deepened the lines of age and of other people's troubles. By andby he stooped down, and gently laid his old palm upon the little head. 

When he lifted himself up his face was full of peace. 

CHAPTER XXXIV

"William, " said Dr. Lavendar, "you may tell me anything I ought toknow about Mrs. Richie. "

The doctor looked at him with a start, and a half-spoken question. 

"Yes; she told me. But I want to ask you about the man. She didn't saymuch about him. "

This was Sunday evening; David had gone to bed, and Danny had climbedup into Dr. Lavendar's chair, and been gently deposited on the hearth-rug. "No, Daniel; not to-night, sir. I've got to have my chair justthis once. " William had come in for his usual smoke, but he had beenmore than usually silent. When Dr. Lavendar gave his calm permission, the doctor's wretched perplexity of the past month could hardly findwords. He said, first of all, "David? Of course you will take him away. It will break her heart!"

"A broken heart is not such a bad thing, Willy. Our Heavenly Fatherdoes not despise it. "

"Dr. Lavendar, why can't she keep him? She'll never see that scoundrelagain!"

"Do you think a woman with such a story is fit to bring up a child, William?"

The doctor was silent. 

"She thinks not, herself, " said Dr. Lavendar. 

"Does she?" William King said; and a minute afterwards fumbled in hiscoat tails for his pocket-handkerchief. "What is she going to do?" heasked huskily. 

"She feels that she had better leave Old Chester. "

"Do you think so, sir?"

Dr. Lavendar sighed. "I would like to have her here; I would like totake care of her, for a while. But I don't think she could stand it;on your account. "

"My account!" William King pushed his chair back, and got on his feet;"Dr. Lavendar, I--I--"

"She would feel the embarrassment of your knowledge, " said the oldman. 

Dr. King sat down. Then he said, "I am the last man to judge her. "

"'Beginning at the eldest, even unto the last, '" murmured Dr. Lavendar. "Shame is a curious thing, William. It's like some of yourmedicines. The right amount cures. Too much kills. I've seen that withhard drinkers. Where a drunkard is a poor, uneducated fellow, shamegives him a good boost towards decency. But a man of education, William, a man of opportunity--if he wakes up to what he has beendoing, shame gives him such a shove he is apt to go all round thecircle, and come up just where he started! Shame is a blessed thing, --when you don't get too much of it. She would get too much of it here. But--" he stopped and smiled; "sin has done its divine work, I think. "

"Sin?"

"Yes, " said Dr. Lavendar, cheerfully; "have you ever noticed thatevery single human experience--except, perhaps, the stagnation ofconceit; I haven't found anything hopeful in that yet; but maybe Ishall some day!--but, except for conceit, I have never known any humanexperience of pain or sin that could not be the gate of heaven. Mind!I don't say that it always is; but it can be. Has that ever occurredto you?"

"Well, no, " the doctor confessed; "I can't say that it has. "

"Oh, you're young yet, " Dr, Lavendar said encouragingly, "My boy, letme tell you that there are some good folks who don't begin to knowtheir Heavenly Father, as the sinner does who climbed up to Him out ofthe gutter. "

"A dangerous doctrine, " William ruminated. 

"Oh, I don't preach it, " Dr. Lavendar said placidly "but I don'tpreach everything I know. "

William was not following him. He said abruptly, "What are you goingto do with David?"

"David is going to stay with me. "

And William said again, "It will break her heart!"

"I hope so, " said Dr. Lavendar solemnly, How he watched that poorheart, in the next few days! Every afternoon his shabby old buggy wenttugging up the hill. Sometimes he found her walking restlessly aboutin the frosted garden; sometimes standing mutely at the long window inthe parlor, looking for him; sometimes prostrate on her bed. When hetook her hand--listless one day, fiercely despairing the next, --hewould glance at her with a swift scrutiny that questioned, and thenwaited. The pity in his old eyes never dimmed their relentlesskeenness; they seemed to raid her face, sounding all the shallows insearch of depths. For with his exultant faith in human nature, hebelieved that somewhere in the depths he should find God, It is onlythe pure in heart who can find Him in impurity, who can see, behindthe murky veil of stained flesh, the very face of Christ declaring thepossibilities of the flesh!--but this old man sought and knew that heshould find Him. He waited and watched for many days, looking for thatrecognition of wrong-doing which breaks the heart by its revelation ofgoodness that might have been; for there is no true knowledge of sin, without a divine and redeeming knowledge of righteousness! So, as thisold saint looked into the breaking heart, pity for the sinner who wasbase deepened into reverence for the child of God who might be noble. It is an easy matter to believe in the confident soul; but Dr. Lavendar believed in a soul that did not believe in itself!

It seemed to Helena that she had nothing to live for; that there wasnothing to do except shiver back out of sight, and wait to die. Forthe time was not yet when she should know that her consciousness ofsin might be the chased and fretted Cup from which she might drink thesacrament of life; when she should come to understand, withthanksgiving, that unless she had sinned, the holy wine might neverhave touched her lips!

In these almost daily talks with Dr. Lavendar, the question of thefuture was beaten out: it was a bleak enough prospect; it didn'tmatter, she said, where she went, or what became of her, she hadspoiled her life, she said. "Yes, " Dr. Lavendar agreed, "you'vespoiled what you've had of it. But your Heavenly Father has the rest, in His hands, and He'll give it to you clean and sound. All you've gotto do, is to keep it so, and forget the spoiled part. " That was theonly thing he insisted upon: no dwelling on the past!

"I wish I was one of the people who want to do things, " she told himwith a sort of wistful cynicism. "But I don't. I have no story-bookdesires. I don't want to go and nurse lepers!--but I will, if you wantme to, " she added with quick and touching simplicity. 

 Dr Lavendar smiled, and said that nursing lepers was too easy. He hadsuggested that she should live in a distant city;--he had agreed atonce to her assertion that she could not stay in Old Chester. "I knowsome nice people there, " he said; "Ellen Bailey lives there, she'sEllen Spangler now. You've heard me speak of her? Spangler is aparson; he's a good fellow, but the Lord denied him brains to anygreat extent. But Ellen is the salt of the earth. And she can laugh. You'll like her. "

"But what will I do when I get there?"

"I think Ellen may find something to keep you busy, " he saidcheerfully; "and, meantime, I'll make a suggestion myself: studyHebrew. "

"Hebrew!"

"Or Arabic; or Russian; it doesn't matter which, your mind needsexercise. "

"When you said Hebrew, I thought you meant so I could read the Bible. "

"Ho!" said Dr. Lavendar, "I think King James's version is good enoughfor you; or anybody else. And I wouldn't want you to wait until youcan read backwards, to read your Bible. No; I only meant that you needsomething to break your mind on. Hebrew is as good as anything else. "

She meditated on this for a while, "I begin to understand, " she saidwith her hesitating smile; and Dr. Lavendar was mightily pleased, forhe had not seen that smile of late. 

Sometimes they talked about David, Mrs. Richie asking questions in asmothered voice; but she never begged for him. That part of her lifewas over. Dr. Lavendar sometimes brought the child with him when heand Goliath climbed the hill for that daily visit: but he always tookhim back again. Indeed, the Rectory was now definitely the littleboy's home. Of course Old Chester knew that the Stuffed Animal Housewas to lose its tenant, and that David had gone to live with Dr. Lavendar. "I wonder why she doesn't take him with her?" said OldChester; and called to say good-by and hint that Mrs. Richie must besorry to leave the little boy behind her? Helena said briefly, yes, she was "sorry. " And Old Chester went away no wiser than it came. William King, wise and miserable, did not call. His wife said that shewould say good-by for him, if he was too busy to go up the hill. 

"It seems to me you've been very busy lately, " she told him; "I'vehardly had a glimpse of you. I only hope it will show on your bills. It is very foolish, William, to take patients so far back in thecountry; I don't believe it pays, considering how much time it takes. But I'll tell Mrs. Richie you send your respects, and say good-by foryou. "

"You needn't mind, " said the doctor. 

Mrs. King went to make her adieux the very next day. Her manner was socordial that Helena was faintly surprised; but, as Martha told Dr. Lavendar, cordiality did not mean the sacrifice of truth to any falseidea of politeness. 

"I didn't tell her I was sorry she was going, " Martha said, standingby the roadside in the chill November wind, talking into the buggy, "because, to speak flatly and frankly, I am not. I don't consider thather example is very good for Old Chester, She is not a goodhousekeeper. I could tell you certain things--however, I won't, Inever gossip. I just said, very kindly, ' Good-by, Mrs. Richie. I hopeyou'll have a pleasant journey. ' That was all. No insincere regrets. That's one thing about me, Dr. Lavendar, I may not be perfect, but Inever say anything, just to be pleasant!"

"I've noticed that, " said Dr. Lavendar; "G'on, Goliath. "

And Martha, in great spirits, told her William at tea, that, thoughDr. Lavendar was failing, she had to admit he could still see people'sgood qualities. "I told him I hadn't put on any airs of regret aboutMrs. Richie, and he said he had always noticed my frankness. "

William helped himself to gooseberry jam in silence. 

"You do leave things so catacornered!" Martha observed, laying thethin silver spoon straight in the dish. "William, I never knew anybodyso incapable as that woman. I asked her how she had packed herpreserves for moving. She said she hadn't made any! Think of that, fora housekeeper. Oh, and I found out about that perfumery, I just askedher. It's nothing but ground orris!"

William said he would like a cup of tea. 

"I can't make her out, " Martha said, touching the teapot to make sureit was hot; "I've always said she wasn't her brother's equal, mentally. But you do expect a woman to have certain femininequalities, now the idea of adopting a child, and then deserting him!"

"She hadn't adopted him, " William said. 

"It's the same thing; she took him, and now she gets tired of him, andwon't keep him. She begins a thing, but she doesn't go on with it. "

"I suppose it's better not to begin it?" William said. And there wasan edge in his voice that caused Mrs. King to hold her tongue. "Martha, " the doctor said, after a while and with evident effort, "canyou give me an early breakfast to-morrow morning? I've got to go backinto the country, and I want to make an early start, "

Helena Richie, too, meant to make an early start the next morning; itwas the day that she was to leave Old Chester. The plan of going tothe western city had gradually shaped itself, and while Dr. Lavendarwas writing to those friends of his, and Helena corresponding with areal-estate agent, the packing-up at the Stuffed Animal House hadproceeded. Now it was all done; Maggie and Sarah had had their wages, and several presents besides; the pony had been shipped from Mercer;the rabbits boxed and sent down to the Rectory; all was done;--exceptthe saying good-by to David. But Helena told herself that she wouldnot say good-by to him. She could not, she said. She would see him, but he should not know it was good-by. And so she asked Dr. Lavendarto send the child up to her the day before she was to go away;--byhimself. "You'll trust him with me for an hour?" she said. 

She meant to cuddle the child, and give him the "forty kisses" which, at last, he was ready to accept, and let him chatter of all hismultitudinous interests. Then she would send him away, and begin herempty life. The page which had held a promise of joy, would be turnedover; a new, dreary chapter, with no promise in it, would begin.... 

David came in the afternoon. He was a little late, and explained histardiness by saying that he had found a toad, and tying a stringaround its waist, had tried to play horse with it, up the hill. "Buthe wouldn't drive, " David said disgustedly; "maybe he was a lady toad;I don't know. "

"Perhaps the poor toad didn't like to be driven, " Helena suggested. David looked thoughtful. "David, " she said, "I am going away. Will youwrite a little letter to me sometimes?"

"Maybe, " said David. And slapped his pocket, in a great flurry; "Dr. Lavendar ga' me a letter for you!"

She glanced at it to see if it needed an answer, but it was only toask her to stop at the Rectory before she left town the next morning. 

"Tell Dr. Lavendar I will, darling, " she said, and David nodded. 

She was sitting before the parlor fire; the little boy was leaningagainst her knee braiding three blades of grass; he was deeplyabsorbed. Helena took his face between her hands, and looked at it;then, to hide the trembling of her lips, she hid them in his neck. 

"You tickle!" said David, and wriggled out of her arms with chucklesof fun. "I'm making you a ring, " he said. 

She let him push the little grass circlet over her finger, and thenclosed her hand on it lest it should slip off. "You won't forget me, David, will you?"

"No, " he said surprised; "I never forget anything. I remembereverything the magician did. An' I remember when I was born. "

"Oh, David!"

"I do. I remember my brother's candy horse. My brother--was--was, oh, seven or eight weeks older 'an me. Yes; I'll not forget you; not tillI'm old. Not till I'm twenty, maybe. I guess I'll go now. We are goingto have Jim Crow for dessert. Mary told me. You're prettier than Mary. Or Dr. Lavendar. " This was a very long speech for David, and to makeup for it he was silent for several minutes. He took her hand, andtwisted the little grass ring round and round on her finger; and then, suddenly, his chin quivered. "I don't like you. You're going away, " hesaid; he stamped his foot and threw himself against her knee in aparoxysm of tears. "I hate you!"

It was so unexpected, and so entirely unlike David, that Helena forgother own pain in soothing him. And, indeed, when she had said she wouldsend him some candy--"and a false-face?" David blubbered;--"yes, dearprecious!" she promised;--he quite cheered up, and dragging at herhand, he went skipping along beside her out to the green gate in thehedge. 

"I'll stop at the Rectory in the morning, " she said, when she kissedhim, bravely, in the twilight; "so I'll see you again, dear. "

"'By!" said David. And he had gone. 

She stood staring after him, fiercely brushing the tears away, becausethey dimmed the little joyous figure, trotting into the November dusk. 

The morning broke, gray and cloudy. William King had had his earlybreakfast; of course he had! Rather than fail in a housekeeper's duty, Martha would have sat up all night. When the doctor started for thatcall out into the country, Helena was just getting into the stage atthe Stuffed Animal House. Once, as the coach went jolting down thehill, she lowered the misted window and looked back--then sank intoher seat and put her hands over her eyes. Just for a while, there hadbeen a little happiness in that house. 

They were half-way down the hill when Jonas drew in his horses sosharply that she made a quick effort to control herself; anotherpassenger, she thought, shrinking into her corner. 

"I'll only detain you a minute or two, Jonas. " William King said fromthe roadside. Jinny was hitched to the fence, and at the doctor'ssignalling hand, the stage drew up, with rattling whiffletrees. Thenhe opened the door and got in; he sat down on the opposite seat. 

"I wanted to say good-by to you, " he said; "but, most of all, I wantedto tell you that I--I have the deepest regard for you. I want you toknow that. I wanted to ask you if you would allow me to call myselfyour friend? I have seemed unkind, but--" he took her hand in both ofhis, and looked at her; his face twitched. "I implore you to believeme! I must not ask anything, or say anything, more than that. But Icould not let you go away without asking your forgiveness--"

"_My_ forgiveness!"

"--Without asking you to pardon me, and to believe that I--havenothing but--esteem; the most--the most--friendly esteem; you willbelieve that, won't you?"

"You are very good to me, " she said brokenly. 

He was holding her hand so hard in his, that she winced with pain;instantly his harsh grasp relaxed, and he looked down at the whitehand lying in his, soft, and fragrant, and useless as a flower; hesaid something under his breath; then bent down and kissed it. When helifted his head, his face was very pale. "God bless you. God alwaysbless you. Good-by!" And he was on the road again, shutting the coachdoor sharply. "Go on, Jonas!" he said. And Jonas gathered up thereins. 

Alone, she put her hands over her eyes again; the tumult of the momentleft her breathless and broken. She had hated him because he wouldhave robbed her of David; and then, when she robbed herself of David, she had almost forgotten him; but now, when the chill of the futurewas settling down upon her, to have him say he was her friend broughta sudden warmth about her heart. There seemed to be some value tolife, after all. 

She had told Jonas to stop at the Rectory, and Dr. Lavendar met her atthe front door. He explained that he wanted to have a last look at herand make sure she was taking wraps enough for the long cold ride toMercer. He reminded her that she was to write to him the minute shearrived, and tell him all about her journey, and Ellen Bailey, --"andSpangler, of course, " Dr. Lavendar added hurriedly. Then he asked herif she would take a package with her?

"Yes, with pleasure, " she said, looking vaguely out into the hall. Butthere was no sign of David. "Where is the package, Dr. Lavendar?"

"I told Mary to give it to Jonas, " he said. There was a moment'spause, and she looked at him dumbly. 

_"David?"_

"He isn't here, " Dr. Lavendar said gently. 

"Oh, Dr. Lavendar, tell him I love him! Will you tell him? Don't lethim forget me! Oh, don't let him quite forget me. "

"He won't forget you, " Dr. Lavendar said. He took both her hands, andlooked into her face. It was a long and solemn look, but it was nolonger questioning; the joy that there is in the presence of theangels, is done with questioning. 

"Helena, " he said, "your Master came into the world as a little child. Receive Him in thy heart by faith, with thanksgiving. "

She looked up at him, trembling, and without words; but he understood. A moment later he gave her his blessing; then he said cheerfully, "Imust not keep you any longer; come!" With Danny at his heels, hewalked beside her down the garden path to the coach. It had begun torain and the leather curtains flapped sharply in the cold wind. Jonashad buttoned the big apron up in front of him, and it was alreadyshining wet; the steaming horses were pounding restlessly in the mud. 

She did not look about her. With unsteady hands she pulled her veildown; then she said faintly, "Good-by--" She hardly returned thefriendly pressure of Dr. Lavendar's hand. She was so blinded by tearsthat she had stumbled into the stage before she saw the child, buttoned up to his ears in his first greatcoat, and bubbling over withexcitement. Even when she did see him, she did not at firstunderstand. She looked at him, and then at Dr. Lavendar, and then backat David, to whom it was all a delightful game which, the nightbefore, Dr. Lavendar and he had got up between them. It served itspurpose, for the child had no suspicion of anything unusual in theoccasion. 

"_I'm_ the package!" said David joyously. 

The stage went sagging and rumbling down the road. For a long minuteDr. Lavendar stood in the rain, looking after it. Then it turned thecorner and was out of sight. He drew a long breath. David had gone!

A minute later he and Danny went back to the empty house. 

THE END